RANSVESTIA

the right word because Moxtone was not only unmanly, he was un- womanly, too. He was nothing. He was less than nothing. He was buttermilk.

I felt a little guilty about hating this little man. In point of fact, I felt sympathy toward him. I guess the one thing worse than being taken ad- vantage of by Betty Clapper was to have her as your benefactor. Mox- tone must have sensed my glance because he darted back into his of- fice much in the fashion a squirrel retreats into his hollow tree.

Returning to my floor on the elevator I almost chucked the whole plan. Then I realized that it only required a slight readjustment. A readjustment that would bring about Betty Clapper's richly deserved downfall without harming Moxtone, the Rabbit. In fact, if all worked out right, it might even do him some good.

******

I came to work the next morning, but left at lunch after feigning ptomaine or some such disorder. I had come in only to make sure Mox- tone was at work. He was and my part of the caper reached its end with the securing of that information. From that point on it was all up to Bob- bie.

Four fifty-five saw me standing in the shadow of the agency building waiting for Schyler Moxtone. I have a visual mind, as one should have in my line, and I enjoyed mentally observing myself and my surroundings. I looked and felt exceptionally mysterious dressed as I was from head to toe in black. Calf length black dress, black cape, black boots and gloves. I peered at the world through dark glasses un- der my wide brim black felt hat which I kept at a mysterious angle. The only color came from my blonde hair descending my back and my deep red lips. Overall effect: Haunting. Essential Appearance: A fashionable woman who had, within the hour, stepped off the Orient Express and onto a steam obscured platform of some unidentifiable Baltic station. If Moxtone wanted to be paranoid, I would give that paranoia a constructive direction.

I stood perfectly still at the center of the sidewalk across the street from the agency. No one took any note of me as far as I could detect or perhaps they did, but they refused to show it. Perhaps this tall, mystery shrouded woman touched some fantasy within the men who passed me. I had selected a guise for myself that was far more dream than

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