25
T
regan
had an impression of people packed together almost beyond endurance. The smoke haze hung in a blanket over the knotted mass of stiff shirts and decolletage. One had to shout to make oneself heard over the conglomerate roar of a hundred conversations.
A few people stared at him, but beyond that no one seemed to be concerned over his arrival—or over the arrival or departure of anyone else for that matter. He elbowed his way to a bedroom and laid his hat and coat and cane on a bed.
By a bureau two slim young men were straightening their ties. One picked up a comb and ran it through his hair.
“It stays up nicely. I set it in combs this afternoon.”
Tregan realized that they were using Alice’s toilet articles. He saw one of them pick up a framed photo.
“Gorgeous creature!”
“I
