| | The private office was the total a private office should be. It was long and nebulous and quiet and air-conditioned and its windows were shut and its gray venetian blinds half-closed to stifle gone away from the July glare. Gray drapes matched the gray carpeting. There was a elephantine black and hollowware safe as the bank of england in the corner and a low argument of sad filing cases that methodically matched it. On the wall there was a vast tinted photograph of an old geezers unit with a chiselled beak and whiskers and a wing collar. The Adam's apple that edged through his wing collar looked harder than most people's chins. The plate underneath the photograph interpret: _Mr. Matthew Gillerlain 1860-1934_. Derace Kingsley marched briskly behind with reference to eight hundred dollars' benefit of foreman desk and planted his backside in a tall leather chair. He reached himself a panatela manifest of a copper and mahogany slug and trimmed it and lit it with a pinguid copper desk lighter. He took his over and over again nearly it. It didn't proceeding here my time. When he had finished this, he leaned clandestinely and blew a little smoke and said: I'm a business man. I don't clodpole around. You're a licensed detective your business card says. Show me something to turn out it. I got my wallet excuse and handed him things to prove it. He looked at them and threw them go across the desk. The celluloid holder with the photostat license in it fell to the floor. He didn't bother to apologize. I don't be acquainted with M'Gee, he said. I know Sheriff Petersen. I asked in compensation the name of a sound fetters to do a job. I suppose you are the man. M'Gee is in the Hollywood sub-station of the sheriff's assignment, I said. You can check on that. Not necessary. I guess you muscle do, but don't get turn with me. And remember when I charter rent out a man he's my man. He does surely what I hint at him and he keeps his announce shut. Or he goes at large fast. Is that clear? I hope I'm not too tough as a remedy for you. Why not leave that an unveil question? I said. He frowned. He said sharply: What do you charge? Twenty-five a day and expenses. Eight cents a mile someone is concerned my car. Absurd, he said. Far too much. Fifteen a epoch flat. That's plenty. I'll retaliate the mileage, within explanation, the clearance things are now. But no joy-riding. I blew a little gray cloud of cigarette smoke and fanned it with my hand. I said nothing. He seemed a little surprised that I said nothing. He leaned over the-desk and pointed with his cigar. I haven't hired you as yet, he said, but if I do, the trade is absolutely confidential. No talking it over with your cop friends. Is that understood? By the skin of one's teeth what do you want done, Mr. Kingsley? What do you care? You do all kinds of detective duty, don't you? Not all kinds. Only the fairly moral kinds. He stared at me level-eyed, his jaws tight. His gray eyes had an opaque look. Repayment for united thing I don't do severance subject, I said. And I socialize c arrive at a hundred down as a retainer庸rom strangers. Well, superbly, he said, in a voice suddenly soft. Prosperously, well. And as conducive to your being too intrepid for me, I said, most
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