Rex Stout Read Online Free Page B

desk, held her there an instant, and put her back again.
    She had offered no struggle. She said calmly but with some intensity: “You darned sadist. I loathe being touched by anyone whatever, and you know it.”
    The young man looked down at her and shook his head. “Me a sadist? I know where you got the idea, Foltz’s strangled pheasants. By gum, I could strangle you, don’t think I couldn’t. And if you loathe being touched you should conceal it, because it only increases the temptation, which is already irresistible. Anyway, it’s the only technique I know, and some day the woman in you will blossom forth and you’ll eat it up.” He decided to acknowledge the audience. “Hello, Foltz. Hello, Sylvia. Would it interest you to know that when I start strangling in earnest my first customer will be your darling guardian P. L. Storrs? Don’t think I don’t mean it. The dirty reptile has got me fired.” He turned again to Dol: “I want a job. I want to join up here.” He spied the chair Silky Pratt had left, went and sat down in it and observed, “I might as well be a detective as a murderer.”
    “Get out, Len.” Dol sounded firm. “We’re talking.”
    “About me?”
    “No. Also egotist. Get out.”
    “And go where? The CCC? The WPA? The Salvation Army? Did you hear me say I got fired?”
    “Fired from where?”
    “My job on the Gazette. On account of that publicity I gave you, thinking only—”
    “Of the money, you’d get for it. I know. You mean Mr. Storrs complained?”
    “I mean he raised hell. He threatened to sue for libel and they made me the goat.” He pounded his chest with his fist. “Leonard Chisholm, goat. I’m nearly broke and I’m a lot madder than you would think to look at me.”
    “Yes. You mustn’t conceal your emotions like that. Theyerupt.” Dol brushed her hair back. “Mr. Storrs is a nice old duffer, isn’t he? No more vindictive than Al Smith.”
    “He isn’t!” Sylvia’s voice entered. “P. L. is not vindictive, really, Dol. He got mad, I can understand that, and anyway you yourself said that Len ought to have a job on the subway. And he likes Len”—she frowned—“anyhow, he did once.” She considered. “Look, Len. We’re going to play tennis at Martin’s this afternoon, and eat there, and then go to Birchhaven for bridge. You come with us—that is, if Martin—”
    Foltz nodded positively. “By all means. Come ahead, Len.”
    Sylvia went on, “And you come along to Birchhaven, and we’ll see. If you can disguise yourself as a member of the human race, it will be all right. P. L. is not vindictive.”
    Chisholm regarded her doubtfully. At length he shook his head. “Aw, it’s going to rain.”
    “Now, Len! That Gazette piece
was
terrible.”
    “I’m broke. I’ve pawned my uniform.”
    “You have not. You couldn’t get anything on it. Anyway, none of us will dress.” Sylvia got up and skipped to him, and put her hand on his sleeve. “Do it for me, Len. I feel bad about it.”
    “You look out. Get away.” Chisholm turned indignantly to Dol Bonner: “My God, can
nothing
make you jealous? Don’t you see how she’s working on me, and her betrothed?” To Sylvia: “All right, go and sit down. I’ll come. But little you know what for. Did you hear me say I’ll strangle that old bucko? This will be my opportunity. I’ll roll him under the bridge table and use him for a hassock.”
    “You’d much better be nice to him.” Sylvia, back in her chair, frowned a little. “And you’d better watch yourself or he may strangle you. I know he would just as soon murder somebody, for he told me so this morning.”
    “Not me.” Chisholm was positive. “He already has me in a state worse than death—I’m broke. On the level, was darling P. L. out for blood? Who, the office boy? Doesn’t sound like him. Say, I’ll bet he’s after Dol. I’ll protect her.”
    “I don’t know who it was.” Sylvia still frowned. “Unless it was Steve