“No. He’s still here, but he wants to go.”
“Whitewell planning to go?”
“Not for a few days. Give me a cigarette, lover.”
I handed her a cigarette, held a match for her. Knuckles sounded on the door, and I opened it for Arthur White-well and Endicott.
“Well,” Whitewell said, shaking hands, “this is hardly the way we’d anticipated it, is it, Lam?”
“No.”
Endicott followed Whitewell’s lead in shaking hands, but said nothing.
Whitewell stood over Bertha, smiling down at her. “I don’t know how you do it.”
“Do what?”
“Have virtually a sleepless night and still look as fresh as though you’d been in bed ever since ten o’clock. I can’t get over marveling at your sheer vitality.”