"And I'll try to arrange it so
that we can get out of the building without having to force a way through
the crowd."
She thanked him with a glance.
"There's th' freight elevator," suggested Hickey helpfully.
"Thank you.... Is there anything I can do for you, anything you wish?"
continued Maitland to the girl, standing between her and the detective.
She lifted her face to his and shook her head, very gently. "No," she
breathed through trembling lips.
"You--you've been--" But there was a sob in her throat, and she hung her
head again.
"Not a word," ordered Maitland. "Sit here for a few minutes, if you can,
drink the water and--ah--fix up your hat, you know," (damn Hickey! Why the
devil did the fellow insist on hanging round so!) "and I will go and make
arrangements."
"Th-thank you," whispered the small voice shakily.
Maitland hesitated a moment, then turned upon Hickey in sudden
exasperation. His manner was enough; even the obtuse detective could not
ignore it. Maitland had no need to speak.
"I'm sorry, sir," he said, standing his ground manfully but with a trace
more of respect in his manner than had theretofore characterized it, "but
there's uh gentleman--uh--your fren' Bannerman's outside 'nd wants tuh
speak tuh yeh."
"Tell him to--"
"Excuse _me_. He says he's gottuh see yeh. If yeh don't come out,
he'll come after yeh. I thought yeh'd ruther--"
"That's kindly thought of," Maitland relented. "I'll be there in a
minute," he added meaningly.
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