“Yes.”
“Okay,” she said, and I heard her telephone click.
I had a lot of thinking to do, and I sat there in the chair, smoking and thinking, trying to figure things out so that they made sense. I wasn’t trying to solve the whole puzzle because I knew I hadn’t enough facts, but I was getting facts. I felt that if I could keep my head and not make any false steps, things would open up.
About eleven I heard the door of the outer office open and close, and the sound of voices. Elsie came in with a card. The card had a man’s name on it, nothing more.
I studied the card. “Gilbert Rich, eh? What does he look like?”
“High pressure,” she said. “Salesman of some kind. Won’t tell me what. I asked him what he wanted to see you about, and he said a sales proposition. He’s forty, and he dresses for twenty-seven. He isn’t exactly what you’d call well dressed. What he’d call a ‘nifty dresser.’ ”
“Fat?”
“No, fairly slender, getting bald on each side of his forehead. Dark hair slicked back. Black eyes, no glasses. Quick, nervous, glib. His nails are well manicured and polished. He’s had a fresh shoeshine this morning, and smells like a barbershop. Do you want to see him?”
“Yes.”
She went out, and Gilbert Rich came in. He crossed the office with quick steps to grab my hand. His manner was nervous and magnetic. He started talking as though he’d been accustomed to try and get in as many words as possible before he got thrown out.