“All right,” said Keats.
Muggs fled on tiptoe. The two men stood there until she had disappeared beyond the swinging door at the rear of the hall. Then they went upstairs, hugging the balustrade.
As they reached the landing, a door opposite the head of the stairs swung in. Keats and Ellery went into the room.
Delia Priam shut the door swiftly and sank back against it.
She was in brief tight shorts and a strip of sun halter. Her thighs were long and heavy and swelled to her trunk; her breasts spilled over the halter. The glossy black hair lay carelessly piled; she was barefoot ― her high-heeled shoes had been kicked off. The rattan blinds were down and in the gloom her pale eyes glowed sleepily.
Keats looked her over deliberately.
“Hello, Ellery.” She sounded relieved.
“Hello, Delia.” There was nothing in his voice, nothing at all.
“Don’t you think you’d better put something on, Mrs. Priam?” said Keats. “Any other time this would be a privilege and a pleasure, but we’re here on business.” He grinned with his lips only. “I don’t think I could think.”
She glanced down at herself, startled. “I’m sorry, Lieutenant. I was up on the sun deck before I walked down to the road. I’m very sorry.” She sounded angry and a little puzzled.