| | The private appointment was all a private help should be. It was long and undefined and lull and air-conditioned and its windows were douse and its gray venetian blinds half-closed to stifle out the July glare. Gray drapes matched the gray carpeting. There was a elephantine black and silver-toned safe in the corner and a murmured row of sad filing cases that exactly matched it. On the wall there was a elephantine tinted photograph of an old geezers party with a chiselled beak and whiskers and a wing collar. The Adam's apple that edged because of his wing collar looked harder than most people's chins. The plate underneath the photograph pore over: _Mr. Matthew Gillerlain 1860-1934_. Derace Kingsley marched briskly behind about eight hundred dollars' good of head 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 fat copper desk lighter. He took his over and over again wide it. It didn't matter near my time. When he had finished this, he leaned back and blew a barely smoke and said: I'm a business man. I don't goon around. You're a licensed detective your membership card says. Eclipse me something to back up it. I got my wallet out and handed him things to prove it. He looked at them and threw them secretly 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 be sure M'Gee, he said. I know Sheriff Petersen. I asked for the name of a secure man to do a job. I believe you are the man. M'Gee is in the Hollywood sub-station of the sheriff's backing, I said. You can check out on that. Not necessary. I guess you authority do, but don't get flip with me. And remember when I charter a shackle he's my man. He does in all respects what I trumpet him and he keeps his mouth shut. Or he goes out fast. Is that clear? I hope I'm not too tough also in behalf of you. Why not leave that an unveil question? I said. He frowned. He said precipitately: What do you charge? Twenty-five a epoch and expenses. Eight cents a mile someone is concerned my car. Absurd, he said. Plainly too much. Fifteen a epoch flat. That's plenty. I'll settle accounts with the mileage, within reason, the fashion things are now. But no joy-riding. I blew a minor 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 acicular with his cigar. I haven't hired you regardless, he said, but if I do, the job is absolutely confidential. No talking it over with your cop friends. Is that understood? Just what do you want done, Mr. Kingsley? What do you care? You do all kinds of detective duty, don't you? Not all kinds. Barely the rather 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 divorce responsibility, I said. And I get a hundred down as a retainer庸rom strangers. Well, well, he said, in a voice fleetingly soft. Well, well. And as as regards your being too strong after me, I said, most
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