"A woman?"
"Yes."
The visitor shifted in his seat, pulling at the knees of his trousers. Bofinger repressed a smile and a yawn.
"You couldn't have gotten into better hands," he said in sing-song. "Are there any letters? Does she hold documentary evidence?"
"No—no!"
"Good. Divorce or breach of promise?"
"What are you talking about?" his client said angrily. "I want information."
"I see," Bofinger said, resuming the scent, "and very stupid of me. Information preparatory to marriage, ain't it?"
"Certainly not!"
Bofinger, nettled at his insuccess, said grandly: