Evening Star Newspaper, June 6, 1937, Page 83

I o June 6, 1937 to foresee the answer, to judge by the faint- ness of her smile. ‘“You were singing about love,”” said Middle- ton. “And all at once I found that I had fallen in — in love.” “Ah, I see,” said Alison Lewis. “Profoundly, desperately, and hopelessly.” “Of course,” she nodded. “Concerning love . . . " said Middleton. “I’m not concerned with it,” she told him. “I don’t mean love by touch,” he said. “I’'m one of the rare men. You’'ve never met one like me before. I can do without Braille because 1 have the use of my eyes.” *“And voice,” she said. *‘And speaking of love,” he said. “There isn’t time. Here's Henri and the wine card.” Henri started visibly as he saw the girl at the table. “It’s true, Henri,” she said. “Here I am. Don’t you approve?”’ “Ah, MissLewis . . . I ..."” “He’s a beautiful man, Henri, don't you think?”’ she asked. “‘But I don’t suppose that long nose would keep its shape for more than three rounds, do you? Outside of that he’s tops, don’t you think?”’ “Exactly,” said Henri. “Thank heaven that’s settled,”” said Middle- ton. “Now we can think about the wine . . . " A little later he said to the girl: “You're eating a bit, but you're not drinking a drop.” “I'm dizzy enough without wine.” “Dizzy about me, Alison?"’ “Of course,” she agreed, with her smile. “Tell me about that table of three.” “That’s the whole restaurant racket,” she said. “They're so confident now that they don’t mind being seen in public.” “The little man with the pretty moustache, haven’t I seen his picture in the papers, around the corner from a murder or two?”’ asked Middleton. “In ‘The Messenger,’” I think, the paperwhich campaigns for civic virtue, as you probably know, and which managed to put a clean-handed district at- torney into office.” “The one you spotted is Tony Galliano and he stems back to the Dutch Schultz regime. He's the strong-arm man of the restaurant THIS WEEK racket. He has the stink-bombs thrown if there’s need and he collects the cash, too. The fellow with the bald head and the hanging jowls is George Bullen. He has a restaurant workers’ union in hand and he supplies the picket lines and all that. “And the third man — that’s the real ex- citement — that’s Jimmy Major. He’s the political boss who can keep the boys from coming to harm in case an investigation comes too close to them. He can say a word and turn the whole edge of the law. The district attorney wouldn't care a rap for all the strong- arm gangsters and the little crooks if he could get at that big under-cover man. See him sit back and laugh! He has enough to laugh about. He's had his percentage out of every big graft in the city for twenty years!” “Alison, you know almost too much, don’t you?”’ asked Middleton. ‘““Was that why you were fired?”’ “They simply wanted my place,” she said. “Galliano wanted it for one of his girls.” “Will you have a cognac with that demi- tasse?”’ he asked. “No, thank you.” “We’ll go, then.” “Let me see that check!” “You'll have to wait till I publish my memoirs — in the chapter that tells about a perfect evening.” “Are you the John Middleton of the picture supplements?” she asked. “WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR FINGERS, JOE?”" ASKED THE GIRL. ‘1 BURNED THEM GETTING HOLD OF SOMETHING HOT,” ANSWERED JOE THOMPSON “I think I’ve seen that silly blighter myself,” said Middleton. “He’s the one that’s always wearing the broad grin. Or was. Right now he’s as poor as sin.” “I'm truly sorry,” she murmured; her tone seemed puzzled. “Well, how about telling me about yourself now.” “What do you want to know? My | v f college?” she asked. “Ah, are you one of them?” sighed Middleton. “No, don’t tell me all the bitter truths.” “What nineteen twenty-nine did to father?” “No, only the important things.” “How I learned to sing — or would you call - it singing?”’ “The best in the world. But the truth is that I know all about you, Alison.” “How did you learn?”’ “I suppose I was born with that knowl- “John, did you give three of those ten- dollar bills? And did you tip four-fifty?” “Those chips have fallen where they may. Let’s hew to the line and go some place.” “Where?"” she asked. “We’ll find out when we're on the way,” he suggested. When they reached the cloak- room, he picked up the large box which had been left there for Alison. “Open it,” she said. “You'd better have it insured first,” said he. “It’s from Werner’s. I told youso . . . but ermine, ermine!” He had broken the strings of the box and lifted from it a shim- mering evening wrap, heavily furred with white. “He doesn’t care what he spends on you; or are you just Cinderella?”’ he asked. “It’s Joe Thompson,” she murmured thoughtfully. “Good old Joe,” he said. “I'd like to know his intentions.” “His intentions are sometimes good,” an- swered the girl, touching the fur with a tenta- tive hand. “Careful or you'll burn your fingers,” cau- Maoagozine Section 5 tioned Middleton. “Ah, d’you see this?”’ He turned the coat and pushed the collar for- ward. At the base of it were two small spots. “Finger marks, 1 suppose,” said Middleton. “Do you know what it is?”’ “Blood?” she asked, looking sharply up at him. “Exactly,” said Middleton, meeting her eye rather grimly. After a moment she said: “I'm going to telephone to Joe.” He stood outside the booth until she had finished. When she came out, she was frowning. “He did send it,” she announced. “It was rather odd, just now. Another man answered the telephone. He called Joe. Then I thought 1 heard Joe say: ‘Hold the receiver for me.’ What do you make of that?” “Maybe his hands were full —no, that doesn’t make sense.” “He wants us both to come up to his rooms and have a cocktail. Shall we go?”’ “Wherever you say. This Thompson, what'’s he like?” “Therc aren’t any similes to give you an idea of him. He’s like himself and nothing else. He may have had Galliano make Fran- cois fire me, this evening, so that — “So that Joe Thompson could be a little THEN SOME GROWLING OATH CAME CLEARLY TO MIDDLETON more — well, shall we put it ‘paternal’?” “‘Something like that, perhaps.” “You mean that Thompeon is mixed up with the restaurant racketeers?”’ ““He’s never with anyone but Joe Thomp- son — for long. But he may have just touched the tip of Galliano’s dirty hand.” “I’m for having that cocktail with him,” said Middleton, growing darker of face. *‘Joe Thompson, finger marks in blood, ermine wrap, Galliano and the racket. Alison out of work — it makes a nice trail, for the start. How much does the loss of this job mean to you?n “] won’t starve,” she said. “But I don’t sing well enough for most places. I was lucky to get work here. 1 don’t want to be a song- and-dance girl, but I can’t live on hope and good intentions. Let’s go find Joe.” She went out with Middleton into a thin “Tell me what you really are,” she asked. ““Was it true about being poor, and a lawyer, and all that?” “Can you stand a shock?”’ “Of course I can.” “Alison,” he said, slowly, “the truth is that I am an Abyssinian prince who has come to America to sell his jewels for the sake of his emperor. You won’'t mind being a princess, Alison, will you? Our summer palace is in Adowa . . .” The doorman helped them into a cab. “I can’t go yet. I have to say goodby to Luigi!” she exclaimed, turning. “Who is he?’” asked Middleton. “He’s the funny-looking old Italian with the hair that looks like white weeds,” she said. “He’s a darling, and I love him.” “You won’t find him in Frangois’,” said Middleton. “When Galliano had you fired, Luigi protested. I heard him, and Galliano sent him away, too. What's Thompson’s hotel?”’ She leaned to give the name to the driver and then, as though the starting lurch of the car compelled her, slid far back (Continved on poge 10)