CHAPTER XVIII
AN AMATEUR DETECTIVE
Wrayson easily discovered the object of his search. She was seated upon a lounge in the promenade, her ample charms lavishly displayed, and her blackened eyes mutely questioning the passers-by. She welcomed Wrayson with a smile which she meant to be inviting, albeit she was a little suspicious. Men of Wrayson's stamp and appearance were not often such easy victims.
"Saw you at Luigi's, didn't I?" he asked, hat in hand.
She nodded, and made room for him to sit down by her side.
"Did you see the old stick I was with?" she asked. "I don't know why I was fool enough to go out with him. Trying to pump me about poor old Barney, too, all the time. Just as though I couldn't see through him."
"Old Barney!" Wrayson repeated, a little perplexed.
She laughed coarsely.
"Oh! come, that won't do!" she declared. "I'm almost sure you're on the same lay yourself. Didn't I see you at the inquest?—Morris Barnes' inquest, of course? You know whom I mean right enough."
"I know whom you mean now," Wrayson admitted. "Yes! I was there. Queer affair, wasn't it?"
The lady nodded.
