The chair was warm.
“Mind if I smoke?”
“I should say not. I was smoking when you came in.”
She picked up a cigarette from an ash tray which was by her chair.
I said, “I’m going to put the cards on the table.”
“I like people who do that.”
“I’m a private detective.”
Her face became cold and white, frozen into a stiffly starched look of courteous attention.
“What’s wrong with that?” I asked.
“N-n-nothing.”