“The Bourbon House?”
“That’s it. Damn these places where they try to put the customer on the defensive.”
“They want you to realize you’re eating in a world-famous place. They cater only to the élite,” I pointed out.
“The hell they do! The place was jammed with tourists. They’re the ones the place caters to. Phooey! Telling me what I’m going to eat and what I’m not going to eat, and then expecting me to pay the bill. Famous eating place, eh? Well, if you ask me—”
I settled down on the studio couch, reached for a cigarette, said, “Can you reach Hale by telephone in New York?”
“Yes.”
”At night?”
“Yes. I’ve got his residence number, as well as his office number. Why?”
I said, “Let’s go back to the hotel and call him.”
“What do you want to call him about?”