as amused. "I am Mr. Thompson."

"Oh, yeah," said Harry, "you're the one who kept patting your skull.
Couldn't you find one that fit you?"

Nobody was amused. Boles and Chase took positions on either side of
Thompson. Their faces were drawn and sober. They resembled two bankrupt
morticians.

"Where is the body beautiful?" Harry asked. "Or is she no longer the
body beautiful?"

"Take a look for yourself." It was Paula's voice. The familiar
sultriness was missing.

Harry swung around to see her emerge from the bedroom. "Well, well,
well! If it isn't Miss Lonelyhearts. Mind if I ask why I'm here? I mean
the gun and all?"

He had to be flippant. It was the only way he knew to conceal the terror
he felt in their presence.

She sat beside him on the sofa. "Harry, you've disappointed me. You
haven't been playing the game fair and square."

"If you're referring to the private eye I put on you ..."

"I'm _not_, Harry. You put him on, we took him off. Those things even
themselves out."

Harry shrugged. "Okay, I give up. What did I do wrong?"

"Show him, Mr. Thompson." She lit a cigarette and folded her legs under
her.

Mr. Thompson reached into his pocket and produced a small object. He
tossed it into Harry's lap. Harry examined it.

"Do you recognize it?" Mr. Thompson asked.

"It's a microphone," Harry replied.

"That's just what it is." Paula savagely flung her cigarette to the
floor. Her own disguise, the one concealing her true, ruthless self, was
gone. Her voice was cold and harsh. "How much do you know, Harry? How
much?"

Harry folded his hands, rested his full weight on the arm of the sofa
and crossed his legs. "How much is it worth to you?"

Paula's hand struck with fury across his face. His cheek went numb.
Blood ran from an uneven gash left by the diamond in her ring. He took
out his handkerchief and dabbed at the wound.

"You're real high class, aren't you, Paula? They don't make traitors as
high class as you anymore."

She raised her hand and aimed for the other cheek. Thompson bolted out
of his chair and grabbed her.

"I suggest you have a drink, Miss Ralston. Let us handle the rest."

Paula was furious. "He's not going to tell you anymore ..."

"We'll handle the rest!!"

* * * * *

Thompson didn't raise his voice. But there was a firmness, a deadly
conviction in his inflection. Paula went for a drink.

Harry didn't like that. Paula had a temper. He cou