The Riddle in Red

The reception desk of a high-powered advertising agency

is a wonderful spot to see everything that goes on, as Connie
Blair soon discovers. Nor is she at Reid and Renshaws long
before she senses big doings afoot.
Cosmetics by Cleo, Reid and Renshaws biggest
account, is about to bring out a new revolutionary product
made from a closely guarded secret formula. Everyone at
the agency is keyed to high pitch as the huge advertising
campaign finally gets under way.
From the day the glamorous Cleo herself sweeps into the
reception room, Connie is caught up in the general
excitement. But soon mysterious developments threaten not
only the success of the campaign but Cleo Marville herself.
The climax comes when Cleoand the secret formula
suddenly disappear. How Connies lively intelligence and
ingenuity rise to the challenge of one unanswerable question
after another will keep the reader spellbound to the very last
page of this gripping mystery story.

The CONNIE BLAIR Mystery Stories

The Clue in Blue
The Riddle in Red
Puzzle in Purple
The Secret of Black Cat Gulch
The Green Island Mystery
The Ghost Wore White
The Yellow Warning
The Gray Menace
The Brown Satchel Mystery
Peril in Pink
The Silver Secret
The Mystery of the Ruby Queens

A CONNIE BLAIR MYSTERY

The Riddle
in Red
By
BETSY ALLEN

Grosset & Dunlap

PUBLISHERS

NEW YORK

 1948 BY GROSSET & DUNLAP, INC.

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

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Gardenias for Luck

Connie Takes Over a Job
Enter Cleo
A Quarrel and a Secret
Murray Versus Marville
Week-end Interlude
Hush, Hush!
The Womans Angle
Angel on a Letterhead
Whos Who?
Temperament!
MissingOne Client
Thin Air
Night Tour
The Police Stand By
Connie Calls for Help
The Riddle Is Answered
Bright Tomorrow

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CHAPTER

Gardenias for Luck!

Isnt it simply wonderful, Kit!

Connie Blair looked up from the note typewritten
below the advertising agencys letterhead, her dark
eyes already sparkling with anticipation. Reid and
Renshaw. Even the name sounds important. Isnt it
the most marvelous luck? And just now, when we
especially need it!
Connies twin sister, on the other side of the
hardware store counter, stopped weighing moth
flakes and stretched out a hand for the letter.
After one interview, she murmured. It seems
almost too good to be true.
Maybe they liked my picture! Connie laughed
impudently, wrinkling her short, straight nose. She
was thinking of the snapshot the agency had asked
her to send on to them for their files. It had looked
rather more glamorous than businesslike, and she
1

had mailed it with more than one qualm.

Theyre engaging you as a receptionist, not as a
model, reminded Kit, but she thought as she looked
at her twin that Connies picture could have been an
inducement. She was so erect and slim and vital,
with her fair hair falling thick and almost straight to
her shoulders, with her brown eyes and lashes in
such dusky contrast to the smooth creaminess of her
skin.
Actually, the twins were enough alike to cause
the customers of Blairs Hardware Store
considerable confusion, but in personality they were
as opposite as they were similar in appearance.
Connie was the impetuous one. She had personality
and imagination, backed by a healthy, driving
ambition that in her sister was toned down to a
competent ability to make a good job of anything
she tackled. It was Kit who had received the better
grades in high school, but it was Connie who had
walked off with two English prizes and the Senior
Art Award under the very noses of students with
much higher averages than she could boast.
Connie was constantly seeking new worlds to
conquerrushing off to Philadelphia with Aunt Bet
to model college clothes in Campions fashionable
shop, she had landed right in the middle of a major
mysterywhile Kit stayed contentedly home in
Meadowbrook, where the family store was an
2

institution and where everyone knew her and she

knew everyone.
When Connie, on her return, had confessed to her
twin that she had, through her new friend Larry
Stewart, been interviewed for an advertising agency
job, Kit had been rather shocked.
But, Connie, you dont mean youd give up
college? Dad would never let you!
And Connie had agreed regretfully, I dont
suppose he would.
Then, overnight, everything in the Blair
household was turned topsy-turvy by an unexpected
disaster. Mr. Blair, who had never been ill in his life,
had a heart attack without any warning at all. For
two days he was in great pain, with everybody
tiptoeing past his door, a nurse in the house, and the
doctor coming at odd hours and muttering
frightening things like thrombosiscomplete rest
the only cure. Then the immediate danger passed,
and the household settled down to a new routine,
with Mr. Blair ordered to bed for a prolonged
period; but the twins plans for going away to
college were interrupted by this sudden drain on the
family finances.
It was natural that Kit should be the one to take
over the management of the store, stifling her
disappointment and getting to work with earnest
determination to carry on. It was equally natural that
3

Connie, though she was deeply concerned for her

dad, should have looked again toward the city, glad
now that she had allowed Larry to persuade her to
apply for the job at Reid and Renshaw. Every day
she had met the mailman at the corner, hoping
against hope
And now the letter had actually come!
Isnt it wonderful! Connie breathed again. I
was so afraid theyd think I didnt have enough
experiencejust working in the high school office
afternoons
But where will you live? Kit broke in, always
practical.
Oh, I dont know. In the Y.W.C.A., maybe, until
I can find a place to board. What does it matter,
anyway?
Itll matter to Mother, Kit said doggedly.
Maybe Aunt Bet would let you move in with her.
Maybe she would! Connie cried. I could ask,
anyway. After spending close to a fortnight in her
aunts snug, center-city apartment, she could think
of no more pleasant spot to spend the winter which
lay ahead.
Wriggling up to sit on the counter, Connie
hugged her arms in sheer delight. But what really
counts is that I have a job! she said with a sigh of
anticipation. Think of it, Kit. A receptionist meets
everybody who comes through the door, all the copy
4

writers and artists and production men and clients

andoh, just everybody!
Kit shivered. Id be scared.
Scared? Connie sounded incredulous. Ill be
too busy to be scared. Im going to work terribly
hard, and maybe someday Ill have a chance to get a
job in the art department or even learn to write
copy She rocked slowly to and fro, dreaming
aloud.
Hey, whats this? A masculine voice cut
through her thoughts and Don Fitzgerald, who had
been the boy-next-door to Connie and Kit ever since
the twins had worn sun suits, strolled from the
September sunshine into the dim interior of the
store. You sound as though youre mapping out a
movie plot, he teased.
Im mapping out my future, Connie told him,
and held out the letter with a smile.
Don read it and whistled appreciatively. Bigtown stuff, eh? But his gray eyes, as he looked at
Connie, held a hint of concern. Meadowbrook just
wouldnt seem like Meadowbrook if either of the
Blair girls moved away.
Connie, accurately reading his thoughts, told him,
Philadelphia isnt so far. It isnt like going to New
York.
Dont you dare go to New York! Kit said with
sudden earnestness. Then Id never get a chance to
5

see you. As it is, Ill at least get to Philly once a

month on a buying trip for dad.
And Ill get home about as often for week ends,
Connie planned happily. Oh, I do hope they like
me, and that I can do a good job.
Don, glancing at the letterhead again, said, And I
hope you like them. Reid and Renshaw. Know
anything about them?
Connie nodded. A lot. Larry Stewart, a boy who
works in the display department at Campions, says
theyre very, very reputable.
Don was frowning. And what do you know
about Larry Stewart?
Connie tossed her head, annoyed at Dons
probing though she recognized it for natural
jealousy. Hes a friend of Aunt Betsand mine!
She had to admit to herself that one of the things
she looked forward to with anticipation in taking a
permanent job in Philadelphia was seeing Larry
Stewart again. She had missed him, since she had
come home, and his hastily scribbled notes were a
poor substitute for his own infectious grin.
Later, when she was telling her father about her
wonderful opportunity, sitting by his bed and
holding his big, work-hardened hand, she told him
that it was Larry who had introduced her to the
agency. He says its one of the best, Dad. So does
Aunt Bet. And they ought to know.
6

Mr. Blair agreed that they should. He looked at

his vivid daughter with great affection, and turned
her hand in his own. Its the next best thing to a
college education, he told her. A chance to start at
the bottom and work up. But I had planned it
differently for you two girls.
For the few days that preceded her departure
Connie sailed around the big, comfortable clapboard
house in which the Blairs lived with her head in her
own private cluster of clouds. She washed and
ironed and mended and pressed and packed
automatically, while all the time her thoughts were
winging ahead to Philadelphia, to life in an
advertising agency, a question mark sort of life at
which she could only guess. Only one thing in it was
assured. Arrangements had been made for Connie to
live, on a semi-permanent basis, with Aunt Bet. And
as the time for leave-taking approached, Connies
sadness over leaving home contended with the
exciting thought that she would be going back to the
apartment of her chic young aunt. It would give her
a real anchor in the city, a second home.
On the Sunday morning of her departure there
was a family conclave, after church, in Mr. Blairs
sunny bedroom. Mrs. Blair, who was as fair as her
daughters, but who had grown plump and rosy with
the years, was sitting on the cushioned seat of the
bay window beside Kit. Connie was perched on the
7

footboard of the bed and ten-year-old Toby, the

baby of the family, was stretched full length on the
floor with the comic section of the Sunday paper
under his elbows. Ruggles, the red cocker spaniel,
was snuggled close against Tobys side.
In the funnies, Toby announced without
preliminaries, interrupting Kit in the middle of a
sentence, theres a girl who gets a job in New York
and lands kerplunk in the middle of a big mystery.
Wouldnt it be swell if something like that could
happen to you?
Mrs. Blair leaned forward to ruffle her sons
cowlick affectionately while the rest of the family
hooted.
See you in the funnies, Connie. Kit made a
mock salute.
Just because Connie got involved in a mystery at
Campions doesnt mean shes going to make a
practice of it, Mr. Blair teased Toby. You leave
your sister alone. Shell be busy enough. If you need
a mystery to make you happy, Kits got one you can
have.
Toby sat up eagerly. What?
Kit exchanged a glance with her dad, then turned
to her brother. Ill tell you, she hissed like the
villain of a comic opera, Mehitable has a new litter
of kittens and nobody in the store can find them. We
can hear them mewing, but we cant locate them.
8

Come down tomorrow after school and help me

unravel that!
Aggrieved, Toby fell back on his elbows. I mean
an honest-to-Pete mystery, he muttered with a look
of supreme disdain, not any old kitten stuff.
Like something that might happen to the atomic
engineers, Connie murmured reminiscently.
Exactly, Toby agreed, then realized that he was
still being kidded and lapsed into silence again.
Kit and Mrs. Blair escorted Connie to the station
in the family car while Toby stayed home with his
dad. At the last moment Connie was swept by a
qualm of reluctance at leaving the people and the
place she knew and loved so well, but she shook it
off as the train came curving into the Meadowbrook
station.
Bye! Take good care of Dad. Ill write!
She was already on the steps of the coach when
Don Fitzgerald came dashing down the platform, his
long legs flying, a chunky cardboard box clutched
under one arm.
Here. He thrust it at her. For luck!
Then, before Connie had time to thank him
adequately, the trainman called All aboard! and
with groaning precision the wheels began to move.
Connie settled herself in the green plush seat and
watched the houses and shops of Meadowbrook drift
past before she opened the box. A florists name was
9

printed in elegant purple script across the lid, yet it

felt too heavy for flowers. But as soon as the top
slipped off, the scent of gardenias wafted up to her
and she laid back the tissue to take out a fragrant
corsage. Pinning it on the shoulder of her suit she
rummaged still further and found a book and a card.
The book was a typical choice of Donsa
whodunitand Connie laughed as she read the title.
Everyone appeared to be mystery-minded these
days.
Connie opened it idly to Chapter One, but she
certainly didnt need the help of a book to make the
two-hour trip to the city pass quickly. There was so
much to anticipate, so much to think about! She
wondered whether any of the other passengers
traveling in the same car were half as excited as she.
It seemed rather doubtful. An elderly lady sitting
in front of Connie, with wisps of gray hair escaping
from an old-fashioned comb, seemed tired and
anxious only to get home. A fat man opposite dozed
behind a newspaper. Only a boy and girl, holding
hands in the reversed seat at the end of the coach,
seemed imbued with the same youthful expectancy
as she.
Connie noticed a shining new engagement ring on
the girls hand and it made her think of Don. She
dropped her head and breathed in the sweet, heavy
odor of the gardenias. Maybe, someday, shed be
10

wearing a diamond like that, but would it be Dons

ring, or Larry Stewarts, or some boys she was yet
to meet? A thrill traced its way up her spine and she
frowned and shook herself. There would be plenty
of time ahead to consider such things. Now a career,
not a romance, was on her mind. Tomorrow she
would be a businesswoman!
The phrase, turned over in her mind, made her
smile. She felt so young, with high school just three
short months behind her, scarcely anything of a
woman yet. A white-collar girl. Whispering the
words, she decided they sounded better. Her hands,
in her lap, were clasped so tensely that they ached.
Row houses and factories succeeded farm land
and suburbs before Connie had time to become
bored with her own thoughts. She caught a glimpse
of the sluggish Schuylkill and of the great art
museum on the bluff above the river. Then many of
the passengers began collecting their luggage and
the conductor bawled Thirtieth Street.
Connie followed the crowd from the train into the
huge station, which made her feel suddenly very
small and alone. She almost envied Kit the
contentment which made her willing to stay safely
in Meadowbrook. She wondered if, after all,
seventeen werent a trifle young to seek a career in a
big city. Then she saw a pretty girl no older than
herself walking confidently along with a portable
11

typewriter and she decided she was being foolish.

She made her way to the doors, succumbed to the
rare extravagance of a taxi and gave Aunt Bets
address as she settled back in the seat.
Now, as the cab pulled away from the station,
Connie again felt secure. Over one block and down
Chestnut. Across town for another block. Past a
familiar eating place. Past Campions great store,
scene of so many breathless moments for Connie.
Into the quiet little street where Aunt Bet lived.
Then Aunt Bet herself was running down the steps
of the apartment house to welcome her, and Larry
Stewart, who had just dropped in, was grinning and
saying, Here! Ill take your bags.
Its just as though I never went home at all,
Connie cried a few minutes later as she tossed her
hat on the water bench which lent Pennsylvania
Dutch flavor to Aunt Bets gay living room.
Its such fun to have you here! her young aunt
said sincerely. I missed you, Connie. You spoiled
me. I hated to go back to living alone.
Youve got me for good nowI hope, Connie
told her.
For better or worse, added Larry, then
pretended to dodge.
Between parrying Larrys good-natured thrusts
and unpacking, the evening passed quickly, and
Connie fell asleep with a sense of warm expectancy.
12

Tomorrow would be the start of the career of her

dreams.
Refreshed and alert, Connie dressed with care the
next morning, and set out with an easy, swinging
stride, for the tall office building where Reid and
Renshaw were housed.
In a square, marble lobby Connie waited with a
throng of business men and girls for the silent
elevator which swept them upward. At the sixteenth
floor she stepped out directly into Reid and
Renshaws reception room, two walls of which were
painted oyster white, with the third an Empire green.
Against the green wall were hung proofs of
advertisements mounted behind clear glass which
was boldly fastened to the wall by big glass-headed
screws. Against the nearer white wall was a curving
reception desk, behind which sat a girl not much
older than Connie. The elevator door clanged shut
and the girl looked up with a start.
Youyoure the new receptionist?
Connie nodded. Yes, she began, walking
forward with a smile. Then, to her complete
confusion, she saw the girls blue eyes fill with
tears.

13

CHAPTER

Connie Takes Over a Job

Iwhywhatevers the matter?

Connie hurried forward impulsively. The
receptionist was so pretty, with her cloud of soft,
dark hair and her fragile, heart-shaped face, that
Connie wanted to try to comfort her. But suddenly
she saw an expression in the girls eyes that made
her stop halfway across the floor. They were filled
with chagrin, supplanting the grief Connie had first
surprised there.
Ill tell Miss Cameron youre here. The girl
whisked the back of one hand across her eyes,
forced a polite smile and got abruptly to her feet.
Connie waited uncomfortably in the lobby, both
concerned and puzzled by the emotion she had
surprised in the receptionist. What could be wrong?
For a few seconds she sat on the crescent-shaped
leather couch, then got up to roam restlessly about,
14

scanning the posted advertisements, several of

which were full-color pages illustrating Cosmetics
by Cleo, which Connie recognized as a name of
increasing prominence in the fashion world.
Connie particularly noticed the art work, which
impressed her as colorful and exciting. At another
time she would have studied it with care, thrilling to
the thought that only in an advertising agency like
this could such things be conceived, but now her
smooth forehead was creased with uneasiness. A
dismaying query had presented itself. Could that girl
have been crying because sheConnie Blairwas
taking away her job?
Nonsense. Connie gave her shoulders a shake.
To imagine such a contretemps was just looking for
trouble. Perhaps the young woman was pinch-hitting
at the desk until her arrival. Probably the tears were
the aftermath of some unfortunate quarrel. Yet when
she remembered the expression in the girls eyes
Connie mistrusted her own rationalizing. Something
connected with the situation right here and now was
wrong.
Miss Blair.
The crisp voice of Miss Cameron, who had
interviewed her on her previous visit to the agency,
made Connie turn with a start. Miss Cameron
beckoned, and as Connie crossed the lobby to follow
her into a small, sunny office opening from a long
15

corridor, she was filled with the same feeling of

admiration of which she had been conscious on their
first encounter. Here was her dream of a woman
advertising executive come to life, a woman poised
and graceful and alert. Mentally, Connie formulated
a hope. Someday Id like to look like that.
Wont you sit down?
Miss Cameron indicated a chair and Connie
slipped into it with a murmured thank you. The
older woman picked up a pencil and twisted it
absently in her hand as she continued, Miss
Randolph, whom you just met in the reception room,
will show you your duties. Shell be with us in just a
moment now.
For a split second Connie thought she saw a
shadow cross Miss Camerons eyes, as though
behind her cool courtesy there were a flash of
resentment. It was there for a moment, then gone.
Before she could credit her own suspicion Miss
Cameron started to chat, easily and naturally, about
Connies job. She asked her, in time, about her trip
to the city, and inquired about her living
arrangements with polite solicitude.
As Connie answered Miss Camerons questions
the excitement of all that lay ahead of her made her
dark eyes sparkle and color leap to her cheeks. Her
youthful enthusiasm was contagious. When she
admitted that she was simply overjoyed to get the
16

job, the older woman smiled.

I hope you can keep it, she said, looking
straight into Connies eyes.
Oh, but I will! Ill work very hard.
Im sure you will. And I may as well tell you it
is also necessary to be very tactful, Miss Cameron
said just as the dark girl Connie had met in the lobby
came through the half-opened door.
Oh, Ellen. Miss Cameron looked up with an
expression of kindly concern, which told Connie
plainly that she knew the cause of the girls distress.
This is Constance Blair.
Connie rose and held out her hand with a smile,
but she couldnt fail to notice that though the girls
nose was freshly powdered, her eyes were still redrimmed.
Ellen Randolph, Miss Cameron murmured,
completing the introduction. Will you show Miss
Blair her locker, Ellen, and introduce her around?
Then she picked up the receiver of her desk
telephone, and Connie knew they were dismissed.
The morning hours passed with whirlwind speed.
Connie was first conducted on a tour of the offices
which housed the art, production and copy
departments, and led past doors engraved with the
names of account executives who were the contact
men between the agency and the advertisers. She
met several men and an assortment of secretaries
17

and file clerks. All of the younger girls seemed

friendly and almost possessive toward Ellen, while
to Connie they showed a trace of the same curious
resentment Miss Cameron had displayed. Finally,
when Connie was seated with her sponsor behind
the curved reception desk, she asked a point-blank
question.
Miss Randolph, tell me something. Am I taking
your job?
Ellens eyes dropped, and she twisted a
handkerchief nervously in her fingers. Then she
looked up and said staunchly, Somebody had to
take it. Im glad its you.
But why Connie started, then was interrupted
as the elevator let out several passengers. There was
a messenger carrying a bulky drawing, a printer to
see Mr. Sanderson in Production, an artists
representative with a portfolio of samples, and a boy
from Western Union with a pencil tucked behind his
ear.
Ellen handled the newcomers with courtesy and
dispatch, plugging in calls on the switchboard
through which she established connection with the
various offices, and directing the callers to wait or to
proceed to the proper departments.
To Connie she seemed a marvel of efficiency.
The switchboard, with its multiple wires and
blinking lights, fascinated and rather frightened her.
18

It was so much larger than the small monitor board

she had learned to handle during her part-time
employment at Meadowbrook High! To master this
alone looked like a big job. But to keep names and
faces and facts in mind with Ellens apparent ease
seemed nothing short of miraculous. As the clock
crept on toward twelve her admiration grew.
Areare you leaving to be married? Connie
asked timidly when the reception room was clear
again for a while.
Ellen had taken a chased gold compact and
lipstick from her handbag and was checking her
faultless make-up. She looked at Connie curiously
for a second and a flush mounted from her throat to
her face.
No, she said with unexpected bluntness.
Didnt Miss Cameron tell you? Ive been fired.
Fired? Connie couldnt conceal her shocked
surprise. But why? she asked again, and this time
there was a rising inflection in her voice, so full of
sincerity and warmth that Ellen actually grinned.
She snapped the compact shut and held it out to
Connie, along with the lipstick.
Because I was caught using these, she said.
You meanbecause you were making up in
public?
Now Ellen really laughed. Heavens, no! Youd
be allowed to make up in Wanamakers show
19

window at high noon if you used Cosmetics by

Cleo. That, my dear girl, happens to be the big
house account.
Oh, Connie said, frankly baffled.
These, Ellen continued, indicating the compact
and lipstick, were a birthday present from my boy
friend, who made the mistake of selecting the
products of Cleos big rivalwithout, of course,
dreaming that it would cost me my job.
II dont understand.
You will. Ellen gave a slight shrug. The
fabulous Cleo Marville came one day when I was
powdering my nose. She can spot an Angela Murray
compact from sixty yards, and like the Queen in
Alice in Wonderland, she popped right into the
bosss office screaming Off with her head!
Not really? Connie was incredulous.
Im giving you a fair facsimile of what actually
happened, Ellen said ruefully. When the agencys
most important client kicks about an employee, the
chief listens. He has to.
But its so unfair! With typical warmheartedness Connie forgot her own interests in her
dismay over injustice. Im such a greenhorn. And
youre so good!
Thank you. Ellen nodded. Ill remember you
paid me that compliment when Im looking for a
new job. Itll bolster my morale.
20

There was no further opportunity for conversation

before lunch. Connie went out first, and sat at a
cafeteria table feeling uncomfortable about Ellens
predicament. To discharge a girl on such a trifling
excuse seemed unpardonable. Connie considered
talking to Miss Cameron. No wonder the other
office workers were resentful and looked askance at
the receptionists successor. Well they might!
Connie had selected lemon meringue pie, one of
her favorite desserts, but it was tasteless in her
mouth. A dozen questions were confusing her. Was
this the real reasonthe only reasonthat Ellen had
been fired? And if so, did she want to work for an
agency that would discharge a girl so summarily?
Connie felt that she had to get at the root of the
matter before she could step into Miss Randolphs
shoes.
The same questions were still ringing in Connies
head as she was once more whisked up to Reid and
Renshaws offices. She was to relieve Ellen behind
the desk during the latters lunch hour, and though
she had listened carefully to her instructors
explanation of the workings of the switchboard,
Connie was a little concerned at being left alone
with it. Suppose she were to get the lines tangled
up?
She said as much to Ellen, but the dark girl
smiled reassuringly. You wont have any trouble.
21

Nothing much happens in the agency business

between twelve and two. She left Connie to get her
hat, then was joined at the elevators by a tall, redhaired lad whom Connie had seen earlier in the art
department.
This lunch is on me, Connie heard him say.
Where shall we go?
Then, for the next hour, Connie was completely
absorbed by her new job. As Ellen had predicted,
business slowed up at midday, but still there were
sufficient comings and goings to keep the new
receptionist on her toes.
Inevitably, she felt a little lost, and realized how
much she had to learn before she could handle this
job with Ellens confidence. But fortunately Connie
was both ambitious and sufficiently aggressive to
ask questions of any agency employee who
happened to be handy. She didnt make as many
mistakes as she had feared.
The lines to both Mr. Reids and Mr. Renshaws
offices were fortunately quiet. Neither of the chief
executives had yet made his appearance that day.
Connie counted this as a stroke of luck, because she
wanted her first impression on the agency heads to
be good.
It was not five minutes later, however, that she
met Carter Reid, whom his familiars called Chip. He
got off the elevator behind Miss Cameron, a dark,
22

thickset man in his late thirties, with an

unmistakable air of assurance and a pleasant smile.
Miss Cameron introduced him to Connie and he
nodded and said something gracious and casual
before he went on to his office. Then, from the
corridor, he called back to Miss Cameron.
Better fix her up with some of Cleos kit,
Georgia, before we have any more fireworks around
here.
Right. Georgia Cameron nodded, left the lobby
and reappeared almost at once with a tray of
cosmetics, powder, lipstick, eyebrow pencil, rouge,
nail polish, and an assortment of creams.
What of this stuff do you use? she asked
Connie.
Just powder and lipstickand sometimes nail
polish.
Better use polish regularly from now onas part
of the job, Miss Cameron said. We represent Cleo
Marville, as you probably know, and its
customaryeven
obligatoryfor
Reid and
Renshaw girls to use her cosmetics. Sheswell, to
put it mildly, shes fussy about such things.
From what Ellen Randolph tells me, Connie
said with typical forthrightness, shes more than
fussy. Shes downright unreasonable.
Miss Cameron looked at Connie sharply, and her
eyebrows lifted. You might call it that, she
23

admitted. Miss Marville is apt to be a bit of a prima

donna, but after all, Ellen, like the rest of our
employees, was instructed to use cosmetics by Cleo
during office hours. Ellen is a fine girl and Im sorry
that thisthis upsethad to happen, but on the
other hand you must remember that with Mr. Reid
and Mr. Renshaw, the client necessarily comes
first.
Connie was sufficiently businesslike to see Miss
Camerons point. Her sympathy for Ellen did not
obscure the fact that there was justice in the
agencys action. But she was prepared to dislike the
famous Cleo Marville on sight.
Perfectly silly, she muttered as she sat at the
silent switchboard after she had made a selection
from Miss Camerons tray. This cosmetic queen
must be insufferably arrogant and vain, a
combination of characteristics which Connie
despised.
There was an incoming call for Mr. Reid, and
immediately thereafter the switchboard came alive,
lighting up like a Christmas tree. Mr. Reid had brief
conversations with various members of his staff,
then asked Connie to try to reach Mr. Renshaw,
either at his home, at the Racquet Club, or at the
Downtown Club, where he might be lunching with
friends.
Soon incoming and outgoing calls were jostling
24

one another. Connie felt as though she were working

in a maze of crossed wires. Something big must be
happening, she decided. The first call to Mr. Reid
must have brought important news.
With natural curiosity, she wondered what this
sudden activity was all about.

25

CHAPTER

Enter Cleo

Within a few minutes, despite her most determined

efforts, Connie became hopelessly entangled in the
switchboards multiple wires. Then, luckily, just as
several voices started shouting in her ear at once,
Ellen Randolph appeared like a good fairy to slip
into the seat beside Connie and help unravel the
snarl.
Whew! Connie pushed the hair back from her
forehead and sighed in relief.
Mr. Reid must be in, murmured Ellen understandingly.
And how! Connie replied inelegantly. I got
these lines in an awful mess.
Ellen chuckled with such kindliness that Connie
had to laugh too. Then, with careful patience, the
dark-haired girl pointed out the errors which had
caused Connies confusion.
26

I think I understand, said Connie finally.

Im sure you do.
But Connie was not as certain as Ellen that, on
her own, she would be able to pass a test of her
newfound confidence. She still eyed the switchboard
warily, as though it might stretch forth its tentacles
and grab her. And she was dismayed at the thought
of losing Ellens comforting presence by her side.
An hour later Mr. George Renshaw stepped off
the elevator and with an absent-minded nod in the
direction of the receptionists desk walked down the
corridor to his office, adjoining Mr. Reids.
He was one of the handsomest middle-aged men
Connie had ever seen, but he didnt walk as though
he owned the earth, as Mr. Reid did. He stooped a
little, as though he were perpetually walking through
a doorway too low for his six-feet-three, and he
seemed unaware that his dark hair and black-brown
eyes drew more than passing attention.
Ellen followed Connies glance. Smoothlooking, isnt he?
Connie nodded eloquently.
Hes nice, too. Sort of slow and drawly. But
very brilliant, they say.
Connie had an opportunity to hear his voice a
minute later, and it was deep and deliberate, with a
hint of amusement in it. He stood in the door of his
partners office and said, Well, Chip, whats all the
27

uproar about?
Well get Jim Brinton and Ill tell you, Connie
heard Mr. Reid reply. Then the door closed behind
him and she turned to Ellen inquiringly.
Mr. Brinton is the account executive who
handles Marvillewhen she isnt too hot to
handle, Ellen said.
Id like to see thisthis creature, Connie
replied.
You will, Ellen answered with a partially
concealed yawn. If anything big is about to break,
shell be around.
Ellens assumed indifference didnt fool Connie.
She now understood the girl well enough to know
that the mere mention of Cleo Marvilles name
made her seethe. Without having been told in so
many words, Connie guessed that Ellen liked her job
here, regretted being forced to leave it, and dreaded
the necessity of making new contacts and beginning
all over again. The tears of the morning had been a
sudden welling-over of emotion that, at the sight of
her successor, she couldnt control.
The fact that everyone in the agency was being
especially kind and considerate didnt help very
much. During the next two days, when a coming
conference with Miss Marville and her associates
seemed to dominate the conversations Connie
overheard in the reception room, she felt more and
28

more sorry for Ellen.

Go see my Aunt Bet, she urged her. She can
introduce you to the head of personnel at
Campions, and there might be some sort of job in
the store that youd like.
Ellen made a note of Elizabeth Eastons name
and business address appreciatively, and that
evening she left Reid and Renshaw for good, turning
over her switchboard key to Connie.
With my dubious blessings, she said, managing
a rueful grin.
The next morning Connie sat behind the curving
receptionists desk alone, feeling newly important,
and hoping that, in her navy dress with its frilly
starched organdy collar, she looked as correctly
businesslike as she felt.
Already Connie was making friends. Several of
the stenographers called her by her first name, and a
couple of the younger copy writers always stopped
to chat when they passed her desk. Through Ellen
she had come to know Dick Travis, the red-haired
boy from the art department, and his friend Ken
Cooper, a stocky, solid chap with a disarming
navet of manner and candid blue eyes.
Ken did layouts, which Connie discovered were
the rough, unfinished designs for the placement of
both art work and copy in assigned advertising
space. He worked very rapidly on a big pad of
29

lightweight paper, and there was frequently a

smudge from the soft pencils he used on either his
shirt front or his chin.
Coming back from lunch, Connie couldnt resist
the impulse to pop her head into the art department,
and if either Ken or Dick were around they would
invite her in. She asked questions, because she was
interested in every phase of this fascinating
business, and quickly learned that finished art work
on most of the agencys big accounts was done on
what the boys called the outside. Freelance artists,
many of whom were represented by their own
agents, did the sort of drawings which Connie saw
reproduced on the walls of the lobby. The boys at
Reid and Renshaw were simply the lettering and
idea men.
Id love to go to art school, Connie confessed
to Ken as she watched him work for a few minutes
on the day after Ellen left.
Why dont you? he asked without turning his
head.
Connie, not wanting to explain her familys
circumstances to a mere acquaintance, shrugged.
You could, you know. At night.
At night? Connie had never thought of that
possibility.
Sure. Lots of people do.
It would be fun, Connie said, and considered
30

the idea as she walked back to her desk. Aunt Bet

was often engaged in the evening. It would give her
an interesta purpose aside from her job. And it
might provide the first rung up the ladder she was
firmly determined to climb.
There was only one thing that bothered Connie.
She didnt know which she wanted to do most, learn
to write copy or learn to draw. Artistic in inclination,
she still had a fondness for words and a flare for
combining them. On the high school yearbook she
had been Literary Editor, then had pinch-hit for the
Art Editor when her unfortunate classmate had been
taken to the hospital with appendicitis. Ever since
grammar school days Connie had possessed what
her dad always called a double-track mind.
This noon, during what Connie had already come
to think of as the twelve-to-two doldrums, there
was plenty of time to dream. The office seemed
especially quiet, and Connie suspected that it was
the lull before a storm, because it was for this
afternoon that the conference with Cleo Marville
was scheduled.
Connie tried to imagine what it would be like to
be an executive like Georgia Cameron, who was a
copy writer and a consultant on styling for womens
accounts. She didnt know whether shed rather be
Miss Cameron, who would surely have a place at the
conference table this afternoon, or whether she
31

would rather be in Ken Coopers shoes. Ken, in his

own quiet way, got a lot of fun out of his job, and he
missed all the complications that contact with clients
entailed.
Connie was leaning on her elbowdreaming
with her eyes wide openwhen the elevator door
slid back silently and out of it stepped one of the
most glamorous-looking women Connie had ever
seen.
She was talking to her escorts, immediately
behind her, and for a moment she had her head
turned so that Connie could see only her profile,
which had a Grecian firmness to nose and chin. Her
auburn hair was coiled in a knot on her neck, a style
that might have looked old-fashioned on another
woman, but which on her seemed appropriate and
smart. She wore a tissue wool dress of honey beige,
almost identically the color of her skin, and over her
arm were looped deep-pelted sables, the loveliest
Connie had ever seen.
Even before the woman turned Connie knew that
this must be the fabulous Cleo, because the men
accompanying her were the agency heads.
Instinctively she stiffened, prepared to dislike her
for Ellens sake, but then Miss Marvilles green eyes
swept the reception room, paused when they fell on
Connie, and she smiled.
In the instant before she smiled Connie caught an
32

impression of ruthlessness in Miss Marvilles

expression, and the sort of shrewdness which so
frequently accompanies success. But her smile was
so unexpectedly sweet that it was completely
disarming. She swept across the lobby with regality
which would have done credit to a Barrymore and,
while Connie stared entranced, she touched the
girls cheek with a gloved hand.
Youre a very pretty child, she said, in a
throaty, laughing voice, but you shouldnt use my
Red Duchess lipstick. Try Pink Magic or
Rendezvous. Theyd suit you better. She stood
back for a moment, appraising Connie with her seagreen eyes. Yes. She confirmed her own judgment
with the single word.
Then she turned back to the men. Well The
slightest of gestures indicated that she was ready to
proceed, and Mr. Reid, with a smiling inclination of
his head, indicated that Miss Marville was to
precede him to the conference room.
Mr. Renshaw brought up the rear of the
procession, and he looked at Connie, who was still
under the spell of Cleo Marvilles conquering
personality. Then, very solemnly, he nodded and
winked.
Connie knew that only Mr. George Renshaw, of
all the agency executives, could have told her in
such an informal and humorous manner that she had
33

passed inspection. She chuckled to herself after his

footsteps had died away in the corridor and decided
that Reid and Renshaw would probably prove a
pleasant as well as an exciting place to work.
That evening, sitting in front of Aunt Bets
cheerful little fireplace, with her feet on the fender
and wood crackling on the hearth, she described her
afternoons encounter to the best of her ability.
You should have seen her, Aunt Bet! She must
be forty, but shes still beautiful. She has very long
legs and she walks like an actress, if you know what
I mean.
I know what you mean. Connies aunt, curled
up in a wing chair, with her own slim legs, in black
velveteen slacks, tucked under her, smiled into her
nieces sparkling eyes. She probably talks like an
actress too, because she was on the stage, you know,
before she went into the beauty business.
I didnt know.
Elizabeth Easton nodded. That must have been
years ago. I never saw her in the theater. Ever since
Ive worked in Philadelphia she has been head of
Cleo Marville, Incorporated. She must be doing a
big business now.
I guess she is, Connie agreed. I wonder why
she ever got out of the theater and into cosmetics.
One seems like a far cry from the other.
It was Aunt Bets turn to nod. I understand she
34

acted with her husband, and when he died she quit

the stage for good. She lives alone, with a staff of
servants, in a big house out Bryn Mawr way, and
gossip has it that she keeps very much to herself,
except for her business associates. Shes supposed to
have very few friends and no family at all.
Connie listened, interested. How do you happen
to know so much about her? she asked.
Elizabeth Easton raised her shoulders in the
slightest of shrugs. Theres always a tie-in between
cosmetic colors and fashions at the store. Besides,
Ive been a guest at luncheons Marville gives for
department-store buyers and stylists and the press.
She yawned, and stretched her arms sleepily in a
V above her head. Every businesswoman in town
knows of Cleo Marville, and most of them envy her.
Shes aptif I dont miss my guessto achieve the
distinction of becoming a legend in her own time.
A legend in her own time. There was romance in
the words, and Connie repeated them to herself,
leaning on her elbows and staring into the fire. Then,
as though to shake off an unwilling admiration for
this paragon, she said, Shes awfully arrogant
though, and what she did to Ellen Randolph was the
silliest thing I ever heard of. Ive made up my mind
not to like her a bit.
Miss Easton sat back with her hands on the arms
of her chair. She smiled, but she said nothing. After
35

a few minutes Connie got up restlessly.

Im going to call the family and check up on
Dad, she said as she went to the telephone. Then, as
she waited for the number, she sighed and
murmured, I do wish I knew what that conference
was all about this afternoon.
Her aunt laughed. Connie, youre incorrigible!
she said affectionately. Remember what curiosity
did to the cat!
Itll never kill me, Connie told her, wrinkling
her short nose. And besides, Ill find out whats
cooking at Reid and Renshaw tomorrow. How much
do you bet?
Bet against Connie Blair? Never!
Hello, Mother! Connie said into the receiver.
How are you and hows Dad and everybody else? .
. . Good? Wonderful! . . . Oh, I adore my job and
Im having the most thrilling time!

36

CHAPTER

A Quarrel and a Secret

All through the agency, the next morning, Connie

sensed a restrained excitement, as though big doings
were afoot. The art department men had their heads
together with a couple of the top copy writers, and
the Marville account executives office was a
beehive of activity, indicating clearly to Connie that
the cause of all this liveliness stemmed from there.
Until noon Connie restrained her curiosity, but
when Ken Cooper paused at her desk on his way to
lunch she couldnt resist asking a point-blank
question.
Whats the excitement all aboutor is it a
secret?
It is, and it isnt, young Mr. Cooper said,
answering the second part of Connies question
before he tackled the first. Cleo Marvilles going to
launch a new product in a big way, but I understand
37

that the details are to be kept very hush-hushat

least from the trade.
Im not the trade, Connie wanted to say, but she
bit her lip, feeling that it would be unseemly. No
doubt she would learn some of the details in time,
but at the moment she was too new in her job to take
liberties, even with as candid and pleasant a chap as
Ken Cooper. She simply sat back in her chair and
looked interested, hoping that he would go on.
But the elevator stopped, just then, and Ken
joined a friend from the production department who
came hurrying down the corridor. Together the two
stepped into the lift, leaving Connies curiosity only
partly assuaged.
For nearly an hour there was a lull in the
reception room. Then, just before one oclock, the
light from Mr. George Renshaws telephone flashed
on.
Connie picked up the receiver and said, Yes.
Miss Blair, I wonder if youd be willing to give
up part of your lunch hour and do a favor for me?
Of course. Connie even sounded pleased.
Good. I have an envelope in here that is to go to
Miss Marville. Id like you to take it down to the
factory, not to her office. And youre to wait for an
answer, please.
Do you want me to leave right away? Connie
asked.
38

That might be an idea, if you can arrange to have

one of the girls relieve you on the desk.
Ten minutes later Connie was riding the Broad
Street subway north to the factory section of the
city. Here the Marville Laboratories were located in
a square, businesslike structure with great sealed
windows of glass brick.
It had never before occurred to her to wonder
how or where the various creams and lotions and
powders which occupied whole sections of counter
space in such stores as Campions were
manufactured, but now she found herself very much
interested in seeing the inside of the Marville plant.
She turned the large, sealed envelope in her hand,
wondering what it contained, and approached the
unpretentious entrance to the building with a quick
and expectant step.
A small, empty, brick-floored lobby was backed
by a large elevator shaft, and Connie had to wait
nearly five minutes for the car to descend from one
of the upper floors. Then there was freight to unload,
big cardboard boxes containing the distinctive
Cosmetics by Cleo seal, and finally Connie
explained her errand to the operator, who told her,
without expression, that shed likely find Miss
Marville on third.
Third, when Connie was let off there, proved to
be the floor where lipsticks were made. It was
39

several minutes before Connie discovered this,

however. Her first impression was only one of
colorcolor on the floors, which were stained with
every shade in the rainbow, color in great lakes on
every sideblue, red, orange, the basic colors
which were used to make up the various lipstick
shades. Connie paused and blinked, as the door of
the freight elevator clanged shut behind her. She had
a fleeting illusion that even the air was red!
Then, as her eyes accustomed themselves to the
strangeness of the new world she had entered,
Connie became aware that a conveyor belt, manned
by girls in pink uniforms and turbans, ran down one
side of the big, square room. At the far end she
could see a glass partition that indicated the
possibility of an office, and she followed the
conveyor belt along until she came to a closed glass
door.
Through it she could see Cleo Marville leaning
over a laboratory table and arguing with a thin,
bespectacled man with pepper-and-salt-colored hair.
It was a vastly different Miss Marville than the
glamorous creature who had swept into the Reid and
Renshaw Agency on the previous afternoon. Today
the fabulous Cleo had pulled on a smock over her
simple black street dress and her hands were
encased in rubber gloves. A wisp of brilliant hair
had escaped her coiffure to brush her forehead, and
40

only the cobwebby sheerness of her nylons and the

glovelike fit of her narrow black pumps indicated
that she was a woman of wealth.
Connie stood for a minute, astonished at the
transformation and rather impressed that the woman
of fashion could become the working woman she
saw before her. In those few seconds Miss Marville
was raised a thousandfold in her estimation. Then,
just as Connie was about to stretch out her hand to
knock at the closed door, the scene inside the small
laboratory changed.
Miss Marville suddenly stiffened, and her hands,
which had been gripping the edge of the table,
dropped to her sides. But the man opposite her
leaned forward and pounded with his clenched fist
as though he were pressing home a point. Connie
couldnt hear his words, but she could see his
expression change from indignation to fury. His
eyes were narrow behind the glasses and his teeth
seemed to bite at the words he spoke.
Connies glance shifted with alarm to Miss
Marville, but the beauty executive seemed far from
intimidated by the emotional display. She stood her
ground, cold and aloof, one eyebrow raised slightly
in what Connie could only construe as scornful
reproach.
The man opposite her, who also wore a laboratory
smock over his business suit, apparently couldnt
41

stand such taunting. Infuriated to the breaking point,

he suddenly swept his hand across the table in an
impulsive, violent gesture, and sent a rack of test
tubes, a retort, and several instruments crashing to
the floor.
Cleo Marville didnt move, but she smiled, and
her smile was as cold as ice. Connie, wavering
between fascination and repulsion, watched the man
start around the edge of the table, and suddenly she
was afraid for Miss Marville, even though the
executive seemed to have no fear for herself.
She turned the knob and opened the door
abruptly, bursting in on the scene impetuously, as
though her interruption might avert disaster. I beg
your pardon, she said.
Connie was usually far from meek, but she
sounded meek just then. Cleo Marville turned and
looked at her and the man stopped in his tracks, the
taut muscles on his neck settling back under the
skin.
II have a package from Reid and Renshaw.
Connie held out the envelope. Mr. Renshaw said I
should wait for an answer.
Miss Marville ignored the debris on the floor as
completely as she ignored, for the moment, the irate
man. Yes, she said with restraint at which Connie
marveled. She accepted the envelope and tore at the
sealed flap. Ill be a few minutes, she said. I
42

wonder if you wouldnt like to look around the plant

while you are waiting, MissMiss?
Blair, Connie supplied. Connie Blair.
She was surprised that her own voice sounded so
normal, because the tableau she had just witnessed
had been unnerving to say the least. The man had
looked almost murderous, his rage had been so
intense. She wondered who he could be.
Miss Marville supplied the answer a second later
when she said, almost negligently, Miss Blair, this
is my chief chemist, Mr. Paul. Perhaps, Mr. Paul,
you will be good enough to show Miss Blair
around?
It was at once a question and a veiled threat.
Connie felt, somehow, that if Mr. Paul acquiesced,
he would have lost the battle she had interrupted. If
he refused, she didnt know what might happen
next!
For a few seconds there was silence in the little
room, while the decision hung in the balance. Then,
making an obvious fight for self-control, Mr. Paul
crossed the room, opened the door, and with the
briefest of bows to Connie, signaled that she should
go through.
Connie let out her breath in a long, inaudible sigh
of relief as she walked ahead of Mr. Paul through
the door. Over her shoulder she could see Miss
Marville nod with a certain satisfaction, then pull
43

out a stool and direct her attention to the papers

enclosed in the envelope. Then she found the
chemist at her side, and together they walked back
to the manufacturing department through which
Connie had already passed.
In a curiously dead voice, as though, after his
recent outburst, he were now drained of emotion,
Mr. Paul began to explain the processing of the
lipsticks, leading Connie from the enormous copper
vats where the ingredients were mixed to the
endlessly moving conveyor belt.
At another time Connie would have been very
much interested in seeing the hot red liquid poured,
through small mechanical funnels, into molds that
looked for all the world like ice cube trays. But
today her mind was alive with questions. What was
the meaning of the quarrel she had interrupted? Was
the man at her side, who now seemed so subdued, as
villainous as he had looked?
She watched the trays move into freezing units
and emerge with the liquid hardened into lipstick
shape. She saw one group of operators fit the
hardened lipsticks into cases, another group run the
sticks through a flame to give them shine, a third
group apply the metal case tops, and a fourth pack,
all with neat proficiency.
In an attempt to make normal conversation,
Connie said to Mr. Paul, Ive never seen a
44

conveyor belt before.

The chemist replied politely, You can tell your
friends youve seen what is probably the only pink
conveyor belt in the world.
Connie managed a fairly convincing laugh. And
the only one that smells of perfume, Ill bet.
Together they started back toward the office door.
Through the glass partition Connie could see Miss
Marville just tucking the papers back into the
envelope. Mr. Paul saw her too, and the sight
appeared to be too much for him. Abruptly, he
excused himself and walked off hastily in the
opposite direction as his employer beckoned to
Connie.
Here you are, she said, holding out the
envelope. You may tell Mr. Renshaw Ill call him
later. Her glance shifted to Mr. Pauls retreating
back and she smiled wryly, her shoulders lifting in
an almost imperceptible shrug.
Connie went back across the third floor the way
she had come, past the busy girls and past the great
copper vats with their spiderlike arms. She wished
she could know what quarrel Mr. Paul had with
Miss Marville, and wondered whether it had
anything to do with the launching of Cleos new
product, or whether it was a personal feud. No
matter what the cause, it astonished Connie that
Miss Marville had been so calm in the face of such
45

unbridled anger. A shudder raced up her spine and

she murmured as she stood waiting for the elevator,
Id be scared to death if any man ever looked at me
like that.
The elevator was slow in ascending, and the
cumbersome door creaked back to exhibit a car
empty of freight.
Where is the nail polish made? Connie asked
the operator in idle curiosity, as he took her down to
the street floor.
The man looked at her almost suspiciously.
Five, he muttered, but you aint allowed up
there.
Connie rather resented his tone. Discourtesy
seemed the norm around here. I was just curious,
she said.
Lots is.
I beg your pardon?
Lots of people would like to see the polish
made, but its kept a secret. I been working here
seven years, and I never set foot on Five.
Really? Connie was astonished, and wondered
whether the man werent perhaps exaggerating.
Yup. He opened the heavy door and let her out.
On the subway, riding back to the center of the
city, Connie mulled over the strange conversation.
Secret formulas, in this day and age, seemed a little
on the quaint and storybookish side. When she
46

delivered the envelope to Mr. Renshaw she tried to

make an opportunity to ask him if the operators tale
were true, but the agency head seemed abstracted
and she didnt quite dare interrupt his probablyimportant thoughts.
In the reception room, when Connie got back to
her desk, a tall girl with a thick portfolio tucked
under her arm was waiting.
Connie smiled courteously. May I help you?
The girl nodded. Id like to see Mr. Canfield, the
art director, please. Her gray eyes, fringed with
dark lashes, met Connies directly and her voice was
low and sweet.
Connie reached for her pad. Have you an
appointment?
No.
Who shall I say is calling?
My name is Celine Bevan, but he wont know
me.
Are you an artist? Connie had learned quickly
that the agency executives wanted to know
everything possible about people who called without
appointments.
No. Im an agent. I represent a group of New
York artists, the girl said.
There was an easy confidence in her manner
which impressed Connie. In a few days she had
come to recognize the professional touch through
47

which she could separate the wheat from the chaff.

If youll have a seat Ill see whether Mr.
Canfield can see you, she told the tall girl, and
picked up her telephone.
Mr. Canfield, apparently interrupted in the midst
of a conversation, groaned, asked Connie to repeat
the agents name, then said briskly, Ask her to
wait. Ill see her out there in a few minutes.
Connie repeated the message and Miss Bevan
nodded and thanked her briefly, then settled down
on the long sofa and picked up a copy of Advertising
Age, in which she apparently became engrossed.
Five minutes passed, then ten. Connie, who had
been busy in the interim at the switchboard, glanced
across the room. Miss Bevan was sitting with her
head against the back of the upholstered couch, and
the magazine lay idle in her lap.
Im sorry to keep you waiting, Connie said,
because the girl looked rather weary and alone.
Immediately Miss Bevan straightened and smiled.
Thats all right. Im used to waiting. Its part of my
job.
It sounds like an interesting business, Connie
said because she wanted to be pleasant. Actually she
thought that selling the work of other artists
wouldnt be half as much fun as doing art work
herself.
But Celine Bevan said at once, It is! That is, if
48

you like to sell. And I do. You meet all kinds of

people and get into all kinds of situations. Its lots of
fun.
But isnt it often discouraging? Connie
wondered out loud.
Once in a while, but isnt everything?
The girl smiled at Connies artlessness, then
turned and was suddenly alert and businesslike as
Mr. Canfield strode into the room.
A succession of calls claimed Connies attention
for several minutes. When she looked up again Miss
Bevan had her portfolio opened on the low table and
Mr. Canfield was turning over her samples with
apparent interest, asking questions and making
quick, knowing comments here and there.
I was thinking of Meredith for your cosmetic
account, Connie heard Miss Bevan say. You know
he did such a nice job when Murray introduced
Angel Skin a couple of years ago.
Connie could almost feel the atmosphere of the
room change. Mr. Canfield dropped the drawing he
was fingering as though it had stung him and
slapped the portfolio shut.
Meredith would be quite out of the question, he
said shortly. He has a distinctly British flavor and
were interested in an artist for the Marville account
who has a delicate and sophisticated French style to
his drawing.
49

Perhaps Miss Bevan started, but the art

director cut her off. Im sorry if I seem
discourteous, but I have a very important
appointment in just two minutes, he said, glancing
at his watch. Then, with what Connie recognized as
a dissembling smile, he held out his hand. Perhaps,
if you are in town again
The interview at an end, the girl from New York
packed up her drawings and prepared to depart.
Though she didnt seem particularly disturbed by the
art directors rebuff, Connie felt sorry for her, and
with spontaneous friendliness wished she could
make amends.
I understand Marville and Murray arent very
good friends, she ventured as Miss Bevan stood by
her desk, waiting for the elevator.
The tall girls shoulders rose in just a suggestion
of a shrug. You never know, she said with a smile
which told Connie she hadnt particularly minded
the brush-off.
The car stopped, and the girl from New York
nodded a good-bye just before the door closed. From
the corridor behind Connies desk Ken Coopers
boyish voice said, with a tinge of concern, Miss
Blair, heres a little tip. I wouldnt discuss the
Marville account much outside the office, if I were
you. Reid and Renshaw seem pretty touchy about it
these days.
50

CHAPTER

Murray Versus Marville

Connie had a date with Larry Stewart on Saturday

night.
She was feeling a little homesick, because on
Saturday evenings in Meadowbrook the Blair family
always had oven-baked beans and brown bread for
supper. It was a tradition in the house. Here in
Philadelphia, just by chance, Aunt Bet served the
same dish, and it made Connie think of the big
square table at home, of Toby running in from some
ball game, happy and disheveled, and of Ruggles
sitting by Kits chair, begging soundlessly with his
soft spaniel eyes.
Aunt Bet was a darling but very busy with her
own affairs, and Connie missed Kits ready ear, and
the companionship that she had shared with her twin
all through the years.
I think Ill go home, maybe, next week end, she
51

said.
Why dont you? Elizabeth Easton agreed with
quick understanding. Your dad probably gets
awfully bored, just lying in bed. It would do him
good to see you. She didnt mention that it would
probably mean a lot to Connie to see her family, too.
I had a letter from Kit today, Connie said after
a while, and she says the hardware business is
thriving. I dropped her a post card from the office
and told her shed be elected president of the State
Hardware Association in Dads place, probably.
Aunt Bet chuckled at the fantastic idea.
Hardware Men Led by Beautiful Blonde would
make a lovely headline. Kit might even land on the
cover of Life.
Connie hugged her elbows and chortled. I miss
Kit, she confessed. Having a twin is a little like
being half a person. Kit has always been so close to
me I never realized how I depended on her. With a
sudden change of mood her eyes grew dreamy.
Practical Miss Easton said, Being separated for a
while will probably do you both good. Have some
more salad, Connie? Or are you afraid of the garlic
in the dressing? Her eyes twinkled shrewdly,
though she didnt mention Larrys name.
Connie obliged her by blushing. Of course not!
She stretched out her hand for the wooden bowl in
which Aunt Bet always tossed her marvelous salads,
52

but just then the buzzer sounded. That must be

Larry now.
So it was Larry, not Connie, who finished the
salad. Carrying the bowl in her hand, Connie went to
open the door of the apartment, and Larry took the
bowl from her, bowing low to sniff the tantalizing
aroma of the dressing.
Hi, Bet! he called over Connies shoulder. I
hoped Id be in time.
Hes a rabbit, Aunt Bet told her niece. He can
eat a whole bowl of salad all by himself.
And I have! added Larry without apology.
Tell her the worst!
Connies momentary homesickness fled before
the boys infectious gaiety. She felt very lucky to
have two such firm friends in the city, and thought
with pity of girls like herself who came to town to
take jobs, knowing no one, utterly alone.
Her mind flashed to Ellen Randolph. By the
way, she asked her aunt, did a Miss Randolph ever
come to see you?
Just yesterday, her aunt replied. I forgot to tell
you. I introduced her to Miss Gordon in personnel,
and I believe theres a chance there may be
something for her at the store.
Oh, I hope so! Connie clasped her hands. The
promising news lifted her spirits still further, and by
the time Larry announced that he had been given
53

two seats for the Orchestra, Connie again felt that

she was sitting on top of her particular world.
Thats wonderful! she told her escort. Ive
never heard a big orchestra play, except over the
radio.
She had discovered, in her brief sojourn in the
city, that everybody called the Philadelphia
Orchestra simply the Orchestra, as though there
were no other in the world. She knew that it was
housed in the dingy old Academy of Music, because
she passed the building frequently, and she was
delighted that she would have a chance to see the
inside.
It was a short walk from Aunt Bets apartment,
and Connie and Larry strolled down Locust Street
with other orchestra- and theatergoers, idling along
in the soft September night. Larry, who had been
instrumental in finding it for her, wanted to hear all
about Connies new job, and Connie told him about
Cleo Marville and the incident at the cosmetic
factory and the mystery surrounding the new
product Reid and Renshaw were helping to launch.
Im simply seething with curiosity! Connie
admitted. I bet my aunt that Id discover all about it
a couple of days ago, she added ruefully. But to
datenothing.
Larry kidded her, shaking his head in mock
sorrow. Connie, youre slipping.
54

Connie didnt contradict him. Woe is me, she

sighed. However, Monday is another day.
And Monday proved to be the day when Cleo
Marvilles secret was unveiled, formally, to all Reid
and Renshaw employees. A memo went to the entire
office staff, over Mr. Reids signature, calling a
meeting. And at the meeting Mr. Reid, with great
solemnity, announced that the agency was fortunate
enough to be handling a campaign running into
hundreds of thousands of dollars for Cosmetics by
Cleo, to advertise a new product which they hoped
to keep cloaked in secrecy until it was actually put
on sale.
He stood with his hands behind his back,
silhouetted against the wide window of his big
corner office, and rocked on his heels. Were going
to let you in on the secret, but were going to ask
you to help us try to keep it from the general public
until the first ads appear. Do you think you can do
that?
From most of the office staff there was mute
acquiescence, with a few scattered nods and an
occasional muttered Yes. Connie herself bobbed
her head up and down vigorously. Her eyes were
bright with interest and her lips, touched with
Marvilles Rendezvous, were parted. Ken Cooper,
across the room from her, watched the new
receptionist with a smile that was almost tender, but
55

Connie didnt realize that anyone was looking her

way.
Miss Marville, said Mr. Reid, is bringing out a
completely revolutionary nail polish. She has
purchased a secret, Viennese formula, and she is
prepared to manufacture within two months, or as
quickly as national advertising can be prepared and
placed.
Connie was so full of anticipation that the actual
announcement came as an anticlimax. Just a new
nail polish, she thoughtis that what all the
excitements about?
But when Mr. Reid described its qualities, finer
than anything ever developed, and painted in
glowing terms the advertising possibilities inherent
in such a new and different product, she began to
understand the scope of the project outlined.
Say, she whispered to Ken Cooper as they
walked back down the corridor together, sounds as
if this is going to be a busy place.
Busy? The one-armed paper hanger will have
nothing on Reid and Renshaw, Ken retorted. Gal,
you aint seen nothin yet.
Sworn to secrecy as she was, Connie felt that she
had no right to discuss the new product even with
her aunt. She was beginning to understand that the
cosmetic business was highly competitive, even
cutthroat, and that there was real justification for
56

Cleo Marvilles desire to lie low until her marvelous

polish actually went on sale.
Miss Cameron explained her attitude further to
Connie. Marville had a bad break a few years
back, she said. It was when pancake make-up was
very new, and Angela Murray and Cleo came out
with almost identical products under similar names.
Thats how we happened to get the Marville
account. She blamed the agency who was handling
her advertising at the time for letting the cat out of
the bag.
You mean that as reputable a house as Angela
Murray would actually steal an idea? Connie was
aghast.
Could be, Miss Cameron said rather slangily.
She smiled at Connies wide-eyed incredulity and
added, It might have been just a freak of luck, on
the other hand. Its hard to say.
Even with her growing background of
information about the beauty business, Connie
couldnt quite understand the bitter rivalry between
Cosmetics by Cleo and the Angela Murray
products. It apparently antedated the unfortunate
coincidence of duplicating the pancake make-up
kits, and apparently nobody else questioned it. They
seemed to accept it as a natural and established fact.
But Connie, turning the pages of the fashionable
womens magazines that were always scattered
57

around Aunt Bets attractive apartment, was

increasingly puzzled. A couple of evenings later she
showed two full-page ads to her aunt.
The first, over Angela Murrays popular
trademark, contained the full-color photograph of a
famous model, with brunette coloring and a
complexion like country cream. Angel Skin was
the name of the face cream advertised. Connie had
seen it a dozen times on the counters of Campions
cosmetic department. A pink-and-white angel,
featured on all Angela Murray products, decorated
the label, and the price was advertised.
The second ad, for Cosmetics by Cleo, had the
sort of distinction Connie had always associated
with the advertisements of fine perfumes. The
selling angle was different, the copy was more
restrained and the illustration of a beautiful woman
was reproduced from a sophisticated pastel drawing.
It was the kind of drawing Connie couldnt decide
aboutthe kind she neither liked nor disliked, but
which was definitely very smart and expensivelooking indeed.
Sitting on the arm of Aunt Bets chair, Connie
scrutinized the ads again. Just for fun, she
suggested, tell me what you think of these.
Elizabeth Easton cocked her head thoughtfully.
You want me to compare them?
Thats it!
58

There really isnt a very close comparison,

Aunt Bet said. Angela Murray does a volume
business and Cleo Marville is after the luxury trade.
You can see that.
Connie nodded, but her puzzlement remained.
Thats what Id have said. But Marville and Murray
are supposed to be arch rivals. I cant understand
why.
Miss Easton let the pages of the magazine fall
shut and handed it back to her niece. I cant either.
They shouldnt step on each others toes at all,
unless theres a personal animosity we wouldnt
know about. As a matter of fact, she added,
stretching her slender arms like a lazy kitten, it
seems to me each of those houses has what the other
one needs.
What do you mean?
Marville has class with a capital C and Murray
has the middle-class market sewed up and tucked
away, said Connies aunt. Then she turned and
looked up at her niece with a smile. Youre really
interested in the advertising business, arent you?
Terribly, Connie admitted. I always have been
But what she didnt acknowledge was that she was
also getting more and more intrigued by the
complex personality and the business machinations
or the fabulous Cleo Marville.
59

CHAPTER

Week-end Interlude

The dogwoods fled by the train windows, sharp

flashes of gold and crimson against the dulled
greens, and browns of the trees.
Frost in the suburbs, the radio weatherman had
predicted the night before, and Connie could still see
traces of it cobwebbing the grass as the earlymorning train raced past the fields and farms and
villages which lay between the city and her home.
October had come in like a young lion, and the air
was crisp and clean, with a north wind blowing and
the sun playing hide-and-seek with racing clouds.
Connie loved the excitement of fall weather, and she
could scarcely wait to get to Meadowbrook. She
knew just what shed do. Shed change into old
clothes, as soon as shed spent half an hour with
Dad, and get out with Ruggles and Kit for a walk in
the woods.
60

It was fun to be coming home for the week end,

wearing a new hat that had a distinctly career-girl
flavor and carrying a box of candy for the family
and a book for Dad. She felt as though she had been
away a long time, yet at the same moment she felt
that the weeks had passed quickly, because so much
was happening at Reid and Renshaw that everyone
was a little breathless these days.
On the board platform of Meadowbrook station
Kit, in a sage-green corduroy suit, waited with
Ruggles, straining and panting on the end of an
unaccustomed leash. At her first glimpse of Connie
she waved, and ran alongside the train as it slowed
down. Then she hugged her twin exuberantly the
moment she descended the steps.
Connie! Its been forever. You look marvelous!
And what a yummy hat!
Connie, trying to keep the candy and book from
slipping, while she also held on to her overnight bag
and her purse, grinned back at her. You look pretty
marvelous yourself, Kit. Hows Dad? Hows
everything? I didnt know Id miss you all so
much!
Ruggles, equally anxious to express his
felicitations, at this point got Connie hopelessly
entangled in his leash. Kit unwound it from
Connies ankles, took over the management of the
suitcase, and together the twins walked over to the
61

family car.
Dads better, Kit said as she let out the clutch.
If he keeps on improving hes to be propped up in
bed for an hour each day and after a month more rest
hell be able to sit up.
Wonderful! Connie was relieved. She had
worried about her father more than she would admit,
even to herself. And Mother?
Carrying on like a Spartan, Kit said. Shes full
of fun and the best kind of medicine for Dad.
Turning into the main street, Kit chattered on
about the family until the familiar front of Blairs
Hardware Store came into sight. Then she pulled
into the nearest parking space, but without turning
off the ignition. Youll have to take over from
here, she said. Ive got to go back to work. You
know Saturdays our busy day!
Connie did know, of course, but she had
temporarily forgotten that Kit was a working woman
too. She thought regretfully of the walk in the woods
she had been planning, with Kit as her companion.
Do you need an extra hand? she asked
promptly. I could come back as soon as Ive seen
the family. Just say the word.
Kit shook her head firmly. Were getting along
splendidly, she said. Im having lots of fun. She
slid out of the drivers seat and closed the door,
pausing to rumple Ruggles ears as she said good62

bye.
Connie watched her walk away, then, on an
impulse, switched off the ignition and ran after her.
Wait a minute, Kit, she called. I can at least take
time out to say hello to the old store.
Kit turned, obviously pleased, and the girls
walked on along the familiar business street
together. Townspeople, passing them, nodded or
spoke. Almost everyone in Meadowbrook knew the
Blair twins, at least by sight.
Before Wilsons Drugstore Connie paused,
grabbing Kits arm. Look! she said, leading her
twin over to examine a display of Cosmetics by
Cleo. Thats one of our accounts!
Our accounts? Kit teased her.
Well, Reid and Renshaws. Connie laughed.
And Kit, Ive actually met Cleo Marville. Shes
perfectly amazing. Oh, Ive got so much to tell you!
Ill be keeping you awake all night.
Not me, Kit protested. Since Ive been in the
hardware business nothing could keep me awake.
But Im dying to hear about everything. Ill promise
to prop my eyes open, for a couple of hours at least.
Arm in arm, the girls walked on to the hardware
store. It looked little different to Connie than when
she had left home, neater perhaps, as though a
feminine hand had tried to reduce the effect of
clutter, but otherwise much the same. There was the
63

usual Saturday morning flurry of business, men

buying paint and carpentry equipment, housewives
hurrying in and out for floor polish or shelf paper.
Weve been especially busy this week, Kit said.
House-cleaning time.
Connie walked over and fingered a new line of
baking casseroles. Pretty, she murmured. Arent
these attractive, Kit?
We have lots of new kitchen items, Kit said.
Dad ordered them just before he was taken ill. But
they dont seem to be moving very fast. A trace of
a frown appeared between her dark eyebrows.
No? Connie was surprised. She wandered to the
windows at the front of the store while Kit answered
a customers question. Then she snapped her fingers,
as an idea suddenly occurred to her, and turned back
to make a more thorough perusal of the stock. When
she finally said good-bye to Kit and went back to the
car and a decidedly impatient Ruggles, Connie
looked thoughtful, as though she were planning
great plans.
She was so absent-minded, as a matter of fact,
that she never even saw Don Fitzgerald, who waved
to her from the corner of High Street and Brook
Road, then stood looking after the car in aggrieved
surprise. Forgotten was her desire to walk in the
woods. After she had spent an hour with her father,
who did indeed look better, and after she had
64

lunched in leisurely comfort with her mother and

Toby, she went up to her room and got out an old
drawing board, some big sheets of paper and a box
of crayons. Connie had an idea.
By five-thirty, when the short October day had
ended and Kit came home, Connie had turned on the
bedroom lights and was sitting on the floor, her back
against the window seat, with a drawing board still
propped against her knees. She was surrounded by a
litter of paper, some of it crumpled, a few big sheets
propped against chair legs so that they could be
considered from a more satisfactory angle.
Kit stopped in the doorway. For Petes sake
Connie looked up and laughed at her twins
puzzled expression. Genius at work! she
announced. Come on over here. Ive had a
thought.
It looks like more than a thought, Kit replied.
It looks like a brain storm.
Sure! Connie spread her arms. Im surrounded
by ideas.
Kit tossed her suit coat on the bed and crossed the
room to drop to her knees beside Connie. What she
saw surprised her into momentary silence. Then she
picked up the sketch nearest her hand and
murmured, Whywhy, Conniewhatever made
you think of this?
She was looking at a rough sketch of a window
65

display, scaled to approximately the size of the

windows of Blairs Hardware Store. On a ribbonlike
banner were the words A HARVEST OF COLOR
and under them, more discreetly, appeared For
Your Kitchen. From an overturned basket in one
corner of the window spilled a riot of pumpkins,
squash, husked corn, and bright red apples, indicated
roughly by Connies facile hand, holding the gayest
crayons she could find. The rest of the space was
given over to an artistic, eye-catching display of
kitchen itemspaints, shelf edging, mixing bowls,
and the new line of baking casseroles Connie had
discovered that morning, along with other bright
new merchandise designed to make a housewifes
mouth water.
Gather a glorious bounty of color to bring new
life and beauty to your home! said Connie, waving
a crayon like a wand. Say, thats not bad, is it? I
ought to write that down.
Bad? Connie, youre wonderful! Kit laid down
the sketch she was holding and turned to another
one, a merry-go-round drawing of Christmas toys, as
intriguing as a candy cane.
Connie knelt and looked over her twins shoulder.
I thought Dad might even be able to figure out
some way we could make the merry-go-round spin.
Or maybe you could rent one, at one of those display
places in Philadelphia. The kids would love it,
66

wouldnt they?
They would indeed! Kit looked at Connie in
admiration. How did you ever get these ideas?
Theyre good!
Connie sat back and hugged her knees, pleased at
the praise but anxious to be modest. After all, Im
in the advertising business, you know, she said.
Then she confessed, And you know Larry Stewart
is a display man at Campions. Ive watched him
work dozens of times.
Kit was considering still another drawing. I
think youre wasting your time as a receptionist,
she said.
Dont worry, Connie replied with sudden
boldness. I wont be a receptionist long.
Kit looked at her sister confidently. I believe
that, she said. Then she jumped to her feet. Come
on! Lets show these to Dad.
Mr. Blair was as excited as his new store manager
about Connies ideas. Theres no reason why these
couldnt be worked out, Kit, he said promptly. Do
you think you could build the windows from
Connies sketches?
And Kit replied, Im sure I can.
Because Connies homecoming called for a
celebration, Mrs. Blair laid a supper table in Mr.
Blairs bedroom that night.
Mm! Connie sighed as she took her first taste
67

of the baked beans and brown bread for which her

mother was famous. These are better than
anybodys. Its so good to be home!
Its good to have you, Mrs. Blair said with
quiet affection.
And stimulating! Connies father winked at Kit.
Connie put down her fork. Its rest, not
stimulation, that you need, she told her dad
severely. If thats the way you feel about me Ill
have to stay away.
Dont you dare! Kit said like a little girl, her
heart in her voice.
Toby, uncomfortable at any hint of sentiment,
said abruptly, Thats swell candy you brought
home, Sis.
Everybody laughed, and Connie struck a pose.
Loved for myself alone, she cried.
The telephone rang, downstairs, and Mrs. Blair
looked at Toby. You go, Toby, she said.
Toby pounded down the steps and a minute later
called stridently, Its for you, Kit.
When Kit came back, after a short conversation,
she was chuckling. Looking at Connie, she shook
her head. Youre incorrigible, she told her twin.
Don Fitzgerald says you drove right past without
even speaking to him today.
Don? I never saw him!
Mrs. Blair smiled. Dreaming with her eyes wide
68

open.
I was thinking about the store windows, Connie
said slowly. Ill call him back and apologize.
You can apologize in person, Kit said. Hes
coming over in half an hour with Bob Anderson, and
hes bringing a new album of records that he says
we simply must hear.
The evening passed quickly, and it was midnight
when Connie finally snuggled down in the bed next
to Kits. Far from being tired, she leaned on her
elbow and said enthusiastically, Now let me tell
you about Cleo Marville. She really is the most
amazing character youve ever seen.
Kit stifled a yawn, turned on her stomach, and
propped her head on her folded arms. Im sure she
is, she said politely. Begin to commence.
Connie could be eloquent, but Kit was very
sleepy. It wasnt ten minutes later that Connie, now
sitting cross-legged in bed, asked a question to
which she got no reply.
What Id like to know, she was saying, is why
Miss Marville is so temperamental about Angela
Murray. Otherwise, she can be quite businesslike,
but when Murray is mentioned she flies off the
handle. Ive heard her myself. Do you suppose it
could be something personal that we dont know
anything about?
69

CHAPTER

Hush, Hush!

On the Monday after her return from Meadowbrook,

in the corridor which led to Mr. George Renshaws
office, Connie could hear Mr. Reid and Mr. Brinton
having an argument. She didnt mean to eavesdrop,
but it was impossible not to catch their words.
She wants copy that will make the Angel Skin
copy look pale by comparison. Cleo herself puts it
this way: I want copy that will sing. Mr. Reid
was speaking, very authoritatively, Connie thought.
If this goes on much longer, well all be
warbling in a neat set of strait jackets, the Marville
account executive replied grumpily. Ive pushed
our copy writers just about as far as I dare.
Maybe the approach is wrong. Maybe men cant
write selling copy for a woman like Cleo. Maybe we
ought to start all over again and hire some glamour
magazine gals.
70

Jim Brinton said, Aw nuts.

Connie, alone in the outer room, smiled to
herself. She was getting used to the informal,
colorful conversation of the agency executives. To
the clients they could be very suave, but off guard
they were like a bunch of schoolboys, violent,
opinionated, even a little rough.
A minute later Mr. Brinton strode out to the
reception room and stamped up and down, his brows
pulled together, his eyes stormy.
Suddenly he whirled on Connie. What kind of
lipstick do you wear?
Rendezvous, Connie replied promptly.
What makes you use it? How did you decide on
that particular color?
Connies eyes twinkled roguishly and she clasped
her hands like an obedient schoolgirl. Miss
Marville said I should.
Mr. Brinton looked as though hed like to
explode. He started to say something that sounded
suspiciously like a repetition of his former expletive,
then thought better of it, shot Connie a withering
glance and stamped back to his own office,
deliberately slamming the door.
Miss Cameron appeared from the direction of the
art department, glanced first at the door through
which the account executive had disappeared, then
at Connie, and very gently said, Whee!
71

Connie smiled up at her. Mr. Brinton appears a

little disturbed.
Georgia Cameron nodded. Our Cleo is kicking
over the traces again, she said as she went past the
receptionists desk.
Ten minutes later Mr. Brinton telephoned
formally to Miss Cameron, putting the call through
Connie, and asked her to step into his office. A little
later Miss Marville herself swept through the
reception room and through the same door. She was
joined by Mr. Reid. Whatever was happening,
Connie decided, must be of serious moment indeed.
Dick Travis, Ellens redheaded friend from the art
department, came through the reception room on his
way to the production department, glanced at the
closed door of Mr. Reids office, and graphically
turned up the collar of his coat.
Theres a chill in the air, he told Connie. Im
glad I dont write copy.
Your turn will probably come, Connie retorted,
and Dick raised his eyebrows.
Youre really beginning to know your way
around, he said with a grin.
On his way back to his own office he leaned on
Connies desk and said, By the way, Im having
dinner with Ellen Randolph tonight, and Ken and I
were just cooking up an idea that you and he might
come along. Were going to do a movie afterward.
72

I think that would be fun, Connie replied. But

why doesnt Ken ask me himself?
Hes a very shy guy, Dick said firmly, and it
seems he saw you with a tall and handsome lad on
Chestnut Street one night. Hes been afraid youd
turn him down.
Connie thought a minute, then said, Oh, that was
Larry Stewart. Hes a display man for Campions,
and he helped get me this job.
But theres no one-and-only deal?
None at all. Connie laughed. Going steady is
so final, she quipped. And Im a career gal. Didnt
you know?
I was beginning to suspect, Dick shot back. I
bet you even have an angle on this Cleo Marville
affair.
Connies chin shot up. If you mean the difficulty
theyre having over copy for the new nail polish, I
have.
Dick grinned. Really? What is it?
I dont see how anybody can write good copy
about a completely revolutionary product unless
they know how women are going to react to it. I
think its a research department job. They make
surveys and market analyses about everything else
around here. Why not this new nail polish of Miss
Marvilles?
Because, my child, said Dick, speaking with
73

weary condescension and a trace of scorn for Miss

Marville, its a Secret, spelled with a capital S.
Then its her own fault if the copys no good.
She ought to be willing to make up some test
samples. I bet shes never even been asked.
Dick raised a finger. Ill see! Without another
word he walked down the corridor toward the
research department door.
Connie didnt learn the result of the ensuing
consultation until that evening, when she and Ken,
obviously pleased that she had consented to go out
with him, sat opposite Ellen and Dick in a small
Italian restaurant, eating spaghetti with marinara
sauce and a green salad dressed with oil and wine
vinegar.
It was a breeze, Dick told her then. Research
wouldnt stick the old neck out, so little Richard
trotted right in to Mr. Renshaw himself.
Connie looked at Ken slyly. Theres nothing shy
about Dick, she said with a grin.
Dick silenced her with an uplifted hand, index
finger pointed toward the ceiling. Then Mr.
Renshaw got in on the conference, came forth with
Connies suggestion, and prestothe survey is
about to be made.
Connie knew it couldnt have been quite as
simple as it sounded, but she was glad that she had
made a workable suggestion. As she had said to Kit
74

over the week end, she didnt intend to be a

receptionist forever. Connie had her eye on a star.
Ellen asked, Did you tell Mr. Renshaw it was
Connies idea, Dick?
Of course I did. Dick sounded momentarily
insulted. What do you think I am, a heel?
Since, quite obviously, no one in the group
considered him a heel, nobody bothered to reply.
Dick turned to Connie again. Mr. Renshaw will
say a kind word about it too. Youll see.
Connies eyes were warm as she thanked the
young artist. After all, theres no reason why you
should have my interests especially at heart, she
added.
Turn about is fair play, Dick said breezily.
After all, you did a good deal for Ellen. He
smiled, meeting the eyes of the quiet, dark girl
beside him. And doing something for Ellen is doing
something for me.
Ellen dropped her eyes, and Connie saw that she
flushed slightly, but a smile crept into the corners of
her mouth and she didnt deny Dicks words.
Your aunt was terribly nice to me, she said to
Connie after a moment.
Aunt Bets a lamb, Connie nodded. She told
me there might be a job for you, but I never actually
heard
Oh, yes! Ellen cut in. I got the job. In the
75

Baby Bazaar. Selling. And I just love it. Its twice as

much fun Then she stopped and bit her lip.
Connie laughed, not in the least offended. Go
on. Say it. Twice as much fun as being a
receptionist?
Ellen, blushing, met her eyes. Well, maybe I had
an unfortunate experience.
With Miss Marville, you mean? She if a
character. Shes everything you said she was.
Imperious. Arrogant. Difficult.
Difficult is putting it mildly, said Dick.
But, somehow, Connie continued, leaning
forward intently on one elbow, I like her. I like her
because I know shes more thanthan a fashion
plate. Ive seen her in a smock down at her factory. I
think shes a worker and theres something about a
persons ability to work and accomplish things that
Ill always respect.
Ken, who had been listening carefully, nodded in
agreement. Good girl, he murmured under his
breath.
But Ellen had suffered too much at the hands of
the fabulous Cleo to be as generous as Connie in her
estimate of the ladys character. I still think shes
pretty silly, she said. That feud with Angela
Murray
Connie conceded the point, frowning slightly. I
know. But I feel there must be something behind it.
76

Maybe, she suggested, putting her imagination to

work, Angela Murray and Cleo Marville grew up in
the same town or something. Maybe theyve always
been rivals. Who knows?
I dont, Dick said, pushing back his chair and
reaching for the check, but you can easily find out.
How?
Look them up in Women of America, he said.
Its sort of a businesswomans Whos Who. Theyre
certain to be listed, with bells on. Then he changed
the subject abruptly. Come on now, or well miss
the beginning of the feature, and Im a strictly fromthe-beginning guy.
The motion picture was a current and choice one,
and Connie promptly lost herself in the plot,
forgetting all about the office and the complications
attending the launching of the new nail polish. Dick
took Ellen to her home in Overbrook, and Ken
walked across town with Connie to her aunts
apartment, chatting casually.
After Connie had left him on the doorstep she
realized that she had learned a great deal about him,
during the short time they were alone. He lived in a
rooming house on Spruce Street, he had gone to art
school in New York, and he hoped someday to be a
book illustrator. For Ken the advertising business
was merely a starting point.
Dick Travis, Connie knew, felt differently about
77

advertising. For him it was a career job. She was

beginning to believe that the same held true for her.
She had a feeling for the business. It had color and
excitement. Turning her own reactions to it over in
her mind, she undressed and climbed into bed.
In the morning, true to Dicks promise, Mr.
George Renshaw called Connie into his office and
told her, in an offhand manner which was almost
boyish, that the agency intended to make a test
survey of womens reactions to the new nail polish,
the trade name of which was to be Permon. He
didnt thank her in so many words for her help in
making the suggestion, but he did something else
which Connie appreciated more.
How would you like to get away from your desk
for a couple of days and distribute the samples? he
asked her. We could put one of the stenographers
on in your place.
I think that would be fun, Connie said at once,
delighted at the prospect of a change of pace. If I
could do what you need.
Mr. Renshaw smiled. Im sure you could, he
said. People instinctively like and trust you, Miss
Blair. I think youll find them quite ready to listen to
your proposition.
He then explained that Miss Marville was making
up just twenty-four bottles of her new polish, and
that she was anxious to get reactions to its alleged
78

superiority from girls and women in various walks

of life and in various jobs and professions.
Connie nodded. A sort of cross section.
Thats right.
When do I start? Connie asked.
As soon as Miss Marville makes up the
necessary samples. She is to call when they are
ready, and I think it would be well for you to take
your specific directions from her. Then there will be
no possibility of mishandling.
It was three days later that the Marville laboratory
called to say that the samples were bottled. Connie
herself took the message, and therefore wasnt
surprised when Mr. Renshaw arranged to have her
relieved on the reception desk so that she could
make the trip downtown to call for them.
It was a Friday afternoon, and the Reid and
Renshaw offices were closed, like most agencies, on
Saturday, so Connie was told that she could
postpone distribution until Monday, when she would
work under Miss Marvilles direction, reporting at
the office first.
Connie approached the factory with anticipation,
hoping that she would get her instructions from the
head of the cosmetic house direct. But it was Mr.
Paul, not Miss Marville, who interviewed her, and
the head chemist still seemed to be in a black mood.
He was short with Connie, and when she asked for
79

specific instructions on how to proceed he threw up

his hands.
Nobody tells me anything. Dont ask me.
Connie felt a trifle abashed. Well, what she
began.
But Mr. Paul peered at her irately over his
spectacles, his thin mustache nervous. I do not run
this business, he said. I am nothingnothing but a
paid mill hand. Ask Miss Marville what you are to
do. She is the one who holds the great secret. Hush,
hush, hush! That is all I hear. He spread his hands
in a gesture of disgust. When I know nothing to
hush about.
Where is Miss Marville? Connie asked when
she could interrupt the tirade.
Miss Marville? How should I know? Mr. Paul
glared at Connie again, and ran his fingers through
his graying hair. Maybe she will be in Monday,
maybe not. Suddenly he sank wearily into an office
chair as though his temper had spent itself. And
now, if you please, he said with a complete change
of tone, go away.

80

CHAPTER

The Womans Angle

Over the week end Connie guarded the little box of

nail polish bottles, innocent of label, as though they
were the crown jewels. She did not know what she
feared, but as a result of Mr. Pauls outburst she
locked the box in her suitcase and shoved the bag far
back under Aunt Bets luggage in the bedroom
closet.
On Saturday night Larry Stewart came to the
apartment for supper, and on Sunday Connie and her
aunt went out to the Art Museum to an exhibition of
paintings, stopped in at a restaurant for a light meal,
then came home and indulged in the feminine
pastime of snuggling in bed surrounded by
magazines and the Sunday paper.
Connie was settling comfortably into this city
life. She noticed that the pangs of homesickness
were less sharp. They practically disappeared when
81

she rememberedand reminded herselfthat she

could jump on a train any Saturday and be whisked
back to Meadowbrook in two hours.
Conscious that she would be meeting strangers if
she distributed the nail polish samples, Connie
dressed with particular care on Monday morning,
wearing a blue tweed suit bought at a sale at
Campions. With low-heeled brown calf walking
shoes, a felt hat and a matching bag, she looked
appropriately dressed for either town or country, as
her aunt told her with a nod of approval.
Hope you have fun, she added, knowing her
nieces plans.
I will. Connie smiled back. I always do.
I know you do. Thats why youre so
refreshing, Aunt Bet said honestly.
She walked down to the corner with Connie, who
had the small box of samples tucked safely under
one arm, then turned toward the store while Connie
walked in the opposite direction toward her own
office.
Connie thought she would never get over the
thrill of just being in business. She liked to ride up
in the crowded elevator with the neat, smart girls
and freshly shaven men, who always looked so
spruce and well pressed at the beginning of the
working day. She liked the feeling that she was part
of some vast and interesting pattern, that she was a
82

cog in an enormous wheel of enterprise. She even

liked the feeling of being anonymous in the throng.
Instead of taking her usual place behind the desk,
Connie went at once to Mr. Renshaws office.
Good morning, she said politely. I have the
nail polish samples here.
Oh, yes. Have you talked to Miss Marville?
She wasnt in on Friday, but Mr. Paul said she
might come down to the factory today.
Ill call. Mr. Renshaw pulled the phone toward
him and gave the laboratory number. Connie waited
during a brief, monosyllabic conversation. Then Mr.
Renshaw hung up and said, Miss Marville is at
home with a light case of grippe. She asked Mr. Paul
to send you out to her house to talk with her. Are
you afraid of catching cold?
Oh, no! Connie would have risked anything
short of pneumonia to see Cleo Marvilles
establishment, which office gossip described as very
luxurious.
Mr. Renshaw took out his wallet and extracted a
ten-dollar bill, handing it across the desk to Connie.
For expenses, he said. Take a Main Line train to
Haverford and get a taxi at the station. He scribbled
Miss Marvilles address on a memo pad. She lives
a couple of miles back in the country. Think youll
be all right?
Connie realized that he was looking at her
83

suddenly as though he considered her very young.

She straightened, trying to look dignified, and said,
Of course.
George Renshaw smiled in his slow, easy
manner. All right. Go to it, he said.
It was a short walk from the agency offices to
Suburban Station, and Connie reveled in the
prospect of being outside for the better part of this
crisp October day. She made a nine-thirty train and
soon saw the smoke-stained city houses give way to
neat suburban dwellings and apartments. Every two
minutes the conductor seemed to shout out a
familiar town name.
Haverford was a mere twenty-minute ride from
the center of the city, and Connie took one of the
several available taxis, and wasnt surprised that the
driver nodded knowingly when she mentioned Miss
Marvilles name. They rolled, at a leisurely pace,
down a winding suburban road, under oaks and
maples still wearing the fancy dress of fall.
Halloween would soon be here, Connie thought with
nostalgia, remembering the days when she and Kit
had dressed as boys and called, masked, at the
homes of neighbors, to beg coal pieces in the
traditional country way. Now Toby and his young
friends would be making the same rounds, and there
would be gingersnaps at the Shaws, and nuts and
candy at the Andersons, and bright new pennies at
84

the Trotters, as always. And Mr. Trotter would

pretend he simply couldnt guess who Toby was,
knowing all the time
Fine weather were having, said the taxi driver,
interrupting Connies reminiscences.
Beautiful! Connie agreed. The road was
winding downward now, through estate country,
following a creek which tumbled over rocks to its
bed in the valley below. Leaves whirled across the
road, crackling under the wheels of the cab, and
other leaves drifted down soundlessly from the
canopy of trees.
Connie leaned forward to peer at the houses they
were passing, some quite visible from the road,
others set far back beyond border plantings. At an
iron gate the cab turned in to a curving, crushedstone drive and stopped at the broad steps of a house
designed in the New Orleans manner. Connie
alighted, fumbling for the cab drivers fee
impatiently, because all she really wanted to do was
to step back in delight.
It was one of the most unusual houses Connie had
ever seen, perfect for Cleo Marville. Of pink
plastera pink with a lot of gray in itthe house
had long gray shutters and wrought-iron balconies
painted the same pearly shade.
Soundlessly, Connies lips formed the words
Isnt it lovely? The low shrubbery complemented
85

the lines of the house, and a half moon of grass

swept down from the broad steps like a carpet. The
place was spacious but not overwhelming. It looked
as though a person who lived here should be both
happy and gracious. It was a welcoming, serene sort
of house.
But Cleo Marville was far from being either
happy or particularly gracious this Monday morning.
A houseman answered Connies ring, and she was
shown up a broad, winding stairway to a large
bedroom.
Miss Blair, the man announced.
Miss Marville, who lay on a chaise longue at the
far end of the room, was just pulling a fresh tissue
from the box beside her. In a voice that was more
than theatrically husky she said, Cub id.
Connie couldnt help smiling to herself. Rich or
poor, people the country over talked the same when
they caught cold.
Good morning, Miss Marville, she said with all
the brightness and courtesy she could command.
But Connies very freshness seemed to affect
Miss Marville adversely. She was almost petulant as
she waved a languid hand toward a chair. Sit down.
No, not here! Over there. Then she seemed to
realize that her tone was far from welcoming.
Theres no point to your catching this fiendish
cold.
86

Then Miss Marville blew her nose vigorously,

and managed a thin smile. I loathe being ill, she
said, even for a day. Particularly when theres so
much to be done.
The businesswoman was speaking again, and
Connie wasnt surprised that her next remark was
directed at the proposition at hand. Let me see.
Suppose I explain the kind of survey I have in mind,
and you take notes.
Connie explained, rather apologetically, that she
had no paper or pencil, and Miss Marville directed
her to a French provincial desk in another part of the
room. Pull open that drawer at the left. Thats the
one. In back of the monogrammed notepaper there
should be some scratch pads.
Connie did as she was instructed, noting briefly
that the monogrammed paper was heavy and
handsome, with the CM. worked out in maroon on
stock of the same grayed-pink of Miss Marvilles
imaginative house. She came back to the chair with
the scratch pad, balanced it on her knee, and looked
up expectantly.
The beauty counselors eyes were narrowed. I
have a feeling, she said as though she were
thinking aloud, that the copy writers at Reid and
Renshaw are having a hard time getting the
womans angle on this thing. Because most of them
are men, I think they tend to belittle the importance
87

of a revolutionary nail polish. They dont realize its

potentialitiesand they must!
Connie listened as Miss Marville suggested that
she try to get specific reactions from women in
various walks of life, in professions and in business,
in homes of different types.
I think I see what you mean, she said after a
while.
We have two dozen samples, havent we? Miss
Marville asked.
Yes.
Then lets make a list. She waved a hand
imperiously toward the pad.
Connies pencil was poised. She nodded.
Lets see if we can get an opinionjust an
opinion, not necessarily an endorsementfrom a
department store salesclerk, a stenographer, a
housewife who does her own washing, a college
girl Ticking the possibilities off on her fingers,
Miss Marville compiled a list so quickly that
Connies pencil raced across the sheet.
You see, she explained as she went along, I
want to include women who use their hands a lot, in
various ways, and women whose hands get no rough
treatment at all.
Again Connie nodded and Miss Marville went on.
Take a woman in a house with servantslike one
of my neighbors, for instance. She should be
88

included too. Take a pianist or an artist, either one.

How many do I have now?
Connie counted. Twenty-three.
All right. Take a factory girl. From my own
factory, if you like. Ask them to test the nail polish
and give them a fortnight, then check up. Do you
think you can do that?
Im sure I can. But will they all cooperate?
Miss Marville, who had been sitting erect as she
talked, lay back against her pillows and shrugged.
Some wont, she admitted. But its your job to
see that the majority do. Youre young and
attractive, and youre not trying to sell anything.
You should get an audience at least.
Connie left the house determined to do her best
with the assignment. On an impulse she didnt call a
cab, deciding to walk the mile or so to the station.
She had an excellent bump of location and little fear
of getting lost.
As she walked briskly along, she thought about
the job she had to do. To get reactions from most of
the list would be easy, but who did she know in
Miss Marvilles income bracket? Nobody at all. It
was apparent that she would have to tackle a
complete stranger here.
Connie consulted her notes again. Woman of
wealthone of my neighbors, for instance, Miss
Marville had said.
89

Connie replaced the pad in her pigskin purse.

Why not follow the letter as well as the spirit of the
remark? She considered the big homes she was
passing, any one of which must be staffed by several
servants, and wondered whether she dared turn into
one of the driveways.
She might be snubbed by the lady of the house, If
she succeeded in getting past the maid. Connie
chuckled at the thought, not in the least dismayed.
Wisely she decided that she would have to treat this
assignment as a sort of game.
Playfully she examined each house she passed.
This great pile of stone looked too gloomy to house
a woman who would use Cosmetics by Cleo. The
next looked empty, the following one had a corps of
tree trimmers working in the garden, with heaped
branches barring the drive. Another was set so far
back from the road that she couldnt even glimpse it
through the trees. This one on the other side, though,
was quite attractive, a colonial residence set close to
the road, with a small car pulled up before the door.
The car itself, which looked very sporty, and was
of an unrecognizable but obviously foreign make,
decided Connie. Squaring her shoulders she quoted
a line from a childhood game. Here I come, ready
or not! Then she turned into the short, curving
drive.
An interesting woman should own a car like this,
90

she decided as she approached the steps. But

heavens, what shall I do if she doesnt speak
English? The thought halted her for a moment with
her hand on the door knocker. Then, shrugging, she
clacked the brass arm down in two sharp raps.
She waited a decent interval. Then, when there
was no answer, she lifted the elaborate brass
knocker again.
Inside the house she heard footsteps, heavy ones,
approaching, and at the same time the telephone
rang. A squat, rather ugly man in a starched white
coat opened the door. Then, apparently obeying a
command from upstairs, he called, Yes, sir, and
went to answer the phone, telling Connie over his
shoulder to Come in.
Connie entered the house rather reluctantly. In the
first place she was astonished at the informality in
such an elegant establishment, and in the second she
didnt particularly like the housemans looks.
Still, she shut the door behind her and stood in a
square, central hall of imposing proportions until the
servant gesticulated toward a small reception room
or library on the left. Nodding, Connie entered an
octagonal chamber wainscoted in antique green,
with hand-painted scenic wallpaper and furniture
upholstered in quilted velvet in shades of taupe and
rosy brown.
Connie heard the housemans voice say, Yes.
91

Yes, Ill tell him. Then the receiver clicked and

steps ascended the uncarpeted, polished stairs. For
the next ten minutes the girl was left, apparently,
completely alone on the first floor.

92

CHAPTER

Angel on a Letterhead

For the first several minutes Connie simply sat still,

trying to formulate in her mind the words with
which she would introduce her request. The
exquisite detail of the small reception room
delighted her, and kept tempting her away from
strict business thoughts, but she knew she must not
be utterly unprepared when the lady of the house
descended the stairs.
After the square glass clock on the mantel had
ticked away five minutes Connie began to get
restless. She felt rather uncomfortableeven
brazenthe minute she began to analyze her own
temerity, and in order to forestall a desire to bolt she
got up and wandered idly around the colorful little
room. Two of the octagonal walls were filled with
long windows, opening to the terrace, a third
contained the fireplace, a fourth a sofa, a fifth a
93

beautiful inlaid Sheraton secretary desk.

At the desk Connie paused, running her hand
appreciatively over the satiny wood. Then, suddenly,
she stopped.
A stack of opened mail lay on one side of the
desk, held in place by an antique glass paperweight.
Across the upper left hand corner of the top sheet a
blithe little angel capered, holding a streamer
bearing the name of
Well?
Staccato, a mans voice cut across the gap of
silence and Connie whirled around, her handbag,
slung over her arm by its strap, knocking the
paperweight to the floor with a heavy thud and
brushing the pile of correspondence off the desk.
Papers fluttered down like fall leaves, and she
said, Oh, Im sorry! and bent to pick them up.
Let them be!
Again the sharp deep voice cut the air, and
Connie straightened as to a command, no longer
startled, seeing clearly the slender man who stood in
the doorway.
From the tips of his polished black shoes to his
carefully trimmed goatee the man was impeccably
groomed. Perhaps it was the beard, perhaps the
particular stripe of his black-and-gray suit, perhaps
the trace of accent in his speech, but Connie knew
instantly that he was as continental as the car outside
94

the door. His eyes were gray, the color of polished

steel. They were sharp and penetrating as they met
Connies.
What are you doing here? he asked.
Connie drew herself up, not liking his tone. I am
waiting for the lady of the house, she said, meeting
his eyes directly.
And meanwhile you take the liberty of
examining the papers on my writing desk? There
was a suggestion of a curl to the mans lips.
Oh, no! Connie replied, shocked. I was
admiring the wood in the secretary. My bag caught
the paperweight. You startled me.
Ah, said the gentleman ambiguously, one
eyebrow lifting ever so slightly. So!
Indignation flamed in Connies eyes. She
stiffened. I think you are being extremely
discourteous. You dont even know who I am.
Exactly. The man bowed impudently from the
waist. He was old enough to be Connies father, but
he had a way of looking at her that she disliked.
Just who are you?
My name is Constance Blair, said Connie
firmly, even proudly. But at the same time she was
wishing that she had never obeyed the haphazard
impulse to come in here. I am representing a
cosmetic house and I called to see
Ah, a cosmetic house! Did the foreigners eyes
95

glance to the letters scattered on the floor?

Whose?
The question was so directand somehow so
unexpectedthat it never occurred to Connie to
dodge it or to dissemble.
Cosmetics by Cleo, she said, glad that Miss
Marville was known for an exclusive line, for which
she need not apologize, even indirectly.
Both of the mans eyebrows shot up briefly.
So! he said again, and it occurred to Connie that
he did not seem surprised at the connection but,
rather, astonished that she had made such an
admission. Her own brows knit. This conversation
was getting beyond her, fast.
Now, leaving a silence between them so awkward
that it was almost ridiculous, the man moved to pick
up the scattered correspondence. This time Connie
didnt offer to help him, but stepped to one side,
trying to collect her wits.
Yet, instinctively, she watched him, and she
would have welcomed a second look at the letter
which had intrigued her. That angel But he was
bundling the letters together so hastily that she
didnt glimpse it again. What she did see, however,
was a square of powder-pink notepaper which had
settled to the deep carpet almost directly under her
feet.
It was a folded sheet, a personal note in a
96

womans angular handwriting, and in the corner,

unmistakably familiar, was a maroon monogram.
Whether by intention or chance, Connie could not
tell, the bearded gentleman picked up this note last
of all, and anchored it with the retrieved
paperweight on top of the pile of correspondence.
Then he turned and said smoothly, I happen to
know Miss Marville quite well. I should have
thought, had she wanted anything from me, that she
would have come to me direct.
Oh, but she didnt know I was coming here,
Connie hastened to tell him. You see, its like this.
I work for the advertising agency she usesReid
and Renshawand were just making a test survey
on a new nail polish shes bringing out.
To another man this might have meant little, but
the eyes of Connies host were comprehending.
There was a subtle change in his attitude toward the
girl as he said, I see. Wont you sit down?
In the face of his former discourtesy, this
invitation was surprising, but Connie found herself
taking one of the high-backed Chippendale chairs
near the door.
So Im to understand that you just happened in
here?
Thats it! Honesty shone in Connies brown
eyes. Im giving out test samples, and I have to get
reactions from people of different typessalesclerks
97

and stenographers and business executives and

housewives, rich people and people without much
moneyall kinds.
I see.
So I thought perhaps your wife
The man opened a silver cigarette case, offered it
to Connie, and when she refused said, Do you
mind? Tapping a cigarette against his forefinger, he
remarked coolly, I have no wife.
Oh. Connie was abashed. But why didnt you
tell me?
You didnt ask me, said the man, and there was
amusement in his eyes.
She made a movement to rise, but he raised a
detaining hand. I know something of this nail
polish, he said, still looking amused. Tell me, is it
as good as Miss Marville thinks it is?
Connie realized that she had only hearsay to go
on, but she wanted to support her sponsor.
Everybody at the agency thinks its wonderful,
she said.
Polite interest was registered in her hosts
expression. And when is it to be put on the
market? he asked casually.
Im not quite sure of the date, Connie
confessed, but quite soon, I believe. Everybodys
working like mad on the advertising.
Really? Thats very interesting.
98

With the back of his hand the foreigner delicately

stifled a yawn. His tone and his gesture said that he
was becoming a trifle bored, and that now he would
like to see the interview terminated, but his eyes
were as bright as cut steel buttons, and Connie
wriggled uncomfortably. She felt, without
understanding her feeling, that all was not well.
Three minutes later Connie found herself again
walking along the tree-lined suburban road. She
looked back once at the house she had just left,
puzzled and a little disturbed. From behind the
Venetian blinds which shuttered the long terrace
windows she felt that someone was watching her,
but she couldnt imagine why. She couldnt imagine,
either, why she felt that there had been something
strange and unpleasant about the interview, except
that the mans attitude had changed so abruptly. But
that, in a way, was natural. He had greeted her first
as an interloper, a stranger, and then, when he had
discovered that she represented Miss Marville,
everything had been all right.
Or had it?
Suddenly it occurred to Connie that she didnt
even know the mans name. She glanced back again
and noticed that on the stone gatepost was engraved
the word Wonderley. She couldnt tell whether it
was the name of the house or the owner. Certainly it
didnt seem, however, to belong to the man she had
99

just left.
So absorbed was she in thought that Connie
didnt remember, until she had boarded a local train
and was being borne back toward Philadelphia, that
she had left her original mission unaccomplished.
A fine businesswoman I turned out to be! she
chided herself. Now what am I going to do?
The thing she did was to confess the whole
absurd experience to Mr. Renshaw, after she had
distributed several of the samples with ease.
Never mind, he said unconcernedly. I think
Miss Marville should handle that particular
assignment herself anyway. She cant expect you to
go barging into a big house unintroduced.
The next morning Connie presented a couple of
her friends with bottles of the sample polish. She
sent one vial to Marcia Shaw, a girl from her old
Meadowbrook crowd who was now at State College,
and she personally induced Ellen Randolph to
experiment with another.
Ellen snorted, then shrugged and agreed. For
you Ill do it, Connie, but only for you. On account
of you got me this job.
Connie and Ellen lunched together, and then
Connie went down to the display department in
Campions basement to see whether Larry could
recommend an artist who might cooperate. Larry
could, and she spent a pleasant afternoon calling at
100

the artists studio and later going down to the

Marville factory to enlist the aid of one of the girls
on the assembly line.
All in all, it was a successful day, and only one
bottle of nail polish remained to be given out at its
end. This bottle Connie had tagged Rich Woman
in her own mind.
Maybe Aunt Bet knew of a wealthy customer at
the shop whom she could approach, or perhaps by
now Mr. Renshaw would have contacted Miss
Marville and settled the matter.
Back at the office, Connie had barely dropped her
coat and hat in the locker and gone out to relieve the
girl at the desk when the agency head himself
sauntered out into the reception room.
He nodded and smiled. Good day?
Fine! Connie told him cheerfully. Except for
the one I flubbed yesterday, I think were all set
George Renshaw nodded again. Youre
reporting to Miss Cameron on this?
Yes, I am.
Georgia Cameron herself stepped off the elevator
at that moment, returning from an errand. She, too,
paused at Connies desk. The executives, this
afternoon, seemed unusually ready to stand and chat.
Mr. Renshaw was telling me about your
experience with one of Miss Marvilles neighbors,
Miss Cameron said. I dont suppose you know the
101

mans name, Connie?

No, I dont, Connie confessed, still a little
uneasy over that strange interview. But I did notice
a name on the gatepost.
What was it? Mr. Renshaw asked.
Connie was trying to think. She hadnt known
whether it was the name of the house or of the
owner, at the time. Suddenly she remembered, and
snapped her fingers boyishly.
Wonderley. That was it!
Miss Cameron and Mr. Renshaw looked at each
other and suddenly burst into laughter.
Wonderley! Can you beat that? George
Renshaw slapped his knee in amusement and
Georgia Cameron leaned against the side of the
reception desk and laughed until tears came to her
eyes.
Whats so funny? Connie asked, completely at
sea, but for another minute neither of the two
executives could tell her. They were laughing too
hard.

102

CHAPTER

10

Whos Who?

By the next morning it was all over the advertising

agency that Connie Blair had inadvertently stumbled
into the house rented from the Wonderleys by Baron
von Gletkin.
Whos he? Connie had wanted to know, and
Mr. Renshaw and Miss Cameron had told her. Hes
the scientist who developed and sold Miss Marville
her new secret formula. No wonder he was both
amazed and amused at your errand. It is pretty funny
that you happened in there, youll admit.
Connie nodded, and laughed with the rest of
them, but in the morning, when she met Dick Travis
outside the media department door, she asked How
was I to know? She was taking her teasing goodnaturedly, but at the same time she was standing up
for herself.
Dick shook his head. You couldnt. Then he
asked with frank curiosity. What was the old boy
103

like?
He wasnt so old, Connie said. Not doddering,
I mean. Maybe pushing fifty. Hes the kind of man
youd call dapper, I suppose. Awfully well-pressed
looking.
Dick glanced down at his own baggy tweeds. He
should be. He must have made a pile of dough from
la belle Marville.
I suppose, Connie said, without admitting that
it would never have occurred to her that a man with
a title tacked before his name might be in straitened
circumstances.
Rumor has it, Dick told her, lowering his voice,
that the Baron has been giving our Cleo a bit of a
play.
Play?
Dick nodded. The bended knee stuff. It wouldnt
be a bad thing, probably, to take home a wealthy
American bride.
Oh, but Miss Marville would nevernever give
up her business, Connie finished lamely.
Dick was too shrewd for her. You were going to
say shed never be interested in von Gletkin, werent
you?
Well, yes.
Why not? Isnt he as smooth as they say?
Connies brow wrinkled. Smooth? Maybe, in a
foreign sort of way. What nationality is he, by the
104

way?
Dick shrugged and waved the hand in which he
was carrying some proofs of magazine ads.
German, AustrianI dont know. Cleo met him in
Vienna, Georgia Cameron says.
Connie went back to trying to answer Dicks
original question. Hes almost the type youd call
distinguished, she said. He has a beard trimmed in
a tuft like a goats and he has long, thin hands and
high cheekbones. You know.
Im learning.
But he has eyes like ice. Connie frowned and
an impulsive shudder ran through her at the
memory.
Maybe thats characteristic of successful
businessmen, Dick quipped.
But not of successful suitors, Connie shot back,
glancing up at the artist from under her curling
lashes and grinning impishly. Anyway, hes too
short for Miss Marville, she added decisively.
Dick laughed and turned the knob that opened the
door of his own office. So thats that! he said with
equal firmness. And now that we have Miss
Marvilles affair of the heart whipped to a standstill,
I suppose I should get to work.
And I should go rest on my switchboard,
Connie chuckled over her shoulder as she walked
away.
105

Dick knew, as well as she, that there wasnt much

resting around Reid and Renshaw these days. From
the top executives right down to the receptionist,
everybody was busy with a dozen jobs at once.
Connie, in her spare moments, was clipping ads
relating to various R. and R. accounts from
newspapers and magazines. She enjoyed this
immensely, because it enabled her to get a birdseye view of the agency business, at least in so far as
it concerned the actual use of publication space.
About the publicity and public relations end of
the business, as well as radio advertising, she knew
little, but she was beginning to understand the
manner in which a magazine ad was born and grew.
Someday she wanted to be intimately associated
with that growth. She wanted to work in the art
department or she wanted to write copy. When she
allowed herself to really daydream, she wanted to do
both!
About the middle of the afternoon Miss Cameron
put through a call to Cleo Marville at her home.
Connie noticed, as the beauty executives voice
came over the line in a monosyllabic Yes, that it
was less husky than on Monday. Much of the former
imperious quality was back.
Connie was busy with some callers and
messengers a few minutes later when Miss Cameron
came out of the office. Miss Marville has arranged
106

for a friend of hers who lives just down the road to

test that remaining sample of Permon, she said.
But youll have to take it out to her. Can you leave
right away?
Connie nodded, and as soon as a girl could take
her place behind the switchboard she set forth over
the now familiar route. The cab driver happened to
be the same as on the previous morning, and,
recognizing his fare, he was very chatty, all the way
along Castle Creek Road.
Knowing that it would take only a minute or so to
deliver the small package, Connie asked him to wait,
and, with her errand accomplished, climbed
companionably into the front seat beside the elderly
man instead of sitting stiffly in the back.
At home I always ride in front when I take a cab
from the station, she told him. Do you mind?
Not at all. A pleasure, a pleasure, murmured the
old fellow gallantly. Wheres home?
Meadowbrook, Connie told him. Its a little
placelittle enough so that there we know
everybody and everybody knows us.
Here its not much different, said the driver,
defending his own locality against even
unintentionally implied criticism. Not many people
I dont know in these parts.
Do you know Miss Cleo Marville? Connie
asked.
107

Miss Cleo? Sure! Knowed Miss Cleo and her

sister, ever since they was girls goin to the Camelot
School. Nice as pie, too, the both of them. Pity they
ever had that falling-out.
What falling-out? Connie asked quickly.
Apparently her tone was considered discourteously
curious, because the driver became suddenly deaf.
Knowed the Lyttons too. You know them? He
pointed to a big house on a hill, turreted like a
French chateau.
Goodness, no! Connie told him. I only know
Miss Marville because the advertising agency I work
for handles her business.
But the taxi driver was still concentrating on the
Lyttons. Its from their place Castle Creek Road
gets its name.
I shouldnt wonder, Connie said, peering
upward, but she wasnt really very much interested
in discussing someone of whom she had never even
heard. Now Cleo Marvilles sister interested her.
She wished she could get the drivers attention back
to the original theme.
She attempted to by a devious route. Do you
know the Wonderleys? she asked, since the fellow
apparently liked to play this kind of game.
The old man nodded. Yes, indeedy. Finest that
come, cept that they go gallivantin off too much.
Take now. Where are they? Mexico! He positively
108

snorted over the word. While they rent that house

of theirs to a Baron von Thingumajig they dont
know from a hole in the ground.
Baron von Gletkin, Connie told him with a
smile. Im sure hes perfectly respectable. Hes a
friend of Miss Marvilles.
But even as she said the words Connie wondered
whether she really believed them. She hadnt liked
the man with the goatee, though she could
understand why it might have tickled a rather
sophisticated sense of humor to keep his identity a
secret from her.
The old taxi drivers only reply was a snort. He
drove along in silence until he came abreast of the
Wonderley gate. Puttin on airs, he mumbled then.
Connie, on the side nearest the house, peered
through the early October dusk at the flat colonial
facade. It didnt look, at the moment, as though
anyone were putting on airs, or even putting on
lights, about the place. The blinds were drawn, the
massive door shut. Not a car nor a catnor even a
food-gathering squirrel, disturbed the peace.
Yet was it peace? As Connie looked at the big,
remote house, she felt that it had a sinister look, and
she was swept again by the same sensation of
disquiet that she had experienced during her
interview with the Baron. She felt, though she
couldnt have told even Kit why, that all was not
109

well within those walls.

It was after dark when Connie reached the
apartment, and Aunt Bet already had a cheese
souffl in the oven and tomatoes stewing with
aromatic vigor in a pot on the stove.
I stopped at the French bakery for bread, said
Miss Easton, extracting from its wrappings a loaf a
yard long and no bigger around than a demitasse
cup. Lets slice it part way through and put it in the
oven with garlic butter, the way we do when we
have spaghetti.
Mmm! Sounds good. Connie was hungry. She
went into the bathroom to wash her hands before
starting the job. Larry should be here. You know
the way he loves anything that smacks of garlic.
You can ask him, any time, her aunt called
back from the living room, where she was putting
heavy, woven place mats of cherry red on the old
pine table.
Theres another boy I ought to entertain first.
Ken Cooper.
The one who took you to dinner the other
night?
Thats the one. The artist. Youd like him, Aunt
Bet. Hes awfully nice.
Im sure he is. Id enjoy meeting him. How
about a Sunday night? For supper. I have some
entertaining I should do too, and we could make a
110

party of it.
That would be fun, Connie agreed, and the two
of them discussed plans as they got their simple
meal on the table.
You know, living with you, Aunt Bet, is just like
living with another girl, Connie said shyly after a
while. I love it.
Im glad you do, her aunt smiled back,
because I love having you. Then, to avoid
seeming overly sentimental, she added, And I just
love having help with the dishes. Particularly
tonight. Because I have to go to the library and if I
dont get started soon the place will be closed up as
tight as a drum.
Ill walk along, if I may, Connie said when her
aunt was ready to leave. Theres something Id like
to look up. Because it sounded so nosy, she didnt
confess her precise errand, namely, to see whether
she could find a record of Cleo Marvilles past. This
sister angle interested her, and she had what her dad
always called a hunch.
Together Elizabeth Easton and Connie walked
along the dim streets. They looked like two girls of
equal age under the lamplight, and since Connie was
wearing low heels and Aunt Bet high ones they even
seemed to be the same height.
Penny for your thoughts, said Miss Easton after
they had covered a block in almost complete silence.
111

Connie chuckled. Theyre worth a nickel since

Ive been working for Reid and Renshaw, she
insisted.
Tch! Tch! The high cost of thinking! Aunt Bet
always had a comeback ready.
As a matter of fact, Connie told her, I was
thinking about Miss Marville.
She seems to be on your mind a lot these days.
She is, Connie admitted. Shes an odd sort of
person. For all her enormous success, I have a
feeling that shes both lonely and unhappy, and Id
like to know why.
Connie, Connie! You cant be a little mother to
all the world.
Connie agreed. I suppose not. Maybe Im just
trying to excuse idle curiosity.
But she knew she was not. She had a sharp,
personal interest in anyone whose life she touched.
It was a warmhearted interest, not a prying one, but
it led her into some unusual places and situations,
nevertheless.
Tonight it took her into the reference room of the
Philadelphia Free Library, a calm and beautiful
building on Logan Square. While her aunt went on
upstairs to return some books she had borrowed,
Connie went to the desk and asked to see a copy of
Whos Who.
Any special year? asked the librarian.
112

Connie hesitated a minute. The latest one, she

decided.
Disappearing into the racks, the librarian went for
the book after Connie had filled out the proper card,
and a few minutes later she returned and handed it
over the counter.
Connie took the heavy volume to a lighted table,
and turned immediately to the Ms.
Marcus, Marks, Marshall, Martin. Her finger ran
down the page. Marville, Cleo. She stopped.
actress; b. Headlee, Ind., Feb. 13, 19; d. Alfred
Walter and Margaret (Conway) Murray

Connie snapped her fingers. Just what I

thought, she murmured aloud. Then, scarcely
crediting the evidence of her own eyes, she went
back and read the beginning of the biography again.
This time she read on through to the end.
Ed. Camelot School, Rosemont, Pa., Bryn Mawr
College. . . . Made debut with Washington Square Players,
New York City

There followed a list of productions in which

Cleo had appeared subsequent to her marriage to
Gregory John Marville. Connie discovered that the
former actress belonged to the Colony Club in New
York and to the Art Alliance in Philadelphia, and
113

that after ten years on the stage she had retired and
gone into the business of manufacturing cosmetics, a
fact she already knew. Nothing else of special
interest was included in the sketch.
But the appearance of the name Murray was allimportant. Connie turned a few pages of the book, to
see whether Angela Murray might also be included
in its roster of prominent names. But while there
seemed to be actresses and writers galore,
apparently a purely commercial success, such as that
of Marvilles chief rival, was not deemed worthy of
inclusion. There would be no way to double-check
her findingsat least not tonight.
Elizabeth Easton stood at Connies shoulder. I
find you doing the most amazing things! Her
amused whisper was at a library level.
Look at this! Connie turned back to the
Marville biography and pointed out her discovery.
Its pretty conclusive proof that Marville and
Murray are sisters, Aunt Bet.
Miss Easton drew the book toward her and read
the notation carefully. Sisters? It doesnt seem
possible.
Ill bet it is, though. That would explain a lot.
Connie told her aunt about the conversation she had
had with the taxi driver. There must have been a
very bitter quarrel, she concluded. I wonder what
it could possibly have been about?
114

CHAPTER

11

Temperament!

Mr. Paul, his face like a thundercloud, sat on the

long couch opposite Connies reception desk and
tapped his stick impatiently against the floor.
It was unusual to see a man with a cane these
days, but Mr. Paul carried one. Connie looked down
at his shoes. No spats. Too bad.
Im sorry to keep you waiting, she said after
another fifteen minutes. But as I told you, I havent
the slightest idea what time Mr. Renshaw will be
in.
Mr. Paul waved his hand brusquely. No matter. I
will wait. He tried to settle back, but in a minute his
spine was straight again, his eyes flashing. Connie
even thought, in the intervals when she wasnt busy
with the switchboard, that she could detect him
mumbling to himself.
Clearly, something was very wrong, and Connie,
115

much as she loved excitement, was sorry. For the

past three weeks everyone, as she put it in a letter to
Kit, had been in a pink dither about the Marville
account, but now that Thanksgiving was
approaching, there had come a welcome lull.
A lot had happened since the evening when
Connie had looked up Cleo Marvilles record in
Whos Who. Based on reactions gleaned from trial
users of the new nail polish, the copy department
had finally managed to please Reid and Renshaws
exacting client. Now ads for Permon were
completed and approved, contracts for magazine and
newspaper space signed, and plates had been rushed
off to the various publications with early closing
dates.
January would not only introduce a new year but
a new Marville product, and which seemed to be
more important Connie found herself unable to
decide.
In the meantime, Connie had seen the fabulous
Cleo only twice. Once she had passed the Hotel
Warwick just as the former actress, draped in mink,
stepped out of a chauffeur-driven car pulled up
under the sheltering marquee. On the other occasion
Miss Marville, severe in a black business suit, had
come to the office for a conference on radio
promotion, but at neither time did she appear to
remember that she had ever before laid eyes on
116

Connie. Such, Connie decided astutely, is the

complete self-absorption of the near-great.
As a result, Connies awakened sense of pity for
Miss Marville as a lonely and unhappy woman had
been taking a cat nap. She was still intrigued by the
relationship between Marville and Murray, which
certainly did much to explain the bitter rivalry
between the two houses, but she was trying to adopt
the urban attitude that it is best not to delve too
deeply into an individuals private affairs.
Furthermore, what could sheConnie Blair
possibly do to improve the lot of anyone as remote
and as independent as Miss Marville? Ellen
Randolph had probably been right in her judgment;
it could well be that Cleos quarrel with her sister
was as silly as her indignation that any employee of
Reid and Renshaw should use cosmetics from the
rival house.
Mr. Paul groaned. It could only be called a groan,
and Connie looked at him sharply. But he was
wrapped in his own thoughts, which certainly
seemed disturbing. Connie wished Mr. Renshaw,
who seemed to be the most successful mediator in
all things connected with the Marville account,
would come.
As though in response to her very wish, George
Renshaw stepped off the elevator. He turned at once
toward his own office, but Mr. Paul was across the
117

carpeted floor as fast as a squirrel. Connie couldnt

have sworn that he actually tugged at the big mans
coattails, but Mr. Paul certainly gave that effect.
It is over, he shrilled. She has insulted me
once too often. I have quit!
George Renshaw turned and looked down at the
slight, fiery-eyed chemist with weariness mixed with
compassion. He dropped a big hand on the smaller
mans shoulders and a slow smile touched his lips.
Very calmly, very deliberately, leading the
Marville chief chemist back to the couch from
which he had bounced, he said, You cant quit,
Paul. Not now.
I have! I will! Mr. Paul looked like a ruffled
fighting cock. I mean I will, I have! Oh, what does
it matterthat woman, she is impossible!
Tell me about it, Mr. Renshaw said.
Connie had been trying to think of whom Mr.
Paul reminded her. Now she knew. He looked, as he
had on the day she had surprised him quarreling
with Miss Marville at the factory, exactly like a
picture of Mephistopheles in a book at home.
I have taken insult upon insult, he was saying
in a voice pitched to the level of a stock company
villains. First I may not know the formula, oh, no!
Yet I must order the materials. I must have
everything in readiness. I must be set towhat do
you call it?shoot!
118

Mr. Renshaw nodded.

I am the plant manager, yes? Mr. Paul shook
his head faster than a speeding metronome. Indeed,
no! I am a lackey, an errand boy. I may not be
trusted with the formula for the polish I myself will
manufacture. He beat his chest and his voice rose
to a thin scream.
Mr. Renshaws frown was not without sympathy.
But you know how anxious Miss Marville is to
forestall any possibility ofof duplication or theft.
You think I am a thief, eh?
No, no. Now, Paul
Ah, but I could be! It is such suspicion that
breeds thievery, Mr. Paul hissed, and Connie
thought that he looked positively evil, with his eyes
narrowed and his mustache twitching as he mouthed
the words.
Mr. Renshaw shot a glance at the receptionist,
saw that she was staring in fascination at the
chemist, and stood up. Come on back to my
office, he said, to Connies disappointment. Lets
talk some more about this. I promise you it is not as
important as you make is seem.
Not important, eh? Not important? Mr. Paul, on
the point of being led away with comparative
docility, stopped dead in his tracks and brandished
his cane like a sword. How am I to know she
doesnt send this man down to the factory? How am
119

I to know the date is such a secret still? The

advertising has been placed. The display pieces and
counter cards have been delivered. Dozens of people
know that the launching is set for January
But Mr. Renshaw had successfully propelled the
chemist down the hall to his own office. Connie lost
the rest of the sentence as the door slammed behind
them. At a brief distance from her shoulder a voice
asked in amusement, Mr. Paul has let what cat out
of what bag?
Connie looked up into Ken Coopers smiling
eyes. Mr. Paul is really upset! she told him.
So I gather. Did he seem to be breathing fire?
Silly!
What seems to be wrong?
I can only guess, Connie said.
Guess Number One?
That Mr. Paul spilled the date of the new nail
polish launching to a visitor at the factory who
represented himself as coming from Miss Marville.
Ken whistled. Boy, Ill bet he is in the
doghouse!
The worm has apparently turned, Connie said.
Mr. Paul is furious at Miss Marville.
Oh?
And I dont really blame him too much, Connie
said pugnaciously. After all, just as he said, dozens
of people already know the date set for the
120

launching. What can one more matter? Everythings

setthe ads are all placed
Right, Ken agreed. But isnt the interesting
thing something else again?
What do you mean?
Who would go to such lengths to discover the
launching date? Ken asked, leaning on the
reception desk. And why?
Though the question was only rhetorical, Connie
answered it. I havent the slightest idea, she said.
But for the rest of the afternoon she was troubled.
Could the old feud between Marville and Murray be
breaking out again? And what was the feud? She
wished she knew. Aunt Bet had shrugged and said,
What do women usually fight about? but that
didnt solve anything. Connie wished there were
someone with whom she could talk the whole
situation over. She felt that everyone was sitting on
a highly explosive tinderbox, that perhaps Mr.
Pauls quarrel might be the spark that would set the
whole thing off. Yet why she felt this alarmand
what could possibly be about to happenshe hadnt
the foggiest notion.
Not the foggiest, she said to herself with a
frown.
It was a good hour before Mr. Paul was ushered
out. He still seemed irate, but Connie decided that he
no longer looked dangerous. She was a little
121

relieved.
Still, when she went home, she asked her aunt,
Do you ever have a sort of premonition?
Aunt Bet smiled. Often. In the pit of my
stomach. A premonition of disaster. As though
something terrible were about to happen. But
nothing ever does.
Not ever?
Never! Aunt Bet said firmly. Its probably just
something to do with the moon.
Connie wandered over to the window and looked
out. There isnt any moon, she said.
There was a moon the next night, though, when
Connie and her aunt drove to Meadowbrook to
spend Thanksgiving Day with the Blairs. It was a
thin sliver of red in the sky and somehow, to
Connie, it looked ominous.
Like a bloody fingernail, she said.
Connie! You give me the creeps. Whats been
the matter with you this last couple of days?
I dont know, Connie confessed. I feel uneasy,
but I dont know why.
This sense of restlessness, just bordering on
anxiety, persisted throughout the holiday. Kit teased
her twin about it, when they were setting the white
damask cloth with silver and Mrs. Blairs prized
Wedgwood.
Get your mind off your work, Connie. This is a
122

day for thanksgiving and celebration. Dads coming

downstairs, remember?
Of course Connie remembered. It would make
Thanksgiving dinner just about perfect, to have Dad
sitting behind the twenty-pound turkey, as he always
had in former years. Don Fitzgerald and Corky
Adams, a boy from just up the street, were coming
over to carry him back up again, because the doctor
had said this would be best.
Dont pay any attention to me, Connie said to
Kit, grinning to assure her sister that everything was
all right. Mmm! Smell! she added, as her mother
opened the oven door to baste the roasting fowl.
Doesnt that smell good?
The turkey tasted as good as its aroma promised,
and dinner was a very gay affair. Connie had two
pieces of pumpkin pie but Toby outdid her.
Unabashed, he downed a third and then looked
inquiringly at his mother, who ignored him.
Mom
The answer is no.
But, Mom
Toby Blair, I think you have a tapeworm. I cant
even bear to think about what youve eaten. Now
suppose you just sit back and relax.
Connie grinned at her brother, remembering her
own capacity at his age. Ill bet you could start all
over again, couldnt you? she asked roguishly.
123

Sure! Toby boasted. I could.

The rest of the family groaned, and Kit pushed
back her chair. As an antidote to that remark, she
announced, coffee will be served in the living
room.
Toby snorted. Whats coffee? he asked
disapprovingly, and prepared to depart.
All too quickly, it seemed to Connie, the time
came when she and her young aunt had to say their
good-byes. Theres so much we havent talked
about, Connie told Kit, clinging to her for a minute.
I especially wanted to ask about the window
displays at the store.
Weve been doing beautifully with them! Kit
said. Thanks to you! She added, Dad says you
have a genius for that sort of thing. Connie, why
dont you try to go to art school at night?
Oddly enough, Ive been thinking about it,
Connie replied, and because the subject had come
up, she did some more thinking about it during the
ride back to town. She decided to talk to Ken or
Dick Travis further about such a possibility in the
morning. But in the morning something happened to
put the idea temporarily out of her mind.

124

CHAPTER

12

MissingOne Client

The day started innocently enough.

Reid and Renshaw employees, replete with
feasting and football games, if not with the full spirit
of thanksgiving which had distinguished their
forefathers, straggled in to work on Friday morning
approximately on time.
Connie made sure the table in the conference
room was cleared and neat. She dutifully sharpened
pencils and straightened chairs, because Miss
Marville was due for a conference on radio and
newspaper advertising at ten.
Mr. Reid beat the gun by nine minutes, Mr.
Renshaw by five. Miss Marville, no matter what her
other faults, was proverbially on time, and expected
equal promptness from others. Along with junior
executives called in for the occasion, the agency
heads were assembled around the long table on the
very dot of the hour. But fifteen minutes later their
125

client still had not shown up.

Mr. Reid, slightly irritated, came out to the
reception desk. Call Miss Marvilles office, will
you, Connie, and see whether there has been any
slip-up in our mutual understanding of the time.
Certainly, Connie said, and started to dial.
She got a busy signal and had no sooner hung up
when a call came through on another trunk from
Miss Marvilles secretary. There was just a
suspicion of concern in her voice, Connie thought,
when she asked, Is Miss Marville there? This is
Miss Lathrop speaking.
No, she isnt, Connie said. We were just trying
to reach you.
Yes?
She was due here for a conference at ten. Would
she be at the factory, dyou think?
I just called the lab. Miss Lathrop sounded
definitely puzzled. She isnt there and she isnt at
home. In fact The young woman hesitated, as
though she were saying too much to the Reid and
Renshaw operator. Youd better let me speak to
Mr. Reid or Mr. Renshaw, please.
Just a minute.
Tactfully, Connie turned to Mr. Reid. Perhaps
youd like to take this call in your own office, she
suggested pointedly. Then she smiled and added
facetiously, Miss Marville seems to have
126

disappeared.
Mr. Reid groaned, and as he passed the
conference room he stuck his head in the door.
Connie heard him say, I guess well have to
postpone this confab. Our client seems to have been
detained. Then he went on to his own office and
Connie transferred Miss Lathrop to his wire.
Five minutes later he came back to Connies
desk, looking definitely perplexed. You took the
message from Miss Marville asking that the time of
this conference to be changed from eleven to ten,
didnt you?
Connie nodded. Yes, I did.
When did that call come through?
Connie thought. Wednesday afternoon about
three oclock.
And Miss Marville seemedperfectly all
right?
Perfectly. It was Connies turn to be puzzled,
and she had to bite her tongue to keep from asking,
Why?
Mr. Reid scratched his head behind his ear, where
the dark hair was peppered with gray. Darnedest
thing, he said. She hasnt been home since
yesterday afternoon. He frowned. Better get me
the house.
Connie called the out-of-town number, was
answered by one of the servants, and gave Mr. Reid
127

the call on the reception-room phone. It was a little

unsatisfactory to hear only one end of the
conversation, yet it was better than nothing.
This is Mr. Reid of Reid and Renshaw speaking.
Is this Mary? Miss Lathrop tells me youre a little
concerned about Miss Marville, thaterthat you
had expected her home after dinner last night.
There was a high-pitched, squeaking noise in the
mouthpiece, which was apparently Mary making her
explanations. Yes, said Mr. Reid occasionally.
Yes
Connie pretended to be indifferent, but she was
all ears.
Now, Mary, Mr. Reid said after a while, his
voice calm although he was still frowning, I dont
think theres any real need to be disturbed. Youll
probably hear from Miss Marville later in the
morning. She probably stopped in somewhere after
the football game and her friends persuaded her to
stay on. Maybe she just overslept this morning. You
never can tell.
But his effort to be jocular, and at the same time
comforting, apparently fell flat with the maid. The
wire squeaked again, and Connie was almost certain
the voice on the other end said, Not Miss
Marville. In a few seconds Mr. Reid hung up.
She went to the Penn-Cornell game, he said
slowly, his hand still on the telephone receiver. He
128

seemed to have forgotten Connies presence and to

be talking aloud to himself. With friends. Mary
doesnt know with whom. She hadnt planned to be
home for dinner, said she might be late, but that
shed want breakfast this morning at eight as usual.
He shrugged.
Just as you said, shell probably call later in the
day, Connie said encouragingly.
Eh? Oh, yes. Mr. Reid looked at Connie
sharply. I wouldnt mention any of this, if I were
you, he added before he again turned away.
Of course not.
If Connie had learned one thing at Reid and
Renshaw, it was to keep quiet concerning anything
connected with a house account.
Yet she couldnt help wondering about the
whereabouts of Miss Marville as the morning
dragged along, as post-holiday mornings so often
do. It would be rather fun, she decided, to be as
famous as the fabulous Cleo, and have all sorts of
people worry about you if you happened to change
your plans.
By noon, when the agency heads went out to
lunch together, no phone call had yet come through
from Miss Marville. Connie heard Mr. Renshaw
talking to Mr. Reid as they waited for the elevator.
Keep your shirt on, old man, he said, clapping his
partner on the back in considerable amusement.
129

Shell show up soon enough. Then he laughed

when Chip Reid looked at him sourly and added,
Every womans got a right to change her mind.
But Cleos a businesswoman. Shes no party
girl. Mr. Reid turned his soft felt hat in his hands.
No, George, I dont think thats the answer. The
elevator, stopping just then, cut off the rest of his
retort.
Connie went to lunch at one, and when she
returned at two Georgia Cameron came up on the
very next car. Have they heard from Miss Marville
yet? she asked Connie immediately, and when
Connie shook her head she drew her eyebrows
together and said, Thats strange.
Very strange, Connie was beginning to think.
When five oclock came and there was still no word
from either Miss Marvilles home or her office, a
thrill of alarm crept up her spine. A person didnt
just walk out of a football game and out of the
picture. Connie felt that someone should try to
discover the names of the friends with whom the
cosmetic executive had gone to the game and dined.
Apparently Mr. Reid had the same idea, because
he asked Connie to keep the switchboard open for an
extra fifteen minutes, and he put in one call after
another to Main Line numbers, apparently trying to
trace Miss Marvilles whereabouts through some of
her social connections, when other efforts had failed.
130

Finally he put through a call to the house again,

and Connie got Mary on the phone. By now the
maid seemed a little distracted. Did they find her?
she asked as soon as Connie announced that Mr.
Reid was calling. Oh, I pray the good Lord she
hasnt been run over and killed.
Hello. Hello, Mary? cut in Mr. Reids brisk
voice. Now listen, theres no need to get
hysterical were the last words Connie heard.
A few minutes later George Renshaw strolled into
the lobby with his hat on the back of his head. He
nodded to Connie and smiled. I think you can go
now.
While Connie was getting her hat and coat he
stood in the center of the empty room rocking on his
heels and whistling thoughtfully. He was joined by
Mr. Reid just as Connie reappeared.
She must have kept some sort of engagement
book. My wife does, he drawled.
Mr. Reid snapped his fingers. Of course!
But Ill bet Maryll never be able to find it, he
added mischievously.
Mr. Reid looked at his watch. Youre probably
right about that. Id go out there myself if I had the
time, but we have a dinner engagement in Chestnut
Hill His voice trailed off.
George Renshaw regarded him thoughtfully.
You mean youre about to pass the buck? he asked
131

with his usual geniality.

Now, George, you know it isnt that.
Skip it, Chip. Mr. Renshaw grinned. Ive got
my car in town. Ill go. If I can ever find the
confounded place. Ive never been there, you know,
and its dark as the ace of spades on those country
roads at night.
Mr. Reid reached again for the elevator signal
button, while Connie stood behind the two men and
wondered whether she should obey a sudden
impulse. Yes, she decided, its worth it!
Excuse me, she interrupted gently, but if you
could get to the Haverford station, Mr. Renshaw, I
think I could find the Marville house in the dark.
Ive been out there twice now.
Mr. Renshaw turned and looked down into
Connies ingenuous face. Good girl. You mean
youd be willing to ride along? It might save me
considerable time.
Connie nodded. If I may call my aunt first, so
she wont worry about me.
By all means! Mr. Renshaw said. One lost
lady is enough!
Half an hour later, Connie proved as good as her
word. Following Connies directions, Mr. Renshaw
pulled up his long, black convertible in front of the
broad steps before Cleo Marvilles powder-pink
house.
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The place looked a little forlorn in the headlight

beams, Connie thought. Only a hall light showed
from the front.
Come along in? Mr. Renshaw invited.
Thanks, Id like to. Connie wasnt hesitant at
all.
It wasnt a maid who opened the door to Mr.
Renshaws ring; it was Miss Marvilles secretary, a
plain girl in her early twenties. She had kind eyes
and a competent manner, and she introduced herself
at once as Ruth Lathrop.
The servants seemed so upset I thought Id
better come out, she said at once. I cant
understand Miss Marville not letting them know
when she changed her plans.
Connie noted that she said not if but when.
With the exception of Mary, all of Miss Marvilles
associates seemed to hold her perfectly accountable
for her own actions. All except Mary and Mr. Reid;
Connie revised her opinion to include the agency
head. Then she added reluctantly, in her own
mindall except Mary, Mr. Reid and myself.
Ever since Miss Lathrops telephone call to the
office Connie had been conscious that she no longer
felt the sense of trepidation that had been haunting
her. It was as though the thing she had feared had
been accomplished.
Yet why did she fear for Miss Marville? Connie
133

couldnt have explained. It wasnt any one thing that

had happened; it was a succession of unrelated
incidents which were like an intricate web.
Standing in the lighted hall and listening to Miss
Lathrop and Mr. Renshaw while they explored,
conversationally, the possibilities of Miss Marvilles
whereabouts, Connie wanted to tell them that they
were blind. This was no time to stand and chat!
Connie was convinced, with a sort of hypersensitive
insight, that Miss Marville was absent through no
volition of her own.
Frankly, George Renshaw was saying, we
came out to do a bit of snooping. It occurred to us
that Miss Marville probably kept an engagement
book, and that maybe through that we could find the
names of the people who took her to the game.
Or whom she took, put in Miss Lathrop,
apparently knowing that her employer was more
often on the giving rather than the receiving end.
Thats a good idea. We might look in the library.
Or in Miss Marvilles bedroom, suggested
Connie. Theres a little night table by her chaise
longue that has a telephone andI thinksome sort
of a notebook.
George Renshaw looked at the girl beside him in
some surprise. Youre an observing child, he told
Connie in a tone that half-teased, half-praised her. I
vote we look there first.
134

Connie was right. The book was there, filled with

jottings in Miss Marvilles distinctive handwriting.
Under Thanksgiving Day, afternoon, she had,
Game with Stewarts. Dinner in town.
Oh, I know who they are! The J. Gordon
Stewarts from Merion, Ruth Lathrop said at once.
Ill call them right away.
Wait a minute, George Renshaw said more
briskly than usual as Miss Marvilles secretary
picked up the telephone. Id suggest that you be
especially tactful in your inquiries. I wouldnt want
them to be alarmed.
Miss Lathrops candid eyes met Mr. Renshaws.
You mean?
Any unfortunate publicity concerning Miss
Marville right now might have a bad effect on the
forthcoming campaign, he said frankly.
I see. Ill be careful.
Three minutes later Ruth turned away from the
telephone with the information that the Stewarts had
indeed dined as well as attended the game with Miss
Marville, but that she had excused herself
immediately afterward on the plea of an
appointment. To the secretarys dismay she could
not discover the name of the person Miss Marville
had intended to meet. Nor did she learn whether it
was an engagement in the city or out of town.
It sounded as though it might have been a
135

business appointment, was the most Mrs. Stewart

could offer.
Instantly Connies mind flashed to Mr. Paul, and
she remembered his angry storming of the Reid and
Renshaw offices. Apparently Mr. Renshaw was
disturbed by the same thought, because he turned to
Miss Lathrop and asked at once, Have you talked
with Mr. Paul?
Of course, the secretary said. I asked him
whether he had seen Miss Marville since
Wednesday and he said, I have not! and slammed
the receiver on the cradle so hard that it hurt my
ears.
Mr. Renshaw grinned. Well, if hes done away
with the body, he isnt going to much trouble to
dissemble, is he?
Dont joke about it! Connie forgot for a
moment that she was talking to one of her two big
bosses. She remembered Mr. Pauls fury on a
previous occasion and an involuntary shudder made
her shoulders twitch.
Do you think we ought to call the police? asked
Miss Lathrop.
Police? George Renshaw looked alarmed.
Great Scott, no! he said, then qualified his
outburst with the most disturbing remark Connie had
heard thus far.
At least, not yet.
136

CHAPTER

13

Thin Air

Mr. Renshaw sat in the wing chair beside the unlighted fireplace in Miss Marvilles book-lined
library and bit into a ham sandwich hungrily.
Connie, beside Ruth Lathrop on the couch, was
too absorbed in thought to realize that hers lay
untouched on the Duncan Phyfe end table.
Mary, Mr. Renshaw was saying between bites,
tell me everything you can remember of what Miss
Marville said to you before she left for the stadium
yesterday afternoon.
Mary, who had just put down a tray of coffee and
fruit, to round out the snack she had offered to fix
for her unexpected guests, stood twisting the hem of
her apron.
She didnt say much of anything, the maid said
nervously. Just, Mary, I may be late. Im having
dinner in town. Then she went out the back way to
137

the garage.
Oh, she drove her car? Mr. Renshaw spoke as
though he considered this interesting.
Yes, sir. The Buick. And she was wearin her
mink coat.
I see. And the car hasnt been returned to the
garage, has it?
I dont think so, sir. I never thought to look.
You might look now, Mary, Mr. Renshaw
suggested, and Mary departed a little fearfully in the
direction of the side door. After she had left the
room, the agency head turned to the girls. You
know its just possible, he said, that Miss Marville
just decided to run away from it all for a few days.
She knew she was due to go into production on
Permon next week, and from then on for a couple of
months it would be a push He stopped, as though
he had been unsuccessfully trying to convince
himself.
Miss Lathrop shook her head. Miss Marville is
temperamentalbut not that way.
Mr. Renshaw grinned wryly. Check.
Mary popped her head in the door. No, sir, the
cars not there.
Thank you, Mary.
Is there anything else?
Not just now.
The three sat in silence for a few minutes, sipping
138

their coffee. Connie considered the ramifications of

Miss Marvilles strange disappearance. Cleo alone
held the secret formula for the new nail polish. It
was too late to cancel ads, which would appear in
every womans magazine of national importance in
January. Production, in order to meet the launching
date, had to be started the first of December. If the
leading lady couldnt be found by that date, Reid
and Renshaw stood to lose a small fortune, as did
Miss Marvilles own company. The situation was
very complicated indeed.
When was Mr. Paul to be given the formula so
that he could go into production? Mr. Renshaw
asked Ruth. Do you know?
As Miss Marvilles private secretary, Miss
Lathrop usually knew a good deal. Monday, she
said unhesitatingly.
Mr. Renshaw groaned. Thats what I thought.
Then he seemed to rally. Probably were all making
a mountain out of a molehill, he said with
considerable jauntiness. I think wed better get
along home and let nature take its course over the
week end. If Miss Marville hasnt returned by then,
of course well have to take steps, but in the
meantime, I think we should all act as though
nothing had happened. And, as a matter of fact,
nothing really has.
How about Mary? She might talk.
139

Ill take care of Mary, Mr. Renshaw said.

Matter of fact, Ill go have a chat with her right
now. He got up and strode off toward the kitchen
wing of the house.
An hour later, home in Aunt Bets apartment,
Connie sat down with a magazine, but she couldnt
keep her attention focused on the printed page. She
was glad that her aunt had gone out for the evening,
because it would have been a difficult thing not to
tell her the whole confusing story. People just didnt
disappear into thin air, not people like Miss
Marville, not in Philadelphia. She got up and walked
around the room nervously, and after a while she
picked up a pencil and a pad of paper from the desk.
Then she sat down again, swinging her legs
childishly over the arm of the lounge chair. After
several minutes she wrote down three names.
Mr. Paul
Angela Murray
Ellen Randolph
Above them she wrote, People who dislike Miss
Marville. Then she made another list headed
Business associates Miss Marville might have
met. Here she wrote:
Mr. Paul
Baron von Gletkin
Anybody from Reid and Renshaw
She knew it to be a very incomplete list, but they
140

were simply the only business associates of Miss

Marvilles that she knew.
From that point on Connie simply sat and made
doodles. She made doodles all over the sheet of
paper, even over her suspects names. Perhaps it was
significant that Mr. Pauls name appeared on both
lists, she thought. Perhaps Mr. Paul had spilled the
story of the new nail polish to Cleos big rival and
Angela Murray had kidnaped her own sister. Connie
wadded the sheet of paper into the fireplace and said
Pooh! out loud.
She wished she knew more about Baron von
Gletkin. She wished she had someone with whom
she could discuss this whole affair. She wished it
were Monday, not Friday night. She wished she
werent actually worried about Miss Marville, afraid
that she was in some kind of unknown danger. She
wished she could keep her mind from going around
like a squirrel in a cage.
By nine oclock Monday morning her thoughts
had led her to only one new and possible conclusion.
Perhaps Cleo and the Baron had eloped! Little as
Connie liked the Baron, there was some comfort in
deciding that this might well be the case. She could
scarcely wait to ask Mr. Renshaw if hed considered
such a possibility.
The more she thought about it, the more Connie
thought this was a clever hunch. Miss Marville and
141

the Baron had simply driven off to Maryland, or

wherever one went to get married in a hurry. This
would explain the absence of both Cleo and her
Buick. Connie decided she was really quite a bright
girl!
But she didnt feel very bright when Mr.
Renshaw told her that the Buick had been picked up
by the police at the Paoli station of the Pennsylvania
Railroad, the keys still in the ignition. This knocked
Connies new theory into a cocked hat.
Even supposing the Baron and Miss Marville had
taken a train either to the west or to New York
both were logical possibilitiesthey wouldnt be
likely to leave the keys in the car so that any prowler
could get in and ride away with an expensive
automobile.
No, the very fact that the car had turned up in
such a fashion was frightening. Even Mr. Renshaw
could no longer dodge the fact that Miss Marvilles
disappearance was alarming. An aura of gloom
overhung the agency like a pall.
It was not decreased by the fact that everyone in
the know tried to act especially normal. Miss
Cameron took the time and trouble to introduce
Connie to a new duty. From now on it had been
decided to make the capable new receptionist
responsible for opening and distributing the mail.
Connie accepted the added responsibility with
142

something like pleasure. It meant that the agency

executives had confidence in her, and it also meant
that shed be busier than evera welcome boon.
All morning the switchboard kept lighting up like
a jittery juke box. Mr. Reid and Mr. Renshaw were
closeted together with Jim Brinton, account
executive for Cosmetics by Cleo, in Mr. Reids
office, and when they werent putting through
outside calls they were receiving themfrom Miss
Marvilles house, from her office, from the factory.
Apparently they were trying to reach some decision
on what to do next.
Connie knew that to call in the police was the
very last thing they desired, but she could also see,
by now, that it was inevitable. The Reid and
Renshaw executives had waited as long as they
dared. Conceivably, Miss Marville might have made
a hasty decision to go away for the week end and
failed to let the servants know. But to fail to return
on Monday morningon the day when the entire
factory was geared to go into production on her new
nail polishthat was unimaginableunless she
were being forcibly detained!
At two oclock, just after Connie returned from a
hasty lunch at the cafeteria across the street, Mr.
Paul arrived at the office. At two-thirty Mr. Reid put
in his call to the police. By four the entire office had
the incredible story of Miss Marvilles
143

disappearance, and in the evening papers the

cosmetic manufacturers most theatrical picture,
taken some five years before, was spread over every
front page.
CLEO MARVILLE MISSING
Beauty Baroness Kidnaped?
The tabloids were positively lurid in their
interpretation of the news. Here was a beautiful,
wealthy, prominent Philadelphian who had
apparently disappeared into thin air. They played it
up for all it was worth and a little more.
By morning even the New York dailies were
interested in the story, which had been confined to
an inch or two of type the night before. Cleo
Marvilles name was too well known to ignore, even
if any real mystery concerning her disappearance
had yet to be established.
At Reid and Renshaw disorganization trembled
beneath the surface of an ordinary business day. All
morning Connie tried to put through a call to Baron
von Gletkin for Mr. Reid, who hoped he might be
able to find a legal loophole through which the
inventor might be persuaded to turn over to Mr. Paul
a second copy of the nail polish formula. With every
twenty-four hours that ticked away several thousand
bottles went unfilled and disaster crept nearer. The
144

agency was ready to clutch at any straw.

But the telephone at the Wonderley house
apparently rang into a vacuum. Though she kept
trying at ten-minute intervals, Connie met with no
success.
Im sorry, she told Mr. Reid for the eleventh
time. Baron von Gletkin doesnt seem to be at
home.
The police, who were investigating every angle of
the Marville disappearance, questioned Connie
along with everyone else in the agency and in Miss
Marvilles organization who had been in recent
contact with the missing woman. It was rumored
that they had kept Mr. Paul on the carpet for a full
two hours, because he seemed so full of malice
toward his employer. It was also rumored that they
were as anxious to reach Baron von Gletkin as was
Mr. Reid.
Evening papers, on Tuesday, had caught on to the
fact that Cleo Marvilles disappearance might be
directly concerned with her plans to introduce a
revolutionary new nail polish.
SECRET FORMULA DISAPPEARS
WITH CLEO MARVILLE
ran one daring head. No one actually knew whether
this was correct, but it made excellent copy for an
145

unscrupulous reporter, whose yellow journal treated

it as a scoop.
Connie, in the midst of the uproar, did her best to
keep a level head. All Reid and Renshaw employees
had been cautioned to conduct themselves with quiet
discretion, but to avoid gossiping about the
sensational turn of affairs was hard.
The police, in their efforts to track down every
clue that might help to explain Miss Marvilles
disappearance, had even called at Campions and
questioned Ellen Randolph. They were bound to
leave no stone unturned. Aunt Bet thought this was
going too far, and said as much to Connie, who
agreed.
I cant see why Ellen should be dragged into it at
all.
She wouldnt have been, I suppose, Connie
replied, except that she was so outspoken about her
dislike for Miss Marville.
Apparently a good many people dislike Miss
Marville, Elizabeth Easton said.
Connie was forced to agree. Little love seemed to
be lost between the lonely, imperious woman and
her own staff. Only Mary, the maid, and Miss
Lathrop, her secretary, seemed to show a genuine
concern. Connie shuddered at the thought of leading
such a life as Cleosa life where nobody really
cared very much whether one lived or died.
146

Died. The very word struck a chill to Connies

heart, but she resolutely turned away from that final,
awful contingency.
Oh, Aunt Bet! she cried. I wish I could do
something! I feel as though I ought to be able to
help, if I could only think how!

147

CHAPTER

14

Night Tour

With a paper cutter shaped like a stiletto, Connie slit

the advertising agencys business mail. Personal
letters she laid aside, to be delivered unopened, but
the sheaf of other communications which poured in
each morning she sorted into stacks for the
production, media, accounting, research, copy, art,
and publicity departments and delivered them
herself.
Another day had passed since the strange
disappearance of Cleo Marville, a day filled with
anxiety and apprehension, but with singularly little
eventfulness. Down at the Marville lab, Mr. Paul
was probably still tearing his hair, while in the
offices of the police department, the officers detailed
to the investigation conceivably were tearing theirs
also. But in Reid and Renshaw a sort of stupor
seemed to have settled down, bred of too much
148

excitement. The chief executives came and went

without saying much, and of all their assistants only
Ken Cooper seemed to feel called upon to make a
jocular remark.
He leaned upon Connies desk, turning the pages
of his morning newspaper, as she automatically slit
one envelope after another. The thing that gets
me, he said after a while, is why nobody sends out
the bloodhounds after the elusive Baron von
Gletkin. Nobody seems to have gotten wise to the
angle that hes faded out of the picture too.
Theyve checked, Connie said, and found that
hes quite in the habit of going away for a few days
every now and then.
Leaving no address?
Connie shrugged. He apparently lives alone.
Ken frowned. Theres something screwy about
this whole setup.
Connie said calmly, I agree.
Ken leaned his cheek on his doubled fist. Got a
date tonight, sis?
Without answering Connie said, Next thing you
know youll be calling me girlie!
Got a date tonight, Miss Blair?
Very innocently Connie dropped her eyes and
said, What did you have in mind, Mr. Cooper?
Ken chuckled. Dinner at the General Wayne. Its
an old inn out in the suburbs. Very good food.
149

Music. Dancing.
It wouldnt be near Haverford, by any chance?
Ken snapped his fingers. Now what made yow
think of that? he asked with assumed artlessness.
It occurred to me that you might be interested in
visiting the scene of the crime.
Ken nodded. It occurred to me, too.
What do you expect to find?
The young artist shrugged. Just a curiositymonger.
But Connie shook her head. She knew him better
than that.
Ken folded his paper, after a few minutes, and
reached out to pick up a proof of a full-page ad for
Permon. It was a four-color process proof, as
expensive as it looked, and Ken whistled softly.
When I think of all the money thats being poured
down the drain, oh my!
Every morning, Connie told him, you can
count the new lines in Mr. Renshaws face.
Have you no pity for poor Mr. Reid? bantered
Ken.
Oh, of course! Connie wouldnt let him make a
joke of it. Then suddenly, in the act of unfolding
another advertising proof, she stopped and stared.
Her mouth dropped open and her eyes grew large
with surprise.
Whats the matter, Connie?
150

But Connie was so intent she didnt hear the boy.

Connie! What gives?
Now she looked up, and in unconcealed
amazement passed Ken the proof. Look! One of the
magazines must have shipped us this Angela Murray
proof by mistake, and no wonder! Heres an ad for a
new Murray polish that sounds exactly like
Permon.
Ken took the oblong of slick paper from Connies
hands. In equal astonishment he read the copy:
Sensational new polish. Goes on without an
undercoat! . . . and stays! A smoothing cling
ingredient is pressure-fused right into this wonderful
new product. Thats why it goes on so evenly . . .
stays on so angelically . . .
My gosh! ejaculated Ken.
She couldnt have Connie stopped, frowning.
No, of course not. The time element was all wrong.
There was no conceivable way that Angela Murray
could have kidnaped her own sister and stolen the
secret formula, even supposing Cleo Marville was
foolhardy enough to be carrying the all-important
paper around in her purse. The Murray ad must have
been placed at least a month ago to be in proof by
now. What a hopeless tangle! Connie looked at Ken,
who was rereading the ad, feeling utterly at sea.
After a minute Ken looked up. This, he said
decisively, Mr. Reid and Mr. Renshaw must see.
151

Practically, Connie replied, They arent in yet.

But a couple of minutes later Mr. Renshaw stepped
off the elevator, wearing the harried expression that
was becoming characteristic these days.
Mr. Renshaw, got a minute? Ken held out the
proof.
Both Connie and Ken watched him as he glanced
at the trade name and read the copy. His baffled
wonder indicated clearly that he drew the same
inference from the ad as had his employees.
But this is impossible! he said.
Something, somewhere, murmured Ken, is
certainly very, very queer.
Mr. Renshaw glanced from one to the other of the
young people. Has anyone else seen this?
Connie said, Oh, no.
Then you forget you ever ran across it. Dont
mention it to anybody, understand?
Mr. Renshaw was seldom so peremptory.
Yes, sir, said Connie.
Yes, sir, echoed Ken.
Get me the Lower Merion Township Police
Department, said Mr. Renshaw to the receptionist,
and tell them I want to talk to the chief. Then, still
carrying the astonishing proof, he walked off toward
his own office, leaving Connie and Ken staring after
him.
Ken shook his head, as Connie started to put
152

through the call. I wonder what the police will

make of that little tidbit of information, he said.
Two to one theyre just as much in the dark as you
and I.
He started back toward the art department, then
looked over his shoulder. What about tonight? Is it
a date?
Its a date, Connie told him; then, into the
telephone, she said, Mr. George Renshaw would
like to speak to the police chief, please.
For the rest of the day Connies mind was only
half on her job. She went through the necessary
motions. She looked efficient and trim and neat and
calm. But her thoughts were primarily concerned
with this new complication in an already involved
puzzle. Somehow she felt that she had in her hands
the key to the whole problem. But she couldnt seem
to unlock any doors with it. Time after time she tried
it in a new lock, but every door remained
persistently shut.
It was rather comforting to be going out with
Ken, and Connie told him so. I dont think I could
bear to spend this evening with someone I couldnt
talk to, she said. Ken, Im seriously worried about
Miss Marville.
Sos everybody, said Ken.
I mean about hersafety, Connie replied.
You mean you think shes met with foul play?
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Isnt that the police expression?

Involuntarily, Connie shuddered. I dont know,
she murmured. I just dont know.
Ken helped her into his little maroon car, and she
huddled back against the upholstery as though she
were cold. Ken, it must be awful to be hated by
people, she said as he turned out of the parking lot
and headed toward the parkway. She was
remembering the expression in Mr. Pauls eyes the
first day she had visited the factory. She was
remembering the stormy dislike in Ellen Randolphs
expression whenever Cleo Marvilles name came
up. She was remembering other thingsthe cold,
shrewd, calculating look in the eyes of another
person, a person who professed to be a friend to the
missing womana person for whom Connie felt a
purely instinctive distrust.
Not even to know your friends from your
enemies, Connie wanted to say, but something bade
her keep quiet. An idea was beginning to form in her
mind, an idea cloudlike and improbable as yet, an
idea fantastic and alarming
Ken, Connie said abruptly, I hope you meant
what you said about driving out to Haverford. Lets
do.
Lets eat first, though, Ken suggested. Hunger
gnaws. And anyway, its dark as pitch now. It cant
be any darker at nine oclock.
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Ken was wrong. By nine oclock, when Connie

and he came out of the inn, a storm was brewing,
and a cloud had quenched the meager light from the
moon.
Should we perhaps skip the sleuthing and go
back to town? He looked up at the wind-whipped
branches of the naked trees.
Were so close Connie said, trying not to
sound too persistent.
Okay, Ken acquiesced. Lead on!
Get me to the Haverford station, Connie told
him. Thats always the starting point of my
conducted tours.
She tried to keep her mood light as they set forth,
but the sudden wildness of the night was disturbing.
The shrouded moon, the low moaning of the wind in
the bare trees, the yellow glare of headlights,
blinding for an instant, then lost on the dark road, all
had a disquieting effect on Connieand her mood
reacted on Ken.
I feel as though I were going to a wake, he
muttered after a while.
Dont say that! Then she laughed nervously and
tried to apologize. Dont mind me. I have the jitters
tonight.
Connie Blair with the jitters? Ken teased her.
Oh, now
Yes I have, Connie insisted. I really liked
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Miss Marville, even if nobody else did.

Stop talking in the past tense, Ken retorted. I
didntI mean I dont have a thing against her.
Maybe if we put an ad in the personal column of the
BulletinDear Cleo, All is well. Please come
homeit might have some effect.
Connie couldnt help but giggle. Signed
George?
Oh, now! Dont involve poor Mr. Renshaw.
Signed The Baron would be more to the point.
When the Baron comes home we might talk him
into it, Connie said, keeping up the joke. Then she
directed him. You turn here.
In the darkness, however, she missed the
Wonderley place as they drove down Castle Creek
Road. The Marville house she found easily enough,
but when they got there, there wasnt much to see.
The color is its chief charm, Connie told Ken.
Its a lovely pink, and all the iron work is gray.
Very fetching, for a cosmetic queen. Ken
admitted. He parked the car for a moment just off
the road. Light in the servants wing, light in the
hall. Everything very regular.
What did you expect? Connie asked.
Ken bit his upper lip. I dont quite know.
Again a shiver chased its way up Connies spine.
Lets go back and pay that call on the Baron, she
suggested hastily.
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To divert her escort, Connie told Ken the details

of her first, impromptu call on Baron von Gletkin.
He had the most repulsive houseman, she said. I
never felt so much like an intruder. Then, of course,
the Baron had to walk in just at the wrong moment. I
was standing by the desk, and it looked for all the
World as though Id been going through his mail
Suddenly Connie stopped and snapped her
fingers.
Whats the matter? Ken asked.
I just remembered something, Connie said
slowly, but she didnt tell Ken what she
remembered. She had a feeling that it might be very
important, too important to share with anyone! A
wave of elation swept her with the force of the wind
sweeping through the hedges and the trees.
Precipitately, the closed doors in her mind had flown
open. All along she had overlooked one clue, one
small but importantoh, immensely important!
clue that could solve the entire mystery of Miss
Marvilles disappearance.
Except that nobody would believe me, Connie
murmured.
I beg your pardon?
Nothing. Connie strained forward, her eyes
piercing the night. The Wonderley place should be
near here, on the left. The nextno, the next
Abruptly, Ken pulled on the brakes. Lets get
157

out and walk, he suggested. Id like to stretch my

legs. Taking the key from the ignition, he reached
across Connie and opened the car door.
Together Connie and Ken walked along the
deserted road. Heres the gate, Connie said finally.
And theres the house, right there.
While Ken squinted through the darkness, Connie
stared at the bars of the gate so close to her hand.
She stood as though she were rooted to the spot,
though beyond the bars stretched the short, curving
drive, inviting, beckoning, and at the head of the
drive lay the house.
A car, sweeping around the curve of the road, lit
up the sheer facade for a moment, and the bars of
the gate lay black and sinister across the crushedstone drive. Connie shuddered, and her hand sought
the reassurance of Kens arm. Unfriendly looking
place, isnt it? she whispered, just so she could hear
his voice in reply.
But before he could speak, in the still darkness
broken only by the sound of the retreating motor, a
light glanced past one of the upper windows of the
Barons house.

158

CHAPTER

15

The Police Stand By

Ken, did you see that?

What?
Ken could feel Connies fingers biting into his
arm. Then, quick as a cat, she slipped through the
gate into the shelter of the line of trees that edged
the drive.
That light! Pulling Ken after her, Connie
pointed. There!
Her voice was the merest whisper, but her finger
was imperative, and this time Ken saw, from a
window on the third floor, the flickering beam that
was making Connies heart pound. His reaction to it,
however, was far different from hers.
The old boy must have come home, he said.
But Connie shook her head. The light had gone as
quickly as it had come. It could have been a
flashlight held in a persons hand, but it was no
159

ordinary hall or lamp light, switched on and then off.

She said as much to the boy, in a whisper, and Ken
whispered back, Maybe the police are casing the
joint.
Theres no police car around.
Thats true, Ken admitted reluctantly.
Lets go around toward the back.
Who, us?
Of course!
All right, but I think youre just looking for
trouble. Be a good girl, Connie. Lets go home.
Connie managed a thin smile to reward Ken for
his effort to be jocular, but her mouth was as dry as
parchment and she was feeling strangely ill at ease
in her stomach, without recognizing this as a
symptom of fear. Each advance to the next tree
trunk increased her trepidation, yet she wanted to get
a good rear view of the house, to see whether any
illicit lights showed there.
Dried leaves crackled under her feet and Kens,
no matter how hard they tried to walk quietly. Yet
now that they had started, it never occurred to
Connie to turn back. Sh! she warned her escort,
but she sprinted across the one open stretch of lawn
without hesitation. And Ken stayed at her heels.
The view they got from the shelter of the next
dark clump of trees was unrewarding. The house
looked quiet and undisturbed, its dim outlines
160

blurred by sheltering shrubbery.

No soap, said Ken.
Back in the car, Connie talked as though she were
trying to convince herself. There was a light.
Sure.
You saw it too, didnt you?
Sure, sure, said Ken, as though he were
humoring a child.
Youd swear to it?
Well Ken was reluctant. It could have been
a reflection against the windows, maybe.
From what?
From a car.
But there wasnt any car. Connie twisted
around on the seat and faced her escort. Ken, Im
going to tell Mr. Renshaw about this in the morning
and I want you to back me up!
Connies interview with Mr. Renshaw the next
day was brief and to the point. We were frankly
snooping, she admitted. Probably it was a childish
thing to do. But Im certain there was a light in the
Wonderley house, upstairs, and I think the police
ought to investigate. Right away.
She looked like an avenging angel, standing
straight before Mr. Renshaws mahogany desk, her
fair hair shining on her shoulders, her eyes flashing,
her manner controlled but indignant.
Mr. Renshaw couldnt stifle a smile. I can report
161

to them, Connie, he promised, but Im afraid the

most theyll agree to do is set a watch. Theyll have
to see for themselves.
The wheels of the law moved entirely too slowly
for Connie. She fumed all day. Every tick of the
clock meant a second lost, every numbered chime an
hour that could never be regained. She thought of
the idle assembly line in the nail polish department
of the factory. If only someone would do something,
there might still be time!
But who was sheConnie Blairto prod them
into action? A nice child, thats what they thought
her. Ambitious, sometimes discerning, but not to be
taken too seriously.
Aloud Connie said, Oh, phooey! I wish I were
twenty-seven instead of seventeen.
Georgia Cameron, passing through the reception
room with some original art work in her arms,
turned and smiled. And I wish I were twenty-seven
instead of thirty-seven, she said gaily. Thats the
trouble with womennever satisfied!
Connie didnt see Mr. Renshaw again until five
oclock, when he came through the reception room
just as she was preparing to leave.
Did you get in touch with the police? She
couldnt resist the question.
Yes. They said theyd let the man on the beat
know. Hell keep an eye out.
162

The agency head seemed preoccupied with a

layout he held in his hand, and Connie didnt dare to
prod him further. She had to pretend to be satisfied
with what had been done.
But all evening she was silent and anxious. She
could hardly hope that the light would appear
obligingly just when the policeman on duty
happened to be passing the Wonderley house.
Suddenly an idea occurred to her. If it had appeared
at about nine-fifteen last night might it not possibly
appear at the same time tonight? It was at least a
chanceand on the slim strength of it she called
police headquarters herself.
The desk sergeant accorded her a sort of amused
tolerance, because her voice was so breathless and
her manner so anxious. Ill see what I can do,
young lady, was the best he could promise her.
Connie, longing for action, clenched her teeth in
exasperation. She felt as she had often felt during
hockey games at school, when the coach had pulled
her out of the forward line during the third quarter
and she had been forced to sit on the bench when
she longed to be in there fighting to make a goal.
The next day was Friday, and Connie was well
aware, as she walked to the office in the morning,
that nearly a whole working week had gone by since
Cleo Marvilles disappearance. She hoped against
hope that Mr. Renshaw would have heard from the
163

police, but she was prepared for disappointment.

On every side the shops were full of Christmas
trappings. Salvation Army workers rattled their
tambourines on street corners, and along Chestnut
Street the lampposts were festooned with laurel and
colored lights.
Connie wished she could feel as festive and full
of anticipation as the season warranted, but her
expectations were of quite a different nature. As she
entered the lobby of the office building she noticed
that her fingers, inside her pigskin gloves, were icy
cold although the early December day was
surprisingly mild.
In the Reid and Renshaw reception room, when
Connie stepped off the elevator, were Georgia
Cameron, Jim Brinton, and Ken Cooper, huddled in
a conversational group. They turned and beckoned
to Connie, who asked, abruptly, the one question
that was on her mind.
Did they find anything?
Apparently word of Connie and Kens escapade
had spread, so that the query wasnt entirely
meaningless. Ken said, They didnt see any lights,
Connie, but the cop on the beat went by about dawn
and saw a queer-looking character cutting across the
kitchen garden behind the Wonderley place. He
ducked in the back door, the cop said, so he went
around front and knocked. Darned if this fellow
164

didnt answer! Said he was part-time caretaker for

the Baron, paid to tend the fires and see to the house.
But when this cop got back to headquarters he
reported to the chief that the man was an uglylooking customer and that he thought it might be a
good idea to search the place. Just as part of routine
investigation in the Marville affair.
And are they going to? Connie asked.
Yep. This morning. Mr. Renshaws going out
immediately.
Connie said, Id know if this man was the same
one who let me into the house the day I met Baron
von Gletkin. I wish I could go too.
The response was a general laugh, at Connies
expense. There wasnt a person in the group who
didnt recognize her keen interest in the mystery of
Cleo Marvilles disappearance.
But Connie grinned back at them and then
without hesitation walked straight to Mr. Renshaws
office. Im here to give you a sales talk, she said
the minute she was inside the door.
Mr. Renshaw looked up. Selling is our
business.
Connie turned on every bit of charm she
possessed. I want to go along with you out to the
Wonderley place.
The executives brows knit and he started to
shake his head, but Connie came forward, talking
165

rapidly and with considerable logic. Ten minutes

later she was beside him when he hailed a cab and
directed the driver to the house near Haverford. And
she was beside him still when the police, armed with
a search warrant, stepped back so that the Reid and
Renshaw duet could precede them through the door
into the entrance hall Connie remembered so well.
She knew the instant she saw him that the
caretaker was the houseman who had opened the
door for her the day she had called on the Baron,
and she didnt like his looks any better now than she
had then. But he was far from surly today; he was
almost ingratiating. And if he objected to being
served with a search warrant he didnt show it.
Would you like to start with the cellars first? he
asked.
The two policemen glanced at Mr. Renshaw, and
he nodded briefly. Connie knew from the way he
ducked his head that he was embarrassed. No
wonder! Now that she was on the spot she felt like
an interloper herself.
Yet her eyes were sharp to pierce the gloom of
the big cellars which ran under the long house. She
trotted along at Mr. Renshaws heels curiously, and
when the caretaker would have walked by the door
of a padlocked room she stopped abruptly.
Whats in here?
That is Mr. Wonderleys wine cellar. We were
166

not given the keys to it.

By we I assume you mean the Baron von
Gletkin? Mr. Renshaw rapped out. Connie had the
feeling that he liked this fellow no better than she
did.
The man bowed correctly. Yes, sir.
From the cellar they climbed back upstairs to
inspect the first floorthe kitchens and pantry, the
dining room, drawing room and the small library
where Connie had waited for her interview with the
gentleman with the goatee. On the second floor they
walked through several bedrooms and baths, all of
them quietly luxurious, then climbed still another
pair of stairs to the servants quarters and the
storerooms.
Connie was beginning to feel a little letdown.
Everything was in such perfect order, in spite of the
film of dust which had accumulated on the polished
tables and chests in the tenants absence. That one
thing gave her pause. Wouldnt it be logical to
expect that in an establishment of this class a
cleaning woman would be regularly employed?
Whether or not the Baron happened to be in
residence, it seemed to Connie that the house should
be kept spick-and-span. Her mother would certainly
raise an eyebrow at the fact that Connie could have
written her name on the dining-room sideboard.
When are you expecting the Baron home?
167

Connie asked the caretaker in her clear young voice.

For an instant the eyes of the servant were hard
and cold. Then he replied with elaborate politeness,
I really couldnt say, miss. Immediately afterward
he turned to the policemen. This is the servants
wing, off to the left.
The police, followed by the rest of the party,
tramped systematically through the rooms, none of
which showed any signs of recent occupancy.
Dont any of the servants live in? Connie
asked. In a house this big
Not at the moment, miss, the caretaker cut her
off. Then again he spoke to the policemen. Over
here are just storerooms and such.
What did he mean and such, Connie wondered,
but this time she kept quiet. The storerooms were
very neat, much neater than the attic at home, with
cupboards and chests of drawers and boxes all
systematically labeled. The Wonderleys, certainly,
must be very careful people. They surely would
have checked on their tenant before they rented the
place.
Connie walked to the storeroom window and
looked down. This could have been the location
from which the eerie night light had shone. But there
was nothing suspicious here, nothing suspicious at
all.
Then she noticed another padlocked door.
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This was the door to a large cedar closet, which

jutted out into the room, obviously an addition some
time after the house was built. The caretaker was
standing in front of the door at the moment, but
Connie could see that it had a Yale lock, a good deal
shinier than the one on the wine-cellar door in the
basement.
She slipped over to Mr. Renshaws side
unobtrusively and whispered, Could we look in
there?
But by now George Renshaw was feeling that he
had been led on a wild-goose chase and that he was
looking all kinds of a fool. I think weve seen
enough, he said shortly, and turned away.
Connie couldnt be insistent, but she would have
given a great deal to have been in possession of the
ring of keys that jingled on the caretakers index
finger. She felt that his manner, as he led them back
downstairs, was somehow more relaxed.
Inconspicuously, she dropped a glove on the thirdfloor stairs, and was relieved when nobody noticed
her ruse.
The entire group had descended to the entrance
hall when she appeared to discover the loss.
Oh, goodness! I dropped a glove! She hoped
her voice sounded fairly convincing. Ill be right
back.
Ill get it for you! Was there a trace of anxiety
169

in the housemans tone? He took a step or two after

her, but already Connie was running lightly,
noiselessly up the first flight of steps.
Downstairs, Mr. Renshaw was engaging the
group in desultory conversation. I used to know the
Wonderleys. Old Bradshaw Wonderley was a very
able man. But Connie heard no more. She reached
for her glove as she sped up the stairs to the
storeroom and in another few seconds she had her
ear glued to the cedar closets door.
She could only listen. She didnt dare to speak for
fear they would hear her in the lower hall. She was
afraid her voice would fall into one of those
unexpected pools of silence that suddenly occur in
the noisiest of places. The stair well was completely
open. Sound carried clearly up or down.
She waited an instant more, listening intently, but
she was unrewarded. Connie frowned, feeling
frustrated and anxious. Downstairs they would be
expecting her return.
Tiptoeing, she crossed the attic floor again, and
then ran quickly down the steps.
I dropped it in the very darkest spot on the
stairs, Connie apologized as she rejoined the group
in the hall. As evidence she held forth the planted
glove.
No matter. Mr. Renshaw was still being
brusque. Hes annoyed with me, Connie thought.
170

The policemen were treating her like a meddling

child, a pretty one, but still meddling. Mr. Renshaw,
unlike himself, was being formal and superior. All
of a sudden Connie felt overwhelmingly foolish.
The judgment of a man as astute as the head of Reid
and Renshaws was, after all, apt to be more sound
than that of a seventeen-year-old receptionist.
Connie realized that her fantastic suspicions had
caused her to act brashly indeed, and she sat meekly
beside Mr. Renshaw, in a chilly silence, all the way
home.
She went to bed that night determined to get a
good sleep and not worry about Mr. Renshaws
attitude toward her when she encountered him on
Monday. But sleep, which generally claimed Connie
the instant her head hit the pillow, deserted her
tonight.
Connie sat up in bed. If I could only be sure
she found herself thinking, and realized that,
subconsciously, she must have been reviewing her
suspicions all night long. This urge that propelled
her now was more than a suspicion. It was a firmly
fixed belief that withstood all the reassurances she
had received from Mr. Renshaw and the police.
Doggedly, she began to plan.

171

CHAPTER

16

Connie Calls for Help

Ken, youve got to help me!

Connies voice came over the telephone wire,
breathless and insistent.
You bet, said Ken. I mean, why?
Ken, can you come over to the apartment? Aunt
Bets at the store, and we can talk here.
Saturdays a free day, Ken acquiesced. Get
your lipstick straight. Ill be there in fifteen
minutes.
It had been hard for Connie to wait for daylight,
to carry out her plans. Now she paced up and down
Aunt Bets living room until Ken Cooper knocked
on the door.
How good are you at housebreaking? she asked
as soon as she had let the boy in.
Ken, startled, held up both hands as though to
ward Connie off. Im terrible! he cried.
172

Connie laughed at his dismayed expression.

Then youd better just come along for moral
support, she told him, and picked up her bag and
hat.
Now, Connie!
Dont now Connie! me.
But
I need your help very much, Connie said
firmly, but if youre not going to be cooperative
I didnt say that! Ken shouted. Just for Petes
sake tell me what this is all about.
When she had told him, he looked more alarmed
than ever. The project she outlined completely failed
to tempt him. Playing a hunch in a case like this is
a pretty risky business, he said with a shake of his
head. Maybe youve got something. I dont say you
havent. But dont you think it would be wiser to go
to the police?
Weve got to work fast! Connie said, as though
this were explanation enough.
The argument ended as she had been sure it
would. Protesting every step of the way, Ken
followed her downstairs, out the door and up the
street to the spot where he had parked his car.
Entirely against his better judgment, he drove
Connie out the parkway, up the West River Drive
and out to Haverford, where he parked on Castle
Creek Road just out of sight of the Wonderley
173

house.
Connie looked at her wrist watch. Its tenthirty, she said. That ought to be a pretty safe
time, if the caretaker is accustomed to making his
rounds at dawn.
Ken groaned. No times a safe time, let alone the
middle of the morning. Think of the people who will
see usthe Bond Bread man, the milkman, the
garbage collector He started ticking the awful
possibilities off on his fingers.
But Connie was already getting out of the car.
What of it? We look respectable. Nobody would
ever suspect us of illegal entry, Ken.
The artist groaned more loudly than before.
Kenneth Cooper Jailed for Housebreaking. My
poor dear mother!
How are you at climbing? Connie asked.
Ken shot her a look of utter scorn. I used to
work in a circusor maybe I do now.
I dont think well need to pick any outside
locks. Thats something. Connie ignored his
tomfoolery.
Ken gulped. If we did, no doubt youd shoot
them open?
Connie couldnt help giggling at that one, but
they were so near the Wonderley place now that she
was beginning to feel the need of caution. Theres a
trellis at the back of the house, for clematis. It
174

looked fairly strong, from what I could see. She

spoke barely above a whisper and glanced around to
see whether any cars or pedestrians were in sight.
But only a roaming beagle pup, high-tailing it
down the road, met her eye. She gave a little sigh of
consternation, as though the full import of what she
intended to do had suddenly burst upon her, then
shrugged her shoulders. Were simply going to
have to take a chance.
Ken stopped in the road and struck an attitude.
We who are about to die salute you! he said.
Again Connie ignored him. Im going straight
up the drive and knock at the door, she said.
Ken gallantly offered his arm.
And if nobody answers were going to wander
around back as though were friends of the family.
We wont be friends of anybody after this, Ken
muttered under his breath. But he waited while
Connie rapped with the big brass knocker, stood for
a decent interval until she had decided there would
be no answer, then followed her around to the rear
of the house.
True to her promise, there stood the trellis, the
brown stalks of dead clematis still clinging to it.
Pretty rickety ladder, Ken said.
I think it will hold me, Connie admitted, but
Im not sure about you. Maybe youd better stand
guard down here and whistle if anything goes
175

wrong.
One if by land and two if by sea? asked Ken
innocently.
You idiot! Connie whispered. You just wont
take this seriously, will you?
Egad, Im taking it very seriously, Ken insisted.
My very freedom is at stake.
Connie took something long and metallic out of
her handbag, then parked her handbag behind the
trellis.
Whats that? Ken asked.
A file, Connie said matter-of-factly. I
borrowed it from the superintendent this morning.
Golly, Ned! exploded her companion
graphically.
Connie shook the trellis, testing its strength. This
ought to be easy, she said as she started to climb.
Kit and I used to play we were monkeys when we
were kids.
Halfway up she looked back. I think this will
hold you, after all.
Ken gulped, apparently incapable of retort.
Connie was high above him now. She braced herself
to try the window, praying it wasnt locked. Angrily,
she pounded at it.
Youre making an awful racket, he hissed.
A second later Connie said, Ive got it now!
and flung one slender leg over the sill. With easy
176

agility she twisted around and let herself down to the

floor inside the attic room.
Come on! she called to Ken in a stage whisper.
Then, when he looked reluctant, she smilingly
taunted him. Scaredy cat!
It was too much for the boy on the ground. He
followed her as quickly as he could, but less
gracefully, and minutes later stood beside her on the
third floor of the house.
I hope this file does the trick, Connie said,
starting across the room as Ken closed the window,
to preserve the illusion that the house was
undisturbed. She went at once to the cedar closet
and said tentativelybut distinctly, Dont be
alarmed. This is Connie Blair from Reid and
Renshaw. Were going to try to file away the
padlock and get you out.
Ken, still disbelieving in spite of Connies
explanation back at the apartment, put his ear to the
door. He was rewarded by a very faint but definite
tapping, as though someone were pounding their
elbow against the wall.
Holy crow! he said.
Connie was already examining the hinged strap
on the padlock, a sturdy piece of metal. She looked a
little distrustfully at her file.
Here! Give me that. Like lightning, Kens
attitude changed. He almost snatched the file from
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her hands and started sawing away at the hasp, using

far more strength than she could have exerted, no
matter how hard she tried.
Even so it was slow going. The squeaking of the
file against the metal was distressingly loud, and two
or three times, as Ken worked without stopping,
Connie walked over to the window and looked
down. Relieved of the necessity for personal action,
she was as nervous as a squirrel, and she found that
her position and Kens were suddenly reversed. It
was her hands that were clammy now, not his.
Hurry! she urged the boy in a whisper. Hurry,
hurry, Ken!
Beads of perspiration were standing on Kens
forehead. I am hurrying, he told her. Yet it seemed
an hour, instead of an actual twenty minutes, before
the upper part of the hasp gave way.
Then there was the whole job to do over again, on
the lower rod, because the padlock was not made of
metal that could be twisted or bent. Connie glanced
at her watch from time to time. Eleven. Eleven-ten.
Eleven-eighteen.
Time, it seemed to Connie, was running out.
Suppose the caretaker came back at lunchtime?
Suppose he should find them there, catch them in
the very act? Connie shuddered to think of what
might happen. She realized now that she had left no
clue to her destination. No one would know where
178

to look for heror for Ken.

But it was too late to worry about her negligence
now. She watched Ken work with anxious eyes. It
seemed that the metal would never be cut through.
Maybe the file isnt very good?
The files all right. It just takes time, thats all.
Time, murmured Connie, and sighed. There
was never enough time, never enough time for
anything, anymore.
Its coming, said Ken encouragingly, calm now
that he was working, more calm than Connie by far.
Finally, when Connie felt that she couldnt stand
the suspense another minute, he said, Ive almost
got it. Then, There!
Half of the hasp fell to the bare floor with a heavy
thud, and an instant later Ken flung open the storage
closet door.
On a rumpled cot, gagged, bound, and disheveled,
in clothes she had worn for more than a week, lay
Cleo Marville.

179

CHAPTER

17

The Riddle Is Answered

Connie, with a cluck of dismay and solicitude, was

across the room in an instant, working at the gag, a
really ingenious affair, providing a maximum
amount of comfort along with restraint.
Miss Marville, undaunted even in bondage,
encouraged her with expressive eyes. Ken,
meanwhile, started to wrestle with the thongs that
bound her wrists.
It was the work of only a minute or two to effect
her release. The first words she said were,
characteristically, not words of thanks but of
command.
Get to the second-floor phone, she ordered
Connie, and call the police. The three of us dont
want to get caught here like rats in a trap.
Connie could see her wisdom. They were
unarmed. The watchdog set to guard Miss Marville
180

might yet spoil the show. She raced down the stairs
on feet that stumbled from tension and excitement,
trying to remember where she had seen a telephone
on the second floor.
Time was everything now, everything! Connie
ran through two bedrooms before she found the
phone, closeted in a French night table. Suppose it
had been disconnected? For a second her throat felt
thick with alarm.
But there was a comforting buzz on the wire and
in a few seconds a calm voice asked, Number
please?
Get me the police, quickly!
Connies voice was peremptory enough to get
speedy action from the operator. The ring came
almost immediately and the desk sergeant answered
as usual, Lower Merion Police.
Listen carefully, Connie said without preamble,
taking pains to make her voice distinct and
understandable on the other end of the wire. Miss
Cleo Marville has been kept prisoner in the
Wonderley house. This is Connie Blair speaking.
We are with her now. Get out here quickly and if
Im not at the door, break in. Do you understand?
Wait a minute! gasped the astonished
policeman. Do you mean to say?
But Connie didnt answer. She replaced the
receiver in its cradle with the faintest of clicks,
181

because somewhere below her, just as the

policemans voice had reached her, a door had been
opened, then shut.
Connie froze to the spot, scarcely daring to
breathe. Heavy steps were coming through the hall,
then turning off, probably through the kitchen door,
which was under the stairs. Yes, it was the kitchen,
because the swinging door was creaking slowly back
and forth, back and forth, with easy regularity. For
the moment she was unsuspected. But a moment
was soon gone!
Connie listened for the sound of voices above, but
apparently Miss Marville and Ken had heard the
door slam too. The house was as quiet as an empty
church.
Then the ordinary sound of water gushing from a
faucet floated up the stairs with alarming
distinctness. She knew beyond a doubt who had
turned the spigot. A shudder raced up her spine.
Now she began to wonder whether the policeman
had heard her clearly, whether she could count on
him to act. Perhaps she should not have cut off the
sergeant so instinctively. Perhaps she should have
run the risk of being overheard and made sure her
message was understood.
For a second or two more she stood quite still
beside the telephone, trying to decide on her next
move. Every passing minute was important now.
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The fellow downstairs was presumably preparing

food for his charge. How long, Connie wondered,
might this take?
A thud from below made her start. Then she
realized it was only the closing of the refrigerator
door. How soon, she wondered, could she count on
the arrival of the police? Ten minutes? Fifteen? No
longer, surely! Connie realized that she was standing
with her hands clasped before her, and that her
fingers were like ice.
Trying to think calmly, Connie tried to persuade
herself that nothing too serious could happen in the
interval before the arrival of the police. But that the
caretaker would be an ugly customer she had no
doubt. She remembered what his hands were like,
and she shuddered again.
Crossing the floor on silent feet Connie slipped
behind the bedroom door. She was determined to
avoid any further strain for Miss Marville if it was
within her power. The poor woman had been
through enough.
From her new vantage point Connie had a view of
the hall through the crack in the door. I must plan a
delaying action, she thought as she waited. Thats
the best I can do now, provide a little distraction.
But she trembled in spite of herself, and tried not to
imagine what might happen if the police didnt
arrive soon.
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Crockery rattled in the kitchen, and Connie

strained her ears to catch the first sound of an
approaching police car, but to no avail. Every
passing minute seemed an hour, and she began to
yearn for the comfort of a ticking clock, but again
the house was utterly still.
Then feet shuffled in the hall below, the swinging
door creaked again, and Connie knew that her period
of vigil was coming to a climax. The feet started
slowly up the stairs.
Carrying a tray. Carrying it carefully. Connie
could picture the caretaker before she could see him.
Now, through the crack in the door, she had a
glimpse of a dirty hand on the edge of a round tin
tray.
Then she saw the man himself, the heavy face,
the coarse features. He was passing within a few feet
of her, making the turn to the open stairway that led
to the third floor. Connie tried to still the beating of
her heart, sure that it was loud enough to be heard.
She stood perfectly rigid, her back pressed against
the wall, scarcely daring to breathe.
When the fellow had passed out of sight she
counted his mounting footsteps.
One, two, three, four, five. Then, casting
discretion to the winds, she dodged out from behind
the door and clattered down the polished stairs.
The tray crashed to the steps behind her and z.
184

rough voice shouted an unintelligible curse as the

caretaker started down in pursuit. But Connie was
across the entrance hall before he had reached the
second floor. She tugged at the heavy door, frantic
for a moment because it wouldnt give. Then she
saw the dead latch, snapped it over, and tugged
again.
The door swung back to let in the light of the gray
December day just as the police car rolled into the
short drive.
Two hours later Connie, Ken Cooper, Mr. Reid,
Mr. Renshaw, and Mr. Paul were assembled in front
of a log fire in Miss Marvilles drawing room. Only
their hostess was absent, and they were awaiting her
anxiously.
Miss Marville was not dilatory. Within five
minutes she swept into the room in a maroon-velvet
hostess coat that was positively regal. Connie could
see that Kens eyes were full of admiration, and no
wonder! With that auburn hair, she looked like a
portrait by Titian.
Another woman might have been bordering on
collapse, after such an ordeal, but not Cleo Marville.
After a bath and a change of clothing she was quite
her autocratic self. If the skin under her eyes was
smudged with weariness and tension, it only
increased the dramatic effect.
185

The men were on their feet in an instant. Mr. Reid

and Mr. Renshaw almost took Miss Marville into
their arms when they greeted her. But it was Mr.
Paul who surprised everyone. In the most exuberant
French manner, he kissed her on both cheeks.
Lets get to the root of this thing, Miss Marville
said when the felicitations were over. I think we
have some serious talking to do.
Id like to hear your story first. Im sure it will
be the most enlightening, suggested Mr. Reid.
Im not so sure, replied Miss Marville with a
glance at Connie. But for what its worth, here it is.
As you all probably know, I saw the
Thanksgiving game with the Stewarts, dined with
them in town, and excused myself afterward because
of a rather irregular business appointment. Von
Gletkin had phoned in the morning, saying that it
was imperative that he see me, and I had agreed to
stop in at his place on my way home.
Miss Marville paused and made a quick little
gesture with her hand. Im not in the habit of going,
unattended, to a mans house in the evening, so quite
naturally I didnt mention any details of my errand
to my friends.
Cleo smiled ruefully and went on. Actually, I
rather hoped that the Baron had some new idea as
spectacular as his nail polish to present. Im not a
woman to turn down an opportunity like that.
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This, however, as Miss Marville went on to

explain, was far from the case. From the moment I
arrived, she said, the Baron seemed extremely
nervous. He had apparently called me there to plead
with me to postpone the launching date for Permon.
He gave me some perfectly fantastic reasons for
urging me to take this step, and I just laughed at
him. I told him it would be suicide for me even to
consider postponement, and I meant it.
The most sinister expression came into his eyes.
He looked past me at his houseman, who was just
coming into the room with a tray, gave a short nod,
and a second later I remember feeling a blow on the
back of my head. Thenblack-out.
I woke up trussed like a turkey to that cot in the
storage closet, she said with a gesture of
repugnance. I remembered then that I had admitted
to von Gletkin that the formula was still my personal
secret. He apparently intended to keep it so.
During the week that followed Miss Marville had
had plenty of time to think. Aside from the brief,
carefully supervised exercise periods allowed her
three times a day by her surly jailer, she had been
confined to the cot in the close little room.
The day you came through with the police was
my low point, she said, turning to George
Renshaw. Any sound I could make in my throat
was completely ineffectual in the face of shuffling
187

feet and general conversation. I could hear

everything, but I couldnt make myself heard. She
smiled sardonically and added, I felt no love in my
heart for you, George.
Mr. Renshaw flushed to the roots of his dark hair.
Cant say I blame you, he muttered. I guess I
owe an apology to Connie. I was pretty brusque.
Thats all right. Connie smiled back at her boss.
What I still cant understand, broke in Cleo
Marville, is why von Gletkin went to such lengths
to gain his point. He had already sold me the
formula and had been paid for it. Why should he
care when we brought out the new polish? I should
think next week or next year would be the same to
him. There must be something more.
I think, said Connie hesitantly, that theres a
great deal more, and every eye turned toward her.
A lot of little things began to add up, she began
slowly, until finally I was certain that Miss
Marville was being held captive in the Wonderley
house.
Go on, said Mr. Reid encouragingly.
But Connie couldnt find words that were as
direct as Miss Marvilles. For a long time, she told
them, I was completely at sea. I even suspected
you, Mr. Paul.
The chemist looked embarrassed and confused,
and Connie could no longer find in him any
188

resemblance to Mephistopheles. He touched the

lapel of his coat nervously and said, Me?
Connie nodded. The first day I ever saw you,
down at the factory, you and Miss Marville were
having an argument, and you were in a frightful
temper. You swept all the test tubes off the
laboratory table. Dont you remember? Then later,
up at the office
But Cleo Marville and her chemist were looking
at each other and, astonishingly enough, both of
them began to laugh.
When she recovered herself, Miss Marville turned
to Connie. Mr. Paul I have known for so many
years, and so very well! she cried. But he is very
excitable. He walks out on me about every six
months, gives up the job, leaves! But, she added
with a touch of tenderness in her tone, he always
comes back. He knows I couldnt get along without
him, really. Isnt that right?
She had turned to Mr. Paul, and the chemist
nodded and made a little shrug of admission. Thats
right. I was annoyed at Cleo because she insisted on
keeping her precious formula a secret, even from
me.
It was to protect you, really, murmured Miss
Marville gently. Then she turned back to Connie.
But go on, child.
It was the day the Angela Murray proof came
189

in, Connie continued, that I began to have an

inkling of the truth.
Miss Marville stiffened. She looked at Mr. Reid
sharply. Angela? she burst out, and Connie
suspected that it had been years since that name had
passed her lips.
Mr. Reid glanced at his partner. We got a
Murray proof from one of the magazines by
mistake, he explained, apparently not knowing
whether to dodge the issue or make a clean breast of
it. I suppose now is as bad a time as any to tell you
that Murray is apparently bringing out a new nail
polishbut not until February.
Connie added, A new nail polish with properties
apparently identical to Permons, she said.
At least close, soft-pedaled Mr. Reid.
Suddenly Connie leaned forward, speaking
directly to Miss Marville. I knew that you were
Angela Murrays sister, and that you had quarreled
and were estranged, she said quickly. I knew that
not you, but some other person, must have dropped
your car at the Paoli station. You would never have
left your keys in it, even if you were in great haste.
Youre too businesslike.
But what started Mr. Reid, confused by these
seemingly unrelated facts.
Connie, however, didnt hear him. Still talking
directly to Miss Marville she continued. The
190

Murray proof was the clue I needed to make these

things make sense. When I saw it I remembered
something I had thought curious at the time. The day
I called at the Wonderley house with your nail
polish samples, I had seen a letter with an Angela
Murray letterhead on Baron von Gletkins desk.
So? Mr. Paul pressed her, frankly puzzled. On
the other faces surrounding her Connie saw interest,
indignation and concern.
No! Cleo Marville breathed, and Connie knew
that at last she was drawing the proper conclusion.
Yes. The Baron must have sold the formula
twice, to you and to your sister. He never dreamed
that you could get into production so quickly, and
when I inadvertently let the cat out of the bag he got
scared. He had counted on another month to make
his getaway. At least thats the way I see it, Connie
said. Then, hesitantly, she added, I suppose you
could call Angela Murray and make sure.
Cleo Marville got up and paced up and down the
room like a lioness. The villain, she muttered.
The cheat!
Only Mr. Renshaw looked vaguely amused. A
get-rich-quick Charlie, he said. Well, fancy that.
But why wouldnt he leave at once? asked Miss
Marville, whirling about suddenly. Why did he
hang around?
I can guess, said Mr. Renshaw. Ill bet Angela
191

hadnt paid for the formula in full.

It made Miss Murray appear more shrewd than
her sister, and Mr. Reid half rose from his chair to
intercede in his clients behalf, but Cleo Marville
snapped her fingers. Ill wager thats it!
We could find out. Connie looked directly at
Mr. Renshaw and made a timid suggestion. We
could get in touch with Angela Murray, couldnt
we?
We already have, said George Renshaw to
everyones surprise. I wired yesterday and asked if
she could come over to Philadelphia on Monday
morning. Her secretary telephoned me at home last
night and said she would be in our offices at ten
oclock.
Ten oclock, murmured Connie, turning to
Miss Marville. That was the time set for the
appointment you werent able to keep.
Ill keep this one, Cleo said to everyones
surprise.

192

CHAPTER

18

Bright Tomorrow

The police spent the week end trying to trace Baron

von Gletkin through Angela Murray and other
sources.
They found out a good many things. They found
that he wasnt a Baron and that he wasnt a von and
that he wasnt even a Gletkin. They found that he
had booked passage to South America on a Grace
Line ship for December fifteenth, and that a year
ago he had pulled a neat swindle on a New York
jeweler of minor reputation, but they didnt find the
rogue himself.
Connie, over Sunday, lived in a state of
suspended exaltation. In the afternoon, at Miss
Marvilles express invitation, she went down to the
laboratories to visit the department where the new
nail polish would be made. Mr. Paul was there, and
one or two trusted helpers. Plans were being made to
193

start production at midnight, and by working both

day and night shifts Cleo was convinced that she
could have the polish on the market by the necessary
date.
Miss Marville drove Connie back to her aunts
apartment in her own car. This is the first time Ive
had a chance to thank you, properly, for everything
youve done for me, she said.
Connie dropped her eyes. Im glad almost
everything has worked out all right.
Cleos laugh was spontaneous. What do you
meanalmost everything.
Well, they havent caught the Baron, Connie
said. She couldnt help calling him the Baron, even
though she now knew he had no more right to the
title than Ken Cooper.
They will, said Miss Marville confidently.
Theyll watch every port, now that they know hes
trying to leave the country.
I suppose so, Connie said. There was another
thing that was troubling her, but she didnt quite
dare approach Miss Marville on the second score.
She was almost glad when Cleo changed the subject,
and suggested, Tell me something about yourself,
Connie. Have you always lived in Philadelphia? Do
you come from a big family? What do you want to
do with your life?
Connie laughed. Thats a big order, she said,
194

but she began to tell Miss Marville a little about her

home.
I have a twin sister, she said after a while. Her
name is CatherineKitand she looks exactly like
me. At home, in Meadowbrook, weve shared the
same room and the same fun and the same friends
all our lives. When I came to the city, to take this
job, it was like leaving part of myself behind.
Connies eyes grew dreamy, and she was
unaware that the woman beside her had become
remote and withdrawn. She told her things about Kit
she hadnt thought of in years, little things that made
their childhood together a precious thing to
remember. Youd love Kit, she murmured, her
hands clasped in her lap. Shes a wonderful girl!
Then Connie realized that the car was drawn up at
the curb before Aunt Bets apartment. My
goodness! she cried, I didnt realize we were
home.
As she turned to Miss Marville she saw that the
older womans eyes were fixed on distance too great
to grasp. She had a sudden urge to bring her back to
the present. She decided to sayeven though she
said it badlywhat she had been wanting to say.
Miss Marville, will you do something for me?
Something very important? Something Id like very
much?
Cleo looked down into Connies earnest face.
195

Ill try.
Will you Connie looked full into the older
womans eyes as she asked itwill you, when you
see your sister tomorrow, give her the opportunity to
be friends?
She could feel the woman beside her stiffen, and
Connie fully expected to be cut off with a brusque
remark. But she didnt drop her eyes. She was
pleading for herself and for Kit and for Angela
Murray and for all sisters everywhere. Impulsively
she covered Cleos hand with her own. Please! she
said.
Miss Marville looked down at Connies small,
gloved hand, and unexpectedly she relaxed. After a
minute she started to speak, almost haltingly, with
none of her usual assurance.
I know how you feel about Kit, she said. I had
a chance to do a good deal of thinking during the
week I was strapped to that cot. Hours can be long,
but a lifetime is short. I found that out. I kept
remembering things Angela and I used to do
together, back in Indiana, when we were kids. We
were very closeas close, I think, as you and Kit.
Understandingly, Connie nodded. But why?
she wanted to ask, but she was silent, knowing she
would have to let Miss Marville tell as much of the
storyor withhold as muchas she chose.
Im not sure any man in the world is worth
196

spoiling a relationship like that, yet we let one spoil

it, Cleo said after a pause. My sister married a
man I thought I was in love with. It wasnt many
years before I found he wouldnt have been right for
me. He wasnt right for her either. They were
divorced.
Oh, how sad, Connie murmured.
I was jealous, Cleo hurried on, as though now
she wanted to confess the worst. Jealousy is an
ugly emotion, Connie. It destroys a person. I know.
It destroyed our friendship, our closeness. It made us
into rivals. It made us cold and hard.
Connie let the woman beside her talk until she
was spent, giving her sympathy and understanding
by her very silence. As suddenly as she had started,
Miss Marville stopped. She was herself again, and
she shrugged with an actresss ability to endow the
gesture with particular meaning. Im going to see if
we can patch things up, she told Connie with a
rueful smile. And youre responsible, she added.
You and your Kit!
Connie was so exultant she could have whooped
for joy, but she had no way of expressing her
delight. She could only murmur, Im so glad, and
make her escape before tears of unaffected
sentiment over, flowed her eyes.
Brushing at them as she ran up the stairs, she was
able to laugh at herself. Im so silly, she told her
197

aunt, who was stretched out on the hearthrug in a

pair of plaid wool slacks, turning the pages of the
Sunday paper. I havent a thing in the world to cry
about. I havent been happier in months!
Connie dropped down beside her, and Elizabeth
Easton put out her hand and patted Connies clasped
ones. Little Miss Fixit, she teased her, when
Connie told her the story. I suppose next youll be
persuading Marville and Murray to join forces and
go into business together.
I never thought of that, said Connie with wide
eyes, but its a wonderful idea!
The more Connie thought about it, the better she
liked it. When she announced Miss Murray at the
agency the next morning, it was all she could do not
to drop some hint that this might be a brilliant move.
Angela Murray had the same red hair that
distinguished her sister, but she was smaller and less
impressive, and her eyes, Connie thought, were very
tired and sad.
She looked ill at ease when she walked into the
conference room, as though she were dreading this
interview. But Connie could see Cleo Marville get
up from the table, where she was seated, and walk
around to greet her sister with hands outstretched.
Then the door closed, and for the rest of the
morning she could only guess at what was taking
place inside. It wasnt until twelve oclock that
198

George Renshaw came out of the room and strolled

over to Connies desk.
Miss Marville has invited us to have lunch with
her, he said, and named a hotel. She has reserved a
private dining room and she wants you and Ken
Cooper to join the party. Do you think you could
arrange that?
Do I! Connie grinned. I dont get a chance to
do something like that every day, you know.
An hour later quite a little company was seated at
table. Besides Mr. Renshaw and Mr. Reid, Connie
and Ken, there were Mr. Brinton, Mr. Paul and
Georgia Cameron. Angela Murray was directly
opposite Connie, who was given the place of honor
on Miss Marvilles right, and everything was very
festive and gay.
Before the party was seated, Miss Marville had
pulled Ken Cooper aside and asked him a question,
and they had whispered together like a couple of
conspirators, but Connie hadnt noticed. Her
attention was turned to Mr. Reid, who was just being
paged by a bellboy.
Telephone, sir.
Connie didnt know what made her heart leap, but
she felt that this was no ordinary business call, and
the expression on Mr. Reids face, when he hurried
back into the room, confirmed her premonition.
Theyve got von Gletkin! he called at once.
199

Nabbed him just as you thought they would, Cleo,

right at a New York pier.
With the money on him? Angela Murray asked
practically.
With the money on him, repeated Mr. Reid.
Thats fine, drawled George Renshaw. Now,
more than ever, theres cause for rejoicing. He
pulled out Cleo Marvilles chair.
During lunch it seemed to Connie that everybody
talked at once. They talked about the Baron, and
about Permon, and about all the angles to the
attempted swindle. Only Connie sat quiet, feeling
happy inside, but not feeling talkative today. She
looked from Cleo to her sister and thought that they
were rather alike, aggressive on the surface but as
vulnerable as anyone else underneath. She hoped
they were going to be friends.
Immediately after dessert was served Miss
Marville got to her feet. There are just one or two
things, she said in a voice that was full of feeling,
that Id very much like to say to all of you.
With the rest, Connie turned toward Cleo and
waited.
I think I owe my present good fortune, said the
former actress, very largely to one person. She
smiled down directly at Connie. And by good
fortune I mean two things. Permon will definitely be
ready on time. There was a murmur of applause
200

while Connie waited, breathless.

And my sister and I will, in the near future, take
steps to combine our individual companies into a
joint enterprise.
Connie clasped her hands ecstatically in her lap.
This was everything for which she had hoped,
everything and more. It was the climax to her most
daring dreams!
She looked from Miss Marville to Miss Murray,
her eyes shining. Then she happened to glance at
Mr. Reid, and she thought she saw a flicker of
concern in his expression.
And will Reid and Renshaw have the joint
account? she asked impulsively, because she
wanted everyone to be as joyous as she felt, today.
For a moment there was shocked silence. One
didnt solicit big business in such an unorthodox
manner! Then George Renshaw caught his partners
eye and chuckled, and as though he had released a
spring a wave of hearty laughter swept the table.
No one was more amused than Cleo herself. I
guess weve been sold a bill of goods, she smiled at
her sister. Unless you have reasons
Angela Murray shook her head and smiled. If
everybody at Reid and Renshaw is as enterprising as
this young lady, she said, we should triple our
business next year.
With a sigh of relief, Connie relaxed.
201

Its to this same young lady, Cleo Marville

continued, that I want to express my public thanks.
Ive already thanked her personally.
Connie, now genuinely embarrassed, blushed
very becomingly.
Now, speaking directly to the girl on her right,
Miss Marville continued, You asked me to do you
a favor yesterday. Today Im going to ask you to do
me one more service.
Connie looked up. But of course!
Id like you to accept, as a token of my
appreciation, a course of art lessons at night. Will
you do that for me?
Connies eyes had never shone so brightly. For a
few seconds she was speechless. She looked from
Miss Marville to Ken Cooper, and back to Miss
Marville again.
I think its the very nicest gift Ive ever
received, she said just above a whisper. Theres
nothing Id like betternothing in the world.

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