“I’m sure you know it,” Anna said breezily. “You must have passed it a hundred times. It’s just down the street here. Syd Walsh’s Theatrical Costumes. It’s way up on the top floor of the building. I can’t tell you how stuffy and smelly, but, my dear, they do have the most fabulous costumes. He pried open some trunks that hadn’t been looked into for years, I suppose, and came out with—well, with exquisite materials. I can’t think where he got them all. They must have been—”
“Syd Walsh!” Peter almost shouted the name. “On West Forty-ninth Street?”
Anna looked at him in surprise. “Yes,” she said. “That’s the place.”
Peter threw some money down on the table and slid out of the booth. “Come on,” he said with mounting excitement. “Come on, Peggy. Let’s go.”
Anna blinked at him and moved aside to give Peggy room. “He’s closed now,” she said in a mystified voice.
“I know, I know,” Peter said impatiently, grabbing Peggy by the arm. “That’s just the right time to go.” He leaned forward and shook Anna’s hand warmly. “Thank you. Thank you very much. I can’t tell you how much help you’ve been. Nice meeting you. G’by.”
“Yes, but”—Anna faltered, “I haven’t done a thing.”
Peter patted her on the hand. “You just don’t know.” Taking Peggy by the arm, he rushed her down the aisle and into the revolving doors at the drugstore entrance. As she spun out into the street, Peggy caught a last glimpse of Anna’s face as she sat bolt upright in the deserted booth. Her look was one of complete bafflement.
Peter guided Peggy deftly through the traffic and started up the block with long, loping strides.
“Peter,” Peggy cried. “What’s going on?”