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It was the devil of a mess. That young American, Dr. Strong, had promised to bring his daughter in today. He didn't want to see her. What was the use? He had washed his hands of her long ago. She had probably grown into a prissy creature who would immediately take him to task for his ways of living.
As the crowd thinned, hope revived. Perhaps something had happened and she wasn't coming after all. He made the rounds of the tables, beaming at red-faced Sir Anthony Gelding as he passed.
He would have preferred to slap Sir Anthony's fat jowls instead. But the man was the secret owner of the Happy Hour and Carl was at his beck and call. He had hired Carl and could fire him if he chose. Hiding his dislike had become a habit with Carl now. This newest job meant too much to him. He wanted to stay in legitimate business now if he could — getting too far along for confidence games, he reflected, rubbing his chin.
His perennial youth was slipping from him. Middle age was threatening to encroach on the Bellairs dash and devilmay-care attitude. Yes, Carl admitted to himself, he was softening under the easy life London and the Happy Hour afforded him. Sometimes he even wondered what life would be like with a home and his daughter to care for him.
A waiter approached respectfully and coughed. Carl looked up sharply, irritated.
"There's a man to see you, sir. Insisted on having you summoned. Said he was an old friend of yours," the waiter explained.
Carl shrugged his broad, slightly stooped shoulders, and strode to his private office. A short, badly dressed man sprang to his feet when he caught sight of Carl. His wizened face cracked in a toothless smile.
"Well, Carl, here I am. Just like a bad penny."
"Worse." Carl made a wry face. "I could use a bad penny in a slot machine. Where have you been?"
"They gave me three years just after we got separated in Australia. I didn't like to write from prison. It might have hurt your reputation."
"That was decent of you, Spot," Carl smiled.
Spot stood silent a moment.
"Ever see your daughter?" he-asked abruptly.
Carl shook his head. "I gave all that up twenty years ago. I couldn't stand the smell of cabbage in the house and the sight of diapers hanging on the clothes line."
Bill's eyes brimmed with love as he gazed at Lindner. "J wish we could celebrate with champagne but I just have enough for beer," he said. Then his brow darkened as the waiter arrived with champagne and announced it was from Sir Anthony
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HOLLYWOOD