He hardly seemed to know what he was saying.
“Come along then,” said Mendel. “I think I can find where Thompson lives.”
It was not far. They walked along the deserted boulevard under the new white, florid buildings, and turned into an impasse.
“That’s it,” said Mendel. “Impasse. I remember that. A tall, thin house with a big yellow door. Here it is.”
They knocked until the yellow door swung mysteriously open and then ran upstairs to the top floor.
Thompson came blinking into the passage.
“Where’s Oliver? Where’s Logan’s girl?”
Mendel put up his fist to hit him in the eye.
“I put her into a taxi and sent her home. The Americans took us on to another place. They were a jolly lot. A terrific place they took us to. There were negresses dancing and a South Seas girl who said Gauguin brought her back. . . . Oliver’s all right. I put her in a taxi and sent her back.”
“You’re a liar!” shouted Logan. “She’s in there.”