“Why didn’t you have Tony fix you something?”
“I wanted to wait.” She had taken off her suit-coat, hat; in her smartly cut tweed skirt, white mannish shirt, she looked very beautiful.
Druse said: “Supper, or breakfast, or something will be ready in a few minutes — I ordered it for four.” He stood up. “Which reminds me — we’re having a guest. I must telephone.”
He went through the living room, up four broad, shallow steps to the little corner room that he used as an office. He sat down at the broad desk, drew the telephone towards him, dialed a number.
Hanan answered the phone. Druse said: “I want you to come to my place, on top of the Pell Building, at once. It is very important. Ring the bell downstairs — I’ve told the elevator boy I’m expecting you... I can’t tell you over the phone — please come alone, and right away.” He hung up and sat staring vacantly at his hands a little while, and then got up and went back to the terrace, sat down.
“What did you do with yourself?”
Mrs. Hanan was lying in one of the low chairs. She laughed nervously. “The radio — tried to improve my Spanish and Tony’s English — chewed my fingernails — almost frightened myself to death with one of your damned demon books.” She lighted a cigarette. “And you?”
He smiled in the darkness. “I earned thirty-five thousand dollars.”
She sat up, said eagerly: “Did you get the rubies?”
He nodded.