Page 98 - Labelle Gramercy, Detective

Cat’s Paw

persist through the polished obstructionism of a few lower
receptionists until I reached Kurt N. Schauer’s private secretary. Her
brush-off was higher-class, but she changed her tone after I told her
my call concerned Art Lesley. I sat on hold for a few minutes; then
she came back on the line and sweetly informed me that I could have
a few minutes of Mr. Schauer’s time at precisely three o’clock.
So I tidied myself up and drove downtown. Cornish Rock was
presumably the prime tenant of the Cornish Rock Building, one of
many similar glass-and-steel office blocks cutting off each other’s
sunlight in the business district. I used the magic name of the
executive and parked for free in the fourth sub-basement. An
elevator launched me and the contents of my stomach almost
simultaneously to the twenty-fourth floor and some very expensively-
appointed office suites. Again I spoke the name, this time barely
above a whisper, and was ushered into the Great Man’s presence. A
solid hardwood door clicked closed behind me and Mr. Schauer came
from behind his desk, hand extended. I guess that was some kind of
honor.
Another man was seated on a small sofa in one capacious corner
of the office. He rose, too, and was introduced to me as Albert B.
Goode. If I was surprised, I undoubtedly showed it. “Ah, yes,” I
mumbled, “I’ve spoken with you on the phone.”
Both of these guys were considerably older and larger than me.
Goode, the younger and subordinate, was muscle going to fat;
Schauer, his elder, was trying to reverse the process. That
phenomenon, I reflected, was purely socio-economic. Considering
my own lack of gravitas, perhaps I was in the wrong business.
Insurance companies used computers, didn’t they? Maybe I should
send in a resume, mentioning in a cover letter my personal
connection with the Great Man.
“Now, Mr. O’Bleakley, I understand that you are currently
employed by Mallard Books in the capacity of...”
“Senior editor,” I replied, giving myself a promotion.
“Yes, I see. So your company has an interest in the—ah—literary
remains of the late Arthur Lesley.”
“That’s right.” I was eager to please this man. He could soon be
placing me on a rung of the ladder from which eating higher off the
hog would no longer be out of my reach. “He sold us a book and

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