As he spoke, he was pushed aside and she, her father and Otto sat
staring at the two callers. They were obviously detectives--"plain
clothes men" from the Fifth-Street Station House. There could be no
chance of mistake about those police mustaches and jaws, those wide,
square-toed, police shoes.
"My name is Casey and this is my side-partner, Mr. O'Rourke," said the
shorter and fatter of the two as they seated themselves without waiting
to be asked. Casey took off his hat; O'Rourke's hand hesitated at the
brim, then drew his hat more firmly down upon his forehead. "Sorry to
break in on your little party," Casey went on, "but the Cap'n sent us
to ask the young lady a few questions."
Hilda grew pale and her father and Otto looked frightened.
"Do you know an actor named Feuerstein?" asked Casey.
Hilda trembled. She could not speak. She nodded assent.
"Did you see him to-day?"
"Yes," almost whispered Hilda.
Casey looked triumphantly at O'Rourke. Otto half rose, then sank back
again. "Where did you see him?" asked Casey.
"Here."
"Where else?"
Hilda nervously laced and unlaced her fingers. "Only here," she
answered after a pause.
"Ah, yes you did. Come now, lady. Speak the truth. You saw him at
Meinert's."
Hilda started violently. The detectives exchanged significant glances.
"No," she protested. "I saw him only here."
"Were you out of the store this afternoon?"