The major had turned to Con. “Mannie didn’t send you his notes, did he?”
Con roared happily. “For God’s sake, why would he send them to me? I’m a commentator not a technician. I wouldn’t know a kilowatt from an antenna.”
Pembrooke wasn’t amused. “He did write to you. His secretary mailed the letter. But it wasn’t dictated to her.”
“Oh, that.” Con beckoned the attending boy. “That was personal.”
“You did receive a letter?”
“Yeah. I didn’t get it till after Mannie’d flown the coop. He sent it to New York and then it had to travel way back out again to Hollywood. If he’d known I was in town he could have called me up and saved postage.”
“Do you have the letter with you?”
Griselda waited tensely.
“Never keep letters.” Major Pembrooke couldn’t know that Con’s suits resembled a newspaper
