“How’s that for a yarn?” E.B. would say, slapping his crony on the back. “Damnedest thing you ever heard? You can figure what that’s done to the house organ. Everybody reads it now. Stuff like that really peps it up.

  “How’s that? Hell, no! Not a word of truth to it, but the funny thing is that Bill Fillmore doesn’t know it. He really thinks there was dust on his trousers, put there by some wag, and he’s going around chewing tenpenny nails. Half of the people in the place are in on the secret, and the other half are looking for the practical joker. Damnedest thing you ever saw, the way stuff like that peps up the house organ. Here’s more of it.”

  Given the slightest provocation, Old E.B. would pull out more clippings. Usually his cronies gave him the provocation. The clippings were always good for a laugh, and many of E.B.’s friends had house-organ problems of their own.

  On this Wednesday afternoon Peggy opened the anonymous letter and read it through carefully.

  Don Kimberly is having a date tonight at the Royal Pheasant with Miss Cleavage. Is this going to burn somebody up! I don’t ask you to take my word for it, so I won’t sign my name. Just stick around and see what happens.

  The missive was signed A Reader, and the writing was feminine.

  Ordinarily she would have consigned this sort of thing to the wastebasket after a cursory glance, but Don Kimberly, trouble shooter in the Claims Adjusting Department, was the most eligible catch in the organization. A young, clearheaded bachelor with a legal education, he had dark wavy hair, steady slate-colored eyes, bronzed skin, and a rather mysterious air of reserve. Every girl in the organization got cardiac symptoms when he walked by her desk—and Peggy was no exception.

  “Miss Cleavage” was Stella Lynn, who had won a beauty contest at a country fair before coming to the city to work for WEFI. It was obvious that the judges of this local show had been more interested in well-developed curves than in streamlined contours.

  Stella Lynn, proud of her curvaceousness, habitually wore the most plunging necklines of any employee in the WEFI organization. When someone came up with the nickname of “Miss Cleavage,” the appellation had fit as snugly as the office dresses she wore and had stuck like chewing gum.

  Peggy Castle studied the anonymous letter again.

  What in the world could Don Kimberly see in Stella Lynn? The whole thing was ridiculous enough, so that it could have been a gag sent to her by some practical joker who hoped she would publish it in her column without confirmation and so create a minor office furor.

  On the other hand, suppose the thing actually was true? It would cause plenty of commotion.

  Without stopping to think that this was exactly what the writer of the anonymous letter had planned, Peggy decided to find out at firsthand. …

  The Royal Pheasant nightclub catered to a regular clientele. The floor show was spotty, the food quite good, the music fair. The dance floor was a little larger than the handkerchief-sized squares in some of the more expensive nightclubs.

  Peggy, using her press card to forestall any rule about unescorted women guests, sallied into the Royal Pheasant attired in her best semiformal, secured a table, and toyed with a cocktail, waiting.

  Half an hour passed uneventfully. The headwaiter dropped by. “Another cocktail, Miss Castle?”

  She started slightly at his use of her name and then, remembering the press card, smiled and shook her head.

  “We want you to be happy,” the headwaiter went on, “and we hope you will write something nice about the place.”

  Peggy felt a twinge of conscience. Perhaps the management thought she was with some magazine of large circulation.

  “As a matter of fact,” he went on, “I read your column every single issue.”

  “You do?” she asked, surprised.

  “E.B. Halsey told me about your column,” the headwaiter went on. “He comes in here quite often. He put me on the mailing list. It’s very good stuff.”

  Peggy felt a surge of relief. “Oh. I’m so glad—so glad you like it.”

  “We get quite a bit of business from the big brass out at your company,” he went on. “We’re really pleased that you’re here. And of course, you’ll be entitled to all the courtesies.”

  “All the courtesies?” she repeated.

  “The tab is on the house,” he explained. “Another cocktail?”

  “No thanks, not right now.”

  “We have a good show tonight. Glad you’re here.”

  He moved away, taking with him a load of guilt from Peggy’s shoulders and leaving her with a feeling of exultation.

  Then Don Kimberly came in—alone.

  Quite evidently he had a table reserved. He seated himself, looked leisurely around, ordered a cocktail, and settled back with the air of a man who has arrived early for an appointment.

  Peggy glanced at her wristwatch. It was nine-fifteen. The floor show started at nine-thirty.

  She puckered her forehead. It was bizarre enough in the first place to think of Don Kimberly taking Stella Lynn to the Royal Pheasant. But he certainly wasn’t expecting Miss Cleavage to come in unescorted and join him. There was something strange about the whole business. If it had been a date he’d have called for Stella and escorted her.

  Peggy became so immersed in her thoughts that she didn’t realize the passing of time until the lights dimmed and her waiter was there with another cocktail.

  “Beg pardon, Miss Castle, but the management knows another one won’t hurt you, and you’ll be wanting to watch the floor show now.”

  Peggy thanked him. The chorus came dancing on, undraped almost to the point of illegality. A master of ceremonies pulled up the microphone.

  Peggy glanced at Don Kimberly. Kimberly wasn’t watching the girls’ legs. He was frowningly contemplating his wristwatch.

  Good heavens, Peggy Castle thought, she wouldn’t stand him up. She wouldn’t dare. Why, this is the highlight of her career. If she actually has a date with him, she—no, no, she couldn’t be late.

  But quite obviously, whoever Don Kimberly was waiting for was late, and the increasing shortness of the intervals at which he consulted his watch and then gave frowning attention to the door indicated a rapidly growing impatience.

  And then the lights came on, and suddenly Peggy realized that Don Kimberly was looking at her with the puzzled expression of “where-the-devil-have-I-seen-that-girl-before” in his eyes.

  She nodded and smiled, and as he bowed she saw sudden recognition flash in his face. Then he was on his way over.

  “Well, hello, Miss Castle,” he said. “I didn’t recognize you for a moment. Waiting for someone?”

  “Oh, no,” she said. “I’m getting material for my column, covering a nitery where so many of the WEFI officials drop in. I trust you realize that the eyes of the press are upon you, Mr. Kimberly, and that the pitiless white light of publicity will be turned on you in my next—”

  “Oh, good heavens!” Kimberly exclaimed in dismay and, without asking her permission, sat down at her table and scowled at her.

  “Why, what’s the matter?” Peggy asked vivaciously. “Surely you have nothing to conceal. You’re unmarried, unencumbered. I—was on the point of adding uninhibited.”

  “Uninhibited is right,” he groaned.

  “And may I ask why being written up in Castle’s in the Air seems to provoke so little enthusiasm in you?”

  “Am I unenthusiastic?”

  “I thought you were.”

  He smiled, suddenly regaining his composure. “I’m enthusiastic now, but it’s certainly not because of your column.”

  “Surely you aren’t alone?” she asked archly, carefully surveying his face.

  “I’m waiting for some folks. Why not quit playing with that cocktail and let me order you another?”

  “Good heavens, this is my second.”

  “Well, at the rate you’re working on that one, the first must have been at least an hour ago. Here, waiter!”

  Peggy let him have his way. She was experiencing a pleasant glow, not only from the drinks, but from the exciting realization that there must be more to this than appeared on the surface.

  Why had Don Kimberly made this surreptitious rendezvous with Stella Lynn? Had he been ashamed to go to her apartment and escort her to the Royal Pheasant—or had he been afraid to?

  Once more Kimberly glanced at his wristwatch.

  “My, you’re jittery,” Peggy said. “Like a nervous cat. You aren’t by any chance being stood up, are you? No, that’s catty! After all, you know, I’m on the lookout for news.”

  She felt certain he winced inwardly. “A news story,” he said, “has been defined as being the thing the other person doesn’t want published. I believe there was some famous newspaperman who said, ‘If the parties want it published, it’s not news. If they try to keep it out of the paper, then it’s news.’ ”

  “And are you going to try to keep something out of the paper?” she asked.

  Abruptly he was serious. “Yes, I’m afraid I’m going to deprive you of a choice item for your column—even if I have to go direct to E. B. Halsey to do it.”

  “The date you have here tonight?”

  He regarded her with frowning appraisal. “Now, wait a minute, Miss Castle. Why are you here?”

  She met his eyes. “I received an anonymous tip that you and Stella Lynn were going to be here tonight. I thought I’d drop in, cover the nightclub, and pick up a ‘personal’ that would be—well, interesting—to a lot of people at the office.”

  “You mean amusing?”

  “Well, if we’re going to be technical about it, amusement is a form of interest.”

  Kimberly was thoughtful. “You’ve doubtless heard the nickname ‘Miss Cleavage,’ ” he said at length.

  Peggy started to laugh, and then at something in his tone caught herself.

  “I’ve known her for five years,” Kimberly went on. “Knew her before she came to work here, knew her before she won that beauty contest. She’s a good kid.”

  “I’m sorry,” Peggy said. “I—”

  “You don’t need to be. I understand. She—I don’t know, I guess she’s an exhibitionist. She has that complex. Just as some people like to sing, Stella likes to show her curves. She’s proud of them. But she’s a good kid.”

  Peggy said, “I didn’t realize that there was anything serious—”

  “There isn’t.”

  “I know, but what I’m trying to say is that I don’t think there’s anyone in the company who realizes that you’ve known her so long. You are, of course—well, eligible. I guess everybody likes Stella, but people wouldn’t expect you two to be having a date.”

  Abruptly he said, “I like her, but this isn’t a date, and I’m worried.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He said, “As you probably know, my job is pretty diversified. If an actress reports she’s lost fifty thousand dollars’ worth of jewels, or claims that someone got into her apartment and stole a hundred-thousand-dollar necklace, it’s up to me to investigate. I handle the burglary-insurance division of WEFI, and that ties in with a lot of things.”

  She nodded, her senses alert.

  “Stella called me on the telephone this morning. To appreciate the significance of that you must realize that Stella has always had an exaggerated idea of the importance of my position. This is, I think, the first time she has ever called me, and she called me during office hours.”

  Kimberly paused and glanced searchingly at her. Peggy kept her face expressionless.

  “Well,” he went on, “she told me that she had to see me tonight on a terribly important matter. She asked me where we could meet. I said I’d be glad to see her at any time or place, and she said it must be some place where the meeting would seem to be accidental. So I suggested the Royal Pheasant. She said this would be all right and that she’d be here at nine-thirty on the dot.”

  “She was to meet you here?”

  “Yes. I offered to call for her at her apartment. She said I mustn’t go near her place, that she was in a ticklish situation, and that I should meet her here. If she was with someone I was to pretend it was an accidental meeting. She promised to be here by nine-thirty sharp. I’m worried.”

  “I didn’t know, and I guess no one else did, that you were friends.”

  “There’s no particular secret about it. Stella thought it would be better if we didn’t proclaim it from the housetops. You see, she may be an exhibitionist, but she has a delicately adjusted sense of values, and she’ll never let a friend down. She’s a good kid. She’s oversensitive about the difference in our positions at the place.”

  “I take it you got her the job?”

  “No, I didn’t. I don’t know who did. I ran into her in the elevator one afternoon. She told me she had been working there for two weeks. I offered to buy her a drink. She told me she realized I was up in the high brass and she was only in the filing department. She said she wanted me to know she’d never embarrass me.

  “It’s things like that about Stella that make you like her. She’s so natural, always so perfectly frank and easy. Look here, Miss Castle, I’m worried about her. I’m going up to her apartment and make sure she’s all right. It might be a good thing if you came along.”

  “Perhaps she’s just late and—”

  “Not Stella. She’d have phoned if she’d been detained. Waiter, let’s have a check, please.”

  Peggy didn’t tell him she had had no dinner. She merely nodded and gave him a smile she hoped was reassuring. “I’ll be glad to go with you,” she said, “but I thought Stella told you that you mustn’t go to her apartment.”

  “That’s right, but I think that with you with me it’ll be all right. We’ll say you and I had a date for tonight—that we’re together. And anything you may find out isn’t for publication. Come on, let’s go.”

  The apartment house was ornate in front but rather shabby after one had passed the foyer. Almost mechanically Don Kimberly fitted a key to the front door, opened it, escorted Peggy through the foyer, back to the automatic elevator, and punched the button for the fifth floor.

  “You have—a key?” she asked.

  “Don’t be silly. That’s the key to my own apartment house. Almost any key will fit these outer doors.”

  Peggy knew that was so, knew also that Don Kimberly hadn’t so much as hesitated or tentatively tried his key. He had fitted it to the lock, turned it with complete assurance, and gone on in without pausing.

  She found herself wondering whether this was the first time he had tried his own key in that lock. The fact that she hated herself for having the thought didn’t erase it from her mind.

  Then the rattling elevator came to a stop. Kimberly held the door open for her and slid the steel door of the elevator shut behind him. “Down to your left,” he said. “Five nineteen.”

  She turned left, and Kimberly, catching up with her, pushed the bell button of Apartment 519.

  They could hear the sound of the buzzer but no sound of motion.

  Kimberly waited a few moments, then tried the door. The knob turned, the door opened, and Peggy, looking in, saw a well-ordered, plainly furnished apartment.

  “Anybody home?” Kimberly called.

  Peggy clutched his arm.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “That coat over the chair.”

  “What about it?”

  “It’s a coat she’d have worn going out for the evening. Why would she have left it here?”

  She pointed to a swinging door that evidently led to a kitchen. Her voice sounded high-pitched with excitement. “Let’s make sure she isn’t here.”

  Kimberly pushed back the swinging door. Peggy, who was standing where she could see through the half-open door, gave an exclamation.

  The stockinged legs of a girl were sprawled out on the floor. A bottle of whiskey was on the side of the sink. A glass had rolled from the girl’s limp fingers, leaving a trail of liquid along the linoleum. The figure was attired in a strapless bra, a voluminous petticoat, shoes, and stockings.

  Kimberly suddenly laughed and called, “Stella, come on, wake up! You’ve missed the boat!”

  The woman didn’t move.

  Peggy, moving forward, noticed the peculiar color of the girl’s skin. She dropped swiftly to her knees, picked up the limp hand, and suddenly dropped it. “She’s dead.”

  “What?”

  “Dead. It must have been her heart.”

  Kimberly said, “Call a doctor.”

  Peggy said, “A doctor won’t help. She’s dead. Just touch her, and you’ll know she’s dead. We’d better—”

  “Better what?”

  “Better call the police.”

  Kimberly hesitated. “What’s that on her leg?”

  Peggy looked at the girl’s right leg’. Attached to the reinforced top of the sheer nylon stocking was a beautiful butterfly pin with diamonds, rubies, and emeralds giving a splash of glittering color.

  “Good heavens,” Kimberly exclaimed, “how in the world did she get that?”

  “Why, what about it?” Peggy asked, realizing that Kimberly’s face had turned white.

  “Ever hear of the Garrison jewel theft?” he asked.

  “Who hasn’t?”

  “Our company insured the Garrison jewels. We’re stuck to the tune of two hundred and fifty thousand dollars—and that butterfly looks exactly like the famous Garrison butterfly. Now, how in the world did Stella get that?”

  Peggy unfastened the butterfly pin and dropped it into her purse. “It won’t do any good to have the police find that,” she said.

  “Look here,” Kimberly protested. “You can’t do that. It may be evidence.”