Malone shrugged. "Suppose we table it for now, then," he said, "and get around to it later. At dinner, say ... around nine?"
"And just where," Luba said, "will you be before nine? Making improper advances to the local contingent of chorines?"
"I will make improper advances," Malone vowed, "only to you, Lou."
Lou's eyes sparkled. "Goody," she said. "I've always wanted to be a Fallen Woman."
"But I have got some things to do before nine," Malone said. "I've got to work, too."
"Well, then," Lou said in a suspiciously sweet voice, "suppose I talk to Sir Lewis Carter, and tell him to keep you in New York? Then—"
"Enough," Malone said. "Nine o'clock."
XI
Somebody somewhere was wishing all the world "a plague on both your houses," and making it stick. Confusion is fun in a comedy—but in the pilot of a plane or an executive of a nation....
