this subject had already been discussed at length between the two of them.
“Well, I had things on my mind,” Nasturtia grumbled in a weaker voice.
Mari, who had been quiet up to this point, snorted disdainfully. “You may as well admit it,” she said. To Aunt Lily, she explained, “She told me that the clipper there was a doll, and she was all excited over him. That’s why she couldn’t think of anything else.”
“Mari,” Aunt Lily said reproachfully.
“Well you needn’t sound so smug,” Aunt Nasturtia said petulantly to Mari. “Just suppose you tell how you went to the store with five dollars in your purse, bought all those things for Lily, and came back with five.”
Aunt Lily raised one eyebrow quizzically and turned to Mari, silently indicating she would like an explanation.
Mari glowered at Nasturtia for a moment before dropping her eyes to the floor. “Well,” she mumbled. “I met this sailor on the bus....”
“On the bus!” Lily was shocked.
“It was practically empty,” Mari said quickly, with a brief smile. “And we were all the way in the back. Anyway, he put his jacket over us, so nobody could see anything if they looked.”
Nasturtia giggled triumphantly, and Lily only frowned her disapproval silently. Jackie coughed to hide his amusement, which was heightened by the crimson blush that flashed over Mathews face. The agent was finding the family a little hard to believe.
“I think you’d better go on and finish your story,” Jackie said, heading off any possible quarrel. He was eager to hear the further details anyway.
“Of course,” Lily agreed, giving both the other two ladies withering glances before she smiled in Mr. Mathews direction. “When Nasturtia brought Fritz in, with those awful little pins on his ears, I’m afraid I was a little perturbed. I scolded her, and then I took the pins off, but I was annoyed and I wasn’t too careful. One of them broke, and to my surprise, there was this note hidden inside it.”
“I wouldn’t have read it,” Nasturtia said cheerfully, “But I thought it was a love note from the clipper.”
Lily glowered coldly at her again, before producing a crumpled scrap of paper from her pocket. “To tell the truth, I wasn’t immediately suspicious,” she explained. “But then I saw it was in a code of some sort. That, and the fact that it was hidden, made me wonder. And then, there was the fact that it was a mistake—I mean, our getting the note.”
“A mistake?” Mathews asked. He was watching the note eagerly, plainly impatient to see it. Aunt Lily, however, was intent on finishing her explanation before she handed over the note.
“Well, it seems there was another woman there when Nasturtia went to pick up Fritz. And she was picking up a white poodle also. I think they put the clips on the wrong dog, since Nasturtia had instructed them to put nothing on Fritz, and the other dog was bare.”
“Sounds logical,” Mathews agreed. He managed a slight grin as Lily at last relinquished the note, handing it over to him.
Even from where he sat, Jackie saw the rough sketch at the bottom, the drawing of a butterfly that served, as Aunt Lily had guessed, as a signature. There was no mistake about that, it was a symbol that was known to agents and spies about the world, the sign of the most notorious and dangerous underground organization in existence—Butterfly.
Mathews recognized it too, and his expression went from surprise to grim appraisal, to suppressed excitement.
“It looks authentic, all right,” he admitted, still studying the note. “I’d stake my reputation on it.”
Jackie had risen to look over his shoulder at the note. “So would I,” he said. Mathews gave him a frosty look. “If I had one, I mean,” Jackie amended
Mathews ignored that remark, folding the note and placing it carefully inside his billfold. “If you don’t mind, I’ll take care of it from here in,” he said to Aunt Lily. His manner toward her had become less skeptical, since he had seen the note.
“But what does it say?” she asked. “Heavens, I think we’re entitled to know that.”
“I wish I knew,” he said with a shake of his head. “Unfortunately, it’s a code I haven’t seen yet. But don’t worry, our boys will break it in no time flat.”
He rose to go, the others standing also. As they did so, Mathews became aware again of the “Moonlight Sonata.” It first movement was just ending, but he was certain that the same movement had already ended earlier. What’s more, he had originally thought it was the batty one, Nasturtia, who had been playing, but she was with them now. “Who’s playing?” he asked politely.
“That’s Honey,” Aunt Nasturtia answered proudly.
“Entertaining a boy friend,” Mari added, in a none too pleasant voice.
“Now, dear,” Lily scolded her mildly. “Don’t be envious. There’s nothing to prevent you from meeting your own men-friends, and bringing them home.”
“I wouldn’t dare,” Mari said, rolling her eyes. “I did once, and between Honey and Aunt Nasturtia, the poor thing was worn out before I could even get to him myself.”
Mathews paled slightly at the prospect of still another nymphomaniac in the house. It was beginning to seem to him that he might not be at all safe here—these women were too hungry for male flesh, and they were not the sort to whom he customarily offered his male flesh.
“Why is Honey playing the first movement over and over?” he asked, however, curious about that fact, for the first movement had indeed begun for the third time.
“The dear thing only knows the first movement,” Lily explained. “But wait, Honey will want to meet you.”
Before Mathews could protest. Lily had floated away in search of the pianist. The music stopped a moment later. Mathews shifted his weight nervously from one foot to the other, and waited, prepared to bolt for the front door if necessary.
It was not, as he expected, a woman who returned with Aunt Lily, but a man—or an approximation of one, he corrected himself. In comparison to this one, Holmes was as masculine as a Marine commando.
“Hi, I’m Honey,” the young man greeted him with an overly warm smile. His eyes went up and down Craig’s body, and Craig felt a warning draft as his clothes were metaphorically stripped from him.
“Isn’t that rather an odd name?” Mathews asked faintly.
Honey nodded his head. “It’s short for Honeysuckle,” he explained. “We all have floral names, if you hadn’t noticed.”
“Why not Pansy?” Craig could not resist asking. “That’s a flower too.”
Far from being annoyed, Honey only chuckled. Watching him, Jackie was not so perturbed as Mathews. In fact, he was far from it. It was true, Honey was effeminate, the type often described as languid.
He had grown, however, since Jackie had last seen him, into a terribly pretty queen—thin, but with a graceful elegance about his appearance
