"Nine millimeter Mauser," he murmured. "The toughest thing we had to buck in the desert."
Two Italian epees were crossed over a blood-stained plastron with masks and gloves under them. A Luger and a Colt revolver lay on the mantlepiece. There was a cannel coal fire burning in the grate. A coffee table before the fire bore a bucket of ice in which reclined a bottle of champagne. On a couch behind the table reclined an exquisite little ingénue wearing a blue velvet dinner gown trimmed with miniver. The fire and candles were the only illumination. A phonograph was playing the "Rosenkavalier" waltzes.
"Drink?" Stacy inquired lazily. He uncorked the champagne bottle deftly and filled glasses.
"No thanks."
Stacy and the girl drank, gazing into each other's eyes over the glasses.
Lennox said: "If you'll just give me a minute, Oliver. Alone?"
Stacy brushed the girl's palm with his lips, then took Lennox into a fitted dressing room hung with a dozen framed water-colors. They were nudes; all signed O.S. One of them bore a faint resemblance to Kay Hill. It was convincingly red-headed.
"It's about blackmail, Oliver."
"Pay with a gun."
"What?"