Potbury ushered them out. “If you have another fainting spell, Mrs. Randall, come back and see me and we’ll give you a thorough going over. In the meantime, don’t worry about matters you can’t help.”
They took the last car of the train in returning and were able to pick a seat far away enough from other passengers for them to talk freely. “Whatja make of it?” he asked, as soon as they were seated.
She wrinkled her brow. “I don’t know, quite. He certainly doesn’t like Mr. Hoag, but he never said why.”
“Um-m-m.”
“What do you make of it, Teddy?”
“First, Potbury knows Hoag. Second, Potbury is very anxious that we know nothing about Hoag. Third, Potbury hates Hoag — and is afraid of him!”
“Huh? How do you figure that out?”
He smiled maddeningly. “Use the little gray cells, my sweet. I think I’m on to friend Potbury — and if he thinks he can scare me out of looking into what Hoag does with his spare time he’s got another think coming!”
Wisely, she decided not to argue it with him just then — they had been married quite some time.
At her request they went home instead of back to the office. “I don’t feel up to it. Teddy. If he wants to play with my typewriter, let him!”
“Still feeling rocky from the Brodie you pulled?” he asked anxiously.
“Kinda.”
She napped most of the afternoon. The tonic, she reflected, that Dr. Potbury had given her did not seem to have done her any good — left her dizzy, if anything, and with a furry taste in her mouth.
Randall let her sleep. He fiddled around the apartment for a few minutes, set up his dart board and tried to develop an underhand shot, then desisted when it occurred to him that it might wake Cynthia. He looked in on her and found that she was resting peacefully. He decided that she might like a can of beer when she woke up — it was a good excuse to go out; he wanted a beer himself. Bit of a headache, nothing much, but he hadn’t felt really chipper since he left the doctor’s office. A couple of beers would fix it up.
There was a taproom just this side of the nearest delicatessen. Randall decided to stop for one on draught before returning. Presently he found himself explaining to the proprietor just why the reform amalgamation would never turn out the city machine.
He recalled, as he left the place, his original intention. When he got back to their apartment, laden with beer and assorted cold cuts, Cynthia was up and making domestic noises in the kitchen. “Hi, babe!”
“Teddy!”
He kissed her before he put down the packages. “Were you scared when you woke up and found me gone?”
“Not really. But I would rather you had left a note. What have you got there?”
“Suds and cold cuts. Like?”
“Swell. I didn’t want to go out for dinner and I was trying to see what I could stir up. But I hadn’t any meat in the house.” She took them from him.
“Anybody call?”
“Huh-uh. I called the exchange when I woke up. Nothing of interest. But the mirror came.”
“Mirror?”
“Don’t play innocent. It was a nice surprise, Teddy. Come see how it dresses up the bedroom.”
“Let’s get this straight,” he said. “I don’t know anything about a mirror.”
She paused, puzzled. “I thought you bought it for me for a surprise. It came prepaid.”
“Whom was it addressed to; you or me?”
“I didn’t pay much attention; I was half asleep. I just signed something and they unpacked it and hung it for me.”
It was a very handsome piece of glass, beveled plate, without a frame, and quite large. Randall conceded that it did things for her dressing table. “If you want a glass like that, honey, I’ll get one for you. But this isn’t ours. I suppose I’d better call up somebody and tell ’em to take it back. Where’s the tag?”
“They took it off, I think. Anyhow it’s after six o’clock.”
He grinned at her indulgently. “You like it, don’t you? Well, it looks like it’s yours for tonight — and tomorrow I’ll see about getting you another.”