Page:The Whisper on the Stair by Lyon Mearson (1924).djvu/149

 staying out until morning—in which event Eddie imagined that perhaps he could be of service to his employer.

Eddie was helped in these suppositions by the fact that Valentine Morley led a regular, decent life. He was not a midnight rounder, despite his wealth and the temptations to so become; he loved his home and his own fireside and his books—and if he was to stay out later than in any way usual, he would be sure to inform Eddie of that fact. It was now nearly morning, and he was not home. That meant that Eddie had better begin to look him up.

Eddie went around the comer to the house garage and got out the low, speedy roadster.

“Goin’ outta see how the night’s holdin’ up, me bucko?” inquired the night watchman at the garage.

“Naw,” said Eddie. “I’m going out to the park to do Greek dances in the dewy grass, get me? Barefoot stuff, an’ flowin’ robes, far from the maddin’ throng. Us esthetic guys get that way sometimes, see!”

With a look of disgust the watchman settled back in his seat. “Which the same ain’t sayin’ that you nor that fool millionaire boss a’ yourn ain’t capable av doin’ such,” he offered.

“Cheerio!” remarked Eddie with a wave of his hand. He had learned the word in France, having heard British officers use it occasionally, and he lost no opportunity of getting it off.

“Now, don’t git them little feetsies av yourn damp, love,” called out the watchman after Eddie as the car slid out of the garage. The roadster swept around the corner with a roar and was lost in the darkness in a moment.

If a message from Miss Pomeroy had called his em-