Sallys in the Alley | Page 2

walked over and opened the bathroom door.
It was a big bathroom and a beautiful one, tastefully decorated now with fat little coils of steam that clung cozily against the ceiling. It was equipped with an outsize sunken tub, and Doan was sitting in it with his back to the door. He was chubby and pink and glistening, and he looked even more innocent and harmless than he usually did. He held a big sponge up over his head and squeezed it and made happy sputtering noises through the resultant flood.
"Now that you're here," he said amiably, "would you mind telling me if I've gotten all the soap off my back?"
"Yes, you have," said the blond man. "How did you know we were here?"
"There's a draft when the front door opens," Doan answered. He turned around in the tub to peer up at them. "Well! The government, no less. I'm honored."
"Yes," said the blond man. "I'm Arne. Department of Justice. This is Barstow. Where's Carstairs?"
"Well," said Doan, "if there should be a fire and you should try to get out of here in a hurry, you'd probably run across him en route."
Barstow turned around with a jerk to look behind him. "Uh!" he said, startled.
Carstairs was standing in the doorway, watching him with narrowed, greenish eyes. Carstairs was a fawn-colored Great Dane about as big as a medium-sized Shetland pony, only Shetland ponies at least make a try at looking amiable most of the time and Carstairs never did. He looked mean. Probably because he was. He had many responsibilities and problems to shorten his temper. Carstairs was so big that the first sight of him was liable to be a considerable shock. It was as though something had suddenly gone wrong with your perspective.
"Relax, stupid," Doan ordered. "These are friends--I hope. At least, if they aren't we can't do much about it."
Carstairs watched him for a second and then turned and disappeared from the doorway.
"Wow!" said Barstow. "I'd heard he was a whopper, but I certainly didn't expect anything like that."
"People rarely do," Doan said. He reached over and turned the drain lever. "Hand me that towel, will you?"
Arne handed him the towel. "You were notified to come in and report to us. Why didn't you do it?"
"I was just getting around to it," Doan said. "Hand me that robe, please."
Arne looked in both pockets of the white robe and then gave it to him. "You didn't get around quick enough, so we did."
"It was nice of you," said Doan. "Let's go out and sit where it's comfortable."
They went out into the living room, and Doan lay down with a luxurious sigh on the blue chesterfield that was pushed in slantwise against the corner.
"Have a chair," he invited. "I'd offer you a drink only Carstairs doesn't approve of it, and he's mad enough at me as it is."
"Where is he?" Barstow asked.
"Behind the chesterfield in the corner where he was when you came in. He's sulking."
"What's he mad at?" Barstow inquired curiously.
"He had to sleep down in the cellar last night. That offends his dignity."
"Where does lie usually sleep?"
"There are twin pull-down beds behind that door," Doan said. "He sleeps in one. I sleep in the other."
"Why didn't he sleep in it last night?"
"Well, it was like this," said Doan. "I had a friend calling on me. She's a very nice girl."
There was a rumbling mumble from behind the chesterfield.
"She is, too!" Doan said indignantly. "Just because she works in a dime store and chews gum is no reason for you to get so huffy about her, you snob. Anyway, we were sitting here doing this, that, and the other, and she said she positively was not going to do the other any more with Carstairs sneering at her while she did it. So I ran him down cellar. Hey, you. Come up for air."
Carstairs' head appeared slowly from behind the chesterfield. He rested his chin on the top of it and looked Doan in the eye without any signs of approval at all.
"Now, look," said Doan. "I've had enough temperament for today. I said I was sorry you had to sleep in the cellar. I apologized."
Carstairs sighed deeply and wearily.
"And I said I'd buy you a steak to make it up to you," Doan told him. "A steak. Get it? Slaver-slaver, mumble-mumble, crunch-crunch. Steak. Now come out from behind there and act civilized."
Carstairs jumped from a sitting position without any visible effort. It was a heart-stopping performance. He sailed clear over the chesterfield and Doan, landing hard enough to rattle the window panes. He licked his chops delicately and politely with a long, red tongue.
"Yes," said Doan. "I said, steak. But not right now. Wait until I finish my business with these gentlemen. In the meantime, lie down before