“Did you get his number?”

  “No. I tell you I wasn’t there. The car was parked. A couple of people who saw it told me about it, but they were too dumb to get his license number.”

  Mildreth said, “Well, I guess I’m not really going to need the stock, although I’d like to have it. Couldn’t you get down to the safety deposit box, Bob, and …”

  “Absolutely not, Millie. I’ve got two or three appointments in the morning. I just can’t cancel them now, but if he needs the stock, I’ll bring it in later. You can get in touch with me. You don’t need to have it there when you’re talking with him. Don’t be silly! Next week would be okay.”

  “Well, I guess it’s all right,” she said, and there was a note of weary dejection in her voice.

  “You’re working too hard, Millie. Can’t you take it a little easier?”

  “Oh, I’m all right. Business is pretty good, and there’s quite a bit of detail work.… Well, I’ll run along, Bob.”

  “Leave a message for me if you want that stock,” he said. “I could pick it up day after tomorrow—but I can’t imagine why he’d want to see the certificate.”

  “Look, Bob, can’t you get into that box and …”

  “Lord, no!” he interrupted, raising his voice. “You’re getting to be an old woman. Stop that damned worrying.”

  “Bob … the stock’s there, isn’t it? It’s all right? You …”

  He got up out of the chair. “For Christ’s sake, quit nagging! Don’t I have enough on my mind without you running around yapping about your damned stock? I know you don’t like me. You never did. You broke your fool neck trying to poison Carla’s mind against me. Now …”

  “Stop it!” she interrupted. “You’re like a schoolboy.… And you’re shouting. You don’t want Carla to think we’re quarreling, do you?”

  He sat down wearily. “Oh, hell, what’s the use? … If Mason wants to see that stock, tell him to ring me up. You give me the willies. If you don’t want to quarrel, get the hell out of here.”

  She stalked wordlessly to the door, out into the evening.

  Gliding along Chervis Road, Mildreth Faulkner was entirely oblivious to the charm of the clear, star-lit night. Why had Bob been so glib with detailed explanations of that automobile accident? Why was it so important to meet the insurance adjuster? Why had he had so much trouble getting him on the job? Why did the idea of producing that stock throw him in such a panic? She had been tactless about it. She didn’t trust him. For weeks now she’d been trying to find some legitimate excuse for getting that stock certificate out of his hands. Carla had endorsed all her securities, turned them over to Bob. … Of course it was absurd to doubt his loyalty to Carla, yet she couldn’t help being uneasy, and that story about the accident, with the front of the car smashed in.

  “I suppose I’m an awful heel,” Mildreth said to herself, “but unfortunately I know my brother-in-law altogether too well.”

  So she drove to the Traffic Department at police headquarters, made inquiries as to whether there had been any report on the accident, found that Bob’s Buick sedan had been in a collision with another car, that Bob had been in the wrong.

  A telephone call to the man who had been driving the other car elicited the information that Bob had not been alone in the Buick at the time of the accident. A blond young woman, rather attractive, had been in the front seat with him. The man had taken her name as a witness. Just a minute, and he’d … Here it was. Esther Dilmeyer. The address she’d given him was the Golden Horn nightclub. He believed she’d said she worked there, but he couldn’t be certain. The man who was driving the car—Mr. Lawley—had been very nice. The accident was all his fault, and he was going to settle. There’d been another man in the back. No, the settlement hadn’t been made yet, but Mr. Lawley was to call at eleven o’clock tomorrow morning. Would you mind telling me who you are, Ma’am?

  She said, quickly, “I’m with the Workman’s Compensation Fund. We understood Miss Dilmeyer was injured.”

  Her informant said, “I was the only one that was hurt. I got shaken up pretty badly. There was another man in the car with Lawley. You could use him as a witness if you had to. His name was … wait a minute. Here it is. Sindler Coll.”

  “Had they been drinking?” Mildreth asked.

  “No, but they were going plenty fast.”

  Mildreth said, “Thank you,” and hung up.

  Why did Bob go to such elaborate means to mystify everyone concerning the traffic accident? The car was insured, and the insurance company would take charge.… But the insurance company quite obviously hadn’t. Bob was meeting the other party at eleven o’clock in the morning to make an adjustment. Apparently, the insurance company knew nothing whatever about the accident.

  Mildreth Faulkner wanted to get back to that floral design, but right now she felt something else was more important.

  Evidently Bob had no intention of explaining the presence of the nightclub hostess in his car.

  Chapter 2

  An expression of bitter disillusion on Esther Dilmeyer’s features made her seem suddenly old.

  All about her was the gaiety of the nightclub, a forced, hectic hilarity which needed the constant flow of alcohol to keep it at the high level which would declare dividends for the management.

  The orchestra ground out melodies with swinging rhythm. A master of ceremonies radiated synthetic enthusiasm as he announced the numbers of a floorshow through a microphone. Waiters, moving back and forth among the tables, carefully followed instructions that food must not be brought too soon after cocktails. Those who had drunk too much were being served watered drinks; those who seemed “sourpuss” were having a special visit from the head waiter with the virtues of the wine list extolled.

  For those who were properly vouched for, there was a more quiet but sinister activity in the thickly carpeted suite of rooms above the nightclub.

  The management was extremely careful about the list of patrons who were permitted to pass through the door marked PRIVATE in the rear of the hat-check room, climb the flight of stairs to the rooms where the whir of the roulette wheel mingled with the hum of well-modulated conversation.

  On the lower floor the management encouraged laughter and drinking. On the upper floor, all this was changed. The management let it be known that it much preferred to have the patrons of the tables in formal evening attire. Everywhere the subtle suggestion of quiet refinement was impressed upon those who wooed the Goddess of Fortune. Thick carpets muffled the sound of footfalls. Heavy drapes, subdued indirect lighting, and a drawing-room atmosphere of sumptuous richness encouraged well-bred quiet.

  A man who has lost more than he can afford in a place where alcoholic beverages flow freely and there is boisterous excitement, is quite apt to make what is known, in the parlance of the game, as a “beef.” A man who feels just a little out of his element, who is forced to don formal attire, who is surrounded by external evidences of wealth, will be inclined to accept his losses with dignity and make a quiet exit. Not until he has divested himself of his formal attire, and seen his environment in the pitiless glare of daylight, will remorse and self-condemnation make him realize that a loss is a loss. Then he is quite apt to realize that taking losses “like a gentleman” is a racket fostered by those who profit—but by then it is too late.

  Esther Dilmeyer didn’t understand the full significance of the psychology, but she knew enough to realize that when she was called on to perform in the nightclub as a part of the floorshow or to pinch-hit for some entertainer who hadn’t shown up, she was expected to sway her body in syncopated rhythm, to make a direct personal appeal to the audience, get them out of themselves and “in the mood.”

  On those occasions when she moved among the tables on the upper floor, she comported herself in the dignified manner of a lady. Here there was no loud laughter, no swaying of the shoulders, no swinging of the hips.

  As a rule, women regarded Esther Dilmeyer with cool suspicion. Men could always be counted on to give her a second look, to make a play for her whenever she gave them the least encouragement. Esther understood men with the familiarity which engendered contempt. She realized that she knew women hardly at all.

  Esther Dilmeyer, her thoughts carefully masked, sat at a table alone, toying with a glass which contained ginger ale and charged water, designed to make it appear to the uninitiated as a champagne cocktail. Habit twisted her lips into a mechanical half smile. At sharp variance with the implied invitation of her attractive appearance was her mood of black depression.

  How many hours had she sat like this waiting for suckers? Always it was the same story. Men would drift past. Those who were with their wives would look at her enviously, make a mental resolution to come back some other night when they were alone. Men who were unescorted would try any one of the five standard brands of pick-up technique which Esther had learned to know and to classify just as a chess player can tell what opening his opponent is going to use as soon as the first pawn is advanced on the board.

  Well, she thought, it served her right. She could have made something of her life. Instead, she’d dropped into this, capitalizing on her appearance, on her youth. Men fell for her. She let them buy her drinks. If they were interested only in pawing, she would casually look at her watch, mention that her husband would join her in ten or fifteen minutes; or tip a wink to one of the waiters, and be summoned to the telephone, returning after a few minutes with the same message.

  If the men had money to spend, she encouraged them to spend it, and if they seemed to be just the proper type, she would make tentative references to the activities which went on upstairs. If the man still seemed interested, she arranged for a card and would escort him up to the roulette table.

  The croupiers could place a man in the first few plays; the plunger, the cautious man, the tightwad, the seasoned gambler, and, occasionally, best of all, the man who hated to lose, who would figure that the game owed him money after the few losses.

  There was a code system of signals between Esther Dilmeyer and the croupier. If the sheep had lots of wool to be cut, she stayed around and supervised the shearing. Otherwise, she would drift back to the nightclub, looking for more prospects.

  She looked up as Mildreth Faulkner approached her table.

  Mildreth met her eyes and smiled.

  Esther Dilmeyer braced herself. Did this have to come now on top of everything else? Probably some woman whose husband had broken down and told about meeting the blonde at the nightclub, the visit upstairs to the gambling place, the resulting loss of money. She hated men like that, men who were eager for adventure, then ran whimpering home, who confessed with a great show of repentance, shed crocodile tears, berated themselves—and who promptly repeated the experience at the first available opportunity.

  Mildreth pulled out a chair and sat down. “Hello,” she said.

  One of the waiters hovered cautiously in the distance, waiting for a signal from Esther Dilmeyer. The place didn’t encourage scenes.

  “Good evening,” Esther Dilmeyer said with chilling formality.

  Mildreth sighed. “I saw you sitting here alone,” she said, “and I’m alone. What’s more, I’m lonely, and I’m completely, absolutely, and entirely washed up with men. I sat down and tried a cocktail, and three men smirked at me before I’d finished. How about letting me buy you a drink, and then I’ll go?”

  Esther Dilmeyer felt a surge of relief. It wasn’t a beef then after all. She beckoned to the waiter.

  “Another champagne cocktail?” Mildreth asked.

  The blonde nodded.

  “Make it two,” Mildreth said.

  “Take this one away,” Esther told the waiter. “It’s stale,” and with a laugh at Mildreth, “I was brooding too much to drink, I guess.”

  It was a situation which called for a little tact. Esther couldn’t make any profitable connections sitting there with Mildreth Faulkner at her table. On the other hand, there was no harm in letting Mildreth buy one drink.

  Esther looked at her watch. “My boy friend,” she said, “is late.”

  “Oh, you have a date. I should have known it. Well, I won’t detain you.”

  “It’s all right. Sit down. We’ve loads of time for that drink. He keeps me waiting lots of times … damn him!”

  Mildreth said, “Haven’t I met you somewhere before? Your face is familiar.”

  Esther Dilmeyer shook her head. “I don’t think so. I don’t remember you.”

  “I saw you somewhere.… Oh, wait a minute. Weren’t you in an automobile accident, a Buick sedan? Yes, you were. I remember now. I remember seeing you in the car.”

  “Did you see that smash?”

  “Yes. I was walking along the street. If your boy friend was the one who was driving that car, he’s worth waiting for.”

  “Him?” Esther Dilmeyer asked contemptuously. “He’s good looking, but he’s a sap. The other one was my boy friend. His name’s Sindler. He certainly is good looking, and he knows it, damn him. What do you do, or is it any of my business?”

  “Oh, I have a little business of my own, running some stores. I have three of them.”

  Esther Dilmeyer said wistfully, “God, it must be nice to be in business for yourself and be independent. If I’d started in working and got some real business experience, I might have had something to look forward to instead of this racket.”

  “Racket?” Mildreth asked.

  “I’m a hostess.”

  “Oh, I see.”

  “No, you don’t. You couldn’t unless you’d tried it. It’s a lousy business.”

  “Why don’t you leave it and get into something else?”

  “How can I? I don’t know shorthand or typing, haven’t any business experience, and am damned if I’ll go out and scrub floors and do housework for some woman who wants to keep her hands pretty so she can waste the afternoon playing bridge.”

  “There are lots of jobs open to a woman who has a pleasing personality and good looks.”

  “Yeah, I know. You see the want ads in the paper every once in a while. I followed up a couple of those leads. That’s a worse racket than this.”

  Mildreth studied her and noticed the bitterness, the first faint lines about the eyes and lips. “I didn’t mean that,” she said. “There are jobs that are on the square. I hire girls every once in a while, girls who are attractive, pleasing, are able to keep their tempers, and know how to handle the public.”

  There was sudden hope in Esther Dilmeyer’s eyes as she looked up at the woman across the table, then the hope faded. “Yeah, I know,” she said. “Some people buy tickets on the sweepstakes and get their pictures in the paper. It happens every little while.”

  “That’s a beautiful gown you have,” Mildreth said.

  “Like it?”

  “Very much.”

  “It isn’t so expensive. When you’re in this game, you have to keep looking well, but you don’t have a fortune to throw away on clothes. After a while, you learn how to shop.”

  “An orchid corsage would go wonderfully well with that color.”

  “Yes, probably it would. However, people don’t send me corsages very often, and I’m not buying any orchids.”

  “I’ve got some I’m going to send over for you,” Mildreth said.

  “You have?”

  “Yes. Some orchids I ordered for a customer who came down with the flu and couldn’t use them. Are you going to be here for a while? If you are, I’ll send them up.”

  “That’d be swell. Thanks a million.… You’re sure it wouldn’t bother you?”

  “Not at all. I’ll be glad to. What name do I put on them?”

  “Esther.”

  “Simply Esther?”

  “They know me here. Well, you could make it Esther Dilmeyer. What’s your name?”

  “Mildreth.”

  “That’s a pretty name.”

  “Thanks.”

  The waiter brought their drinks. “Here’s luck,” Mildreth said over the rim of the glass.

  “I’m going to need it.”

  Abruptly Mildreth said, “How badly do you want to get out of here, Esther?”

  “You mean out of this racket?”

  “Yes.”

  “Plenty bad. Oh, I’ll give you the low-down. I’ve played it for what it was worth. I’ve been at it five years. I sit up nearly all night, drinking too much, smoking too much, and not getting enough fresh air. I’m beginning to show it. That’s when it hurts.”

  Mildreth nodded.

  “You look at other people and you can see that they are showing signs of age, but you just don’t think that could ever happen to you. Then, all of a sudden, the boy friend throws you over for someone a little younger.… Nuts! I’d chuck this racket in a minute if I could get a decent opportunity.”

  “You seem pretty bitter about it.”

  Esther Dilmeyer sipped her cocktail. “Know why?”

  “No.”

  “My boy friend, the one you saw me riding with in the car, is friendly with the boss. Lately, he’s picked up someone else. He tried to keep me from finding out about it, but I finally took a tumble just this afternoon. He’s trying to get this new girl into my job, and ease me out of the picture.

  “They think I don’t know about it. I’m sitting here working while they’re going around behind my back. Sindler Coll’s out with her right now. Harvey Lynk, one of the men who runs the place, has gone out to a little cabin he has in Lilac Canyon. By one or two o’clock in the morning, it’ll all be fixed up. Can you blame me for feeling bitter?”

  Mildreth Faulkner shook her head.

  “Show me a chance to make an honest living so that I can beat ’em to the punch, and I’d walk out of here so fast it would make your head swim,” Esther said vehemently.

  “How would you like to work in a flower shop?”

  “Gosh, that would be swell. Is that what you do?”

  “Yes. I run the Faulkner Flower Shops.”