CHAPTER SEVENTEENAction
Mrs. Leeder was herself again, or nearly so. Once again she lifted her clenched hand to her forehead, as if there were a pain behind it which might be reached by pressure of the perfumed handkerchief; then, as if realizing that the gesture was nervous and automatic, she let the hand fall to the tray. After that, except for the slight working of her fingers at the folds of the handkerchief, a jerky, tearing motion, she was quiet and calm.
She picked up the silver ice-tongs, and looked at Gamadge. “How do you like it?”
“Any way.”
“The family likes them good and strong.” She put ice into two glasses, poured whisky, filled the glasses from the siphon, handed Gamadge his drink across the tray.
They both drank. Gamadge said: “A very present help.”
“Isn’t it?”
“Hadn
