Winthrop's with us, too. He said he has to see you."
I looked over at Monica.
That was all I needed. To have her father come up and find her in my room.
"No," I said quickly. "I'm still in the tub.
Take 'em into the bar and buy 'em a drink."
"The bars are all closed."
"O.K., then, I’ll meet you in the lobby," I said.
"The lobby's no place to close this deal. There's no privacy.
They won't like it at all. I don't understand why we can't come up."
"Because I got a broad up here."
"So what?" he answered. "They're all broad-minded." He laughed at his pun.
"The girl's Monica Winthrop."
There was silence on the other end of the telephone. Then I heard him sigh wearily.
"Christ!" he said. "Your father was right.
You just never stop, do you?"
"Time enough for me to stop when I’m your age."
"I don't know," he said wearily. "They won't like the idea of meeting in the lobby."
"If it's privacy they want," I said, "I know just the place."
"Where?"
"The men's room, just off the elevators.
I'll meet you there in five minutes. That'll be private enough!"
I put down the phone and got to my feet.
I looked at Monica. "Hand me a towel," I said. "I gotta go downstairs and see your father."
2.
I CAME INTO THE MEN'S ROOM, RUBBING MY CHEEK. I still had the five-day beard.
I hadn't had time to shave.
I grinned at the sight of them, all engrossed in their duties, not even looking around as I entered.
"The meeting will come to order, gentlemen," I said. They looked over their shoulders at me, a startled expression on their faces. I heard one of them mutter a faint damn under his breath and wondered what minor tragedy brought that out.
McAllister came over to me.
"I must say, Jonas," he said rather pompously. "You have a rather peculiar choice of meeting place."
I stared at him. I knew he was talking for the benefit of the others, so I didn't really mind.
I looked down at his trousers. "Aw, Mac," I said. "Button your fly before you start talking."
His face grew red and his hand dropped quickly to his trouser front.
I laughed and turned to the others.
"I'm sorry to put you to this inconvenience, gentlemen," I said. "But I have a space problem up in my room. I've got a box up there that takes up almost the whole place."
The only one who got it was Amos Winthrop. I saw a knowing grin appear on his face.
I wondered what his expression would be if he knew it was his daughter I was talking about.
By this time, Mac had recovered his aplomb and stepped in to take over. There were introductions all around and then we got down to business.
As Mac explained to me, the three big chemical corporations had set up a separate company to sub-license from me.
It was this company which would make the first payment and guarantee the royalties.
I had only one question to ask. "Who guarantees the money?"
Mac indicated one of the men. "Sheffield here," he said. "Mr. Sheffield is one of the partners of George Stewart, Inc."
I looked at Sheffield.
Stewart, Morgan, Lehman were all good names down on the Street. I couldn't ask for better people financially.
There was something about the man's face that seemed familiar. I searched my memory. Then I had it.
F.
Martin Sheffield. New York, Boston, Southampton, Palm Beach.
Harvard School of Business, summa cum laude, before the war.
Major, U.S. Army, 1917-18. Three decorations for bravery under fire.
Ten-goal polo-player. Society.