"And I'm sure there are many thousands of others who love it, too," returned Vance, in his best drawing-room manner. "But unfortunately I have no bazaar to be graced by your charming presence. I have come on a much more serious matter. . . . You were a very close friend of Miss Margaret Odell's"
The mention of the Canary's name brought Miss La Fosse suddenly to her feet. Her ingratiating air of affected elegance had quickly disappeared. Her eyes flashed, and their lids drooped harshly. A sneer distorted the lines of her cupid's-bow mouth, and she tossed her head angrily.
"Say, listen! Who do you think you are? I don't know nothing, and I got nothing to say. So run along—you and your lawyer."
But Vance made no move to obey. He took out his cigarette-case and carefully selected a Régie.
"Do you mind if I smoke?—And won't you have one? I import them direct from my agent in Constantinople. They're exquisitely blended."
The girl snorted, and gave him a look of cold disdain. The doll-baby had become a virago.
"Get yourself outa my apartment, or I'll call the house detective." She turned to the telephone on the wall at her side.
Vance waited until she had lifted the receiver.
"If you do that, Miss La Fosse, I'll order you taken to the District Attorney's office for questioning," he told her indifferently, lighting his cigarette and leaning back in his chair.
Slowly she replaced the receiver and turned.
"What's your game, anyway? . . . Suppose I
