June 6th, 9.30 a.m.
JACK CASTON, under−manager for the local branch office of Preston Motors, walked into the Preston building with a light springy step.
The commissionaire saluted smartly and escorted him to the elevator.
Caston was the kind of guy who got up early in the morning and did breathing exercises in front of an open window. He was bouncing with good health and his big pink face was torture to anyone with a morning hang−over.
He walked into his office, rang the buzzer on his desk, and then hung up his hat. He walked over to the mirror and adjusted his tie and smoothed down his hair. He was very satisfied with what he saw in the mirror.
The door opened and his secretary walked in. She was a ritzy−looking dame, with corn−coloured hair, blue eyes, and a neat little figure.
Caston smiled at her and sat down at his desk. She thought he looked like a very nice good−humoured pig.
“Well, well,” he said, stretching out his hand, “and very nice too!”
She kept her distance and inclined her head. She knew Caston.
“Now, Marie, don’t be high hat. Come over here and let me look at you,” he said, still keeping his hand out.
“You can see me just as well here, Mr. Caston,” she said. “Did you want anything?”
Caston withdrew his hand and fiddled with a pencil. His pink face lost a little of its brightness. “Sit down,”
he said, “I want to talk to you.”
Marie sat down, carefully adjusting her skirt as she did so. Caston leant a little forward and watched the operation with considerable interest. He considered any girl with a nice pair of legs should show them at every possible occasion.
“That’s the beginning of a ladder you’re getting there,” he said. He leant forward, staring at her leg with fixed concentration.
Marie bent forward to investigate. She could see nothing wrong with the faultless silken hose.
“Look, just there, a little higher up. Too bad with socks as expensive as those.”
Marie lifted her skirt a trifle and couldn’t find anything. Caston got out of his chair and came round.
“You’re not lookin’,” he said severely. “Look, here.” He pulled her skirt well above her knees, and she promptly smacked his hand and hastily pulled it down.
“I might have known it,” she said bitterly. “Just another of your tricks.”
Caston beamed at her. “Well, maybe I was mistaken,” he said, sitting on the edge of the desk and reaching for her hand. “But I might not have been, you know.”
She allowed her hand to remain in his big pink fingers, and she waited, her neat shoe tapping impatiently on the polished boards. “When you’re through with all this,” she said, “suppose we get to work?”
Caston shook his head. “I’ll never train you,” he said sadly. “You know, baby, you and me might get somewhere if only you’d co−operate.”
Marie sniffed. “The one place I’d get to if I did would be a maternity hospital,” she said acidly, snatching her hand away. “Shall we get to work?”
Caston sighed. You never knew with women. Some mornings Marie was quite willing for a little fun and games. He got off the desk and sat down in his chair. He looked at her closely. She certainly looked tired and irritable. Being a man of the world, he didn’t pursue the matter, and began to dictate the few letters that required his attention.
It was ten o’clock by the time he was through, and he dismissed her with a kind smile. “Listen, baby, if you don’t feel well take the rest of the day off. I’ve got to go out in a while and I don’t think I’ll be back. Just please yourself, will you?”
She looked at him suspiciously and then went out. Caston sat back in his chair and frowned. This was not starting the day well. Why the hell couldn’t people be a bit more lively?
The door opened and Benny Perminger wandered in. Caston gave him a quick look and groaned. This was certainly not going to be his day. Benny was looking like something the cat had dug up.
“And what’s your trouble?” he asked shortly.
Benny sank into the arm−chair and sighed. “Nice bit that, ain’t she?” he said, pursing up his mouth.
Caston frowned. “Who’s a nice bit?” he demanded.
“Miss Mackelsfield,” Benny explained. “Lucky guy havin’ a secretary like that.”
“Well, I don’t know,” Caston said. “What of it?”
Benny closed one eye and leered. “You bachelors,” he said; “I bet you an’ she have a grand time.”
Caston sat up stiffly. “Now see here, Perminger, I don’t like that kind of talk. This is a business place, and business only is conducted here.”
“Nuts! What kind of business? All you guys do in these offices is to horse around with your secretaries. I know. It’s guys like me out in the general office that don’t get the chances.”
Caston thought it wise to shift the ground. “Well, you didn’t come in here to tell me that, did you?”
Benny’s face fell, and he became depressed again. “No,” he admitted, “I didn’t. As a matter of fact, Caston, old boy, I came for a little advice.”
Caston smiled. Things were looking up. He liked giving advice. He settled back in his chair and lit a cigarette. “Sure,” he said. “What’s the trouble?” For a moment he had a sudden qualm that Benny was going to touch him for some dough, but on second thoughts he knew that wasn’t Benny’s usual opening when he made a touch.
Benny hung his feet over the side of the chair. “Well, Sadie and I have had a quarrel,” he said bitterly. “She properly shot her mouth off last night.”
Caston made sympathetic noises. “Nice girl, Sadie,” he said. He often wondered why a swell looker like Sadie had fallen for Perminger. He could have gone a long way to have made her himself.
“Sure, she’s a nice girl, but she’s got a damn odd way of looking at things. Would you believe it, she’s accusing me of always lookin’ at girls? She even had the neck to say that I’d be makin’ a pass at one of them one day.”
Caston shrugged. “Well, won’t you?”
Benny looked vacant. “Well, yes, I suppose I will,” he admitted. “But she won’t know about it.”
“Listen, Perminger, wasn’t that a dame I saw you out with the other night?”
Benny scowled at him. “What else do you think it was?” he snapped. “A horse?”
“Steady, buddy,” Caston said. “No need to go off the deep end. What I meant was, she wasn’t Sadie?”
Benny shook his head. “No, she was a business client. She wanted to buy one of our models.”
Caston blew his nose. “I suppose you were taking a fly out of her eye?” he said sarcastically.
“Will you leave it? I want your advice, not a goddamn sermon,” Benny returned. “I’ve walked out and left Sadie high and dry. What the hell am I going to do?”
“You’ve left her?” Caston asked, his eyebrows raising. “You crazy or something?”
“I tell you we had a stand−up fight. I couldn’t just go to bed after it.”
“You left her all night?” Caston wished he’d known that. He might have called and done himself some good.
“What I want you to bend your brains on is how am I going back?”
Caston shrugged. “Easiest thing in the world. All you do is to walk in, kiss her, tell her you were tight and all will be well.”
Benny stared at him. “Do you really think so?” he asked. “Gee! I wish it would work like that.”
Caston was getting a little bored, anyway. “Sure,” he said, getting up, “you try it. Don’t forget, she might be pretty sick about it herself today. You go down there right away. You might find her in.”
Benny got to his feet. “I’ll do it. That’s mighty white of you, Jack. If there’s any little thing”
Caston led him to the door. “On your way, pal,” he said, “and if it works, give her one for me.”
He watched Benny hurry down the corridor before turning back to his office.