Granquist was silent, smiling.
“They got tired trying to hang them on me after the first three but the whisper went on. It got to be known as the Kells Inside...”
“And at heart you’re just a big, sympathetic boy who wouldn’t hurt a fly.”
“Uh, huh.” He nodded his head slowly, emphatically. His face was expressionless.
“Me — I’m Napoleon.” Granquist took a powder puff out of the bag and rubbed it over her nose.
Kells beckoned a waiter, paid the check. “And beyond the Alps lies Italy. Let’s go.” It was raining a little.
Kells held Granquist close to him. “The Knickerbocker is just around the corner on Ivar,” he said — “but I’m going to put you in a cab and I want you to go down to Western Avenue and get out and walk until you’re sure you’re not being followed. Then get another cab and come to the Knickerbocker — I’ll be in ten-sixteen.”
The doorman held a big umbrella for them and they walked across the wet sidewalk and Granquist got into a cab. Kells stood in the thin rain until the cab had turned the corner down Hollywood Boulevard, then he went back into the restaurant.
Ruth Perry was sitting in the corner booth behind the cashier’s desk. She didn’t say anything. Kells sat down. There was a newspaper on the table and he turned it around, glanced at the headlines, said: “What do you think about the European situation?”
“Who was that?” Ruth Perry inclined her head slightly toward the door.