“Of course not.  Why should I be interested in tripping you up?”

“You was sayin’—­”

“Don’t be foolish, Barker!  It wouldn’t do me a bit of good to—­er—­trip you up.  All I want is whatever knowledge you have which may prove of interest in solving this case.”

The man’s eyes narrowed craftily.

“You ain’t got no suspicions yourself, have you?”

“Suspicions of what?”

“Who that dame in the taxicab was.”

Carroll laughed infectiously.

“Goodness, no!  If I had, I wouldn’t be seated here chatting with you.”

Again the expression of relief flashed across Barker’s face—­a bit of play lost by neither detective.  Carroll was toying idly with a gold pencil on the end of his waldemar.  His outward calmness exasperated Leverage.  From this point of the interview, the chief of police would have dropped the attitude of trustful friendliness and resorted to a little practical third-degree stuff.  He was fairly quivering with eagerness to bluster about the room and extract information by main force.

And a hint of Leverage’s mental seethe must have been communicated to Carroll, for the younger man turned the battery of his sunny gaze upon the chief of police and nodded reassuringly.  The effect was instantaneous.  Leverage’s temporary resentment departed much as the gas escapes from a pin-punctured balloon.  He gave ear to Barker’s speech.

“N’r you ain’t the only one who don’t know who that woman was. I don’t!”

“You knew he was planning to elope, though?”

The man shook his head doggedly.

“I knew he was leavin’ the city for good, if that’s what you mean.”

“No-o, not exactly.  I knew that much myself.  What interests me is this—­was he planning to leave with some woman?”

Barker hesitated before replying, and when he did answer it was patent that his words were chosen carefully.

“I don’t hardly reckon he was, Mr. Carroll.  Mind you, I’m not sayin’ he wasn’t; but then again I ain’t sayin’ he was.  I can’t do nothin’ only guess—­same as you can.”

“I see!” Carroll was apparently unconscious of Barker’s flagrant evasion.  “What I don’t understand is this—­when Mr. Warren was publicly engaged to Miss Gresham, why did he try to elope with her?”

“Elope with Miss Gresham?” Barker paused; then a slow, calculating smile creased his lips.  “Miss Gresham—­her he was engaged to!  Dog-gone if I don’t believe you’ve hit the nail on the head, Mr. Carroll!”

“What nail?”

“About her bein’ the woman in the taxi.  You know some fellers is like that—­they’d a heap rather elope with a woman they’re crazy about than stand up in a church and get married.  They’re sort of romantic.”  Barker was waxing loquacious.  “You know, you must be right.  Fact, if you put it right up to me, I’d say there wasn’t no doubt that Miss Gresham was the woman in the taxicab.”