“After which he’ll be presented with a little flag and a string beg to keep his silly looking hat in and then, with luck, we’ll all go to bed.”
I felt she wasn’t being exactly helpful.
Pablo played with his handkerchief. “It is Myra Shumway… that is the name, yes?”
“Fame at last,” Myra said, a little surprised. “How are you, Doctor Livingstone?”
“And you, seńor, Ross Millan?”
Bogle sat up. “I’m Sam Bogle,” he said. “Please to meet you.”
“Shut your mouth, you dog,” Pablo said, his eyes boring holes into Bogle, “or I will cut your tongue out.”
Bogle gaped at him. “Well, I’ll be…!” he gasped.
I kicked his chin under the table and told him to take it easy.
Pablo wandered over to the table, drew up a chair and sat down near Myra. He moved very lightly for his bulk.