"I can't think of anybody I'd like to find out that you were here," I said. "Get out of sight." He carried his drink into my bedroom.
Mike Renner was at the door. For a fat-faced bookkeeper with a law degree, he looked pretty grim and formidable.
"You rotten double-crosser," he greeted me. I was the darling of practically everybody in New York that night.
"It happens every time. Now what do you want, Renner?"
"To break your neck," he said. "You have found that Psi, Mary Hall, and you haven't turned her over to Dunn. That's a dirty double—"
"With good reason," I cut in on him. "Do we both have to be idiots? I've just finished having the girl tested. She hasn't got the Stigma, Mike. Dunn will look like a fool trying to pin anything on the Judge."
"That's not our business. Our fee depends on giving her to Dunn!" He shook a fist in my face when he said that. He just doesn't look the part.
"And the reputation of our firm can very well depend on my successfully representing her, and proving that she hasn't got the Stigma."
"You don't honestly mean you're going to represent that Psi!"