shortly draft board says."'
For a moment, de Meister said and did nothing. And then, one after another, he did the following things: removed his monocle slowly, sat down heavily, rubbed his chin abstractedly, and lit a cigarette after long and careful tamping. Each of these, Graham Dorn's trained authorial eye recognized as singly representing perturbation and distress on the part of his character.
And never, in any of his books, did Graham remember a time when de Meister had gone through all four consecutively.
Finally, de Meister spoke. 'Why you had to bring up draft registrations in your last book, I really don't know. This urge to be topical; this fiendish desire to be up to the minute with the news is the curse of the mystery novel. A true mystery is timeless; should have no relation to current events; should-'
'There is one way,' said Graham, 'to escape induction -'
'You might at least have mentioned a deferred classification on some vital ground.'
There is one way,' said Graham, 'to escape induction -'
'Criminal negligence,' said de Meister.
'Look! Go back to the books and you'll never be filled with lead.'
'Write them and I'll do it.'
'Think of the war.'
'Think of your ego.'
Two strong men stood face to face (or would have, if Graham weren't still horizontal) and neither flinched.
Impasse!
And the sweet, feminine voice of June Billings interrupted and snapped the tension:
'May I ask, Graham Dorn, what you are doing on the floor. It's been swept today and you're not complimenting me by attempting to improve the job.'
'I am not sweeping the floor. If you looked carefully,' replied Graham gently, 'you would see that your own adored fiance is lying here a mass of bruises and a hotbed of pains and aches.'
'You've ruined my end table!'
'I've broken my leg.'
'And my best lamp.'
'And two ribs.'
'And my fishbowl.'
'And my Adam's apple.'
'And you haven't introduced your friend,'
'And my cervical verte- What friend?'
'This friend.'
'Friend! Ha!' And a mist came over his eyes. She was so young, so fragile to come into contact with hard, brutal facts of life. 'This,' he muttered brokenly, 'is Reginald de Meister.'
De Meister at this point broke a cigarette sharply in two, a gesture pregnant with the deepest emotion.
June said slowly. 'Why - why, you're different from what I had thought.'
'How had you expected me to look?' asked de Meister, in soft, thrilling tones.
'I don't know. Differently than you do - from the stories I heard.'
'You remind me, somehow, Miss Billings, of Letitia Reynolds.'
'I think so. Graham said he drew her from me.'
'A very poor imitation, Miss Billings. Devastatin'ly poor.'
They were six inches apart now, eyes fixed with a mutual glue, and Graham yelled sharply. He sprang upright as memory smote^him a nasty smite on the forehead.
A passage from Case of the Muddy Overshoe occurred to him. Likewise one from The Primrose Murders. Also one from The Tragedy of Hartley Manor, Death of a Hunter, White Scorpion and, to put it in a small nutshell, from every one of the others.
The passage read:
There was a certain fascination about de Meister that appealed irresistibly to women.
And June Billings was - as it had often, in Graham's idler moments, occurred to him - a woman.
And fascination simply gooed out of her ears and coated the floor six inches deep.
'Get out of this room, June,' he ordered.
'I will not.'
'There is something I must discuss with Mr. de Meister, man to man. I demand that you leave this room.'
'Please go, Miss Billings,' said de Meister.
June hesitated, and in a very small voice said, 'Very well.'
'Hold on,' shouted Graham. 'Don't let him order you about, I demand that you stay.'
She closed the door very gently behind her.
The two men faced each other. There was that in either pair of eyes that indicated a strong man brought to bay. There was stubborn, undying antagonism; no quarter; no compromise. It was exactly the sort of situation Graham Dorn always presented his readers with, when two strong men fought for one hand, one heart, one girl.
The two said simultaneously, 'Let's make a deal!'
Graham said, 'You have convinced me, Reggie. Our public needs us. Tomorrow I shall begin another de Meister story. Let us shake hands and forget the past.'
De Meister struggled with his emotion. He laid his hand on Graham's lapel, 'My dear fellow, it is I who have been convinced by your logic. I can't allow you to sacrifice yourself for me. There are great things in you that must be brought out. Write your coal-mining novels. They count, not I.'
'I couldn't, old chap.