“Then you can realize what I feel — what I fear. Barbara loathes the things she does under this man’s influence. She will try to kill herself again. I am positive she will. The next time — she might succeed.”
“Then you actually want me to keep her from killing herself?”
Little nodded. “But — besides that — I’m afraid of what he may do. When she tried to break with him before, he threatened her life. She countered by threatening to report him to the police. This only made matters worse. He made it quite clear that he would not hesitate to murder her if she reported him.”
Shayne took a sip of cognac and said, “Go on.”
“I don’t know his name. Barbara wouldn’t tell me, but I’ve seen him once. I came home unexpectedly and he was there. He left in a hurry. He is a man in his late forties, a foppish dresser — spats and so forth. He has an evil, dissipated face. He is quite bald, slender, and of medium height. A meager description, but it should be enough to mark him if you see him with Barbara.”
Shayne said, “It will be.” His eyes were alert. “About the fee—”
“You’ll take the case?” Little’s voice was eager.
“I’ll take it. The fee will depend on how much time it takes.”
“I’m not a wealthy man, Mr. Shayne, but any figure within reason.”
“Five hundred for expenses,” Shayne said. “When I need more I’ll let you know.” He drew a notebook from his pocket and handed it to Little. “Write down her name — the pseudonym, and the New Orleans address.”