"I know the people who work in the factory. There are a few I can trust. If anyone could slip out the green suits, they could."
Norman was jubilant. "Great," he ejaculated.
"But you'll have to buy me."
"Buy you?" he echoed.
"Yes," said the Duchess. "If I have to stay at that library another day, I'll die. Besides, I need more freedom to contact the workers."
She saw him wavering, put her hand over his on the wheel. "It gets so lonesome in that library."
"All right," he agreed.
The Duchess threw her arms about him. "You're a dear," she squealed.
Jennifer, he thought unhappily, wasn't going to like this at all.
The transaction proved as simple as the Duchess had forecast. For the ridiculous sum of fifty notes plus the girl's original purchase price, the agent transferred her to Norman Saint Clair. He turned the car into the basement of the apartment, his latest venture in livestock on the seat beside him. He had been rather silent since leaving the agent. Not only must he explain the Duchess to Jennifer, he had to explain Jennifer to the Duchess.