Pardon My Body by Dale Bogard

can.
    I sent my hat sailing on to the big, cushioned davenport and whistled my way into the little bathroom. The phone rang. I walked back and picked up the receiver.
    â€œMr. Bogard?”
    â€œHow did you guess?” I said sweetly.
    Bella, the switch girl laughed.
    â€œNo cracks. This is just to pass you a message. Wait a minute—I’ve got it written on a slip. It says for you to ring Skyline 7070 anytime after five and it’s from Mr. Lucius Canting. With his compliments.”
    â€œBut not with his address, eh?”
    â€œWhy—I supposed you knew it.”
    â€œI don’t, sweetheart. Mr. Lucius Canting has never entered my life at any point yet.”
    â€œWell, maybe he thought his phone number was an address.”
    â€œPossibly.”
    â€œIn fact,” said Bella hesitantly. “I…er…looked it up.”
    â€œYou did?”
    â€œI hope you’re not cross, Mr. Bogard.”
    â€œI’m delighted. What is it?”
    â€œIt’s a penthouse near Riverside Towers. Name of High Corners.”
    â€œThanks a lot.” I replaced the receiver and dialled the Skyline number.
    A feminine voice said, “Mr. Lucius Canting’s suite. Your name, please?”
    I gave it.
    â€œYour business?”
    â€œMr. Canting is just dying to speak to me,” I said. “Suppose you put me through before he passes right out.”
    â€œThere is no necessity to be impertinent,” said the voice. “I am Mr. Canting’s secretary and I am following the normal procedure in dealing with telephone inquiries.”
    â€œI’m an abnormal caller,” I told her.
    There was a pause. I could hear her speaking on a hookup line but I couldn’t catch the words. Presumably she was having speech with the boss.
    Then she came back. “You’re through, Mr. Bogard.”
    I waited.
    A man’s voice spoke. A middle-register voice with an overlay of warm molasses.
    â€œGood evening, Mr. Bogard. I would like to see you on a matter of business.”
    â€œMy services aren’t available just now,” I replied.
    â€œNot even in the pursuit of truth?”
    â€œTruth has a many-sided face. Which side are we looking at?”
    Mr. Canting sighed. “You must not misquote classical definitions. It offends my aesthetic sensibilities. But, shall we say, the truth about the recent lamented decease of two eminently respectable gentlemen?”
    â€œWe could say that if we’re in the mood for platitudinous hedging. Then what?”
    Mr. Canting was chiding. “I scarcely think it would be fitting to discuss what I have to say over the public telephone. After all, we haven’t met.”
    â€œSome people might think there isn’t any reason why we should.”
    â€œThere is, of course.”
    â€œIt’s a possibility…”
    â€œI place it higher than that. You will come for cocktails at six-thirty.” It didn’t sound like a question. Yet it didn’t sound like a command, either.
    â€œI’ll come,” I heard myself saying.
    â€œAdmirable.” He was almost purring now.
    I hung up and peeled off my tie and shirt. I studied my face for a moment in the little bathroom mirror and decided not to give myself a second shave. Not for Mr. Lucius Canting. I stripped, showered and put on my clothes again and warmed my backside against the fire while I filled my pipe. I was doing a lot of overtime thinking and getting nowhere. Too many things seemed to be happening and nothing seemed to make sense. I put on my overcoat and hat and a navy blue silk scarf and walked downstairs.
    Bella was still at the little switchboard at the back of the reception desk. I leaned against the counter.
    â€œYes, Mr. Bogard?”
    â€œBella,” I said, “I am visiting Mr. Lucius Canting and if I don’t buzz you by eight o’clock I want you to put in a call to Detective-lieutenant O’Cassidy at police