I slapped it off the table but that didn’t discourage it. I got up, surprised at how limber I was. I managed some slight calisthenics, retrieved the clock and shut off the ringing. I had a drink, showered, dressed in my faultless tuxedo, pinched my cheeks for color, appraised my tongue in the mirror, grabbed a bite, a coat, and a homburg, and went, williamnilliam, to a party. The Somerset wasn’t far. I walked. It was a tall building with a soundless elevator and a one-word-type elevator man who looked like Abe Lincoln. I said, “Talbot?” He said, “Yes.” Then we rode. Then he said, “Talbot?” And I said, “Yes.” Then we stopped. He leaned out and pointed a bony finger. “Talbot,” he said. I shrugged, and went to the door. I pushed the button and someone opened up and, at once, I was part of the party. Terry greeted me, waving like a quarterback behind a line of party guests. A butler, who was indistinguishable from the other men in tails, took my hat and coat. I straightened my tie and looked again for Terry but she was lost among the swarms of the many people.
What do You think about Homicide At Yuletide (1951)?
