Miss Shumway Waves A Wand

He didn’t say anything for a couple of blocks, then he ventured again, “That Kruger guy ain’t doing us any good in the taxi business. Somebody ought to stop him.”

“Come in with me and stop him,” I said, putting my feet on the spring seat in front of me.

“Yeah?” he said, “I like that kind of advice. It’s like saying why not bop Joe Louis on the snout.”

“Just drive me,” I pleaded. “I would the rest were silence.”

That held him and I didn’t get a yap out of him until he’d stopped outside Peppi’s house. I gave him a dollar. “Hang on to the change,” I said. “You look like you could use some relief.”

He put the dollar away slowly. “Some of you smart guys love yourselves,” he said, spitting on the sidewalk. “I bet you’ve got chapped lips kissing mirrors,” and he drove away before I could think up a comeback.

I concentrated on Peppi’s house. Well, it was a nice joint. It looked like it belonged to Vincent Astor or J. P. Morgan or some high-powered magnate like that. It was solid, big and cool-looking with burgundy brick walls, a terra-cotta tile roof and bay-cottage windows of white stone.

I went up the three broad steps to the massive oak and iron-studded door and rang the bell. An elderly man, got up to look like a butler, opened the door “come in, sir,” he said, without even asking me what I wanted.

I followed him into a Large lounge which was furnished in the most modern style I’d seen this side of Lexington. I can’t say I liked it a lot, but it stank of money and I guess that was all Peppi ever worried about.

The butler looked at me questioningly. He was big with white hair and faded blue eyes. One side of his face was lifted as if he’d had a stroke at one time. It gave him a disagreeable look. “Did you wish to see anyone in particular, sir?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I said, “I’d like a word with Mr. Kruger.”

“Mr. Kruger, sir?” The butler’s eyebrows shot up as if I’d asked to see the President.

“That’s right,” I said, smiling at him.

“I’m afraid, sir,” the butler returned with dignity, “Mr. Kruger never sees anyone except by appointment. Would his secretary do?”

“Look,” I said, “I’m sorry about the appointment. I couldn’t care less about the secretary. I want to see Kruger. Go tell him that Ross Millan of the New York Recorder wants to see him and tell him it’s important.”

The butler studied me for a second. “Very good, sir,” he said and floated away upstairs, leaving me standing in the lounge.

After a while, I began to think that he had completed his stroke and was lying upstairs making noises. The hands of the big old-fashioned grandfather clock kept moving forward with little jerky jumps and I got more and more tired of standing there.

Then I heard someone coming. It wasn’t the butler. Whoever it was came along the passage quickly and lightly and then a girl came down the broad staircase. She was thin, fragile and dark. Her eyebrows were unusually straight and her eyes were very large, cobalt blue with big irises and a vague expression. She wore a pair of biscuit-coloured slacks, a burgundy sweater and a biscuit-coloured handkerchief round her head. She was all right until you came to her mouth. That gave her away. It was a tight, lipless slit of red. I could imagine her sitting up in a half dark room pulling the legs off spiders and getting a lot of fun out of it. Back and front her figure looked like she had been fed through a mangle.

“I’m Mr. Kruger’s secretary,” she said. Her voice was deep and musical.

“Well, well,” I said, “well, well, well.”

One of her eyebrows went up and she tried again, “you wanted to see Mr. Kruger?”

“That was the idea, but I’ve changed my mind. My doctor only lets me have one meal a day,” I said, adjusting my necktie. “What do you do with your evenings?”

“You’re Millan, of the New York Recorder, aren’t you?” she asked. The cobalt blue eyes had darkened.

“Yep,” I said, “Ross Millan. Just plain Ross to you. How about dating me up? The demand’s brisk, but I can manage to-night.”

“What did you want to see Mr. Kruger about?”

Somehow I didn’t feel I was making much headway, but I wasn’t discouraged, “I’ll tell him that,” I said gently. “No offence meant, but this is a little matter between men. Women have their secrets too, you know.”

“Then you’d better come upstairs,” she said and turned and walked back the way she had come.

When we reached the top of the stairs I drew level and walked by her side. “I was just kidding,” I said suddenly. “Don’t let it get your vitamins in an uproar.”

She didn’t say anything.

“Could I have your name?” I went on, “I’d like to know how to introduce you to my friends.”

“Lydia Brandt,” she said, without turning her head, “and I don’t expect to meet your friends.”

“You never know,” I said. “Strange things happen.”

She opened a door that led off the passage and stood aside, “Mr. Kruger will be in a minute.”

“But, you’re not leaving me?” I said, wandering into the room.