“He said that he thought Dr. Holoman was a very skillful doctor,” I said. “He told me you were impulsive and headstrong but as good as gold, that he didn’t always agree with you on little things, but that you always pulled together on big things; that whenever you got in a jam of any kind you could call on him and he’d stand back of you to the limit.”

“Did he tell you that?”

“That’s what I gathered from his conversation.”

She stood staring at me. Her eyes were round. There was an expression in them I couldn’t exactly classify. For a moment, I thought it might be fear.

“Oh,” she said.

Alma Hunter nodded to me. “Let’s go,” she said.

Chapter Five

CHAPTER FIVE

IT LACKED five minutes to twelve when I reached the office. A sign on the door announced that no further applicants were being interviewed. There were still men coming in to answer the ad. Two of them were standing in front of the door reading the sign as I approached. They turned away and walked past me with the steady mechanical tread of soldiers retreating from a lost battle.

Elsie Brand had finished her typing. She was seated at the desk with the left-hand top drawer open. She closed it as I opened the door.

“What’s the matter?” I asked. “Aren’t you supposed to read a magazine in between times?”

Her eyes looked me over, a head-to-foot glance. Then she slowly opened the left-hand drawer of the desk, and started reading again. From where I was standing, I could see that it was one of the movie magazines.

“How about ringing our employer,” I suggested, “and telling her that Operative Thirteen is in the outer office with a report to make?”

She looked up from the magazine. “Mrs. Cool’s at lunch.”

“When will she be back?”

“Noon.”

I leaned across her desk. “Under those circumstances, I have five minutes to wait,” I said. “Would you prefer to talk with me or read the magazine?”

She said, “Do you have anything worth while to talk about?”

I met her eyes, and said, “No.”

For a moment, there was a faint flash of humor in her eyes. “I hate to listen to worth while conversations,” she admitted. “That’s a movie magazine in the drawer. I haven’t read The Citadel, Gone with the Wind, or any other worth while books. What’s more, I don’t intend to. Now, what did you want to talk about?”

“Well,” I said, “for a starter, how about discussing Mrs. Cool? What time does she go to lunch?”

“Eleven.”

“And gets back at twelve? And you leave at twelve and get back at one?”

“Yes.”