Canby?" he asked. "You, Tinker?"
Both declined in silence; they seemed preoccupied.
"Where did I what, Mr. Potter?" asked the stage-manager,
reminding him of the question left unfinished.
"What?"
"You said: 'By the way, where did you find--'"
"Oh, yes." Potter smiled negligently. "Where did you find that
little Miss Malone? At the agents'?"
Packer echoed him: "Where did I find her?" He scratched his
head. "Miss"--he said ruminatively, repeating the word slowly,
like a man trying to work out the solution of a puzzle--"Miss--"
"Miss Malone. I suppose you got her at an agent's?"
"Let's see," said Packer. "At an agent's? No. No, it wasn't.
Come to think of it, it wasn't."
"Then where did you get her?" Tinker inquired.
"That's what I just asked him," Potter said, placing his glass
upon a table without having tasted the liqueur. "What's the
matter, Packer? Gone to sleep?"
"I remember now," said Packer, laughing deferentially. "Of course!
No. It wasn't through any of the agents. Now I remember--come to
think of it--I sort of ran across her myself, as a matter of fact.
Pages:
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78