He was forty-two years of age.
Though I knew he was only drunk, I felt a slight shudder to see him so.
He did not come often; he generally drank alone in his studio.
That soon gets one down.
A smile passed over his face.
He pressed a glass into my hand.
"Drink, Bob.
And save yourself.
Think on what I've said to you."
"Right, Ferdinand."
Lenz opened the gramophone.
He had a pile of Negro records and played several—about the Mississippi, cotton picking, and sultry nights on the blue, tropical rivers.
Chapter VI
Patricia Hollmann lived in a big, yellow block of flats removed from the street by a narrow verge of grass.
In front of the entrance was a lamp.
I parked the Cadillac directly under it.
In the flickering light she looked like an immense elephant of molten, black lacquer.
I had still further perfected my wardrobe. To the tie I had added a new hat and a pair of gloves. I was also wearing Lenz's ulster, a marvellous brown affair of finest Shetland wool.
Thus armed, I hoped to dispel forever any first unfortunate impression of drunkenness.
I blew the horn.
Immediately, like a rocket ascending, lights flashed on at five windows, one above the other.
The lift started humming.
I watched it descend like a bright skep lowered out of the sky.
The girl opened the door and came quickly down the steps.
She had on a short fur jacket and a close-fitting brown skirt.
"Hello!" She offered her hand. "I am so glad to get out.
I have been at home all day."
I liked the way she shook hands—with a grip more powerful than one would expect.
I hate people who offer a limp hand like a dead fish.
"Why didn't you tell me sooner?" I replied. "I might have called for you at midday."
"Have you so much time, then?" she asked laughing. "Not exactly. But I might have arranged to get off."
She took a deep breath.
"Wonderful air—it smells of spring."
"You can have all the air you want," said I. "What about going out into the country, by way of the forest? You see I have a car." Casually I indicated the Cadillac, as if it were an old Ford.
"The Cadillac?" Surprised, she looked at me. "Is it yours?"
"For this evening, yes.
Other times it belongs to our workshop.
We've been working on it and mean to make the deal of our lives with it."
I opened the door.
"What do you say if we drive to the
'Bunch of Grapes' first and have something to eat?"
"Eat certainly, but why the
'Bunch of Grapes'?"
I looked at her puzzled.
The "Bunch of Grapes" was the only decent restaurant I knew.
"It's open," said I. "That's all I know about it.
And I think we have a duty toward the Cadillac."
"Duties are irksome," she replied.
"The 'Bunch of Grapes' is sure to be steep and boring.
Let's go somewhere else."