I skipped that one, too. It was no time to argue that Hat's, while it had a few dim facets of one sort or another, was in my opinion (or had been, anyhow)--rather enchanting. A kindlier spot than many a hearth or any city street. "What did Hat say?" "Ye gods! She talked. She talked the grimmest bunch of obscene sophistries I ever heard in my life! She tried to get me drunk! She even tried to get one of the girls to--entertain me!" "It never passed through your cold, reasoning, scientific cranium that perhaps she was trying to be decent to you?" "_Decent!_" "Did she know where Marcia was?" "If she did--she wasn't saying. She said she had no idea on earth. Hadn't heard from her for months. Or seen her--naturally. I begged her--beseeched her--to give me any useful address. Any name. Any scrap of a suggestion--" I picked up the phone. After ringing me, the Astolat switchboard operator had fallen back to sleep and I listened to the buzz for a long while before she plugged in--irritably. The number I gave wasn't in the book. But Hattie wouldn't be asleep--yet. Not unless she'd changed. Viola answered and Hattie came on in a moment. "Hello, Phil. What's cooking? You and Gwen quarrel?" Since waking, I hadn't thought about Gwen--or Yvonne. The question startled me. "Nope," I said. "Gwen, incidentally, has--has gone out for a bit with a friend of mine. Nice gal, Gwen. It's about my nephew, Paul." "Oh. Is he there?" "Yeah." "Phil, that lad's in very bad shape." "Yeah." "I'm serious. I know men. He's apt to do--anything!" "Yeah. Maybe so. Look. You don't have any ideas about Marcia--that you'd give me, but not him?" "Too many!" "I don't understand." "I couldn't very well give Paul the names and addresses of all the boys who have liked her, could I? In the shape he's in--he'd rout out God Almighty, or run a one-man posse through hell." "Yeah." "Phil. He shouldn't see her now--even if I knew where she was--and I haven't a single good idea about that. Just--lots of possibilities. I don't know what she'd do--I doubt if she'd do anything violent--but she has a right to be wherever she wants, hasn't she?" "Of course. I just thought--if you did have any hunches--he's sitting here chewing the rug--" Hattie sighed. "Old enough to do better! Maybe he's a great physicist--but, believe me, he's in kindergarten on women! I tried to tell him so--gently. But he just sat there looking wilder than a priest trapped in the ladies' can! If I hear anything tomorrow, Phil, I'll give you a ring. If I were you--I'd slip Paul a Mickey Finn, or something, to cool him down." I thanked her. She told me she was glad I liked Gwen and I said again that I thought Gwen was a good deal of damsel and I hung up. "Nothing?" Paul had been on his chair-edge. I shook my head. "Hattie's calm about it--and she really knows the girl." "Really knows Marcia? That bat-faced old strumpet? The hell she does!" "Okay," I said. "Okay." "Who's Gwen?"