Their expressions chided. The expression on the wide face of Sergeant Mullins was, Pam thought briefly, more one of apprehension. They had acquired a sofa and a chair—which Mullins slightly overflowed—in a corner of the Algonquin lobby. As she approached, Pam saw Jerry’s hand go out to a little bell on a table, and heard the bell tinkle. So that was being taken care of. A waiter looked at the bell, at Mrs. North, and said, “With House of Lords,” and went away. Which was pleasant if, perhaps, and viewed in a certain light, an incident to give pause. “Martini got in the elevator,” Pam said, and sat down on the sofa between Bill Weigand and Jerry. “Did you tell him, Jerry?” “Wait,” Jerry said. “If you mean Raul, he says five minutes. So we’ll have time for a couple. If you mean Bill, partly. And what do you mean, ‘in the elevator’?” “Jerry,” Pam said. “You know the elevator! Martini got in it, somehow. I never know how, when you’re looking right at her, she disappears and turns up places.
