“How kind you are!” the girl held out her hand with a pretty impulsive gesture. “That’s just what I want; to think it over a little and decide whether I want to tell Mr Lane,—or whether I’d rather confide in a—a friend.”
“Of course you do,” was the hearty response. “And Lane, who has wide knowledge, is also a good friend. Consider carefully, and decide slowly. But depend on me to the last ditch, if I can be of help.”
He had decided on straightforward measures, and, gaining an accurate description of the fur piece, had gone directly to the home of Ivy Hayes, whose picture, he knew, graced the Gleason apartment.
He found the young lady and obtained an interview without difficulty.
“Well?” she said, as she appeared before him.
He saw a slim young thing, who might have been any one of thousands of young girls one meets everywhere, in the street or on the streetcars.
Muffs of dark hair over her ears; hand-painted cheeks and lips; saucy, powdered nose, and a slender shape encased in a one-piece frock, both scant and short.
“Miss Hayes?” said Barry, bowing politely.
“Oh, are you? Hello, Phil, what’s the big idea.”
“Only to learn if you lost your fur collar?”
“Neither,” Barry couldn’t help smiling at the impertinent face; “your gray squirrel.”
“Then you get your fur back, but you’ll be asked a few questions.”
“Lordy!” Ivy dropped into a chair and pretended to faint. “Now how does that come about?” she asked, cocking one eye up at her caller.
“Come on—let’s put all the cards on the table. You don’t think I had anything to do with the—the fatal deed, do you?”
“Don’t be silly. I told you to be frank. Old Gleason’s murder, to be sure.”
“Why not? It’d be found out anyway, and, as I didn’t have anything to do with the shooting, I don’t see why I don’t get my fur back. It’s an awful nice little collar.”
“You’ll get it back, Miss Hayes; and now, instead of waiting for a police detective to interview you, suppose you tell me all you know about the matter.”
“I don’t know much, but what I have is yours. I went round there, that afternoon, on—an errand.”
“What was the errand? You may as well tell as to have me drag it out of you.”
“That’s so. Well, our old gentleman friend said he’d give a party for me and a few friends. Oh, a nice, proper supper party—after the theater some night. I’m in the chorus now. Used to be in the movies. Anyway, he promised and promised, and never set the time. So I telephoned and telephoned and I couldn’t get him to make a date, so I just went round there to try and persuade him.”