Behind That Curtain Read Free Page B

Presently Kirk was aware that she was looking at him. He glanced up, to meet her smile.
    â€œPeople are always late,” he ventured.
    â€œAren’t they?”
    â€œNo reason for it, usually. Just too inefficient to make the grade. Nothing annoys me more.”
    â€œI feel the same way,” the girl nodded.
    Another silence. The girl was still smiling at him.
    â€œGo out of your way to invite somebody you don’t know to lunch,” Kirk continued, “and he isn’t even courteous enough to arrive on time.”
    â€œAbominable,” she agreed. “You have all my sympathy—Mr. Kirk.”
    He started. “Oh—you know me?”
    She nodded. “Somebody once pointed you out to me—at a charity bazaar,” she explained.
    â€œWell,” he sighed, “their charity didn’t extend to me. Nobody pointed you out.” He looked at his watch.
    â€œThis person you’re expecting—” began the girl.
    â€œA lawyer,” he answered. “I hate all lawyers. They’re always telling you something you’d rather not know.”
    â€œYes—aren’t they?”
    â€œMessing around with other people’s troubles. What a life.”
    â€œFrightful.” Another silence. “You say you don’t know this lawyer?” A rather unkempt young man came in and hurried past. “How do you expect to recognize him?”
    â€œHe wrote me he’d be wearing a green hat. Imagine! Why not a rose behind his ear?”
    â€œA green hat.” The girl’s smile grew even brighter. Charming, thought Kirk. Suddenly he stared at her in amazement. “Good lord—you’re wearing a green hat!” he cried.
    â€œI’m afraid I am.”
    â€œDon’t tell me—”
    â€œYes—it’s true. I’m the lawyer. And you hate all lawyers. What a pity.”
    â€œBut I didn’t dream—”
    â€œJ. V. Morrow,” she went on. “The first name is June.”
    â€œAnd I thought it was Jim,” he cried. “Please forgive me.”
    â€œYou’d never have invited me if you’d known—would you?”
    â€œOn the contrary—I wouldn’t have invited anybody else. But come along. There are a lot of murder experts in the lobby dying to meet you.”
    They rose, and walked rapidly down the corridor. “You’re interested in murder?” Kirk inquired.
    â€œAmong other things,” she smiled.
    â€œMust take it up myself,” Kirk murmured.
    Men turned to look at her a second time, he noticed. There was an alertness in her dark eyes that resembled the look in Chan’s, her manner was brisk and businesslike, but for all that she was feminine, alluring.
    He introduced her to the surprised Sir Frederic, then to Charlie Chan. The expression on the face of the little Chinese did not alter. He bowed low.
    â€œThe moment has charm,” he remarked.
    Kirk turned to Rankin. “And all the time,” he accused, “you knew who J. V. Morrow was.”
    The reporter shrugged. “I thought I’d let you find it out for yourself. Life holds so few pleasant surprises.”
    â€œIt never held a pleasanter one for me,” Kirk answered. They went in to the table he had engaged, which stood in a secluded corner.
    When they were seated, the girl turned to her host. “This was so good of you. And of Sir Frederic, too. I know how busy he must be.”
    The Englishman bowed. “A fortunate moment for me,” he smiled, “when I decided I was not too busy to meet J. V. Morrow. I had heard that in the States young women were emancipated—”
    â€œOf course, you don’t approve,” she said.
    â€œOh—but I do,” he murmured.
    â€œAnd Mr. Chan. I’m sure Mr. Chan disapproves of me.”
    Chan regarded her blankly. “Does the elephant disapprove of the butterfly? And who cares?”
    â€œNo answer at all,”