“I guess not, ma’am.”
“At present I’m inclined to keep my knowledge to myself, for the sake of my young friend, Mrs. Fletcher. Of course, I may change my mind.”
Daisy did not rate Gilligan high on the evolutionary ladder, but a hint so broad was not beyond his comprehension.
“There’s sure no need to change your mind, Miss Genevieve, no reason at all. I just wanna go over what Mrs. Fletcher saw again, case maybe she’s remembered sumpin else, and then we’ll go downtown so she can check out the mug book.”
“Oh no!” said Miss Genevieve sharply. “Police headquarters is no place for a gently bred young lady.”
“Sure ain’t!” Larssen agreed.
The sergeant glared at him. “O.K., Larssen, you can go get the book, pronto. And make it snappy.”
As the blond giant hurried off, looking martyred, Gilligan glanced around the lobby. It wasn’t exactly busy, but a few people were coming and going, and Kevin was leaning against the wall at the corner near his elevator, keeping a watchful eye on proceedings.
“This is too public,” Gilligan grunted. “We’ll go up to your room, Mrs. Fletcher.”
“Oh no!” Miss Genevieve objected again. A glint in her eye, she went on with a primness quite foreign to her, “Most improper, Sergeant. Mrs. Fletcher may be a married woman, but she is young and pretty.”
“Spare my blushes!” Daisy uttered, trying not to laugh.
She wasn’t at all surprised when Miss Genevieve next suggested, in a tone as martyred as Larssen’s face had been, “You’d better all come up to our suite, I guess, so that Ernestine and I can play chaperon.”
“Geez, save me from nosy old maids!” Gilligan muttered,obviously no more deceived than Daisy. Thoroughly disgruntled, he gave in. “O.K., your place, then, if that’s the way you wannit. Course, I’ll hafta bring my other witness along. Hey, you, Lambert! I wanna word with you.”
“Oh dear,” said Miss Cabot, at last breaking her appalled silence.
Miss Genevieve was momentarily disconcerted. However, by the time Gilligan gave her a sly glance to see how she reacted to his adding Lambert to her invitation to her suite, she looked intrigued.
Disappointed, he turned back to Lambert, who stammered, “Who, me?”—apparently his standard response when addressed unexpectedly.
“You gotta twin brother?” Gilligan asked nastily.
As Lambert jumped up and came over, Miss Genevieve said to Daisy, “That young nonentity was a witness, too? What a coincidence! I suppose he was also visiting an editor, though he failed to mention to me any ambition in the writing line.” She bent a severe frown upon him.
“Excuse me, ma’am,” he apologized. “I don’t want to intrude …”
“Come on, come on,” Gilligan interrupted. “Let’s get this show on the road.”
At Miss Genevieve’s halting pace, which slowed deliberately when Gilligan started to chivvy, they went across to the elevators. Kevin jumped to attention.
“Going up?” he asked eagerly, no doubt hoping to glean a few grains of information.
O’Rourke opened his mouth for the first time. “This here’s the young shaver that his sister was chambermaid to Carmody, Sergeant.”
“That right? Gave you some trouble, din’t he?”
“He didn’t have to put the screws on, Sarge! Bridey tole him everything right off.”
“Doncha get fresh withme,” Gilligan snarled, reaching out to cuff the boy.
Daisy put her hand on his arm. “I’m sure he’s only telling the truth, Sergeant. Bridget was eager to put her knowledge at the service of the police.”
“Oh yeah?” He stared at her. “Whaddayouknow about it?”
“She’s my chambermaid, too.”
“That don’t mean …”
