Making no attempt to enter the grounds, Penny watched for a while. Then she hailed a taxi cab, and told the driver to take her to the river.
They were nearing the docks when the man, glancing back over his shoulder, said carelessly: “How would you like to buy some genuine silk stockings?”
“How would I like to stake out a claim to part of the moon!” Penny countered, scarcely knowing how to take the question.
“No, I’m serious,” the cab driver went on, slowing the taxi to idling pace. “I know a woman along the river who has a pretty fair stock of genuine silk stockings. Beauties.”
“Black market?” Penny asked with disapproval.
“Well, no, I wouldn’t call it that,” the man argued. “She had a supply of these stockings and wants to get rid of them. Nothing wrong in that. Five dollars a pair.”
“Five dollars a pair!” Penny echoed, barely keeping her temper.
“If I took you there, she might let you have them for a dollar less.”
Penny opened her lips to tell the black market “runner” what she thought of a person who would engage in such illegal business. Then she closed them again and did a little quick thinking. After all, it might be wise to learn where the place was and then report to the police.
“Well, I don’t know,” she said, pretending to hesitate. “I’d like to have a pair of silk stockings, but I haven’t much money with me. Where is the place?”