“I— I was just trying to see how your filing system worked, so that I could file your papers for you.”
“Snooping, that's what you were doing.”
“Absolutely not. You've got a tower of papers the size of a skyscraper on your desk and they should be filed away somewhere. This is a filing cabinet. I was trying to be helpful, that's all.”
We stood there, glaring at each other.
“That filing cabinet is off-limits,” he said, but more calmly now. “That's where I keep the information on my cases. It is all strictly confidential, you understand. The top families in New York come to me on the understanding that what I find is between me and them.”
“I don't see the point in having an assistant if you don't want any help,” I said. “How am I supposed to be any use to you if you won't share any information on your cases with me?”
“The answer to that is simple. You won't be any use to me—not beyond what you're already doing. Clean up and run errands, that I can tolerate, I suppose, but I'm not sharing my cases with you. You'd have me out of business in a week. Women can't keep their mouths shut to save their souls.”
“You have a very poor opinion of women,” I said. “Is that why you've never married?”
“Who said I'd never married?” He walked past me and slammed the open file drawer shut. “I was married once. Pretty little thing. Actress. She ran off with another guy.”
“Aha. So that's it!” I smiled triumphantly. “That's why you're down on all women—because you couldn't trust one of them. Well, I've had bad enough experiences with certain men, but it doesn't make me think that all men are scoundrels.”
“Hmmph.” This seemed to be his standard expression when I'd gotten the better of him. “I'd be obliged if you'd stay out of this room.” He motioned me to the door. “This is my inner sanctum, so to speak. Tidy up the outer office all you like, but leave my inner sanctum alone.”
“You had a weeks-old pork pie in here,” I commented over my shoulder as I swept out. “You'll be attracting mice.”
“Speaking of pork pies”—he reached into his vest pocket—”You can go to the delicatessen on Broadway and bring me a liverwurst sandwich for lunch. Get yourself something too. And while you're out, find a locksmith and tell him to come round this afternoon. I'll have a lock put on that filing cabinet, for my own peace of mind. Go on, move them plates of meat.”
I looked around, confused. “What plates of meat?”
“Plates of meat—feet. Cockney rhyming slang,” he said, grinning at my discomfort. “Blimey, you'd never have lasted two minutes in London if you didn't speak the language.”
“Since I've never been to London, the matter has never arisen,” I said haughtily, “and I would have made sure I only mixed with higher-class people who didn't have to use slang.”
Instead of being annoyed, he laughed out loud. “You're a rum one, I'll say that for you. Plenty of spunk. Go on then. Take them plates of meat down the apples and pears.”
I smiled too as I went down the stairs. I had the feeling that Paddy might even learn to like me someday.
I was coming out of Katz's Delicatessen with liverwurst for Riley and cold roast beef for myself when I stood aside to let an automobile go past. I swear they were becoming more common in the city every day, making crossing the streets even more hazardous. As if streetcars and galloping hansom cabs weren't hazards enough! But instead of roaring past, this automobile screeched to a halt and Daniel jumped from the driver's seat. He was wearing a cap and motoring goggles and I didn't recognize him until he yelled out my name.
I thought about running, but there was no point in it. I had to face him sometime, and maybe a busy street was better than at home.
“Where on earth have you got to these past days?” he demanded, removing the goggles as he approached me. “I've been worried about you. All Mrs. O'Hallaran
“Snooping, that's what you were doing.”
“Absolutely not. You've got a tower of papers the size of a skyscraper on your desk and they should be filed away somewhere. This is a filing cabinet. I was trying to be helpful, that's all.”
We stood there, glaring at each other.
“That filing cabinet is off-limits,” he said, but more calmly now. “That's where I keep the information on my cases. It is all strictly confidential, you understand. The top families in New York come to me on the understanding that what I find is between me and them.”
“I don't see the point in having an assistant if you don't want any help,” I said. “How am I supposed to be any use to you if you won't share any information on your cases with me?”
“The answer to that is simple. You won't be any use to me—not beyond what you're already doing. Clean up and run errands, that I can tolerate, I suppose, but I'm not sharing my cases with you. You'd have me out of business in a week. Women can't keep their mouths shut to save their souls.”
“You have a very poor opinion of women,” I said. “Is that why you've never married?”
“Who said I'd never married?” He walked past me and slammed the open file drawer shut. “I was married once. Pretty little thing. Actress. She ran off with another guy.”
“Aha. So that's it!” I smiled triumphantly. “That's why you're down on all women—because you couldn't trust one of them. Well, I've had bad enough experiences with certain men, but it doesn't make me think that all men are scoundrels.”
“Hmmph.” This seemed to be his standard expression when I'd gotten the better of him. “I'd be obliged if you'd stay out of this room.” He motioned me to the door. “This is my inner sanctum, so to speak. Tidy up the outer office all you like, but leave my inner sanctum alone.”
“You had a weeks-old pork pie in here,” I commented over my shoulder as I swept out. “You'll be attracting mice.”
“Speaking of pork pies”—he reached into his vest pocket—”You can go to the delicatessen on Broadway and bring me a liverwurst sandwich for lunch. Get yourself something too. And while you're out, find a locksmith and tell him to come round this afternoon. I'll have a lock put on that filing cabinet, for my own peace of mind. Go on, move them plates of meat.”
I looked around, confused. “What plates of meat?”
“Plates of meat—feet. Cockney rhyming slang,” he said, grinning at my discomfort. “Blimey, you'd never have lasted two minutes in London if you didn't speak the language.”
“Since I've never been to London, the matter has never arisen,” I said haughtily, “and I would have made sure I only mixed with higher-class people who didn't have to use slang.”
Instead of being annoyed, he laughed out loud. “You're a rum one, I'll say that for you. Plenty of spunk. Go on then. Take them plates of meat down the apples and pears.”
I smiled too as I went down the stairs. I had the feeling that Paddy might even learn to like me someday.
I was coming out of Katz's Delicatessen with liverwurst for Riley and cold roast beef for myself when I stood aside to let an automobile go past. I swear they were becoming more common in the city every day, making crossing the streets even more hazardous. As if streetcars and galloping hansom cabs weren't hazards enough! But instead of roaring past, this automobile screeched to a halt and Daniel jumped from the driver's seat. He was wearing a cap and motoring goggles and I didn't recognize him until he yelled out my name.
I thought about running, but there was no point in it. I had to face him sometime, and maybe a busy street was better than at home.
“Where on earth have you got to these past days?” he demanded, removing the goggles as he approached me. “I've been worried about you. All Mrs. O'Hallaran
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