guess he doesn't bother much about clients. The J. Sheringham Adair Private Investigation Agency's just a front.'
Dolly laughed bitterly.
'J. Sheringham Adair! What a name to call himself.'
'Had to call himself something.'
'Well, why not Heels Incorporated or Doublecrossers Limited or sump'n'? I tell you. Soapy, whenever I think of that undersized boll weevil, I go hot all over, clear down to the soles of my shoes.'
'Oh, Chimp's not so bad.'
'Not so bad as what?'
Mr. Molloy, though trying to be tolerant, found this question difficult to answer. He changed the subject. 'Swell place, this.'
'Yeah.'
'Makes one sort of sad, though.'
'Why's that?'
'Well, seeing all these rich guys that Nature intended I should sell 'em oil stock, and I can't because I don't know them. Sitting waiting for you and watching them come in through the swing doors, I felt like a big game hunter with a stream of giraffes, gnus and hippopotamuses passing by him and he can't do nothing because he came out without his gun.'
'I know what you mean. It's tough.'
'But no use worrying about it, I guess. Let's go eat.'
'You can't make it too soon for me. But somewheres else, not here.'
'Why, what's wrong with Barribault's? Best joint in London.'
'So I've heard. But I don't like the company. Prosser's in there.'
'I don't dig this Prosser stuff. What's he got on you?' 'Oh, this and that.'
Soapy forbore to press his questioning. A solution of the mystery had occurred to him. It was, he knew, his consort's practice, when not collecting knick-knacks at the department stores, to swoon in the arms of rich-looking strangers in the public streets and pick their pockets as they bent to offer her assistance, and no doubt Oofy Prosser had been one of the parties of the second part in some such business deal. This would, of course, account for a sensitive woman's reluctance to resume their acquaintance.
'Let's go to the Ivy,' he said. 'More onteem there, and I've lots to tell you, honey.'
6
IT was not till they were settled at a corner table that Soapy touched on any subject other than his loneliness in his mate's absence and the ecstasy he felt in having her with him once more. The glass partition that separated them from the driver of their taxi was closed, but one never knew that a rich, rolling voice like his might not penetrate glass, and what he had to relate was not for the ears of taxi drivers.
'And now,' he said, as the shrimps on his beloved one's plate vanished like nylon stockings from the counter of a department store, 'lemme tell you what I've been doing since you went away.'
'Not been idle?'
'Busy as a one-armed paper-hanger with the hives.'
'That's my boy. Shrimps,' said Dolly, finishing the last one and regarding her empty plate hungrily, 'are all right as a starter, but they don't have what you'd call authority.'
'Just scratch the surface?'
'That's right. What's coming?'
'Sole mornay, and some sort of chicken after that.'
'That's what I like to hear. You're doing me well, baby.'
'It's a celebration, and I can afford to. How would you feel about a month or so in the south of France?'
'As good as that, is it?'
'Just as good as that. I've cleaned up.'
'Tell me.'
Soapy Molloy's substantial form seemed to expand. He new he was going to be impressive.
'Well, to start with, I unloaded a thousand pounds worth of Silver River on young Widgeon at Peacehaven.'
'You didn't!'
'That's what I did.'
'I wouldn't have thought he had a thousand pounds.'
'He hasn't now.'
'Well, that's swell. I don't wonder you're feeling pleased with yourself. A thousand's nice sugar.'
'Ah, but wait. You ain't heard nothing yet. I then took another thousand off his uncle, guy of the name of Blicester.'
'You're kidding!'
'And,' said Soapy, delivering the punch line, 'two thousand off your friend Prosser.'
Dolly choked on her sole mornay, as any loving wife would have done in similar circumstances. Her look of admiration warmed his
Deandre Dean, Calvin King Rivers