“May I have another drink, please?”
I told her she should give the first one time to settle, and instead of arguing she arose and got the glass from the corner of Wolfe’s desk, went to the cupboard, and helped herself. I sat down and frowned at her. Her line sounded fairly screwy for a member of the Manhattan Flower Club, or even for a daughter of one. She came back to her chair, sat, and met my eyes. Looking at her straight like that could have been a nice way to pass the time if there had been any chance for a meeting of minds, but it was easy to see that what her mind was fighting with was connected with me only accidentally.
“I could tell you,” she said, hoarse again.
“Many people have,” I said modestly.
“I’m going to.”
“Good. Shoot.”
“I’m afraid I’ll change my mind and I don’t want to.”
“Okay. Ready, go.”
“I’m a crook.”
“It doesn’t show,” I objected. “What do you do, cheat at canasta?”