“I see,” said Paul Pry. “Is she pretty?”
“Is she pretty? Say, listen, chief, this jane has to get acquainted with a substantial businessman in a night club, turn him inside out for all his business secrets, hand him a song and dance that makes him get sympathetic; and put it all on so strong that when Mr. Businessman gets robbed by a gang that have all his affairs at their fingertips, he never even suspects the jane of a tip-off. Is she pretty? My God, she had to be pretty! And how!
“Chief, you lay off that jane. If you contact her, she’ll make you want to rescue her from sordid surroundings. I know her!”
Paul Pry laughed.
“But you don’t know me, Mugs. Tell me, is there any chance she might recognize me?”
Mugs Magoo shook his head.
“There’s only one or two in the gang that have ever seen you. That’s the reason you’re still buyin’ me whiskey. Otherwise, you’d be pushing daisies.”
Paul Pry hummed a little tune as he arrayed himself in full dress, saw that his monogrammed case was filled with cigarettes, and tested his sword cane to make certain the blade would draw swift and true.
“I’ll let you out the door, Mugs. I want to bar it again. I’d hate to have a gangster waiting here when I returned. Take the bottle with you.”
“How you goin’ to get out, chief?”
“Oh, I’m not. I’ll just spend the evening reading. You might pass that information on to the plain-clothes dick that’s waiting downstairs.”
Mugs Magoo sighed.
“Them white shirt fronts make a wonderful target for a machine gun at night. Be sure and keep your coat buttoned — while you’re readin’.”
And he tucked the whiskey bottle under his arm and left.
Paul Pry barred the door, sought his secret exit, and went directly to the Green Mill.
He didn’t contact Tilly Tanner right at first. But the display of a large roll of bills, lavish expenditures and a certain air of unwilling loneliness eventually brought the blonde girl to his table.
The usual preliminaries were disposed of rapidly and Paul Pry found the deep hazel eyes staring at him in breathless wonder.
“You’re so observing, and you’re such a good judge of character, I’ll bet you’re a fine businessman!”
Paul Pry lounged back in his chair, his face containing the simpering self-satisfaction which is the normal masculine reaction to feminine praise.
“Well now, let’s see, baby, you must be pretty good yourself. How did you know I was a businessman? And how did you know I was such a good judge of character?”
She laughed, a throaty, cooing laugh and thrust her parted, red lips toward his face.
“Easy. I’d bet you anything you’re a successful businessman.”
“Anything?” asked Paul Pry.
“Well — almost anything.”
Paul Pry let his voice grow husky.
“Ten dollars — against a kiss.”
She lowered the lids of her eyes demurely, studied the red fingernails, which clutched the snowy cloth.
“You might try to lose the bet,” she said; and flashed her eyes to his face in a single, dazzling glance.
Paul Pry laughed.
“What a little mind-reader you are! Yes, baby, you’re right. I’m the sole manager and owner of the Jeweller’s Supply Co., Inc. And, baby, what I do to those jewellers and make ’em like it is a caution. Most of my competitors fight for the city trade, and I let ’em have it. I go out in the sticks and get the hick merchants on my books. After I get ’em where they owe me too much to pay all at once then I start throwing the hooks into ’em.
“I send ’em merchandise that’s flawed all to hell, and I stick on a fancy price. They don’t dare to squawk or I’d close ’em out. They have to mark up the price and pass the stuff on to the hicks in the small towns.
“What’s the result? Here I am throwin’ money to the birdies and havin’ a good time while my competitors are down explainin’ to their bankers why they can’t meet their notes.
“Come on, baby, another little drink. I want to see those eyes look at me over the top of a glass again!”
She flashed him another glance, leaned forward, cupped her chin on her interlaced fingers, and let Paul Pry see an expanse of her white throat, eyes that stared in admiration, lips that were parted with a subtle invitation.
“How perfectly wonderful!” she said.
They had another drink, and another.
Tilly Tanner told him of her life, of an invalid mother and a crippled sister, both of whom must be supported. She told him of the characters she met, men who were not “nice men like you”, but men who leered and ogled and offended.
She made of herself a martyr, a martyr who was as pure and undefiled as the freshly fallen snow but, nevertheless, one who must continually be exposed to the sordid side of the world.
Paul Pry murmured his manly sympathy and explained that it was because of her great beauty that she attracted the ever-pursuing male.
She studied the reddened tips of her fingers again.
“Just knowing you has helped,” she said. “It’s been a privilege!”
And, so perfect was the tone of her voice, so helpless the sigh which accompanied the words, that they seemed to ring with sincerity.
She shrugged as though to shake off the mood.
“But I must keep cheerful and smiling. Tell me something — tell me of your business. Do diamonds really cost a lot of money? Do you have to keep a lot of money tied up in stock? And tell me what businessmen mean when they talk of overhead.”
Paul Pry laughed.
“Baby, baby, you’d have me here all night!”
The eyes flashed again.
“Well?” and the tone was low, intimate, inviting.
Paul Pry reached forward as though to take her in his arms, but she drew back, frightened.
“No, no!” she said. Then, after an interval during which the hazel eyes melted into his, “Not here!”
And Paul Pry settled back in his chair.
“Talk to me,” she demanded.
Paul Pry talked in a low, husky voice.
“Sweetheart! I’ll grab you in my arms and tell the whole world to go to hell. I’ll—”
“No, no. Don’t talk like that. Please! I’ve got to sing in a few minutes, and you’ll have my voice all out of control. Talk to me about yourself, about your business! Please!”
Paul Pry sighed.
“Well,” he said, “I’ve told you — Say, you’d get a kick out of a deal I’m pulling tomorrow!”
She leaned forward.
“I’d love it!”
“Well, there’s a guy down at Centerville, fellow by the name of Moffit that’s got a sucker on the list. Moffit is a jeweller there, and he’s got a man that’s going to pay fifty thousand for a necklace. And, will you believe it, I’ve got Moffit so sewed up he don’t even dare to get prices from any other competitor.
“That’s a fact. I sent down a messenger on the 2.10 interurban this afternoon with a bunch of necklaces and a bracelet. The bracelet was a bauble that sold for a lousy six thousand, but I marked it four thousand so the hick customer would fall for the necklaces.
“But I guess the bird knew stones, all right. He took the bracelet and sent back the necklaces. So I’m sending another bunch on the 2.10 tomorrow. I’m going to give him some real buys. Fifty grand in cash isn’t to be sneezed at nowadays.”
The girl had stiffened with the tenseness of a cat crawling out toward a bird’s nest.
“Will you make a profit?” she asked.
“Baby! Will I make a profit? Don’t make me laugh, I got a sore lip!”