Mr. Zero by Patricia Wentworth

bonhomie.
    The encounter cheered him a good deal. He lunched, and rang Miss Gay Hardwicke up. The conversation did not take quite the line he had intended. He had meant to be polite and a little detached. Unfortunately it was not Gay who came to the telephone. The voice which said “Who is there?” was the kind of voice that takes the chair at public meetings. He could picture it addressing a conference of head mistresses. It recalled painful interviews with an aunt who had been a strong believer in corporal punishment for the young.
    He said, “Can I speak to Miss Gay Hardwicke?” and was rather proud of himself for having the courage.
    The voice called “Gay!” on a ringing note, and Gay arrived rather breathless from the stairs.
    Algy was too much relieved to be aloof.
    Gay said, “Oh, it’s you?” And then, “That was Aunt Agatha. What is it?”
    The sound of her voice did something to the gatecrashers. They cast sickly looks at one another, and got into corners. Algy said,
    â€œCome out tonight, Gay—will you? I want to talk to you.”
    Gay said, “Well—” in a tone which she hoped would sound doubtful, and was rewarded.
    â€œPlease, Gay, I must see you—I must talk to you.”
    â€œI can’t dine. Aunt Agatha’s got some of her committee coming. She’ll be peeved if I’m not in to dinner, but I don’t think they’ll want me afterwards.”
    â€œSame as last time?”
    â€œYes, that will do.”
    â€œAll right, I’ll be round at half past nine.”
    By half past nine Gay was more than ready to drag herself away from an earnest committee which had been talking about executions for an hour and a half.
    â€œYou’ve no idea how grim . I’m converted absolutely, but I simply couldn’t have listened to them for another minute. I feel as if I’d gone pale green all over.”
    â€œThe bits I can see are all right,” said Algy, as the light of a street-lamp slid over them.
    She came closer and slipped a hand through his arm.
    â€œWhere are we going? I want to have my mind distracted.”
    â€œWould you mind awfully if it was the Ducks and Drakes again?”
    â€œNo. Why?”
    â€œI’ll tell you later on.”
    But at first they danced. And then the star turn held the floor, an apparently boneless girl dressed in her own brown skin and some strings of beads which caught the light and flashed it back in ruby, emerald, and sapphire. She had a black fuzz of hair, eyes like pools of ink, and the largest, reddest mouth and the whitest teeth in the world. To the sound of strange percussion instruments and the rhythmic beat of a drum the brown girl twisted, writhed, and swayed. Her black eyes rolled, her white teeth gleamed. There was a fascinating play of muscle under the shining skin. She really didn’t seem to have any bones at all.
    When it was over Algy said, “Do you mind if we talk now?” and Gay said, “No,” and then wondered if she had been a fool, and a fool to come out with him. She threw a quick look at him and found him serious, panicked a little, and said quickly,
    â€œThere’s that Mr. Danvers who was with the Wessex-Gardners the other night.”
    Algy was already aware of Mr. Danvers. He had, in fact, come here in the hope of seeing Mr. Danvers, who appeared to be an habitué . He said casually,
    â€œOh, yes, he’s often here, I believe. Do you know him?”
    â€œNot really. I met him here the other night.”
    â€œDid you dance with him?”
    She made a little face.
    â€œOnce.”
    â€œAnd what did you think of him?”
    â€œOh, I hated him,” said Gay cheerfully.
    â€œDo you mind telling me why?”
    â€œI’d love to tell you why. I’ve been wanting to let off steam ever since.”
    â€œWhy, what did he do?”
    â€œHe didn’t do anything. He looked over the top of my head and