«You were right,» she said tonelessly. «They are not my pearls.»
The waiter came with my drink and she put her bag on them deftly. When he was gone she fingered them slowly once more, dropped them into the bag and gave me a dry mirthless smile.
I stood there a moment with a hand hard on the table.
«As you said — I’ll keep the clasp.»
I said slowly: «You don’t know anything about me. You saved my life last night and we had a moment, but it was just a moment. You still don’t know anything about me. There’s a detective downtown named Ybarra, a Mexican of the nice sort, who was on the job when the pearls were found in Waldo’s suitcase. That is in case you would like to make sure —»
She said: «Don’t be silly. It’s all finished. It was a memory. I’m too young to nurse memories. It may be for the best. I loved Stan Phillips — but he’s gone — long gone.»
I stared at her, didn’t say anything.
She added quietly: «This morning my husband told me something I hadn’t known. We are to separate. So I have very little to laugh about today.»
«I’m sorry,» I said lamely. «There’s nothing to say. I may see you sometime. Maybe not. I don’t move much in your circle. Good luck.»
I stood up. We looked at each other for a moment. «You haven’t touched your drink,» she said.
«You drink it. That peppermint stuff will just make you sick.»
I stood there a moment with a hand on the table.
«If anybody ever bothers you,» I said, «let me know.»
I went out of the bar without looking back at her, got into my car and drove west on Sunset and down all the way to the Coast Highway. Everywhere along the way gardens were full of withered and blackened leaves and flowers which the hot wind had burned.
But the ocean looked cool and languid and just the same as ever. I drove on almost to Malibu and then parked and went and sat on a big rock that was inside somebody’s wire fence. It was about half-tide and coming in. The air smelled of kelp. I watched the water for a while and then I pulled a string of Bohemian glass imitation pearls out of my pocket and cut the knot at one end and slipped the pearls off one by one.
When I had them all loose in my left hand I held them like that for a while and thought. There wasn’t really anything to think about. I was sure.
«To the memory of Mr. Stan Phillips,» I said aloud. «Just another four-flusher.»
I flipped her pearls out into the water one by one at the floating seagulls.
They made little splashes and the seagulls rose off the water and swooped at the splashes.