"
"I get you," says I. "I'll 'phone for her to come around."
"No!" he roars. "You'll do nothing of the sort. What the rhythmic
rhomboids put that into your head? I don't want to see the woman.
I'll not see her, not on any pretext. Understand?"
"I think so," says I.
"Then get your hat," says he.
"Yes, sir," says I, edging out.
"Just a moment," says Old Hickory. "You are to explain to Mrs.
Bagstock fully: assure her that in the long run she will not be the
loser, and so on. As courteously as you know how. And--er--if in the
course of the interview you should happen to learn her given
name--er--just remember it."
"Such as Ella May or Josephine?"
"No!" he snaps. "Natalie. Now clear out."
Ain't he the foxy old pirate, though? Sendin' me off on a sleuthin'
expedition without givin' up a hint as to what it's all about! Was it
some back-number romance that this lilac-dipped note had reminded him
of? More likely there'd been some Bagstock or other who'd
double-crossed him in a deal and he'd never found a chance to get
square. Anyway, he's after a confidential report, so off I pikes.
My troubles began right at the start. I had to hunt the address up on
a city map, and when I'd located it on the lower West Side, down in the
warehouse district, I'm sure of one thing--this Mrs.
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