She looked at me over the tops of her bifocal glasses, and said, “Amateurish lying again. It’s worse than the microbes. That shirt’s in bad shape. You can get one for eighty-five cents. Throw that necktie away. You can get a good one for twenty-five or thirty-five cents. Get your shoes shined. Get a haircut. I suppose your socks are full of holes. Are you hungry?”

“I’m all right,” I said.

“For God’s sake, don’t pull that line with me. My God, look at yourself in the mirror. Your complexion is like a fish’s belly. Your cheeks are hollow, and there are dark spots under your eyes. I’ll bet you haven’t eaten for a week. Go get yourself a good breakfast. We’ll figure twenty cents for that, and you’ve got to do something about a suit, but you can’t do that today. You’re working for me now, and I don’t want you to get the idea you can go shopping on my time. You can get a suit of clothes after five o’clock tonight. I’ll give you an advance on salary, and God help you if you double-cross me on it. Here, here’s twenty dollars.”

I took the money.

“All right,” she said; “be back here by eleven. Get started.”

As I reached the door, she raised her voice. “Now listen, Donald, don’t you go blowing that money. Twenty-five cents is absolutely tops on breakfast.”

Chapter Two

CHAPTER TWO

THE SECRETARY was banging away on the typewriter when I opened the door of the office which said “B. L. COOL—Confidential Investigations.”

“Hello,” I said.

She nodded.

“Is—er—what is she, Mrs. or Miss?”

“Mrs.”

“Is she in?”

“No.”

“What,” I asked, “do I call you besides ‘say’?”

“Miss Brand.”

I said, “I’m pleased to meet you, Miss Brand. I’m Donald Lam. Mrs. Cool hired me to fill the position mentioned in the ad.”

She went on typing.

“Since I’m going to work here,” I went on, “I expect we’ll be seeing quite a bit of each other. You don’t like me, and I don’t think I’m going to like you. You can let it go at that if you want to.”

She stopped typing to turn over a page on her shorthand book. She looked up at me and said, “Oh, all right,” and dropped her fingers back to the keyboard.

I walked over and sat down.

“Anything for me to do except wait?” I asked after a few minutes.

She shook her head.

“Mrs. Cool told me to be back here by ten.”

“You’re here,” she said, and went on clacking away at the typewriter.

I took a package of cigarettes from my pocket. I’d been without smokes for a week, not because I wanted to, but because I had to.