slipped off the high stool ignoring the detective. He looked straight ahead as he left the store lest he be tempted once again.

Outside, Manhattan was a veritable oven. The temperature was bound to top a hundred by mid-afternoon. The intense heat of the sun had dried the sidewalks, vaporizing the overnight rain and adding to the oppressive humidity which hung over the entire city. Cass began to perspire in earnest. Every stitch of stifling clothing clung to his clammy skin. . . rivulets trickled down his arms and legs . . . oh, to be home. back in Westchester . . . cool . . . relaxed . . . in some- thing light... comfortable. . . sit by the pool tonight perhaps ...

·

Thought of home comforts made Cass set aside his original shopping schedule. It was only eleven but he decided to forego the planned visit to his favorite shoe store--and his session with the dressmaker would have to wait. He made a mental note to call Miss Angela to apologize and explain as soon as he arrived home. His shoes were beginning to bother him as he walked to the parking garage.

The dark green Lincoln rolled down the spiral ramp and the door opened as it came to a halt beside Cass. The attendant held the door wide-working for a tip-as Cass flopped in behind the wheel handing him the stub and a quarter. He felt like a wet sponge and, as he drove westward to the highway, the air-conditioner cooled the car . . . cooled Cass... cooled his saturated clothes to icy misery. He could hardly wait...

Forty minutes later Cass swung the car off the narrow country lane between fieldstone gateposts and onto the long gravel driveway that ran between rows of tall poplars to his rambling house. He left the car at the foot of the glistening white marble steps and ran indoors. Home at last, Cass breathed deeply of the cool air, kicked off his shoes and dashed up the long curving stairway trailing the shopping bag. He was home at last . . . his bedroom . . . so sweet . . . so close to his dearest desire. He dropped the shopping bag onto the bed beside a sheer black ribbon-laced nightgown which still lay where he had tossed it on rising that morning.

Cass peeled off the moisture-laden seersucker jacket and opened the buttons of his cuffs and the high stifling cotton collar which clung to his throat. Now just a few seconds to heavenly comfort .. seconds away from sheer delight. . . fresh scented . . . fluid luxury.

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