“The name’s Malloy. Tell her and watch her reaction. It’s my bet she’ll bring out the champagne.”
“Miss Crosby is not well,” he said in a flat voice, as if he were reading a ham part in a hammier play. “She doesn’t receive any more.”
“Like Miss Otis?”
That one went past him without stirring the air.
“I will tell her you have called.” The door was closing. He didn’t notice my foot. It startled him when he found the door wouldn’t shut.
“Who’s looking after her?” I asked, smiling at him.
A bewildered expression came into his eyes. For him life had been so quiet and gentle for so long he wasn’t in training to cope with anything out of the way.
“Nurse Gurney.”
“Then I’d like to see Nurse Gurney,” I told him, and leaned some of my weight on the door.
No exercise, too much sleep, cigarettes and the run of the cellar had sapped whatever iron he had had in his muscles. He gave way before my pressure like a sapling tree before a bulldozer.