The second part of Verna’s plan required Miss Jamison’s address. That’s why she was thrilled and delighted when Liz called the office on Monday morning and gave her not only an address but a telephone number and a name—two more items than she had expected. Of course, she reminded herself, as she went behind the partition and sat down at Mr. Scruggs’ desk and reached for the black candlestick telephone, this was only a fishing expedition and probably wouldn’t net much of a catch. Realistically speaking (and Verna was almost always realistic), the most she could hope for was a tiny tidbit of information that might tell her whether Miss Jamison was somehow connected to the Capone gang. She could just as easily come up empty-handed.

The circuits were busy and it took a little while for Verna to get through to UNderwood 3-4555. But when she did, she hit the jackpot, for Mrs. O’Malley proved to be an older woman with an Irish accent who had apparently been waiting on pins and needles for any word from Miss LaMotte and Miss Lake.

“Oh, dearie me, I’m so glad to know the ladies arrived safely!” she exclaimed excitedly. “I was beginnin’ to fret that something might’ve gone wrong somehow. O’ course, I know there’s no phone in her auntie’s house, but still—” She paused for breath. “Anyway, dear, it’s verra sweet of you to call for them! Was there somethin’ special they was wantin’?”

Verna, inventing on the spot, said that Miss LaMotte had asked her to telephone Mrs. O’Malley and ask if she had left her ivory-backed hairbrush and mirror set behind. Mrs. O’Malley didn’t hesitate to offer to run and look. She came back in a moment (and a bit short of breath) to say that she didn’t see it anywhere, but she would be sure to keep on looking and hoped that Miss LaMotte was getting settled and Miss Lake was feeling better.

“I’ve been worried to death about Miss Lake,” she added anxiously. “Those dreadful knife cuts on her face—so slow to heal. All the way to the verra bone, y’know.” She pulled in her breath. “Why, one of them awful slashes just missed her right eye!”

Knife cuts? Verna thought swiftly, cataloging the possibilities. “Miss Lake is better,” she said, cautiously feeling her way, “but of course she’s still suffering dreadfully. Takes her meals in her room and doesn’t come downstairs and of course you can’t blame her. Such a pretty woman, and in show business, too. I saw them once in New York, when they had their Naughty and Nice Sisters act.”