the books whenever he likes. If Paul wants you to stick your pretty nose into the business -
and I doubt very much if he does -I want a written order from him. Sorry, Mrs. Wertham, but
that’s final!”
I thought she was going to hit him, but she didn’t. She moved away from his desk, her fist
clenched, her eyes dark explosions.
“We’ll see about that,” she said, then turning to me, went on, “Come on, Johnny, we’ll
have lunch.”
She went out of the room without another look at Reisner. I got slowly to my feet.
Reisner put down the paper-knife and reached for a cigarette.
“Women are funny animals,” he said as he lit up, “and she’s no exception. Well, any time
you want to get down to business, you’ll find me right here.”
“You’re playing this wrong,” I said. “I heard Paul tell her to check the books.”
“Too bad I didn’t,” Reisner said, and smiled. “Too damned bad.” He slipped his hand into
his pocket and took out a gold cigarette-case. “By the way, Ricca, you left this lying around
117
in your cabin. Your servant brought it to me.” He laid the case on the desk and poked at it
with a long finger while his eyes searched my face.
I stared at the case, then my heart turned over. It was Wertham’s case; the case I had found
in his suit and had been fool enough to keep instead of throwing away.
“Why, thanks,” I said, and my voice was husky. “Careless of me.”
I reached forward to pick it up, but his hand covered it.
“Is it yours?”
“What do you mean?”
“I was under the impression it belongs to Paul. It has his initials on it.”
“What of it?”
“I’m curious to know why you have it. Did he give it to you?”
We stared at each other. I don’t suppose I looked any more guilty than any sneak-thief
caught in the act.
“He lent it to me. I liked the design. I was going to have it copied.”
Even to me it sounded terrible.
Reisner’s eyes bored into my face.
“You were ? I see. You’d better take more care of it.” He lifted his hand and sat back. “Not
like Paul to lend his things. He’s always been funny about that.”
“Not with me.” I picked up the case, feeling a trickle of sweat run down the back of my ear.
“Well, I guess I’ll get along.”
“Oh, Ricca …”
I turned at the door, wondering what was coming.
“Who did you leave in charge in Los Angeles?”
Who was it Della had said? For a moment I was rattled, then I remembered.
“Hollenheimer. Why?”
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“Curiosity,” he said. He picked up the paper-knife again and began punching more holes in
the blotter. “I’m a very curious man, Ricca.”
VII
“We’d better dust while we can,” I said.
Della reached for a cigarette. She lit it and put the lighter down with exaggerated care. She
was lying on the divan near the window. The sunblinds were drawn, and there was a subdued,
restful light in the room. Out on the beach I could hear voices and laughter. There was quite a
crowd lounging on the sands, but no one was bathing. It was too soon after lunch.
