Old “Iron Age” dove for it and restored it to her, pompously. She thanked him.
He said, “You’re entirely welcome. You’re going to New York?”
“Oh, no,” Doris told him. “We’re off at Cleveland.”
“Iron Age” gave a glance at me, which eloquently said, “You see, you believed that. Now watch me.”
I watched them both and George, too.
Evidently she’d told Dibley what she wished and she was at her Harper’s again, as though she enjoyed it. George was at his Atlantic but he was poised; oh, decidedly poised.
“Iron Age” had two options, either to stay silent or start something crude like an arrest. But I doubted whether, in spite of his telegrams, he had enough evidence yet. So that was as far as he got in the light talk; and he’d jeered at me!
A waiter from the dining car appeared with the usual word for six o’clock; and Doris got up.
“We’re going in early,” she volunteered to me, “since we’re off at Cleveland.”
This gave Dib another cue to rehearse his superior glance at me.