‘I’ve been authorized to pay for any information I get,’ I said hurriedly as the door began to move.
‘How much?’
She was looking now like a hungry dog looking at a bone.
‘Depends on what I get. I might spring a hundred bucks.’
The tip of a whitish tongue ran the length of her lips.
‘What sort of information?’
‘Could I step inside? I won’t keep you long.’
She hesitated. I could see suspicion, fear and money-hunger wrestling in her mind. Money won, as it usually does. She stood aside.
‘Well, come in. It’s not over-tidy, but I’ve been busy.’
She led me into a back room. It was shabby and dirty and sordid. The furniture looked as if it had come from the junk- man’s barrow; the threadbare carpet sent out little puffs of dust when I trod on it. There were greasy black finger-prints on the overmantel and the walls. The least one could say of it was, it was not over-tidy.