“And it is now,” said Madame Velasquez, “after 1 a.m. ”
“She knew you were going to pay her this visit, Madame Velasquez?”
“I telegraphed her this afternoon. I’m here for a week. Where is she?”
“I don’t know where she is, Madame Velasquez.”
“ Mr. Endicott, one more lie like that and I’ll call the police.”
“That’s all right, Madame Velasquez. You see, I am the police.”
The bugles, the jewels, the curls became still with shocking abruptness, as a brake that without warning binds tightly.
“You belong to the police?”
“Yes, Madame Velasquez—Lieutenant Valcour.”
He showed his badge.
“Then you ain’t Mr. Endicott?”
“No, Madame Velasquez.”
“Then he—she—they’ve