“Uh-huh. She was a hostess, there at the Mermaid’s Roost. Girl by the name of Sellar.”
“Sellar!” he said, squinting his eyebrows together. “Shucks, I had a girl by the name of Sellar who was hostess, but she never fell heir to no million bucks — not that I ever heard tell of. Sellar — Sellar. That’s right. That was Amelia’s last name. That’s who it was. Amelia Sellar.”
“She may have got the money after she left you,” I said.
“Well, she might have,” he said.
“Where is she now? Do you know?”
“Nope.”
“Any idea where I can find out?”
“No. Those girls drift around and get scattered. I had about the best-looking bunch of legs there was in the city. You take it nowadays, and women don’t have pretty legs. They have fashionable legs, but they ain’t what you’d call pretty. They ain’t the kind of legs a man will spend money over. A woman falls for that slender, streamlined stuff, but it takes real legs to start a man on a spending spree, legs that have curves and class. Now I can remember back in—”
“Don’t you keep up with any of your old entertainers?” I asked.
“Shucks, no,” he said. “Mostly they were a wild bunch. They came and they went. I saw one of ’em the other day though, girl by the name of Myrtle. She was with me way back in nineteen-twenty. Just a kid she was then, eighteen or nineteen, and believe me, she doesn’t look a day older now.”