and even from the other side of the wide pool the blue of her eyes carried clear and strong.
That's where she was at the moment, across the pool, sitting with Louis Rony, getting her breath after showing him a double knee lock that had finally put him flat, and he was no matchstick. It was a new technique for making a pass at a man, but it had obvious advantages, and anyway she had plenty of other ideas and wasn't being stingy with them. At lunch she had buttered rolls for him. Now I ask you.
I didn't get it. If Gwenn was stewing about it she was keeping it well hid, though I had noticed her casting a few quick glances. There was a chance that she was counter-attacking by pretending she would rather help me take pictures than eat, and that she loved to watch me dive, but who was I to suspect a fine freckled girl of pretending? Madeline had made a couple of cracks about Connie's routine, without any sign that she really cared a damn. As for Paul Emerson, the husband, the sour look on his undistinguished map when his glance took in his wife and her playmate didn't seem to mean much, since it stayed sour no matter where he was glancing.
Louis Rony was the puzzle, though. The assumption was that he was making an all-out play for Gwenn, either because he was in love with her or because he wanted something that went with her; and if so, why the monkeyshines with the mature and beautifully tanned blonde? Was he merely trying to give Gwenn a nudge? I had of course done a survey on him, including the contrast between his square-jawed rugged phiz and the indications that the race of fat and muscle would be a tie in another couple of years, but I wasn't ready for a final vote.
From my research on him, which hadn't stopped with Bascom's reports, I knew all about his record as a sensational defender of pickpockets, racketeers, pluggers, fences, and on down the line, but I was holding back on whether he was a candidate for the throne Abe Hummel had once sat on, or a Commie trying out a new formula for raising a stink, or a lieutenant, maybe even better in one of Arnold Zeck's field divisions, or merely a misguided sucker for guys oh hot spots.
However, the immediate puzzle about him was more specific. The question for the moment wasn't what did he expect to accomplish with Connie Emerson, or what kind of fuel did he have in his gas tank, but what was all the fuss about the waterproof wallet, or bag, on the inside of his swimming trunks? I had seen him give it his attention, not ostentatiously, four times altogether; and by now my curiosity had really got acute, for the fourth time, right after the knee lock episode with Connie, he had gone so far as to pull it out for a look and stuff it back in again. My eyes were still as good as ever, and there was no doubt about what it was.
Naturally I did not approve of it. At a public beach, or even at a private beach or pool where there is a crowd of strangers and he changes with other males in a common room, a man has a right to guard something valuable by putting it into a waterproof container and keeping it next to his hide, and he may even be a sap if he doesn't. But Rony, being a house guest like the rest of us, had changed in his own room, which wasn't far from mine on the second floor. It is not nice to be suspicious of your hosts or fellow guests, and even if you think you ought to be there must have been at least a dozen first-class hiding places in Rony's room for an object small enough to go in that thing he kept worrying about. It was an insult to everybody, including me. It was true that he kept his worry so inconspicuous that apparently no one else noticed it, but he had no right to take such a risk of hurting our feelings, and I resented it and intended to do something about it.
Madeline's fingers touched my arm. I finished a sip of my Tom Collins and turned my head.
“Yeah?” “Yeah what?” she smiled, opening her eyes.
“You touched me.” “No, did I? Nothing.” It was evidently meant as a teaser, but I was watching Gwenn poise for a back flip, and anyway there was an interruption. Paul Emerson had wandered over and now growled down at me.
“I forgot to mention it, Goodwin, I don't want any pictures unless they have my okay-I mean for publication.” I tilted my head back. “You mean any at all, or just of you?” “I mean of me. Please don't forget that.” “Sure. I don't blame you.” When he had made it to the edge of the pool and fallen in, presumably on purpose, Madeline spoke.
“Do you think a comparative stranger like you ought to take swipes at a famous character like him?” “I certainly do. You shouldn't be surprised, if you know my repertory so well.
What was that crack, anyhow?” “Oh-when we go in I guess I'll have to show you something. I should control my tongue better.” On the other side Rony and Connie Emerson had got their breath back and were making a dash for the pool. Jimmy Sperling, whom I preferred to think of as Junior, called to ask if I could use a refill, and Webster Kane said he would attend to it. Gwenn stopped before me, dripping again, to say that the light would soon be right for the west terrace and we ought to put on some clothes, and didn't I agree with her?
It was one of the most congenial jobs of detecting I had had m a long while, and there wouldn't have been a cloud in sight if it hadn't been for that damn waterproof wallet or bag that Rony was so anxious about. That called for a little work, but it would have to wait.
CHAPTER Four
Hours later, in my room on the second floor, which had three big windows, two three-quarter beds, and the kind of furniture and rugs I will never own but am perfectly willing to use as a transient without complaining, I got clean and neat for dinner. Then I retrieved my keys from where I had hidden them behind a book on a shelf, took my medicine case from the caribou bag, and unlocked it.
This was a totally different thing from Rony's exhibition of bad manners, since I was there on business, and the nature of my business required me to carry various unusual items in what I called my medicine case. All I took from it was a tiny, round, soft light brown object, which I placed tenderly in the little inner coin pocket inside the side pocket of my jacket. I handled it with tweezers because it was so quick to dissolve that even the moisture of my fingers might weaken it. I relocked the medicine case and returned it to the bag.
There was a knock on my door and I said come in. It opened and Madeline entered and advanced, enveloped in a thin white film of folds that started at her breast and stopped only at her ankles. It made her face smaller and her eyes biggert “How do you like my dress, Archie?” she asked.
