“He went through my dresser,” she said, softly, embarrassed, “and stole a half dozen items of underclothing.”
“I see,” Payne said.
“Specifically,” she said, apparently having overcome her discomfiture, “he made off with all my black undies, brassieres, and panties.”
“Just the black?” Payne asked, furious with himself for wanting to smile. What this young woman was telling him was not only of great importance to her, but very likely was symptomatic of a very dangerous situation. While a perverse corner of his brain was amused by the notion of an “actor,” almost certainly a young gentleman of exquisite grace, making off with this proper young woman’s black underwear, it wasn’t funny at all.
“Just the black,” she said.
“Well, the first thing I think you might consider is the installation of a security system—”
“We’ve had Acme Security since Daddy built the house,” she said. “Until now, I thought it provided a measure of security. Their damned alarm system doesn’t seem to work at all.”
“May I suggest that you ask them to come and check it out?” Payne said.
“I’ve already done that,” she said. “They say there’s absolutely nothing wrong with it. What I think is that people like Stephen’s young man know about things like that, and know how to turn them off, render them useless, and Acme just doesn’t want to admit that’s possible.”
She’s probably right.
“Another possibility, for the immediate future,” Payne said, “until the police can run this Williams chap to ground, is to move, temporarily, into a hotel.”
“I have no intention of having someone like that drive me from my home,” Martha Peebles said, firmly. “What I had hoped to hear from Mr. Foster, Mr. Payne, is that he has some influence with the police, and could prevail upon them to provide me with more protection than they so far have.”
“I frankly don’t know what influence Mr. Foster has with the police. Miss Peebles—”
“Well, that’s certainly a disappointment,” she interrupted him.
“But as I was about to say, Colonel Mawson, a senior partner of the firm, is a close personal friend of Police Commissioner Czernick.”
“Well, then, may I see him please?”
“That won’t be necessary, Miss Peebles. As soon as he walks through the door, I’ll bring this to his attention.”
“Where is he now?”
“Actually,” Payne said, “he’s at the Bellevue-Stratford. With a chap called Bull Bolinski.”
“The Packers’ Bull Bolinski?” Miss Peebles asked, brightening visibly.
“Yes, the Packers’ Bull Bolinski.”
“Oh, I almost cried when he announced his retirement,” Martha Peebles said.
“He’s now an attorney, you know.”
“I hadn’t heard that,” she said. “And I’d forgotten this has all been recorded, hasn’t it?”
“Yes, it has. And I’ll have it transcribed immediately.”
Martha Peebles stood up and offered Brewster C. Payne II her hand.
“I can’t tell you how much better I feel, Mr. Payne, after having spoken to you. And thank you for seeing me without an appointment.”
“That was my pleasure,” Payne said. “Anytime you want to see me, Miss Peebles, my door is always open. But I wish you would consider checking into a hotel for a few days….”
“I told you, I will not be run off by people like that,” she said, firmly. “Good morning, Mr. Payne.”
He walked with her to the door, then to the elevator, and saw her on it.