“Yes, she went to a show with a friend. Guys and Dolls. ”
“Fine. It’s a good show. This really is confidential, Miss Devlin. So we’re alone?”
“Certainly we are. What is it, anyhow?”
There were three things wrong. First, I had a hunch, and my batting average on hunches is high. Second, she was talking too loud. Third, her telling me where Carol Berk was, even naming the show, was off key.
“The reason it’s so confidential,” I said, “is simply that you ought to decide for yourself what you want to do. I doubt if you realize what lengths other people may go to help you decide. You say we’re alone, but it wouldn’t surprise me a bit—”
I sprang up, marched across to the door that wasn’t quite closed, thinking it the most likely, and jerked it open. Behind me a little smothered shriek came from Delia Devlin. In front of me, backed up against closet shelves piled with cartons and miscellany, was Carol Berk. One look at her satisfied me on one point — what her eyes were like when something happened that really aroused her.
I stepped back. Delia Devlin was at my elbow, jabbering. I gripped her arm hard enough to hurt a little and addressed Carol Berk as she emerged from the closet. “My God, do I look like that big a sap? Maybe your sidewise glance isn’t as keen as you think—”
Delia was yapping at me. “You get out! Get out!”
Carol stopped her. “Let him stay, Delia.” She was calm and contemptuous. “He’s only a crummy little stooge, trying to slip one over for his boss. I’ll be back in an hour or so.”
She moved. Delia, protesting, caught her arm, but she pulled loose and left through one of the open doors. There were sounds in the adjoining room, then she appeared again with a thing on her head and a jacket and handbag, and passed through to the foyer. The outer door opened and then closed. I crossed to a window and stuck my head out and in a minute saw her emerge to the sidewalk and turn west.