“I don’t mind,” the bearded man said with geniality. There was color in his cheekbones again. “That bookdealer said no millionaire’s library ought to be without its own special catalogue. ‘It’s too good a collection, Mr. Priam,’ he says to me. ‘There ought to be a record of it for the use of bib-bib-’ ”
“Bibliophiles?”
“That’s it. Hell, it was little enough, and besides I figured it might come in handy for personal publicity in my jewelry business. So I told him to go ahead. You’ll find a copy of the catalogue right there on that stand. Cost me a lot of money ― specially designed, y’ know, four-color job on special paper. And there’s a lot of technical stuff in it, in the descriptions of the books. Words I can’t even pronounce,” Priam chuckled, “but, God Almighty, you don’t have to be able to pronounce it if you can pay for it.” He waved a hairy hand. “Don’t mind at all, Mister ― what was the name again?” ii Queen.
“You go right ahead, Queen.’’
“Very kind of you, Mr. Priam. By the way, have you added any books since your catalogue was made up?”
“Added any?” Priam stared. “I got all the good ones. What would I want with more? When d’ye want to do it?”
“No time like the present, I always say, Mr. Priam. The night is killed, anyway.”
“Maybe tomorrow I’ll change my mind, hey?” Priam showed his teeth again in what he meant to be a friendly grin. “That’s all right, Queen. Shows you’re no dope, even if you do write books. Go to it!” The grin faded as he turned his animal eyes on Wallace. “You push me back, Alfred. And better bunk downstairs for the rest of the night.”
“Yes, Mr. Priam,” said Alfred Wallace.
“Delia, what are you standing around for? Go back to bed.”