“You’ve got a visitor, Paul,” he said, pushing the pad aside. He jerked his thumb to the door to the little ante-room that was used for interviews. “And you’ll never guess who.”
Conrad put his brief-case on the desk and reached for a cigarette from the box that stood by the telephone.
“I don’t want to see any visitors this morning. Who is it?”
“Flo Presser.”
Conrad looked up sharply, his eyebrows climbing.
“You kidding?”
Van grinned.
“Go ahead and see for yourself. Come to that you’ve only to take a sniff at the keyhole to have the fact confirmed. I reckon she must have had a bath of Last Night’s Kiss or whatever the stuff’s called. She fairly hums with it.”
“Flo Presser? At this hour? What does she want?”
“She’s lost her boy friend. She wants you to find him.”