father. He’s working on a stag some crank wants to keep in his hall.
Can you imagine having a stuffed stag in your hall?”
“You could always hang your hat and umbrella on its antlers,” I
said, after giving the matter thought.
She drank some of the gin. “You’re the kind of person who makes
the best of everything,” she said. “I’ll tell father about that idea. He
might make money out of it.” She sipped more gin, sighed. “I love this
stuff. Now I can’t get a two-way stretch, it’s the only thing that holds
me together.” An idea struck her, and she grabbed hold of my arm.
“Did you bring any silk stockings over with you?”
“Sure,” I said. “I have half a dozen pairs of nylons at my hotel.”
She clenched her fists, shut her eyes.
“Six pairs?” she repeated in a hoarse whisper.
“That’s right.”
“Oh, dear,” she said, shivered. “You weren’t thinking of giving
them to anyone, were you? They couldn’t be lying in your old room
unattached so to speak?”
“I brought them for someone,” I said quietly.
She nodded to herself. “I might have guessed it,” she said, sighed.
“Well, never mind. Some girls have all the luck. Some get them, others
just dream about them. You certainly made my heart go pit-a-pat for a
moment. But I shall get over it.”
“I brought them for Netta Scott,” I explained. “She was a friend of
mine.”
Crystal turned quickly, her eyes showed surprise. “Netta? You
knew Netta?”
“Sure. “
“And you brought the stockings . . . but, she’s dead. Didn’t you
know?”
“Yes, I know.”
“Then you haven’t anyone to give . . .” She caught herself up,
actually blushed. “Oh, I am awful! Poor Netta! I always get depressed
when I think of her. I feel I could cry right now.”
“If you want those stockings you can have them,” I said. “Netta
can’t use them, so they’re unattached as you put it.”
Her eyes brightened. “I don’t know what to say. I’d love them-
they’d save my life, but knowing they were for Netta . . . well, it does
make a difference, doesn’t it?”
“Does it?”
She thought, frowning. I could see she would always find thought
difficult: she just wasn’t the thinking type.
“I don’t know. I suppose not. I mean . . . well, where are they?”
“At my hotel. Shall we go over and get them?”
She slid off her stool. “You mean right now? This very moment?”
“Why not? Can you get away?”
“Oh, yes. All we girls are free lances. We make what we pick up-
doesn’t it sound sordid?” She giggled. “I suppose I’d have to come all
the way up to your room and there wouldn’t be any crowds in there?”
I shook my head. “No crowds. Just you and me.”
She looked doubtful. “I don’t know whether I should. My father
said he’d be terribly angry if I ever appeared in the
“Who’s going to tell the
She brightened up again. “I wish I was clever. Do you know, I
never thought of that. Well, come on. Let’s go.”
I finished my drink. “Is there a garage at the back of this joint?”
She nodded. “Yes, a big one. Why?”
I patted her hand. “Some Americans like to look at old churches,”
I said, smiling. “I’m crazy about garages. You’d be surprised at the
number of garages there are to look at. They’re full of oil and
interest.”
“But why garages?” she asked blankly.
“Why old churches?” I returned.
She nodded. “I expect you’re right. I had an uncle who liked
visiting public houses. I suppose it’s the same sort of idea.”
“Along those lines,” I said, walked with her to the door.
As we reached the head of the stairs, I saw a big woman coming
up. She wore a black evening dress and a heavy gold collar
surrounded her thick neck. Her black hair was scraped back and her
broad, rather sullen face was a mask of make-up. I drew back to allow
her to pass. She came on, gave Crystal a cold hard stare, didn’t notice
me, went on.
I stared after her, a tingling sensation running down my spine.
The woman was Mrs. Brambee.
Chapter VIII
“Do you know what it means when a girl is said to be ruined?”
Crystal asked, sitting on the bed and surveying my room with
approval.
I put my hat in the cupboard, sat down in the arm-chair. “I have a
vague idea,” I said, smiling at her. “But it’s a little technical to go into
at this stage of our association. What makes you ask?”
She fluffed up her blonde curls. “My father says that if a girl
allows a man to take her into his bedroom, she’s as good as ruined.”
I nodded gravely. “There are times when your father talks sense,”
I said, “but it doesn’t count with me. You’re not the ruining type.”
“I thought there was a catch in it,” she said, sighing. “Nothing ever
happens to me. Confidentially, my greatest ambition is to be chased
up a dark alley by a man with glaring eyes. I’ve hung around dark
alleys until I’m sick and tired of them, but no man with or even
without glaring eyes ever shows up.”
“Remember Bruce and the spider and keep trying,” I said.
“Something’s bound to happen sooner or later.”
She nodded, sighed. “Oh, well, I’ve waited so long now, I can wait
some more. May I see those stockings or do I have to wait for those
too?”
“You can not only see them, but you can have them,” I said,
fetched them from my wardrobe. “Catch.” I tossed them into her lap.
