They're detectives."
"Oh," said the man, with interest in his wavering eye. "That so." He
regarded the two young men uncertainly for a moment; and then asked:
"Did Mrs. Marx tell you anything?"
"She didn't seem to know much," answered the investigator.
The unwieldy man swayed to and fro, an expression of cunning gathering
in his face. The machinist winked and whispered to Pendleton:
"I don't know his name, but he's one of the lodgers."
"Marx," declared the unwieldy man, "is a fine lady. But," with an
elaborate wink, "she knows more'n she tells sometimes." The wavering
eye tried to fix the investigator, but failed signally. "It don't do,"
he added wisely, "to tell everything you know."
Ashton-Kirk agreed to this.
"Marx could tell you something, maybe," said the man. "And then maybe
she couldn't. But, I know _I_ could give you a few hints if I had the
mind--and maybe they'd be valuable hints, too." Here he drew himself
up with much dignity and attempted to throw out his chest. "I'm a
gentleman," he declared. "My name's Hertz. And being a gentleman, I
always try and conduct myself like one. But that's more'n some other
people in Marx's household does."
"Yes?"
"Yes, sir. When a gentleman tries to be friendly, I meets him
half-way.
Pages:
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181