Peggy Castle studied the anonymous letter again.
What in the world could Don Kimberly see in Stella Lynn? The whole thing was ridiculous enough, so that it could have been a gag sent to her by some practical joker who hoped she would publish it in her column without confirmation and so create a minor office furor.
On the other hand, suppose the thing actually was true? It would cause plenty of commotion.
Without stopping to think that this was exactly what the writer of the anonymous letter had planned, Peggy decided to find out at first-hand...
The Royal Pheasant night club catered to a regular clientele. The floor show was spotty, the food quite good, the music fair. The dance floor was a little larger than the handkerchief-sized squares in some of the more expensive night clubs.
Peggy, using her press card to forestall any rule about unescorted women guests, sallied into the Royal Pheasant attired in her best semi-formal, secured a table, and toyed with a cocktail, waiting.
Half an hour passed uneventfully. The headwaiter dropped by. “Another cocktail, Miss Castle?”
She started slightly at his use of her name and then, remembering the press card, smiled and shook her head.
“We want you to be happy,” the headwaiter went on, “and we hope you will write something nice about the place.”
Peggy felt a twinge of conscience. Perhaps the management thought she was with some magazine of large circulation.
“As a matter of fact,” he went on, “I read your column every single issue.”
“You do?” she asked, surprised.
“E.B. Halsey told me about your column,” the headwaiter went on. “He comes in here quite often. He put me on the mailing list. It’s very good stuff.”
Peggy felt a surge of relief. “Oh. I’m so glad — so glad you like it.”
“We get quite a bit of business from the big brass out at your company,” he went on. “We’re really pleased that you’re here. And of course, you’ll be entitled to all the courtesies.”
“All the courtesies?” she repeated.
“The tab is on the house,” he explained. “Another cocktail?”
“No, thanks, not right now.”
“We have a good show tonight. Glad you’re here.”
He moved away, taking with him a load of guilt from Peggy’s shoulders and leaving her with a queer feeling of exultation.
Then Don Kimberly came in — alone.
Quite evidently he had a table reserved. He seated himself, looked leisurely around, ordered a cocktail, and settled back with the air of a man who has arrived early for an appointment.
Peggy glanced at her wrist watch. It was 9:15. The floor show started at 9:30.
Peggy puckered her forehead. It was bizarre enough in the first place to think of Don Kimberly taking Stella Lynn to the Royal Pheasant. But he certainly wasn’t expecting Miss Cleavage to come in unescorted and join him. There was something strange about the whole business. If it had been a date he’d have called for Stella and escorted her.
Peggy became so immersed in her thoughts that she didn’t realize the passing of time until the lights dimmed and her waiter was there with another cocktail.
“Beg pardon, Miss Castle, but the management knows another one won’t hurt you. and you’ll be wanting to watch the floor show now.”
Peggy thanked him. The chorus came dancing on, undraped almost to the point of illegality. A master of ceremonies pulled up the microphone.
Peggy glanced at Don Kimberly. Kimberly wasn’t watching the girls’ legs. He was frowningly contemplating his wrist watch.
Good heavens, Peggy Castle thought, she wouldn’t stand him up. She wouldn’t dare. Why, this is the highlight of her career. If she actually has a date with him she — no, no, she couldn’t be late.
But quite obviously, whoever Don Kimberly was waiting for was late, and the increasing shortness of the intervals at which he consulted his watch and then gave frowning attention to the door indicated a rapidly growing impatience.
And then the lights came on, and suddenly Peggy realized that Don Kimberly was looking at her with the puzzled expression of “where-the-devil-have-I seen-that-girl-before” in his eyes.
She nodded and smiled, and as he bowed she saw sudden recognition flash in his face. Then he was on his way over.
“Well, hello, Miss Castle,” he said. “I didn’t recognize you for a moment. Waiting for someone?”
“Oh, no,” she said. “I’m getting material for my column, covering a nitery where so many of the WEFI officials drop in. I trust you realize that the eyes of the press are upon you, Mr. Kimberly, and that the pitiless white light of publicity will be turned on you in my next—”
“Oh, good heavens!” Kimberly exclaimed in dismay, and, without asking her permission, sat down at her table and scowled at her.
“Why, what’s the matter?” Peggy asked vivaciously. “Surely you have nothing to conceal. You’re unmarried, unencumbered. I— was on the point of adding uninhibited.”
“Uninhibited is right,” he groaned.
“And may I ask why being written up in Castle’s in the Air seems to provoke so little enthusiasm in you?”
“Am I unenthusiastic?”
“I thought you were.”
He smiled, quite evidently having regained his composure. “I’m enthusiastic now, but it’s certainly not because of your column.”
“Surely you aren’t alone?” she asked archly, carefully surveying his face.
“I’m waiting for some folks. Why not quit playing with that cocktail and let me order you another?”
“Good heavens, this is my second.”
“Well, at the rate you’re working on that one, the first must have been at least an hour ago. Here, waiter!”
Peggy let him have his way. She was experiencing a pleasant glow, not only from the drinks, but from the exciting realization that there must be more to this than appeared on the surface.
Why had Don Kimberly made this surreptitious rendezvous with Stella Lynn? Had he been ashamed to go to her apartment and escort her to the Royal Pheasant — or had he been afraid to?
Once more Kimberly glanced-at his wrist watch.
“My, you’re jittery,” Peggy said. “Like a nervous cat. You aren’t by any chance being stood up, are you? No, that’s catty! After all, you know, I’m on the lookout for news.”
She felt certain he winced inwardly. “A news story,” he said, “has been defined as being the thing the other person doesn’t want published. I believe there was some famous newspaperman who said, ‘If the parties want it published, it’s not news. If they try to keep it out of the paper, then it’s news.’ ”
“And are you going to try to keep something out of the paper?” she asked.
Abruptly he was serious. “Yes, I’m afraid I’m going to deprive you of a choice item for your column — even if I have to go direct to E. B. Halsey to do it.”
“The date you have here tonight?”
He regarded her with frowning appraisal. “Now, wait a minute, Miss Castle. Why are you here?”
She met his eyes. “I received an anonymous tip that you and Stella Lynn were going to be here tonight. I thought I’d drop in, cover the night club, and pick up a ‘personal’ that would be — well, interesting — to a lot of people at the office.”
“You mean amusing?”
“Well, if we’re going to be technical about it, amusement is a form of interest.”
Kimberly was thoughtful. “You’ve doubtless heard the nickname ‘Miss Cleavage’,” he said at length.