It was that simple.
The manager of the bank was a human sort of chap. I told him that I was trying to get some information which would enable me to close up an estate and asked him if I might talk with his secretary. He said he’d send her out in a few minutes.
Roberta Fenn looked exactly like her pictures. She was perhaps twenty-six from the standpoint of statistics, but she looked around twenty-two or perhaps twenty-three. She had a quick smile, clear, alert eyes, and a well-modulated, pleasant voice. “Something that you wanted to know?” she asked. “Mr. Black said you were trying to close up an estate.”
“That’s right,” I said. “I’m an investigator. I’m trying to find out something about a man who’s connected with a family named Hale.”
Her eyes showed me I’d drawn a blank.
I said, “He has a relative whose name I don’t know, but I believe you’re acquainted with him. I’m not certain exactly how he’s related to Hale.”
“You don’t know this man’s name?”
I said, “No.”
She said, “I don’t have a very wide circle of acquaintances here.”
I said, “This man is tall. He has a high forehead, rather bushy eyebrows, and his hands are very thin with long, tapering fingers. His arras are long. He’s about fifty-five.”