“That’s swell,” I said sarcastically. “But in the meantime I have been assaulted.”
He didn’t seem to think that was anything to worry about.
“No doubt you will adjust your fee to cover personal risks,” he said lightly. “After all, I suppose a job like yours does involve risks.”
I shrugged. The fee, I told myself, would certainly be jacked up to the ceiling.
“All right,” I said. “Then I can go ahead?”
He began to pace about the room, his hands behind him, his head bent, frowning at the carpet.
“Oh, yes. I want you to go ahead.”
“There are some questions I’d like to ask,” I said, lighting another cigarette. “When did you last see Maureen Crosby?”
“At Janet’s funeral. I haven’t seen her since. Her affairs are quite straightforward. Any papers that need her signature are sent to her through the mail. I have had no occasion to see her.”
“You haven’t heard she is ill?”