"Disappointed?" Marc asked weakly. "Shouldn't have done what?"
She waved a hand vaguely through the air. "Oh, everything. Drinking in the office. Making passes at the girls. Chasing them. All the—rest. Somehow it just doesn't seem right to go on like that in a business office."
"Drinking?" Marc looked deeply perplexed. "Who's been drinking?"
"It's all right," Memphis replied soothingly. "And it doesn't matter now that it's all over. I'm sure it won't happen again. Will it?"
Marc raised himself slowly to one elbow. "What won't happen again?" he asked. "What's been going on here, anyway? I demand to know."
"Who knows better than you?" Memphis returned, a touch of temper creeping back into her voice. "Just look at this office."
For the first time Marc turned his attention to his surroundings. The office was a shambles. Paper was strewn everywhere, and in the center of the room, a chair, turned on its back, lay discarded and forlorn. Across from him, by the leg of another chair, a suspicious-looking half-filled bottle stood on the floor. The air was redolent with the odor of liquor. Unbelievingly, Marc swung his legs over the edge of the lounge, rose shakily to his feet, and toddled toward the offending container. Drawing abreast of it, he squatted down and reached for it. Then, blinking incredulously, he withdrew from it, empty-handed. The battering his head had taken that morning must have affected his sight. He could have sworn the bottle moved out of his grasp of its own accord. Shaking his head, he turned to Memphis.
"How did that get in here?"
"I guess you hauled it in here when you came in this morning."
"Came in this morning?" Marc was more bewildered than ever. "But I'm just now getting here. I was held up. I had an accident a whole lot of accidents."