So-o-o ... that’s about it, Sarge. Just as casual as that. She offered me a part-time job, I accepted, and a week or so later we finished hammering up shelves, cleaning the fixtures, and setting out the stock. We were in business. At first, and of necessity, Madame had to buy from wholesale cosmetic and perfume houses. But after a month or so European chemicals, Bulgarian perfume oils et cetera began to come in. Madame had outfitted a little laboratory for herself, in the back, which was strictly “off limits.” I typed out business correspondence, I banked checks and cash, and I waited on customers. But only Madame had the key to the little back room. Suspicious, Sarge? Hell’s bells, man, I’ve _told_ you the Madame trusted me. If she wished to dispense secret scents, and withhold certain trade formulas that was _her_ business! Okay, you’re just trying to do your duty. We’ll leave it at that. Pour me another coffee, huh? I’ll be right out of the shower. Thanks. So it goes along that way for about six months, Sarge. Until the Duchess of Dunscombe starts getting big ideas. It seems the Duchess started to drag some of her hoitiest-toitiest Continental friends down to the Village. They didn’t _shop_ at Madame Outre’s. They _patronized_ her, and her customers. You know, the Village kids who work for ad agencies, weekly magazines, research organizations. In the office, they’re cute. In the Village, they slip on dungarees and become part of the crowd. * * * * * Well, things began to get pretty sticky between the Duchess and Madame Outre. They came to a head--oh, about two weeks ago. I was in the storeroom, a little alcove in the rear adjoining Madame’s laboratory. Around five o’clock the Duchess came flouncing in. “My dear,” she boomed, like a brass cannon, “my friends and I have decided you must--but you simply must--move uptown. To waste your time down here among silly little secretaries--ridiculous! Fantastic! I won’t hear of it another moment!” Madame kept calm. “You forget,” she said, “that it was you who urged me to open up shop here. Since then I have found many new friends. I have become established. The Village is now part of my life.” “Nonsense!” the Duchess flared. “This is no ‘life.’ It is a humiliation to me and my friends! What began as a lark has turned into a travesty! You will move uptown, to the East Sixties, and next week. I have already chosen the store!” Well, Sarge, the old gasbag was making so much noise that people outside began to hang around for the fun. I dropped my work, picked up some bottles and went up front, ostensibly to fill in stock on the shelves. The Duchess glared at me, knowing perfectly well what I was up to. But she did lower her voice.