"It ought to," she proclaimed stoutly. "When a gang of white slavers
kidnap a girl like that and--"
"I'm not saying it was that," he protested, uncomfortably.
"Well, I guess I'll talk to her about that part of the story," said
Miss Thackeray sagely. "And as you say, mum's the word. We don't want
them to get onto the fact that she's here. That's the idea, isn't it?"
"Absolutely."
"Then," she said, wrinkling her brow, "I wouldn't repeat this story to
Mr. Lyndon Rushcroft, father of yours truly. He would blab it all over
the county. The greatest press stuff in the world. Listen to it:
'Lyndon Rushcroft, the celebrated actor, takes part in the rescue of a
beautiful heiress who falls into the hands of So and So, the king of
kidnappers.' That's only a starter. So we'd better let him think she
just happened in. You fix it with old Jones, and I'll see that Dilly
keeps his mouth shut. I fear I shall have to tell Mr. Bacon." She
blushed. "I have always sworn I'd never marry any one in the
profession, but--Mr. Bacon is not like other actors, Mr. Barnes. You
will say so yourself when you know him better. He is more like a--a--
well, you might say a poet. His soul is--but, you'll think I'm nutty
if I go on about him.
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