She talked interminably.  Carroll ceased to hear the plangent voice.  He was thinking of what she had just told him—­thinking earnestly.  He knew he was desperately anxious to have a talk with the Lawrences, to talk things over in a casual manner.  And tonight was his opportunity.  He knew he’d never have another like it.  He didn’t want to be forced to seek them out in his capacity of detective.

From somewhere in the rear of the house he heard the clamor of a doorbell, then the sound of footsteps in the hall, the opening and closing of the front door—­and then Naomi Lawrence appeared in the music room.  Carroll could have sworn that her eyes were twinkling with amusement as she addressed Evelyn—­pointedly ignoring him.

“Evelyn—­that Somerville boy is here.”

“Oh! bother!  What’s he doin’ here?”

“He says he came to call.  He’s got a box of candy.”

“Piffle!  What do I care about candy?  He’s just a kid!”

Naomi went to the hall door.  “Right this way, Charley.”  And as the slender, overdressed young gentleman of nineteen entered the room, Carroll again glimpsed the light of amusement in Naomi’s eyes.

Mr. Charley Somerville expressed himself as being “Pleaset’meetcha” and tried to conceal his vast admiration when Evelyn informed him that this was the David Carroll.  Charley was impressed but he was not particular about showing it—­Charley fancying himself considerable of a cosmopolite, thanks to a year at Yale.  His dignity was excruciatingly funny to Carroll as the very young man seated himself, crossed one elongated and unbelievably skinny leg over the other and arranged the creases so that they were in the very middle.

“A-a-ah!  Taking a vacation from your work on the Warren murder case, I presume?”

Carroll nodded.  “Yes—­for awhile.”

“Detective work must be a terrible bore—­mustn’t it?”

“Sometimes,” answered Carroll significantly.

“Charley Somerville!” Evelyn flamed to the defense of her friend’s profession.  “At least Mr. Carroll ain’t—­isn’t—­a college freshman.”

“I’m a sophomore,” asserted Charley languidly.  “Passed all of my exams.”

“Anyway,” snapped Evelyn, “he ain’t any kid!”

For a time the atmosphere was strained.  Then Carroll recalled a particularly good college joke he knew and he told it well.  After which Evelyn explained to Charley that Mr. Carroll was the wonderfulest piano player in the world and David Carroll, detective, strummed out several popular airs while the youngsters danced.

Horrible as the situation was, it appealed irresistibly to his sense of humor.  He found himself almost enjoying it.  And he worked carefully.  Eventually his patience was rewarded.  He succeeded in getting them together on a lounge with a photograph album between them.  And then, very quietly and positively, and with a brief—­“Excuse me for a moment,” he walked through the hall and into the living room.