An Army sergeant was sitting at a desk giving the keyboard of a typewriter the one-two.
I said good morning.
“Good morning, Major,” the sergeant replied. “I’ll tell them you’re here.” She reached for a phone.
Wolfe was staring. “What in the name of heaven is this?” he demanded.
“WAC,” I told him. “We’ve got some new furniture since you were here last. Brightens the place up.”
He compressed his lips and continued to stare. Nothing personal; what was eating him was the sight of a female, in uniform, in that job.
“It’s all right,” I soothed him. “We don’t tell her any of the important secrets, such as Captain So-and-So wears a corset.”
She was through at the phone. “Colonel Ryder said to ask you to join them, sir.”
I said sternly, “You didn’t salute.”
If she’d had a sense of humor she’d have stood up and snapped one at me, but in the ten days she had been there I hadn’t been able to discover any sign of it. Which didn’t mean I had quit trying. I had decided she was putting it on. Her serious efficient eyes and straight functional nose led you to expect a jutting bony chin, but that’s where she fooled you. It didn’t jut. It would have fitted nicely in the palm of your hand if things ever got to that point.