the pavement into the pub.
Harry Bix in his leather flying-blouse on which was painted a
diving albatross, his squadron insignia, was propping up the counter, a
Scotch and soda in his hand.
There were only two other men in the bar. They sat in a far
corner, and didn’t even look up as we entered.
Bix, fleshy, powerful, good-natured, straightened when he saw us.
He took one look at Netta, pursed his lips in a soundless whistle.
“Hel-lo!” he exclaimed, grinning from ear to ear. “You certainly
picked yourself a pippin. Pin-up girl ! I’ll say!”
“Netta, this is Harry Bix,” I said, pushing her forward. “Shake
hands with Army Air Corps No. I pilot. And if he doesn’t always act as
if he was used to wearing shoes, forgive him. He’s just out of the
jungle.”
Netta slipped her hand into Bix’s large paw, gave him a dazzling
smile which rocked him back on his heels.
“Lady, what makes you go around with a heel like him?” he asked
earnestly. “Didn’t you know he has two wives, and eighteen children,
and he’s clone a ten-year stretch for criminal assault?”
Netta laughed, nodded. “That’s why I like him,” she said. “I’m that
sort of a girl.”
“For God’s sake!” he said, startled. “Do you really like him or is it
his dough you’re after?”
“A little of each,” she said, after pretending to consider his
question.
“Well, I guess that calls for a drink. How’s about starting a famine
in whisky or would you prefer something more fancy?”
“Whisky’s al right with me,” she said.
Bix waved to the barmaid, ordered two double whiskies. He
turned back to Netta.
“Where’ve you been hiding yourself all this time? I thought I knew
all the juicy dames in London.”
“And I thought I’d met all the lovely Americans until now,” she
replied.
Bix blew out his cheeks, punched me in the ribs.
“Brother, you’re through. Go outside and oblige me by breaking a
leg.”
“She’s just kidding,” I said. “That girl’s got an ice-cream cone
where her heart’s supposed to be. Why, ten minutes ago, she told me
all Army Air Corps personnel were jerks, didn’t you Netta? “
“But I hadn’t met Harry then,” Netta protested. “I take it all back.”
Bix leaned close. “We’re the salt of the earth, sugar,” he said.
“They say so in the newspapers, and newspapers don’t kid their
readers.”
“Not much,” I said.
When the barmaid had served the whiskies and had gone to the
far end of the counter, Bix said, “So you want to make a trip with me,
do you?”
Netta regarded him, suddenly serious. She nodded. “Will you trust
me to get you there safely?” he asked.
“I’d trust you in an aircraft, but nowhere else,” she returned.
Bix roared with laughter. “Say, this baby is quite a kidder, Steve.
That’s a pretty hot line to hand to a guy like me. Lady, I was kidding
just now. Dames don’t mean a thing to me. You ask Steve; he’ll tell
you.”
“That’s right,” I said. “Dames don’t mean a thing to Min, but put
him alone with one dame and see what happens.”
“Why, you rat . . .” Bix began, indignant.
“And suppose he isn’t to be trusted?” Netta asked. “I wouldn’t
scream for help.”
“You wouldn’t?” Bix asked, his eyes popping. “Is that on the
level?” He looked at me. “Beat it, three’s-a-crowd, you’re in the way.”
“Suppose we cut out this cross-talk and get down to business?” I
urged. “Now you’ve seen her, will you play?”
Bix sipped his whisky, eyed Netta, eyed me.
“Yeah, I guess I can’t refuse a honey like her,” he said. “But it’s a
hell of a risk.”
“Skip it,” I said. “You know it’s dead easy. Don’t listen to him,
Netta, he’s trying to be important.”
“Seriously, is it risky?” Netta asked; her eyes searching Bix’s face.
For a moment Bix wrestled with the temptation to exaggerate,
decided against it. “Well, no,” he admitted, scowling at me. “Once you
sell the pilot the idea-and you’ve already done that- it’s easy enough.
We’l meet at the gates of the airport, go in together, have a drink at
the mess. I’ll then offer to show you over my kite and we’ll go down to
the dispersal point. No one will be around if we get down there
before twenty-two-fifteen hours. You two will get into the kite, and I’ll
show you where to hide. We take off at twenty-two-thirty hours.
When we get to the other side, there’l be a car waiting for me. All you
have to do is to get in the back. I’ll dump my kit and some rugs on top
of you and off we go. Once we’re clear of the airport, you can come
up for air, and I’ll drop you off wherever you want to be dropped off.”
Netta thought for a moment. “It’s really as simple as that?”
“That’s right. I’ve done it before, and I’ll do it again. But I warn
you, I claim a kiss from my passengers.”
“You won’t kiss me,” I said coldly. “I’d rather swim the Atlantic if
those are your terms.”
“So would I,” Bix said hurriedly. “I wasn’t talking to you, lug.”
Netta smiled at him. “There won’t be any difficulty about that,”
she said. “I think the terms are most reasonable.”
We kidded back and forth for twenty minutes or so, sank a
number of whiskies, and then, at eight-ten, Bix said he guessed he’d
better be getting along.
“See you two outside the airport at twenty-one-forty-five,” he
said. “And don’t get steamed up. It’s in the bag.” He took Netta’s
hand. “See you soon,” he went on. “Don’t forget if you ever grow
tired of that lug, I’m next on the list. Red-heads go straight to my
heart.”
“I’ll remember,” she said, gave him a long stare which seemed to
weaken him, then she smiled. “If I see much more of you,” she
continued, “I think I’ll be changing my mind about my lug, although he
is a nice lug if you overlook his table manners.”
“He can’t help that,” Bix said, grinning. “He hasn’t been house-
broken like me.”
He took himself off as if he was walking on air.
The moment the door swung behind him, Netta lost her gaiety,
looked anxiously at me.
“Are you sure it’s all right?” she asked. “He’s such a boy. Are you
sure you can trust him to get us across safely?”
“Quit fussing,” I said. “That guy’s done over a hundred operational
trips. He’s bombed Germany from hell to breakfast and back again.
Maybe he does look like a boy, but don’t let that fool you. When he
says he’l do something, he does it. He’s taken a liking to you, and that
means we’re as good as there.”
She heaved a little sigh, took my arm.
“All right, darling,” she said. “I won’t fuss, but I’m nervous. What
do we do now?”
“We go back `to the flat, pick up your things and get over to the
airport. Come on, Netta, the journey’s begun.”
Ten minutes later we were back in Madge Kennitt’s flat.
“You’re travelling light, I hope?” I asked, as I tossed my hat on the
chaise-longue.
She nodded. “Just a grip. I hate leaving all my lovely dresses, but