Avalon muttered, "It's the fortress mentality. It's all over New York. You can't go anywhere without having to pass the gimlet eye and being frisked for weapons."
"I don't blame them," said Drake in his soft, hoarse voice. He lit a cigarette. "It's better than being mugged in the elevator."
"I suppose so," said Avalon gloomily.
The doorman turned to them. He was short, round-faced, and bald-headed, with a gray fringe of hair that was repeated in his mustache, which was as short and bristly as Drake's but which occupied a more generous space of upper lip. He did not look in the least formidable but his gray uniform lent him the cachet of authority and, presumably, that was enough to quell the intruder.
"Yes?" he said.
Avalon cleared his throat, and spoke in his most impressively rich baritone in order to conceal the shyness that no one could believe anyone as tall, straight, and impressive as he could have. "We are Dr. Drake and Mr. Avalon calling on Mr. Emmanuel Rubin in 14-AA."
"Drake and Avalon," repeated the doorman. "One minute." He moved to the bank of apartment bells and spoke into the intercom.
The squawking sound of Rubin's voice came clearly. "Send them up. Send them up."
The doorman held the door open for them, but Avalon hesitated on the threshold. "Do you have many incidents here, by the way?"
The doorman nodded importantly. "Sometimes, sir. No matter what you do, things happen! Apartment on the twentieth floor was robbed last year. There was a lady got hurt in the laundry room not too long ago. Things like that happen."
A voice said gently, "May I join you, gentlemen?"
Drake and Avalon both turned to look at the newcomer. There was a perceptible moment in which neither recognized him. And then Drake chuckled briefly, and said, "Henry, when you're not waiting on us at the restaurant, you're beautiful."
Avalon said, considerably more explosively, "Henry! What are you doing…?" He choked it off and looked uncomfortable.
"Mr. Rubin invited me, sir. He said that as long as the dinner was not to be held in the restaurant and I could not have the privilege of waiting on you, then I would be his guest. I believe that was his purpose in insisting the dinner be held here. One would not think it, but Mr. Rubin is a sentimental gentleman."
"Splendid," said Avalon with great enthusiasm, as though to make up for his previous surprise. "Doorman, this gentleman is with us."
Henry hung back. "Would you like to inquire of Mr. Rubin, sir?"
The doorman, having held the door patiently through this, said, "No, that's all right. You go right ahead."
Henry nodded, and all three advanced through the large blue lobby to the bank of elevators.
Drake said, "Henry, I haven't seen an outfit like yours in years. They'll mob you in New York if you go around dressed like that."
Henry looked down upon himself briefly. His suit was a charcoal brown and cut so conservatively that Drake was clearly wondering where the establishment could be found that would have such garments for sale. The shoes were a sober black, the shirt a gleaming white, and the tie, a narrow and somber gray held with a neat tie clip.
Crowning it all was the dark-brown derby which Henry now doffed, holding it lightly by the brim.
"I haven't seen a derby in a long time," said Avalon.
"Or a hat at all," said Drake.
"It is the freedom of the times," said Henry. "We each do our thing now, and this is mine."
Avalon said, "The trouble is that some people consider the thing to do to be molesting women in laundries."
"Yes," said Henry, "I heard what the doorman said. At least we can hope there will be no trouble today."
One of the elevators arrived at the lobby and a lady with a dog got off. Avalon looked inside, right and left, then entered. They rose to the fourteenth floor without trouble.
They were all gathered, or almost all. Rubin was wearing his wife's apron (it had a large "Jane" crocheted on it) and he was looking harried. The sideboard had a full collection of bottles and Avalon had appointed himself an impromptu bartender, after fending off Henry.
"Sit down, Henry," said Rubin in a loud voice. "You're the guest."
Henry looked uncomfortable.
Halsted said, with his very slight stutter, "You've got a nice apartment, Manny."
"It's all right-let me get past you for a minute-but it's small. Of course, we don't have children, so we don't need it much larger, and being in Manhattan has its conveniences for a writer."
"Yes," said Avalon. "I listened to some of the conveniences downstairs. The doorman said women have trouble in the laundry."
"Oh, hell," said Rubin contemptuously. "Some of the dames here want trouble. Ever since the Chinese delegation to the United Nations took over a motel a few blocks down, some of the dowagers here see the yellow menace everywhere."
"And robberies, too," said Drake.
Rubin looked chagrined as though any slur against Manhattan were a personal attack. "It could happen anywhere. And Jane was careless."
Henry, the only one sitting at the table, and with an as yet untouched drink before him, looked surprised-an expression which somehow did not put a single wrinkle into his unlined face. He said, "Pardon me, Mr. Rubin. Do you mean your apartment was entered?"
"Well, yes, the apartment lock can be opened with a strip of celluloid, I think. That's why everyone puts in fancy locks in addition."
"But when was this?" asked Henry.
"About two weeks ago. I'm telling you, it was Jane's fault. She went down the hall to see someone about recipes or something and didn't double-lock the. door. That's just asking for it. The hoodlums have ah instinct for it, a special ESP. She came back just as the bum was leaving and there was a hell of a fuss."
"Did she get hurt?" asked Gonzalo, his ordinarily prominent eyes bulging slightly.
"Not really. She was shook up, that's all. She yelled like anything-about the best thing she could have done. The guy ran. If I'd been there, I'd have taken after him and caught him, too. I'd have-"
"It's better not to try," said Avalon austerely, stirring his drink by moving the ice with his forefinger. "The end result of a chase could be a knife in the ribs. Your ribs."
"Listen," said Rubin, "I've faced guys with knives in my time. They're easy to ban- Hold it, something's burning." He dashed into the kitchen.
There was a knock at the door.
"Use the peephole," said Avalon.
Halsted did, and said, "It's Tom." He opened the door to let Thomas Trumbull in.
Avalon said, "How come you weren't announced?"
Trumbull shrugged. "They know me here. I've visited Manny before."
"Besides," said Drake, "an important government operative like you is above suspicion."
Trumbull snorted and his lined face twisted into a scowl, but he didn't rise to the bait. That he was a code expert all the Black Widowers knew. What he did with it, none of the Black Widowers knew, though all had the same suspicion.
Trumbull said, "Any of you counted the bulls yet?"
Gonzalo laughed. "It does seem a herd."
The bookcases that lined the wall were littered with bulls in wood and ceramic and in all sizes and colors. There were several on the end tables, others on the television set.
"There are more in the bathroom," said Drake, emerging.
"I'll bet you," said Trumbull, "that if we each count all the bulls in the place, we'll each come out with a different answer and every one of them will be wrong."
"I'll bet you," said Halsted, "that Manny doesn't know how many there are himself."
"Hey, Manny," shouted Gonzalo, "how many bulls have you got?"
"Counting me?" called back Rubin, amid the clatter of pottery. He put his head out of the kitchen door. "One thing about eating here is you know damn well you don't get any liver in the appetizer. You're getting an eggplant dish with all kinds of ingredients in it and don't ask the details because it's my recipe. I invented it… And, Mario, that bull will chip if you drop it and Jane knows them all by heart and she'll inspect each one when she comes back."