Marcus nods. "He had Mirabelle goin' all right," says he. "She was crazy over him. And Chuck, he was pretty strong for her, too. They had it all fixed up, the flat picked out and all, when something or other bust it up. I dunno what. Chuck, he quits the next day. Lucky thing, too, for if he'd stuck here he wouldn't have met up with them automobile sundries people and landed his new job. I hear he's manager of their Harlem branch now, seventy-five a week. Wouldn't Mirabelle be sore if she knew about that, eh?"
"She'd have cause for grindin' her teeth," says I. "Bully for Chuck, though. I must call him up and give him the hail. What's his number?"
I will admit too, that once I got started, I worked fast. It took me less'n three minutes to pump out of Vincent the time and place of this fatal little dinner party he was about to pull off, and shortly after that I had Mr. Dempsey on the wire. Yes, he says he remembers me well enough, on account of my hair. Most of 'em do.
"It's a shame you've forgot someone else so quick, though," I adds.
"Who's that?" says he.
"Mirabelle," says I.
"Oh, I don't know," says Chuck. "Maybe it's just as well."
"She don't think so," says I.
"Who was feedin' you that?" asks Dempsey.
"A certain party," says I. "But you know how easy a queen like her can pick up an understudy. Some have been mighty busy lately, too; one in particular. And I don't mind sayin' I'd hate to see him win out."