Well—there was a mystery solved. Partly, at any rate. But still I hadn’t ascertained what I wanted to. So I forged stumblingly on.
“And so now,” I asked, “about—about the next mystery. This—this double-barrelled triumph? Double-barrelled means—two barrels. So name them—in succession.”
“Well one, of course,” she said, “is that you knock on my door just when I’m—I’m so hungry to see you that—”
“And that’s music to my ears,” I told her. “In fact, I wouldn’t even ask now about the second barrel, except that—well, what on earth is barrel Number two?”
“Bill,” she said—all solicitously maternal now, “I’ve got to have a talk with you. You need it. Also, I need some—some putting a-right myself. Yes. Bill, you should be selling something better than—than collar-buttons. And little pasteboard bo
