The Grub-and-Stakers Spin a Yarn Read Free Page B

like George Raft; but Bert, my current husband, as you of course know, takes an extremely dim view of mobsters. He’s run into a few real ones during the course of his career, and is quite firm in his belief that there’s not a heart of gold among them.”
    “An assumption in which I heartily concur,” said the sergeant. “Do I deduce that your friend has been describing yon incident which led to the desecration of Mrs. Derbyshire’s clean floor?”
    “Derbyshire?” Arethusa, who had allowed her attention to slip back a century or two, perked to attention. “Is that another of her aliases, forsooth?”
    The proprietress parked her mop in the bucket, drew herself up to her full height, and gave Arethusa a far from sheepish look. “My proper name, as Sergeant MacVicar can testify since it’s on my vending license, is Prudence Elizabeth Derbyshire, or if you prefer, Mrs. Bentinck Derbyshire. Liberated woman though I am, I retained the name of my former husband. I should have thought the allusion to my shop name was obvious, especially to those in the literary profession, but I find that not all authors are as well up on the classics as one might expect. I’ve grown quite used to being called Miss Jane and don’t mind a bit. Advertising my shop is how I look at it. I must say, however, that nobody has ever before called me Miss Wuzzy,” she added with imperfectly concealed rancor.
    In the bright lexicon of Clorinda Henbit Pusey there was no such grim word as rancor. “Then you’ve had a new experience,” she cried gaily. “How delightful for you! I always count that day lost in which I haven’t had at least one new experience.”
    Miss Jane, or Mrs. Prudence, retrieved her mop and went back to work. “I’ve had quite enough new experiences, thank you,” she snapped as she scrubbed viciously at a gummy red spot. “Whatever that man’s problems might have been, faulty coagulation sure wasn’t one of them.”
    Comparing notes later on, Clorinda had to agree with Arethusa that the yarn lady did look a good deal like a lost sheep when she forgot to smile. Clorinda pointed out that Miss Jane probably resembled a happy sheep when she did smile. As neither of the friends had ever seen a sheep looking more than placidly content, they decided to give Miss Jane the benefit of the doubt and table the question for lack of data. At the moment, however, they, like the proprietor and Sergeant MacVicar, were more concerned with the dire tale told by the now partly erased bloodstains.
    “What puzzles me,” said Clorinda, “is why that gangster should have rushed in here and then rushed straight out again.”
    “He did not rush straight in and rush straight out.” Sergeant MacVicar was, as well he should have been, a stickler for accuracy in observation. “Judging from the trail he left, he rushed in and circled around yon island display of baby yarn in the center of the room in a counterclockwise direction, passing the service counter on his way out.”
    “He was probably looking for me,” said Miss Jane.
    “He couldn’t have been,” said Arethusa. “He rushed right past you both coming and going.”
    “But that was most likely because he didn’t realize who she was,” Clorinda pointed out. “How could he, when he’d never been in the shop before? Had he, Miss Jane?”
    “Never laid eyes on him in my life. And never will again, from the way he looked when they lugged him off.”
    “Yes, it’s sad to think he never did know which was who. He must have thought you were in charge, Arethusa, since it was you he approached about his knitting problem. If in fact he had one,” Clorinda sniffed. “That was no doubt a ruse or a hidden threat. What he must have meant, Miss Jane, was that he’d rip out all your sweaters if you didn’t pay up. That’s the sort of thing the mob would do.”
    “But he couldn’t,” cried Miss Jane. “The place was full of sweaters. Lots of customers bring me their pieces after