I'd
have a chance to throw out a hint.

Then, here Tuesday afternoon I gets this trouble call from Vee. She's
out at the corner drug store on the 'phone.

"It's about Auntie," says she. "She is acting so queerly."

"Any more so than usual?" I asks.

"She is going somewhere, and she hasn't told me a word about it," says
Vee. "I found her traveling-bag, all packed, hidden under the
hall-seat."

"The old cut-up!" says I. "What about Creighton--he been around
lately?"

"Every afternoon and evening," says Vee. "He's to take her to a
concert somewhere this evening. I'm not asked."

"Shows his poor taste," says I. "He's due there about eight o'clock,
eh?"

"Seven-thirty," says Vee. "But I don't know what to think, Torchy--the
traveling-bag and--"

"Don't bother a bit, Vee," says I. "Leave it to me. If it's Clyde at
the bottom of this, I've as good as got him spiked to the track. Let
Auntie pack her trunk if she wants to, and don't say a word. Give the
giddy old thing a chance. It'll be all the merrier afterwards."

"But--but I don't understand."

"Me either," says I. "I'm a grand little guesser, though. And I'll be
outside, in ambush for Clyde, from seven o'clock on."

"Will you?" says Vee,' sighin' relieved. "But do be careful, Torchy.
Don't--don't be reckless."

"Pooh!" says I. "That's my middle name. If I get slapped on the wrist
and perish from it, you'll know it was all for you."

Course, it would have been more heroic if Clyde hadn't been such a
ladylike gent. As it is, he's about as terrifyin' as a white poodle.
So I'm still breathin' calm and reg'lar when I sees him rollin' up in a
cab about seven-twenty-five. I'm at the curb before he can open the
taxi door.

"Sorry," says I, "but I'm afraid it's all off."

"Eh?" says he, gawpin' at me.

"And you with your suit-case all packed too," says I. "How provokin'!
But they're apt to change their minds, you know."

"Do you mean," says he, "that--er--ah--"

"Something like that," I breaks in. "Anyway, you can judge. For, the
fact is, some busybody has been gossipin' about your little trick of
bawlin' out Alicia over the coffee and rolls and draggin' her round by
the hair."

"Wha-a-at?" he gasps.

"You didn't mention the divorce, did you?" I goes on. "Nor go into
details about your antique business? That Marie Antoinette
dressin'-table game of yours, for instance. You know there is such a
thing as floodin' the market with g