Edmonds had a fund of it.
"But it won't smoke him out," he said. "That skunk lives in a deep
hole."
"If I can't smoke him out, I'll blast him out," declared Banneker, and
set himself to the composition of an editorial which consumed the
remainder of the working day.
With a typed copy in his pocket, he called, a little before noon, at the
office of The Searchlight and sent in his card to Major Bussey. The
Major was not in. When was he expected? As for that, there was no
telling; he was quite irregular. Very well, Mr. Banneker would wait. Oh,
that was quite useless; was it about something in the magazine; wouldn't
one of the other editors do? Without awaiting an answer, the anemic and
shrewd-faced office girl who put the questions disappeared, and
presently returned, followed by a tailor-made woman of thirty-odd, with
a delicate, secret-keeping mouth and heavy-lidded, deep-hued eyes,
altogether a seductive figure. She smiled confidently up at Banneker.
"I've always wanted so much to meet you," she disclosed, giving him a
quick, gentle hand pressure. "So has Major Bussey. Too bad he's out of
town. Did you want to see him personally?"
"Quite personally." Banneker returned her smile with one even more
friendly and confiding.
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