Doris was eager to ask a question,
which Furneaux dared her to put. The detective won. She sighed.
"Very well," she said. "I'm to behave. Am I to regard myself as a
decoy duck?"
"A duck, anyhow."
She laughed lightly. Furneaux would vouchsafe no further information, it
would appear. For a girl of nineteen, Doris was uncommonly gifted with
clear, analytical reasoning powers.
The detective returned to the Hare and Hounds, and went upstairs. He met
Peters on the landing.
"The devil!" he cried.
"My _dear_ pal!" retorted the journalist.
"Are you living here?"
"Why not?"
"Why not, indeed? Where the eagles are there is the carcase."
"Your misquotation is offensive."
"It was so intended."
"Come and have a drink."
"No."
"I say 'yes.' You'll thank me on your bended knees afterwards. The South
American gent is having the time of his life. I've just been to my room
for _Whitaker's Almanack_, wherewith a certain Don Walter Hart purposes
flooring him."
Wally Hart had, indeed, succeeded in running to earth the Argentine
magnate, and was giving Winter a most uncomfortable quarter of an hour.
"Ha!" shouted Hart, when Furneaux came in with Peters.
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