[CHAPTER 2]
A pretty, dark-haired maid opened the door of "Pook's Hill" with a twitch of the hip that was wasted on Bedford Hills.
"Oh, it's you!" She remarked conversationally. "Shall I tell Mrs. Tompkins you are here?"
"And why not?" I asked.
She looked at me slant-eyed. "Why not, sir? She must have forgotten to eat an apple this morning. That's why."
"Where shall I dump my hat and coat, Mary?" I asked guessing wildly at her name. Suburban maids were named Mary as often as not.
"The name is Myrtle, Mr. Tompkins," she replied, and did not bother to add the "as well you know" she implied.
"From now on, Myrtle, you shall be Mary so far as I am concerned. And where, Mary, shall I leave my hat and coat?"
"In the den, sir, of course. Come, I'll lend a hand. You've been drinking again."
The girl moved quite close to me, in helping me off with my things and it was only by a distinct effort of will that I refrained from giving that provocative hip the tweak it so openly invited.