Again the pause. Then Swanson asked in sad resignation, "Still
nothing, eh?"
"Nothing what? Swanson, is there something you want? You came up to me
yesterday and went through this routine. You--"
The voice crackled: "Burckhardt! Oh, my good heavens, _you remember_!
Stay right there--I'll be down in half an hour!"
"What's this all about?"
"Never mind," the little man said exultantly. "Tell you about it when
I see you. Don't say any more over the phone--somebody may be
listening. Just wait there. Say, hold on a minute. Will you be alone
in the office?"
"Well, no. Miss Mitkin will probably--"
"Hell. Look, Burckhardt, where do you eat lunch? Is it good and
noisy?"
"Why, I suppose so. The Crystal Cafe. It's just about a block--"
"I know where it is. Meet you in half an hour!" And the receiver
clicked.
* * * * *
The Crystal Cafe was no longer painted red, but the temperature was
still up. And they had added piped-in music interspersed with
commercials. The advertisements were for Frosty-Flip, Marlin
Cigarettes--"They're sanitized," the announcer purred--and something
called Choco-Bite candy bars that Burckhardt couldn't remember ever
having heard of before. But he heard more about them quickly enough.
While he was waiting for Swanson to show up, a girl in the cellophane
skirt of a nightclub cigarette vendor came through the restaurant with
a tray of tiny scarlet-wrapped candies.
"Choco-Bites are _tangy_," she was murmuring as she came close to his
table. "Choco-Bites are _tangier_ than tangy!"
Burckhardt, intent on watching for the strange little man who had
phoned him, paid little attention. But as she scattered a handful of
the confections over the table next to his, smiling at the occupants,
he caught a glimpse of her and turned to stare.
"Why, Miss Horn!" he said.
The girl dropped her tray of candies.