Ronnie scowled. "Tell him—no, put him through." He laid down his walking stick and gloves.
"Yes, Moropulos—good morning—lunch? Well, I was going out to lunch with some people."
Moropulos said that his business was important.
"All right—oh, anywhere—one of those little places in Soho." He slammed down the instrument viciously. But this was a time to consolidate his friends and their interests. Not that Moropulos was a friend, but he was useful and might be more so.
The Greek arrived at the restaurant to the minute and was looking more spruce than usual.
"Have you seen Steppe?" was his first question.
"I understood he was on his way to see you—he seemed angry," said Ronnie.
"Our dear Steppe is always angry," answered the Greek coolly. "This time, however, he has no cause. If he has gone to my house, he will not see me."
"What is the trouble?"
Moropulos shrugged. "He has been informed by evil-minded people that during his absence I was—well, not to put too fine a point on it, very drunk."