"Oscar?"
Mamie nodded, and dried her tears.
"Well, don't you still?"
Again she nodded. Not a single gesture, Grover noted, impressed.
"What's it got to do with Olga?"
"She's gone, and he's nearly crazy."
"I thought he was in Bordeaux."
"He's back."
"Have you seen him?"
Mamie sat up on the divan, staring at him with a return of her tragic technique. "I met him by chance in the Bois. He was in a terrible state."
"What did he say?"
"Only what I've told you . . . I did what I could to comfort him."
Again the tears came into Mamie's eyes.
"But he wouldn't be comforted," Grover prompted, picturing Mamie's overtures.
"He said dreadful things. I'll hear them all my life. And broke away."
Grover was walking about the room, chafing at the fate that obliged him to learn these things at the hands of Mamie Mangum. His own course was clear, but he must find out what else Mamie knew.
"Did Hellgren mention any name?"
"No. Neither did I." She looked at him a moment as if claiming credit for at least that discretion. "But
