him at the stage door. Ernie Emerson was talking to the chorus boy. "1 want you to meet Mr. Emerson, a friend of mine," Frankie said to Howard. Frankie was obviously impressed by the Bostonian. "This is Mr. Vee." He turned to Ken. "You know Ken Gracey."
Emerson spoke in a suave, cultured voice. He wore a monocle which fitted elegantly into his left eye socket. His hands were gloved. He carried an ivory-topped stick. The monocle dropped on a silk cord. Ken saw a glass eye.
"We meet at last," Emerson said to Ken. "And it's as if we were old friends."
The single good eye fixed Ken, who seemed to understand an unspoken command. He turned to Howard. "I had planned a chat with Mr. Emerson."
"That's too bad. And I planned to outline the show to you tonight," Howard spoke with sudden asperity. He faced Ken. "I need your advice … and help."
With firmness, Ken replied: "I'm sorry, Howard. Tomorrow must do."
"It's perfectly all right for you to join us, Mr. Vee, if you please to," Emerson said. "Although I am not an old friend of Mr. Gracey's, and I am in New York only for a few days, I have heard of you, of course. I should be honored to make you my guest." He removed a glove and Ken saw slender fingers, glittering with diamonds.
"I had arranged a small party," Emerson continued. "A charming party. Friends of mine. Dear friends." Then to Ken directly: "If you get what I mean …"
"This is all unimportant," said Howard. Vexation was written in his eyes.
Ken read his mood. He was apologetic. "Originally, I had planned to go home," Ken explained. "But Mr. Emer-
