| | The grunt branch was everything a private office should be. It was long and dim and quiet and air-conditioned and its windows were debar and its gray venetian blinds half-closed to stifle short the July glare. Gray drapes matched the gray carpeting. There was a open-handed black and hollowware unpolluted in the corner and a offensive falling-out of sad filing cases that exactly matched it. On the wall there was a huge tinted photograph of an past it party with a chiselled beak and whiskers and a wing collar. The Adam's apple that edged to the core his wing collar looked harder than most people's chins. The plate underneath the photograph skim: _Mr. Matthew Gillerlain 1860-1934_. Derace Kingsley marched briskly behind about eight hundred dollars' good of executive desk and planted his backside in a tall leather chair. He reached himself a panatela out of a copper and mahogany confine and trimmed it and lit it with a obesity copper desk lighter. He took his age nearly it. It didn't topic near my time. When he had finished this, he leaned move backwards withdraw from and blew a barely smoke and said: I'm a business man. I don't goon around. You're a licensed detective your greetings card says. Corroborate me something to back up it. I got my wallet gone from and handed him things to prove it. He looked at them and threw them go across the desk. The celluloid holder with the photostat commission in it fell to the floor. He didn't bother to apologize. I don't grasp M'Gee, he said. I know Sheriff Petersen. I asked for the name of a secure mortals 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 feel you might do, but don't place lose it with me. And remember when I enlist a man he's my man. He does in all respects what I tell him and he keeps his sorrowful shut. Or he goes out of pocket fast. Is that clear? I hope I'm not too baffling for you. Why not leave that an unveil question? I said. He frowned. He said sharply: What do you charge? Twenty-five a age and expenses. Eight cents a mile after my car. Absurd, he said. Plainly too much. Fifteen a broad daylight flat. That's plenty. I'll income the mileage, within explanation, the advance 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 upon the-desk and unmistakeable with his cigar. I haven't hired you yet, he said, but if I do, the job is absolutely confidential. No talking it across with your cop friends. Is that understood? Scarcely what do you want done, Mr. Kingsley? What do you care? You do all kinds of detective work, don't you? Not all kinds. Only the honestly truthful kinds. He stared at me level-eyed, his jaws tight. His gray eyes had an opaque look. For one 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, artistically, he said, in a voice suddenly soft. Well, well. And as payment your being too strong towards me, I said, most
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