Henry Gamadge 14 And Dangerous to Know by Elizabeth Daly

Author:Elizabeth Daly [Daly, Elizabeth]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Felony & Mayhem Press
Published: 2015-09-02T17:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWELVE

Informal

THE MUSIC WENT on; professional playing, with cunning hesitancies and recoveries, tuneless but rhythmical. Mrs. Tanner opened large blue eyes. They were bloodshot, the skin of her whole face was suffused and puffy, and yet the haggard look was there. She had not escaped through alcohol from the feelings that sent her to it.

She held out her hand. “Good old Artie. Mr. Gamadge. Wayne, get us something to drink.”

The dark, bald man—he was only bald in front, Gamadge saw as he turned—was moving slowly towards a buffet that seemed to bristle with bottles, glasses, siphons; Mrs. Lynch said rather hurriedly: “Introductions first, darling, you know. Arthur, Mr. Gamadge, you must meet these nice people.”

The dark man had an expressionless face, good-looking in a narrow-featured way. He might have been a good deal younger than he looked at first glance. He said in a flat voice: “Don’t bother. Just part of the band.”

“Now Wayne. Mr. Bishop is the leader of the orchestra, Mr. Gamadge. And that’s John Osterbridge at the piano, and he sings too.”

The pianist, playing on, looked up and bowed in a mannered way, teeth flashing in a smile. His high forehead receded a little; he had a widow’s peak. Definitely a charmer.

“And Dodie Bean, who sings too, and plays beautifully.”

The little girl in pink was not very pretty, but she was made up to look so. She turned round eyes in Gamadge’s direction, smiled vaguely, and then went back to her absorbed contemplation of Osterbridge’s fingers.

Mrs. Tanner said: “Where’re those drinks, Wayne?”

Mrs. Lynch glanced at Bishop, and then sat down and patted the loveseat. “Here by me, Mr. Gamadge. Artie, pull up a chair, and let’s have a nice talk.” Hardbitten, thin-faced, fashionable from head to feet, she looked good-natured, a good sort. Jennings, who had seemed a little at a loss, pulled up his chair obediently; but Mrs. Tanner waved the other suggestion away:

“If Mr. Gamadge is so wonderful, he’d better sit by me.”

Gamadge complied, smiling at her. Bishop was looking at him, his changeless face showing nothing but detachment. He looked tired, perhaps ill. He asked: “Scotch? Rye? Bourbon?” and glanced at Jennings.

Jennings had crossed his legs. Sitting upright on the hard little white-and-gold hotel chair, he said formally: “Nothing for me, thank you.”

“Oh, Artie,” protested Mrs. Tanner. “Do you good.”

“I’m afraid it doesn’t.”

“Can’t burn it up?” Bishop did not insist. He looked at Gamadge again.

“I could burn up a Scotch and water, I think,” said Gamadge amiably.

“That’s right,” said Mrs. Tanner, patting his sleeve. “Rye for me as usual, Wayne. Double.”

Mrs. Lynch said casually: “I don’t believe we need it, Gail ducky. I’m not having any. We’re too nervous.”

Mrs. Tanner raised her voice. “Double rye and let’s see it coming.”

Bishop mixed the drinks. The music went on. Jennings cleared his throat:

“The hotel orchestra isn’t playing tonight?”

Bishop replied without turning: “Dinner’s over. Dancing starts at ten.”

“Music is so soothing, don’t you think so, Mr. Gamadge?” Mrs. Lynch glanced towards Mrs. Tanner and back at Gamadge—a

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