Decker made a last attempt at valiance when he was out of Zeke’s grasp. But he muttered so low that Zeke caught little of words other than something about ‘would regret’ before Decker fled across the hall. Zeke slammed the door behind him. He assumed there was no need to summon Wellington. He doubted Decker would be tempted to linger upon his property.
Zeke turned back to the study, pushing aside velvet draperies to fling open the windows. Decker seemed to have left a bad odor in the room.
Zeke had met his share of thieves and con men in his day, shifty-eyed fellows who would slit your throat for a two-bit piece. But the knaves he most despised were the Deckers of this world, who hid their corruption behind a guise of gentlemanly respectability.
Still seething, Zeke flung himself down in the chair behind his desk and fidgeted with a glass paperweight. He needed to cool off a little or when Miss Kavanaugh appeared, he would greet her like a snarling dog.
It didn’t prove too difficult to curb his anger. The more he thought about the session with Decker, the more he experienced a sensation of triumph. When he had first decided to back Stanley Addison, Zeke had had his doubts about what the young lawyer could accomplish against the might of Tammany Hall.But someone must finally have perceived Addison’s campaign as a threat. Why else would Decker have been sent sniffing and groveling?
Addison ought to be apprised of Decker’s threats. Not that Zeke expected much to come of them. Decker was a paltry fellow, but Zeke wouldn’t put it past him to hire a couple of thugs to smash windows and that sort of thing. Scare tactics. But still Addison should be warned.
Zeke had reached for the telephone directory, preparing to do just that, when Rory finally made her appearance. She crept through the open study door with some nervousness. What was it about Zeke Morrison that unsettled her normal sense of breezy self-confidence?
Perhaps it was because she had never had anything much to do with a millionaire before. But as Rory hovered on the threshold, she knew it was not the size of Morrison’s bank account that intimidated her, but the man himself. The study was spacious, all oak paneling and leather-covered furnishings, but Zeke still managed to dominate the room.
He stood by a telephone box mounted on the wall, the receiver held to his ear as he leafed through the pages of New York’s slender directory. Garbed in black evening attire, his Prince Albert coat contrasted with the whiteness of his starched shirt and high standing collar. He looked strikingly handsome, but the formalness of his suit failed to civilize him. He still presented an untamed appearance, dark and fascinatingly dangerous.
Detecting Rory’s approach, Zeke glanced up with a smile. He beckoned for her to enter, waving her toward his desk, where some paper and an inkwell stood waiting. He indicated that she should help herself while he continued his efforts to get the operator to connect him to the telephone exchange of a Mr. Stanley Addison.
Rory seated herself behind the massive desk and reached for a sheet of the paper, fine cream-colored vellum with the monogram of J. E. Morrison printed on the top in letters as bold as the man himself. As Rory picked up the pen, she tried to think how she was going to explain all of this to Tony, why she wouldn’t be here waiting when he arrived. He wasn’t going to like it, the idea of her going off to supper with a strange man.
But Tony often presumed too much on the basis of old friendship, acting at times as domineering than her father had been. She was Tony’s employer now, certainly not obliged to account to him for her movements. Thus assuring herself, she dipped her pen into the inkwell and began to scratch out her plans for the evening in the most unvarnished terms, directing him to convey the balloon to the warehouse, where she would meet him later.
As she wrote, it was impossible not to be aware of Morrison’s presence. He was so preoccupied with his telephone call, he appeared to have forgotten she was there, making it safe to steal peeks in his direction. She didn’t mean to eavesdrop on his conversation, but it was hard to help it, Morrison was talking so loudly into the speaking piece.
It was notZeke’s intention to shout, but as usual he was finding the new-fangled invention he had installed in his home a less than satisfactory means of communication. Addison sounded far away, as if he were at the end of a tunnel, with static causing even more interference than usual.
“I said Decker came by to see me this evening,” Zeke bellowed. “I think he’s scared. Things could get damned unpleasant.”
“What?” Addison’s voice crackled.
“Things could get ugly.” Zeke’s voice vibrated with annoyance at his inability to make himself understood. “Your windows could get smashed.”
Addison’s reply came in a garbled fashion that left Zeke barely able to distinguish every other word.” ... not surprised ... been uncovering something new ... will embarrass more ... not just Decker. Wait until you hear?—”
To Zeke’s frustration, he heard nothing but more static. “This is hopeless. Why don’t you just plan to meet with me tomorrow? The bar at Hoffman House. Four o’clock”
For a moment, Zeke thought he had been disconnected. Then he heard Addison repeat, “Hoffman House. At four.”
“Yes.” Recollecting the absentminded Addison’s habit of forgetting appointments, Zeke added, “And you damn well better be there.”
When he rang off, he slammed the receiver back onto its hook. The noise startled Miss Kavanaugh, and Zeke vented his irritation by complaining to her.
“Telephones! The most useless device ever conceived. You might as well try to shout across town.”
“I wouldn’t know,” she said somewhat wistfully. “I’ve never used one.”
“They will never replace the telegraph or even a hand-delivered note. Speaking of notes, how is yours coming?”
“I’ve finished it,” she said, folding the paper in half.
“Good. Just leave it there on the desk and I’ll instruct Wellington to make sure your friend gets it when he arrives. Are you ready to go?”
Was she? Rory still wasn’t sure, but she nodded and rose to her feet. His bold gaze raked over her in an appraising stare. She lifted one hand to the neckline of her gown in a self-conscious gesture.
“Do I look all right?”
“You look just fine.” The words were simple, but he pitched his voice to a low timbre that caressed her as surely as if he had run the warm rough tips of his fingers along her bared flesh. When Rory shivered, he added, “Of course, I know the temperature is dropping, so I thought you might be glad of this.”
