s a case. She has
us all thinkin' on our nights off. Clever an' edjicated, an' jabbers in
half a dozen tongues. It's a thousan' to the man who jugs her. But she
don't sing; at least, they ain't any report to that effect. Perhaps your
leddy was jes' larkin' a bit. But it's got to be stopped."

Hillard passed over the cigar, and the policeman bit off the end,
nodding with approval at such foresight. The young man then proffered
the coal of his pipe and the policeman took his light therefrom,
realizing that after such a peace-offering there was nothing for him to
do but move on. Yet on dismal lonesome nights, like this one, it is a
godsend and a comfort to hear one's own voice against the darkness. So
he lingered.

"Didn't get a peep at her face?"

"Not a single feature. The light was behind her." Hillard tapped one toe
and then the other.

"An' how was she dressed?"

"In fog, for all I could see."

"On the level now, didn't you know who she was?" The policeman gave
Hillard a sly dig in the ribs with his club.

"On my word!"

"Some swell, mebbe."

"Undoubtedly a lady. That's why it looks odd, why it brought me into the
street. She sang in classic Italian. And what's more, for the privilege
of hearing that voice again, I should not mind sitting on this cold curb
till the milkman comes around in the morning."

"That wouldn't be fer long," laughed the policeman, taking out his watch
and holding it close to the end of his cigar. "Twenty minutes after one.
Well, I must be gittin' back to me beat. An' you'd better be goin' in;
it's cold. Good night."

"Good night," Hillard responded cheerfully.

"Say, what's I-taly-an fer good night?" still reluctant to go on.

"_Buona notte._"

"Bony notty; huh, sounds like Chinese fer rheumatism. Been to Italy?"

"I was born there," patiently.

"No! Why, you're no Dago!"

"Not so much as an eyelash. The stork happened to drop the basket there,
that's all."

"Ha! I see. Well, Ameriky is good enough fer me an' mine," complacently.

"I dare say!"

"An' if this stogy continues t' behave, we'll say no more about the
vanishin' leddy." And with this the policeman strolled off into the fog,
his suspicions in nowise removed. He knew many rich young bachelors like
Hillard. If it wasn't a chorus lady, it was a prima donna, which was not
far in these degenerate days from being the same thing.

Hillard regained his room and leaned with his back to the radiator. He
had an idea.