"Mrs. Xlptl," I repeated.
"Why, what a funny name!" she cried with a little laugh.
"Name?" I said, clearing my throat. "I was only clearing my throat." No doubt of it, Mrs. Xlptl wasn't hiding here.
I went into the bedroom and through it to the hallway. The chimes sounded a third time. To hell with this Hal Drummond guy, I thought. Let him let in his own Fosters. I had a moment of panic, but found the list of names in a pocket of my-Hal-Drummond bathrobe. I studied the second name and address on the list. Chicago, Illinois. Mrs. Dan Carboy (nee Dawn Daring). The address was, Club Chuckle. Dawn Daring, I decided, was in show-biz. This sounded like fun. I thought of the name.
And buzzed out of there just as the bewildered Hal Drummond reached the door....
I was dancing with a medium tall redhead whose wonderfully supple figure was all but glued to me. I looked down at her face. She looked up at mine. Her own face was pretty and heavily war-painted, so it would look good behind a baby-spot. She was in show-biz, all right.
We danced slowly to music I hardly heard. Every now and then she leaned up and kissed the side of my chin with her red, red lips.
"If you really want me to quit, Dan," she said.
"No, that's all right," I said automatically.