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"Right-o, Miss Judith," laughed Patricia, flinging an arm about the young sage. "My word, but you're a crafty young one! I'd have raved about it till even Michael Angelo or Raphael couldn't have satisfied the expectations of the beholder. How do you come by so much wisdom, Miss Minerva?" Elinor showed a neat parcel tucked under her muff-arm. "Chicken and lettuce," she said delectably. "White grapes for dessert. Have you seen Margaret Howes and Griffin?" "Mother, what is it? What does Dido sing?".
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"No, no, I didn't mean that," returned Bruce hastily. "I was thinking of something else." To learn the truth, he thought it advisable to call at "The Wigwam" and interrogate Dido. With the evidence of Jaggard to go on, the major felt satisfied that he could by threatening her with arrest, force her into confessing the whole nefarious plot. Who had thieved the devil-stick? Who had slain Maurice? Who had stolen the body? Undoubtedly, Etwald was the villain who was guilty of all three crimes, and the evidence of Dido would be sufficient to convict him of the deeds. On the large revolving model stand in the center sat a dark, slender Russian-looking young man, indifferent to the group that with their tall-wheeled stands were circled about him. He sat with his narrow blue eyes sleepily fixed on the wall, regardless alike of the sturdy smocked men and slender boys in full blue-paint jackets, as of the equally silent and clayey girls and women that scrutinized him with earnestly squinting eyelids. The only creature in the room that seemed to evoke the slightest responsive flicker of intelligence was the black-robed, gray-aproned, redundant figure of the monitor. "Well, have it your own way," said Etwald, carelessly. "I am a scoundrel in your eyes, I dare say; but if you will permit me to see you to-morrow at eleven o'clock I shall be able to prove that this particular devil--meaning myself, major--is not quite so black as you have painted him.".
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