ouldn't be sure. Phil
Howland didn't have much of a shield but he could really read, and if he
read me--either my mind or my hand--he'd automatically radiate and that
would be that.

I was about at the point of calling for the draw when the door opened
without any knock. It was Tomboy Taylor. We'd been so engrossed with one
another that none of us had caught her approach.

The Greek looked up at her and swore something that he hadn't read in
Plato. "Showdown," he said, tossing in his hand.

I grunted and spread my five beauties.

Phil growled and shoved the pot in my direction, keeping both eyes on
Tomboy Taylor.

She was something to keep eyes on, both figuratively and literally. The
only thing that kept her from being a thionite dream was the Pittsburgh
stogie that she insisted upon smoking, and the only thing that kept her
from being some man's companion in spite of the stogie was the fact that
he'd have to keep his mouth shut or she'd steal his back teeth--if not
for fillings, then for practice.

"You, Wally Wilson," she said around the cigar, "get these grifters out
of here. I got words."

The Greek growled. "Who says?"

"Barcelona says."

I do not have to explain who Barcelona is. All I have to say is that
Phil Howland, The Greek, and Chicago Charlie arose without a word and
filed out with their minds all held tight behind solid shields.

* * * * *

I said, "What does Barcelona want with me?"

Tomboy Taylor removed the stogie and said evenly, "Barcelona wants to
see it Flying Heels, Moonbeam, and Lady Grace next month."

When I got done gulping I said, "You mean Barcelona wants me to fix the
Kentucky Derby?"

"Oh no," she replied in a very throaty contralto that went with her
figure and her thousand dollars worth of simple skirt and blouse. "You
needn't 'Fix' anything. Just be sure that it's Flying Heels, Moonbeam,
and Lady Grace in that order. One, two, three. Do I make Barcelona quite
clear?"

I said, "Look, Tomboy, neither of them platers can even _run_ that far,
let alone running ahead."

"Barcelona says they can. And will." She leaned forward and stubbed out
the Pittsburgh stogie and in the gesture she became wholly beautiful as
well as beautifully wholesome. As she leaned toward me she unfogged the
lighter surface of her mind and let me dig the faintly-leaking concept
that she considered me physically attractive. This did not offend me. To
the contrary it