'You have no criminal record?'
She half sat up, her eyes angry.
'No!'
'You have never been in trouble with the police?'
She hesitated, then shrugging, she said, 'Driving too fast... that's all.'
'What did you do before you were married?'
'I was a receptionist at an hotel.'
'What hotel?'
'The Connaught Anns in Los Angeles.'
'Was it a respectable hotel? It wasn't a room by the hour and no questions asked?'
'Of course not!'
'Before that?'
Again she hesitated before saying, 'I was a night club hostess.'
Anson became alert.
'What did you do?'
'The usual thing; partnered men, persuaded them to buy drinks.'
'Now watch this, Meg. Did you go home with them? You know what I mean.'
'I didn't.'
He studied her. Her eyes were now angry.
'Sure?'
'I tell you I didn't!' She was now sitting bolt upright. 'Is this man going to ask me these kind of questions before he'll pay out?'
Anson shook his head.
'Oh, no. But if he doesn't like the look of your claim, he'll turn one of his smart investigators on to you. Without your knowing anything about it, he'll dig up your whole history. He'll then decide when he has your dossier in front of him if he'll fight your claim or not. If your dossier is bad, he'll fight you.'
She lay back, her expression showing how worried she was.
'If I'd known it was going to be like this, I wouldn't have agreed to do it with you.'
'There's still time to back out,' Anson said. 'You can't expect, to pick up fifty thousand dollars for nothing. You have nothing to worry about so long as you are telling the truth. What did you do before you became a night club hostess?'
'I lived with my mother,' she said, not looking at him.
'You have been married nearly a year. This is vitally important, Meg. I must have the truth. While you have been Barlowe's wife, have you had a lover?'
'I've had you,' Meg said and made a face at him.
'I don't mean me,' Anson said, staring at her. 'We've been careful, and we're going to remain careful. I mean someone else ... someone you haven't been so careful about.'
'No ... there's been no one.'
'Sure? If Maddox finds there has been someone, he'll go after him. There's nothing he likes better than to find out the wife of the insured husband who suddenly dies has a lover. He thrives on a situation like that.'
'There's been no one.'
'Would there be anyone who would know hpw you really feel about your husband? Anyone who might have overheard you quarrelling if you do quarrel? Anyone who might say you weren't happily married?'
She shook her head.
'No one ever comes here.'
'Would your husband discuss you with anyone?'
She shook her head emphatically.
'No ... I'm sure of that.'
Anson leaned back in the chair and thought for a long moment while Meg watched him.
'Okay,' he said finally. 'I think that covers it. You're sure you've told me the truth? You may not think so now, but all these questions are important. Once Maddox investigates you, and you can bet your life that's what he will do, you have to be above reproach. You are sure you have told me the truth?'
'Yes ... don't keep on and on! I have told you the truth!'
'Okay.' He relaxed and took out a packet of cigarettes. He tossed her one and took one himself. As they lit up, he went on, 'Now for the next step. Will your husband be home tomorrow night?'
'He's always home except on Mondays and Thursdays.'
'I'll be here around eight thirty. Make sure you answer the door. I've got to get into this room if I'm to sell him. If he comes to the door, he may keep me on the doorstep and you don't sell insurance on a doorstep.'
'Don't think you are going to have an easy time with Phil... you won't.'
Anson got to his feet.
'Your job is to open the front door and let me in. I'll do the rest. Tomorrow night then.'
She stood up.
'John ... I want to know ... did you shoot that policeman?'
Anson picked up his brief-case.
'I told you not to ask questions.' He paused and looked directly at her. 'I have the money to pay for the premium ...
that's all you need know.'
He made no attempt to kiss her, but went out of the house and down the drive to his car.
As soon as the sound of his car engine had died away, Meg ran to the telephone and hurriedly dialled a number. She listened to the ringing tone for a long time, but there was no answer.
The following night was warm and mild with a brilliant moon. As things turned out this was lucky for Anson.
Meg had warned him Barlowe would be difficult but he hadn't imagined he was going to be as difficult as he was. Like most weak-willed people, Barlowe was not only obstinate he was also rude.
Anson had no difficulty in getting in to the big sitting-room because Meg let him in, but when Barlowe jumped up from the armchair before the fire, an evening newspaper in his hand, Anson immediately felt the impact of hostility that came from the small ill-tempered looking man.
In spite of the hostility, Anson went smoothly into his usual sales talk, but he had scarcely begun, before Barlowe curtly cut him short.
'I'm not interested in insurance. I never have been and I never will be,' he said. 'You're wasting your time and mine. I'll be glad if you'll go.'
Anson had smiled his friendly professional smile.
'I've come all the way from Brent, Mr. Barlowe, to see you. I would take it as a favour if you would listen to what I have to say. I...'
'I don't intend to listen!' Barlowe turned angrily to Meg who was standing in the doorway. 'Why did you let him in?
You know I never talk to salesmen!'
He sat down and opening his paper, he hid himself behind it.
Anson and Meg exchanged glances. She lifted her shoulders as if to say 'Well, I told you, didn't I?'
To Anson this was a challenge. He was one of the top salesmen of the National Fidelity's group of salesmen. Over the years, he had often met with the complete brush-off and had survived to make a sale.
He said to the newspaper, hiding Barlowe, 'Of course if I am annoying you I'll go, but I was under the impression you were interested in taking out a life policy. In fact, I was told to call on you.'
Barlowe lowered the newspaper and stared suspiciously at Anson.
'Told? What do you mean? Who told you?'
Anson made an apologetic gesture.
'Mr. Hammerstein,' he said naming the general manager of Framley's store. He felt safe in using
