“That was a British spy,” Jimmie answered calmly.
His mother raised her voice. “Don’t make jokes!”
“All right. It was a gal that works at the plant. She offered me a ride home.”
Sarah became alert. “But she didn’t drive you home!”
“Where did you go?”
“Guess!”
Sarah said, “Some roadhouse, I bet.”
“That’s exactly right. Olga—her name is Olga, and she’s a Hungarian spy, really—drove me to the Four Flamingoes. We had saki —that’s rice wine—with some cousins of the Emperor of Japan who work around here as butlers—” he looked up somberly—“Pardon the slur, Westcott, on an honorable profession—”
Mrs. Bailey said, “How can you two—? When—” Sarah said, “Is she pretty? And what’s her name?”
“Dinah,” said Jimmie. “She’s black. An Abyssinian spy—”