But my caller couldn't be expected to know that, and I didn't feel like telling him.
I decided to see how far he'd go.
"Mr. Venuccio," I said in an apologetic tone, "I'm sorry, but my present work will require several more weeks, and—"
"I understand that," he said quickly. He seemed to be a great one for interruptions. "But I assure you that I can make it worth your while. What would you charge for an hour of your time?"
"It would depend on what I'd have to do."
"All you will have to do is listen to me explain my problem and my proposition to you. An hour, at the very most. I could meet you at the Seven Sisters in half an hour. This is very urgent, Mr. Oak."
Not to me, it wasn't. But my intuition told me that there was something here I ought to know about. "All right, Mr. Venuccio; I'll be there. It'll cost you a hundred in cash for the consultation fee. Have it with you." In case he didn't know what I charged, that ought to give him some idea.
He didn't flinch. "Very good, Mr. Oak. I'll see you in half an hour, then. Good-by." And his image vanished.
Interesting, I thought. There was something definitely phony about Mr. André Venuccio. His manner of speaking didn't sound natural; it was as though he were attempting to pretend to be something he wasn't.