And so the smile he gave Avalon was gay as confetti on New Year's Eve.
"I'm not so sure, old thing, that I myself know what I'm talking about. But if I do, those boys will come out of there with one single first desire: transportation to celebration. And I'd rather they kept greedy eyes off our cab." He opened the glass panel. "Pull up to the corner and wait," he told the driver.
With one of those lightning decisions that was the despair of his enemies and the envy of his friends, Simon Templar reorganised his offense. He wanted to talk to those two young men who had gone a-knocking at James Prather's door, but he didn't want them to know that he wanted to talk to them.
He looked gravely at Avalon.
"Will you do something for me?"
"I'll make a cake or slice a throat," she said softly. "Or cross Fortysecond and Broadway against the traffic light at Saturday noon."
"This is an even greater sacrifice," he said mockingly. "I want you to go back into that apartment house and do some lobbyloitering."
Avalon didn't frown, didn't raise her eyebrows. She meditated for the space of ten seconds. Then she raised her eyes to his.
"I get the pitch, except for one thing. Who are you?"
"Your agent, of course."