The detective obviously resented her interference with his methods but he could not well refuse such a customary request.
"I'll do it," he said with a snort, going over to the city telephone.
"What's his number ?" "He's not at his office; he's at the Johnsons'," murmured Dale.
Miss Cornelia took the telephone from Anderson's hands.
"I'll get the Johnsons', Mr.Anderson," she said firmly.

The detective seemed about to rebuke her.

Then his manner recovered some of its former suavity.

He relinquished the telephone and turned back toward his prey.
"Now, what was Fleming doing here ?" he asked Dale in a gentler voice.
Should she tell him the truth?
No--Jack Bailey's safety was too inextricably bound up with the whole sinister business.

She must lie, and lie again, while there was any chance of a lie's being believed.
"I don't know," she said weakly, trying to avoid the detective's eyes.
Anderson took thought.
"Well, I'll ask that question another way," he said.