Part 2 (2/2)
Lila Farrar was staring at Mayfair.
”What a man!” she gasped.
I had, by this time, decided the area back of the bar would be a safe shelter. I grasped Lila's hand, and said, ”Come!” urgently.
”Get up off the floor,” she said with some contempt. ”They're gone.”
”They may return!” I gasped.
”If they do, they won't last long,” she replied. ”That Mayfair will make believers out of them.”
Mr. Mayfair was creating a devil of a rumpus in the street. I did not venture outside, but Lila did. I gathered that the banditti had departed in an automobile which they'd had waiting, and Mr. Mayfair was searching for an unlocked car in which to pursue them. He was, evidently, unsuccessful, because presently he and Lila rejoined me. She was glancing at Mr. Mayfair with respect.
”Your friends,” said Mr. Mayfair, ”have gone. You can come out from behind the bar, Henry.”
”They're no friends of mine!” I snapped.
”No?”
”No! I do not a.s.sociate with such characters!””Well, they knew you.”
Inexplicably, I'd sort of had this impression myself. But I denied it hotly. ”They couldn't! I never saw them before!”
Mr. Mayfair shook his head and made a tsk-tsk sound.
”Then why did they try to knock you off Henry?” he asked.
”Knock me off? You mean slay me?”
”Yes.”
”Ridiculous!”
”I got eyes to see with,” said Mr. Mayfair dryly. ”If you ask me, they weren't real hold-ups, but just staged it in order to have an excuse to pot-shoot you.”
I must have paled. I know that I nearly fell down. My knees became as limp as fis.h.i.+ng-worms. A profound desire to be ill beset my stomach.
”Gracious!” I said.
”I think,” remarked Mr. Mayfair, ”that we should have a discussion about this, Henry.”
I said that we could go to my laboratory. It was a wonder that my voice was understandable.
I GOT stuck with the check. It was a large one, large enough that my hair stood on end slightly and my upset stomach was not soothed. The idea of paying such a price for a few sips of an unhealthful beverage was ridiculous.
Mr. Mayfair requested my laboratory room number.
”I think,” he said, ”that I'll ask a couple of questions.”
”Of whom?” I demanded.
”Of anybody who looks like they might know answers,” he replied with asperity. So Lila and I went upstairs alone.
Miss Lila Farrar seemed impressed by my laboratory, and her att.i.tude, which had chilled somewhat during my quite logical behavior in the course of the wild and woolly holdup, now warmed a bit.
She remarked that this was probably an efficient layout, adding, ”But I wouldn't know. I've seen so much of laboratories in my time that at a very early age I got filled up, and decided to learn as little about them as possible.”
This was an att.i.tude toward serious research that I have noticed before in the human female. However, it was impossible to be critical of her. She was so utterly lovely.
I inquired, and was a.s.sured it was true, that she was the daughter of the Farrar who owned Farrar Products. This verified my deductions.
Miss Lucy Jenkins, my laboratory a.s.sistant, did not evidence much approval of Lila Farrar. This seemedmutual between them.
Mr. Mayfair returned rather sooner than I wished. Indeed, it would have been difficult to shed any tears if Mr. Mayfair had remained away permanently.
He jammed his hat on the back of his head, and twisted his homely face at me.
”You,” he said, ”are a lulu.”
”I don't believe-”
”Why,” demanded Mr. Mayfair, ”didn't you mention that a fat guy got shot a while ago while standing beside you?”
This was stunning news; it was quite unbelievable. ”Ridiculous,” I said. ”That could not be.”
”Yeah? Well, this fat guy was standing under an awning in front of this building, and a bullet hit him in the chest. A bullet from a silenced rifle, or maybe a rifle fired from inside an office across the street-anyway, there wasn't much of a shot report. And there was sure a bullet in the chubby guy.”
”The fellow who had a heart attack!” I cried.
”No, he didn't,” Mayfair replied. ”The slug missed his heart by four or five inches. But it sure messed up his breathing apparatus.”
”Oh! Oh, my!”
Mayfair examined me wonderingly. ”You mean,” he demanded, ”to stand there with your prissy face hanging out, and tell me you didn't notice the guy was shot?”
”I-ah-” Words were burrs in my throat. There was ice-water in my veins.
”Henry,” said Mr. Mayfair, ”you're an oddly un.o.bservant guy.”
”Henry,” said Miss Lila Farrar, ”is an oddly guy. Period!”
”It must be Dido Alstrong's package!” I blurted.
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