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With him were Clancey Dempster, small and mild of manner, blue-eyed, the last man in the room one would have picked for great stamina and courage, yet playing one of the leading roles in this crisis; the merchant Truett, towering above all the rest; Farwell, direct, uncompromising, inspired with tremendous single-minded earnestness; James Dows, of the rough and ready, humorous, blasphemous, horse-sense type; Hossefross, of the Committee of '51; Dr.
"There is something I wanted to tell you, Froelich." Bobby waited impatiently. "That lady you were talking about, Madame de Corantin. I think I remember something." Bobby was nervously anxious to get away. What Clancey had to tell him mattered little now. "Oh, thanks very much, Clancey. The fact is, I've seen her." Clancey's nonchalant manner changed instantaneously. "Really!" he exclaimed.
"And the view of your department, Captain Clancey, is that it's useless for us to detain Mr. Froelich?" "Absolutely useless. I can swear to it. As I told you, I don't know him well, but I know all about him, and I am satisfied of his complete innocence, and that he is entirely unaware of Madame de Corantin's objects and activities." "Then what do you propose that we should do, Captain Clancey?"
What the next hours meant to Bobby can be imagined. They were passing somehow. The night, the morning, the afternoon wore away. He bought some magnificent roses and returned to his flat to dress, determined that he would take them himself to Claridge's, hoping that by some chance he might catch a glimpse of her. He was just starting out when, to his surprise, Clancey was announced.
The Assistant Commissioner, one of those public servants whose quiet, unobtrusive manner covers a strong character and a great efficiency, was sitting at his table talking to Harold Clancey. They were in earnest consultation. "Then I understand, Captain Clancey," said the Assistant Commissioner, "that this lady has got clear off?" Clancey smiled serenely. "Oh, rather!
Clancey whistled. "That looks rather awkward for Master Alistair." There was a knock on the door. It was Inspector Groombridge. "Excuse me, sir, my man has just brought this. It was delivered by a stranger to the hall-porter of the building where Mr. Froelich occupies a flat." He handed a letter to the Assistant Commissioner, who read it slowly and without comment passed it to Clancey.
Came the long day, when, routed from bed at three in the morning to dig a surface car out of the wrecked show windows of a drug store and get it back on the track, they had laboured all day clearing up a half-dozen smash-ups and arrived at the car house at nine at night just as another call came in. "Glory be!" said Clancey, who lived in the next block from him.
"Yes, I hoped it might. That's why I fired it," snapped Ranson. "I want two whiskey-and-sodas. Quick now!" "Two " gasped Clancey. "Whiskey-and-sodas. See how fast one of you can chase over to the club and get 'em. And next time I want a drink don't make me wake the entire garrison." As the soldiers retreated Ranson discovered Miss Cahill's white face beyond them.
Bobby had met Clancey at all sorts of places, but they had never been on intimate terms; in fact, the two men had little more than a nodding acquaintance. Bobby had run into him the last time at Homburg, and Clancey had given him to understand that he had some sort of vague diplomatic appointment.
He was wondering whether perhaps luck had come his way, and whether Clancey would reveal to him some means of finding Madame de Corantin. If he did, damn the commission! That evening, as on all others, Bobby was bored to death; the habits of twenty years were not to be thrown off in a day.
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