“I’d take any kind of reading that would help me, but I’m afraid the situation is too difficult.”
“Then why did you come?” Again the look of suspicion.
“I came because you could help me, but not by a reading.”
“What do you mean?” Plainly she was frightened. “I don’t put people away. That’s out of my line. Honest!”
“Do I look as if I wanted anything crooked done?” Orme smiled.
“It’s hard to tell what folks want,” she muttered. “You’re a fly-cop, aren’t you?”
“What makes you think that?”
“The way you been sizing things up. You aren’t going to do anything, are you? I pay regular for my protection every month—five dollars—and I work hard to get it, too.”
Orme hesitated. He had known at the outset that he was of a class different from the ordinary run of her clients. The difference undoubtedly had both puzzled and frightened her. He might disabuse her of the notion that he had anything to do with the police, but her misapprehension was an advantage that he was loath to lose. Fearing him, she might grant any favor.
“Now, listen to me,” he said at last. “I don’t mean you any harm, but I want you to answer a few questions.”