OCR Text |
Show I The Fiction BLUEBEARD'S BET Corner pHEY'RE all curious," insisted Arthur Jordan. "There never lived a woman who wasn't 99-44100 per cent curiosity. I could quote you a dozen bits of poetry proving the fact-" "For goodness' sake, don't!" urged Clem Tate. "I'll take your word for it. Honestly. But Elsie Isn't that way. I'm telling you." "You're the kind that would never be happy with your wife asking you this and look in a over mail and way silently into the outer corridor again. "Well, was I right, Jordan?" asked Clem. "You win, Bluebeard er, I mean, non-Bluebeard," said Jordan. "Say, I've got to have a breath of air after that self-imposed silence. I think maybe we both like talking a little better than we thought we did. I had a thousand things I wanted to tell you while we sat there. But as for your charming little Elsie she's the real thing all right, all right. Never even clicked the key in the lock, did she? Or looked through the key-hole at us?" Jordan ambled towards the elevators eleva-tors with a wave of his hand. Clem Tate stood an instant at the outer door and then entered the suite of offices. He hurried through to the door of the private office and tried the knob. "Oh" he said, "Miss Lyons, I forgot that this door is locked. Let me have the key, will you, please?" "I I'm sorry, Mr. Tate. But I simply can't think what I did with that key. There was a telephone tele-phone call the moment you left and I looked for the key so that I could could er lay the message on your desk. "But I said not to go in." She laughed gently. Dimples peeped in and out charmingly. She bent again and then with a sigh she murmured: "OhI Here it isl I'm so careless!" rooting about in your desk when you're out of the house. I know you." "Don't speak of Elsie Lyons as rooting', if you please," Clem Tate said coldly. "I'll r tell you what. I'll 3 Minut9 lock the office door Fiction and give her 016 i I "Hi"" key gince you mention Bluebeard and then you and I will go out. I'll keep the key of the corridor door, however, and we'll come in again and sit here. I'll tell her not to use that key at all. See? Then if she is as curious as you say, she'll come bouncing in a la Mademoiselle Made-moiselle Bluebeard or whatever her name was and we'll be sitting right inside here." "O.K. with me," said Arthur Jordan. "She'll be In here and don't yon forget I told yon so. I'd as soon have a homelier girl and one who wasn't so careless anyhow. She's decorative but she'd forget her bead if It weren't for the curls there." Now Elsie Lyons was pretty. She knew that fact as well as anyone else. Fluffy golden hair framed a heart-shaped face with a pointed chin below a widow's peak of hair at the upper edge. Her great grey eyes turned to pansy-color at times. But looks and business efficiency do not always go hand in hand unfortunately un-fortunately and Elsie ran about ninety-nine and forty-four one-hundredths one-hundredths per cent efficiency. "1 am locking the door to the private pri-vate office. Miss Lyons," said Clem Tate distinctly. "I want no one to go in there. No one. Is that clear. Miss Lyons. Here is the key." "Certainly. Mr. Tate." she said demurely, placing the key in her desk drawer. The two young men walked resolutely re-solutely into the outer corridor and the outside door swung too gently behind them. "Well. Bluebeard, how about it?" asked Jordan when he put the key into the door to the private office As the door swung open they both looked in eagerly. They heard the telephone in the outer office. Silently Silent-ly they sat down and Jordan gave his partner a poke in the ribs when Clem Tate looked too triumphant as the moments passed. AT THE END of a half hour Clem Tate rose to his feet. Jordan followed him and they made their |