and puffed and showed at unexpected places little sprays of determined curls. The face beneath it bore an odd resemblance to an enamelled nut to which nature, in a moment of freakish humour, had added features.
“Now I want you to tell me at once, Mr. Endicott, what you have done with my little Marge.”
Lieutenant Valcour with curious eyes tried to probe a closed door at the other end of the room.
“I expected to find her here, Madame Velasquez,” he said quietly. “Isn’t she?”
“She ain’t. And what is furthermore, Mr. Herbert Endicott, you know she ain’t.” Her voice had grown shrill, but without much volume. It was rather the ineffective piping of some winded bird.
“What makes you say that, Madame Velasquez?”
The bunched strands of artificial jewellery that were recklessly clasped about Madame Velasquez’s thin neck quivered defiantly.
“And you never met her here at seven,” she said. “I suppose you’ll say you wasn’t to meet her here at seven. Well, I got this note to prove it. There, now.”
She handed Lieutenant Valcour a sheet of notepaper that reeked of some high-powered scent.
Make yourself at home, Ma [read the note]. Herb Endicott was to meet me here at seven. He didn’t come although he was to take me to the Colonial for dinner. I am going to the Colonial now and see if he is there. Maybe I did not understand him right, Ma. I will be home soon anyways.