"Why? She's probably working the telephone now."
"I know," said Barbara, "but if you pretend to go, and then come back,
this would be the last home in the world that Blizzard would suspect
you of hiding in. Marion will tell him her story. And he certainly won't
look for you here."
Lichtenstein's face was wreathed in smiles, "So be it," he said, "and I
shall sit at your feet to learn."
"Can you drive a car?" asked Barbara.
"What kind of a car?"
"A Stoughton? But if you can drive any kind you can drive a Stoughton.
We'll lend you a car and you shall take a long run and come back when
it's dark. If you start at once, Marion will know of it. Meanwhile I'll
tell my father all about everything. But first of all I'm dying with
curiosity to know what you wrote on that card. That's all I can say. Of
course if I'm not to be told--"
Had she asked for his dearest secret Lichtenstein could not have refused
it, and he told her what he had written on the card.
"But why," said Barbara, "if you have a criminal, so to speak, where you
want him--why let him be free to make more mischief? I ask merely for
information."
"If he were punished for an ordinary crime," said Lichtenstein, "justice
would be cheated. But if we can really get him where we want him, why,
not only crime will be tried and found guilty, but the whole fabric of
the police--yes, and the administration of the law. Therefore," and his
voice was cold as marble, "it would be inadvisable to run him in for
such picayune crimes as twisting lead pipe round young women and
throwing them overboard, or otherwise delicately quieting tongues that
might be made to wag against him. And now if you are going to lend me
a car--"