“You wish to see me?”

“Yes, sir, I do.  Is this Mr. Carroll—­the famous detective?”

“I am David Carroll—­yes.”

She inspected him with frank approval.

“Why, you don’t look any more than a boy!  I thought you were old and had whiskers—­and—­and—­everything horrid.”

“I’m glad you’re pleasantly surprised.  What can I do for you?”

“Oh, it isn’t what you can do for me—­it’s what I can do for you!”

“And that is?”

“I came to tell you all about this terrible Warren murder case.”

“You came to tell me about it?”

“Why, yes,” she retorted smilingly.  “You see, I know just heaps about the whole thing!”

CHAPTER V

MISS EVELYN ROGERS

Carroll was more than amused; he was keenly interested.  He motioned his visitor to a chair and seated himself opposite, regarding her quizzically.

She was not exactly the type of person he had anticipated encountering in a murder investigation.  From the tip of her pert little hat to the toes of her ultra-fashionable shoes she was expressive of the independent rising generation—­a generation wiser in the ways of the world than that from which it was sprung—­a generation strangely bereft of genuine youth, yet charming in an entirely modern and unique manner.

She was obviously a young person of italics, a human exclamation-point, enthusiastic, irrepressible.  She sat fidgeting in her chair, trying her best to convince the detective that she was a woman grown.

“I’m Evelyn Rogers,” she gushed.  “I’m the sister of Naomi Lawrence—­you know her, of course.  She’s one of the city’s social leaders.  Of course, she’s kind of frumpy and terribly old.  She must be—­why, I suppose she’s every bit of thirty!  And that’s simply awful!"

“I’m thirty-eight,” smiled Carroll.

“No?”

“Yes, indeed.”

“Well, you don’t look it.  You don’t look a day over twenty-two, and I think men who are really grown up and yet look like boys are simply adorable! I do, really.  And I simply despise boys of twenty-two who try to look like thirty-eight.  Don’t you?”

“M-m!  Not always.”

“Well, I do!  They’re always putting on airs and trying to make us girls think they’re full-grown.  I just simply haven’t time to waste with them.  I feel so old!"

“I haven’t a doubt of it, Miss Rogers.  And now—­I believe you came to tell me something about the Warren case?”

“Oh, yes, indeed—­just lots! But do you know”—­she stared at him with frank approval—­“I’m terribly tickled with the way you look.  You may not believe it, but I’ve always been atrociously in love with you.”

“No?”

“Yes, indeed!  You’re such a wonderful man—­having your name in the papers all the time.  Oh, I’ve read about everything you’ve done!  That’s how I learned so much about detectiving—­or isn’t that what you call it?”