Page:The Whisper on the Stair by Lyon Mearson (1924).djvu/44

 “To be sure,” smiled the detective sergeant. “It’s the duty of all good citizens⸺”

“To come to the aid of the party, Mr. Connolly,” replied Val. “Well, what is it I can do?”

“Why, a description of the woman—her appearance, clothes, and all that.”

“Yes, of course,” came back Val. “She was, I think, about medium height—you understand, of course, I paid very little attention to her, so my description will, at best, be very vague.”

“Surely,” acquiesced Connolly. “But there will be some particular details you can remember, if you try really hard. The color of her clothes perhaps, her hair and eyes, what kind of clothes she wore.”

“Naturally,” said Val. “She wore—er—a—er—a dress, I think, of some sort of feminine material reaching to somewhere between her—er—ankles and her—er—ahem!—her⸺”

“Yes, I know,” interrupted the sergeant a bit impatiently, “they all wear ’em between the ankle and the ahem these days, most of them more so—but what kind of a dress was it, and what color?”

“Why, it was an—a—er—ordinary dress, don’t you know—not the kind of dress at all that one describes, sergeant—if you know what I mean? The color? Dashed if I can just remember—think it was a sort of purple, or was it blue?” He paused in the struggle to remember. “Come to think of it, it might—er—have been—er—reddish yellow, or maybe there was a touch of green—well, there was some color in it, sergeant. You can rely on that—but she’ll probably have changed her outfit, anyway, won’t she? Her hat—why, she sort of wore it on her head, if I remember correctly, a little to one side—er—or maybe