CHAPTER 41

"You've dyed your hair since then," noted Casey, and I started, but the girls had casually moved on, and her comment was directed at the prematurely rising moon, likely

conjured from a caterer's basket. With Casey's slender golden arm resting in mine, we descended the steps and strolled around the garden. A tray of cocktails floated toward

us through the twilight, and we sat down at a table with the two girls in yellow and three men, each introduced as Mr. Mumble.

"Do you come to these parties often?" Casey asked the girl beside her.

"The last one was the one I met you at," replied the girl in a sharp, confident tone. She turned to her companion: "Wasn't it for you, Lucille?"

It was for Lucille, too.

"I like to come," Lucille said. "I never care what I do, so I always have a good time. Last time I was here, I tore my gown on a chair, and he asked me my name and address—inside of a week I got a package from Croirier's with a new evening gown."

"Did you keep it?" asked Casey.

"Sure I did. I was going to wear it tonight, but it was too big in the bust and had to be altered. It was gas blue with lavender beads. Two hundred sixty-five dollars."

"There's something odd about a guy who does that," said the other girl eagerly. "He doesn't want any trouble with ANYbody."

"Who doesn't?" I asked. "Alex. Somebody told me——"