The Bamboo Blonde by Dorothy B. Hughes Page A

wasn't he?"
    She brightened at that although she still wasn't interested in Pembrooke. He wasn't handsome and glamorous like Kew. She evidently hadn't heard about the yacht. She said, "Yes, he's Mannie's best friend."
    Kathie shouldn't have said that. Mannie Martin was missing. Major Pembrooke wanted to find him. And by now Griselda was certain in her bones that his purpose in finding him wasn't harmless. Nothing that the major did would be without harm.
    Kathie was continuing as she had in her stuffy bedroom. But the pink fish wasn't goggling on her tonight. She must have known there was no chance of meeting her husband. "Mannie and Walker have known each other for years—"
    Sergei shouldn't have said anything. He hadn't been invited; he was on the outside; he had insinuated himself in some manner upon Kew in order that he might sit at the table, but he should have had an intuition of the necessity for his silence.
    He began, "I hear—" but his peep was not audible over the orchestral rhumba, laden trays, and parakeet conversation. He repeated. "I hear—" and a third time with clarinet shrillness, "I hear—" The major recognized him. "Yes?" Sergei rubbed his tongue over his lips. He didn't know where to put his eyes. "I hear Mannie has been found." In the silence he made the mistake of letting his eyes meet those of Albert George. They were held fast hideously as by snake-hypnosis.
    Kathie's soft words released him from the spell, "Found? Really? Where is he?"
    But Sergei offered only anticlimax. "I do not know. They are saying this in Hollywood. At the studio."
    Kew explained, "Mr. Vironova directs the Masquers on theair, too, you know. He tells me that the rumor is all over the broadcasting studio."
    The major said with his teeth, "I trust it is true, I am very anxious for Mr. Martin to return. It is a matter of marking time for me until he does."
    Con broke in rudely, lightly, "He won't return."
    Griselda held tightly to the edge of the table. The major's gritty eye was on Con now. "What do yon mean, Mr. Satterlee?"
    Con didn't tremble as Sergei had. He said blandly, "He can't. He's no Lazarus."
    Again there was silence in the midst of sound. And then Kathie's mouth whispered, "Con—is Mannie dead?"
    He wasn't rude to her. "He wouldn't have been gone this long otherwise, Kathie."
    "You know that?" Pembrooke demanded. Con actually smiled into the terrible mask. "Sure, I know it. I've known Mannie ever since I've been on the air. And I know he wasn't a guy that'd walk out when he had"—his smile was impudent—"an important deal on."
    Kew asked quickly, "You don't really know he's dead, do you, Con?"
    Con took a drink. "What do you think?"
    "Well, I didn't know him." Kew was evasive again. "I'd met him, that's all. But—what could have happened to him? If he'd been in an accident, it would have been reported long ago. If anything had gone wrong on his way down from Santa Monica, the boat wouldn't have been tied up at the landing. Boats can't tie themselves. Con. And he was alone. The attendants at the Santa Monica Club are certain of that. I can't see it any other way than a disappearance for his own purposes."
    Major Pembrooke spoke coldly, "I am afraid that Mr. Satterlee's supposition is superior to yours, Brent. Martin had an appointment with me here at Avalon on the night he disappeared. He was bringing the final and complete plans for our deal. He never arrived. I remained here at the St. Catherine until after one in the morning before returning to The Falcon. He sent no message. It wasn't like him."
    Was he offering an alibi for the time of the disappearance or murder?
    Kathie's eyes were enormous. She shivered, "Oh, don't let's talk about him like this. We don't know that anything happened to him. Walker was with him the night before and he was perfectly well."
    Albert George put down his cigar. "You're right, Mrs. Travis. This sort of conversation is only depressing and sheer guesswork. A dance perhaps?"
    He