“Are you Mr. Percy Hand?” she asked.
Her voice was modulated and musical, now with a quality of calculated coolness that could instantly change, I suspected, to calculated warmth or coldness as the occasion required.
After admitting that I was Percy Hand, I asked, “What can I do for you?” I scrutinized her curiously.
“I’m not certain.” She looked around the shabby little room with obvious reservations. “I expected something different. Do all private detectives have offices like this?”
“Some do, some don’t. It depends on how much money they make.”
“I don’t know that I like that. It must mean that you don’t have many clients, and there is surely a reason. Why aren’t you more successful?” She pointedly questioned.
“Happiness comes before success, I always say.”
“It’s a nice philosophy if you can afford it. On the other hand, you may be unsuccessful because you’re honest. I have a notion that private detectives, in general, are not very reliable. Can you tell me if that is so?”
“Professional ethics prevents my answering.”
“I heard that about you. That you’re honest. Someone told me.”
“My thanks to someone. Who, precisely?”
“I don’t think I’ll tell you. It doesn’t matter. A woman I know for whom you did something. She said that you were perfectly reliable, although not brilliant.”
“My thanks is now qualified. I maintain that, properly motivated, I can be brilliant for short periods.”
“Well, I’m not especially concerned about that. What I need is someone, on whose discretion I can rely, to do a simple job.”
“I’m your man. Simple, discreet jobs are those at which I’m best.”
“In that case, I’d better stay and tell you about it.”
She began to unbuckle her belt, and I stepped forward, like a discreet and reliable gentleman, to help her off with her raincoat. Then I gestured toward the door to my office, and she went through the door ahead of me and helped herself to the chair at the end of the desk. She was wearing a simple brown wool dress that verified my intuitive conclusion that she was, if not actually rich, at least substantially endowed. She crossed her legs and showed her knees, and I saw, just before sinking into my own chair behind the desk, that the knees were good.
“And now,” I asked, “what is it that you want me to do, discreetly and simply?”
“First, I’d better tell you who I am. I haven’t told you, have I?”
“You haven’t.”
“I’m Mrs. Benedict Coon. The third. My Christian name is Dulce, if it matters.”
“It doesn’t. Not yet. Chances are, it never will.”
“My husband and I live at 15 Corning Place. Do you know who the Coons are?”
“Canned food for dogs and cats?”
“They’re the ones. Isn’t it absurd?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I’m very hesitant about criticizing anything so profitable.”
“Well, never mind. It’s true that too much money, from whatever source, can cause one to do foolish things and get one into a great deal of trouble. That’s why I’m here. My husband has been seeing another woman, and I want you to find out who she is and where she lives.”
“Excuse me.” I was already parting sadly from a fee that might have been fat. “I don’t do divorce work. I can refer you to another operator, if you like.”
She laughed softly. “Such admirable scruples! No wonder you’re so poor. But you misunderstand me. I have no wish for a divorce. I’m far too fond of being Mrs. Benedict Coon III. Do you think for a moment that I would voluntarily give up my position because of a ridiculous peccadillo on the part of my husband?”
I relaxed and recovered hope. The fat fee again became feasible.
“All right. Tell me exactly what you want me to do.”
“I’m trying to, if you will only quit being difficult about things. Benedict is being blackmailed by the woman he has been seeing. I don’t know why exactly, but I want you to find a way to stop it. That will be your job.”
“What’s this woman’s name?”
“I heard him call her Myrna. That’s all I know.”
“You heard him? You mean you’ve seen him with her?”
“No, no. Nothing of the sort. I heard him talking with her on the telephone. I just happened to come home unexpectedly and pick up the downstairs extension while they were talking. That’s how I know about the meeting tomorrow.”
“What meeting? When? Where?”
“You know, I’m beginning to think you may be more capable than you seemed at first. From the way you go directly after the pertinent facts, I mean. Well, anyhow, they arranged to meet at three o’clock tomorrow in the Normandy Lounge. That’s in the Hotel Stafford.”
“I know where it is. What’s the purpose of the meeting?” I asked.
“I’m coming to that as fast as I can. She has something that he wants to get back. Neither he nor she said what. Whatever it is, however, it’s the reason he’s been paying her money. Quite a lot of money, I gather. Now he wants to pay her a much larger amount for its final return, to end things once and for all. She agreed to meet him and talk about it.”
“At the Normandy Lounge?”
“They’ll meet there. Probably they’ll go on to somewhere else.”
“At three o’clock tomorrow afternoon?”
“Yes.”
“Why not let him pay the amount, however much, and get the blackmail gimmick back, whatever it is? He can afford it.”
“Of course he can. If it works out that way, I’m prepared to forget the whole thing. But how can I be sure that it will? If it falls through, if she’s up to more tricks, I want to know who she is and where she lives, and how I can get Benedict free of her.”
“Have you discussed this with your husband?”
“Oh, no! Certainly not! That would never do. He’d go all to pieces
