“Just practical. I had to learn everything the hard way. I was kicked
around by some mighty expert kickers in my day.”
I checked his flow of reminiscence. “Tell me about Cave and Iris.”
This was the secondary mystery which had occupied my mind for several
days. But Paul did not know or, if he did, would not say. “I think
they’re just good friends, like we say in these parts. Except that I
doubt if anything is going on ... they don’t seem the type and she’s so
completely gone on what he has to say....”
A long-legged girl secretary in discreet black entered the room
unbidden and whispered something to the publicist Paul started as
though she had given him an electric shock from the thick carpeting. He
spoke quickly: “Get Furlow. Tell him to stand bail. Also get a writ.
I’ll be right down there.”
She ran from the room. He pushed the bar away from him and it rolled
aimlessly across the floor, its bottles and glasses chattering. Paul
looked at me distractedly. “He’s in jail. Cave’s in jail.”