She hesitated just a moment before saying, “What about my place? By the grace of God, there’s a bottle of brandy. And we can talk.”

I told her it sounded just right. I held up a finger to the hotel doorman and he had no trouble snagging a taxi at that late hour.

We got in and she gave the driver an address in the East Thirties. She had moved close to the other side when she got in and sat there demurely as the taxi pulled away. I sat not too close to her and got out cigarettes. I shook one loose and held out the pack and she took it. I put one between my own lips and struck a match. She leaned close to get a light, and her face was serene and beautiful in the little flare as she sucked in flame. Her hand had touched mine to steady the match, and she didn’t take her hand away while I got a light also. I blew the match out and lowered my lips to touch the back of her hand. Her fingers tightened spasmodically on mine, and then she drew away to her own side of the back seat and I relaxed against the rear cushion. I drew in a deep lungful of smoke and exhaled it, told her, “You haven’t told me

anything about yourself at all. You’re not a member of MWA?”

“No. Just a sort of hanger-on. Don’t worry. You’ll probably hear the entire story of my life if the bottle of brandy holds out.”

That sounded all right to me. Her right hand was lying on the seat between us and I put mine over it. Her fingers relaxed under mine and we rode that way to the address she had given.

3

I paid off the taxi in front of a small, neat brick apartment building east of the Third Avenue El. Elsie went in front of me up a short flight of steps and into a small entryway with mail boxes lining both sides. She took a key from her purse to open the inner door, and we went down a short hall to a self-service elevator in the rear.