again, stuff your napkin down my throat." They both had become so engrossed in the phenomenon of the adjoining table, that neither of them noticed the approaching Miss Marlow. That the murderess of innocent songs was full blown, was unmistakable even at the distance of the microphone, but close up, she looked like something that should be turned on side, and hung over a bar. "You Mr. Pillsworth?" she asked lazily. "One of the boys says you want to talk to me." "That's right," Marc said, looking up. "Please sit down." He gestured toward Toffee. "This is Miss—uh—Miss——" "Don't embarrass yourself Mr. Pillsworth," cut in Ruby, turning an appraising eye on Toffee. "I know the type. They don't come with names—just sizes." She smiled maliciously. "And what's yours in mink coats, dear?" Toffee's answering gaze dwelt indolently on Miss Marlow's expanding hips. "About five smaller than yours in girdles, hon," she said sweetly. With all the callousness of the seasoned warrior, Ruby accepted this retort, and eased the objects that had inspired it into a vacant chair. She leaned forward and smiled at Marc. "What can I do for you?" she asked coyly. "I like your singing," Marc lied with apparent irrelevance. "I'm so glad to hear it," Ruby was all graciousness as she said it. "For the first time in your life," Toffee appended viciously. "But I like it even better in the open air," Marc said evenly. "Your street singing left me with quite an impression." Gone were the days of Ruby's innocence, but she wasn't above trying to look lamb-like when the occasion seemed to demand it. She did so now. "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. "Okay," Marc countered, "we'll skip that, but who were you working for?" "You heard me," Ruby said, trying to look indignant. "I don't know what you're talking about. From where I'm sitting, it just sounds like the wind whistling through the holes in your head." "Stop the kidding," Marc demanded. "I know you took the brief case, and I intend to have it back.
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