“I’d like to know more about yours, Miss Raffin.”
“Ask me anything. No, hold it a sec. Here comes Frank now.”
Greer glanced out of the window and saw Frank crossing the street, squinting in the early morning sun. “Quite a coincidence.”
“Oh, it’s not a coincidence, I asked him to come. Just to pick up his typing, of course.”
“Of course.”
“I mean it. I do a lot of typing for the clinic when they’re rushed.”
“Does Frank usually pick it up at eight o’clock in the morning?”
“He picks it up any time it’s ready,” Miss Raffin said with a serene smile. “Absolutely any old time.”
“I see.”
Frank came into the office and the two men shook hands while Miss Raffin watched them, still looking very amused.
“It’s a small world,” Greer said. “And Miss Raffin seems determined to make it smaller.”
Frank nodded, quite seriously. “If you don’t want me to stick around, say so and I’ll pick up my typing and leave.”
“I’m getting a little tired of that typing gimmick. Let’s drop it.”
“It’s not a gim—”
“Drop it.”
“All right.”
“Miss Raffin,” Greer said, “was about to explain her business to me. She appears to be a very versatile young woman. She is the Deluxe Paper Company, Factory Sample Shoes, Acorn Products, Marshall Whitney — have I left anything out, Miss Raffin?”
“Oh my, yes,” the girl said briskly. “I’m also Miss Ada Murphy.”
“That deserves an explanation.”
“You’ll get one. First let me tell you that my business is exactly what it claims to be, personal services of all kinds. If you want a babysitter, a pair of antique candlesticks, half a beef — or if you’re going on a holiday and want your hibiscus watered while you’re away, I’ll contact someone who’ll do it.”
“That doesn’t explain Ada Murphy.”
“It will. I also run a telephone service. Take Acorn Products as an example. They’re a firm who handle all kinds of screwy health foods. They have an office down in San Diego, but they can’t afford to keep one here, there isn’t enough business. There’s a little business, however, and that’s where I come in. I’m their La Mesa contact. Same with Mr. Whitney, who’s an author’s agent, and the Deluxe Paper Company and all the rest.”
“Including Miss Murphy?”
“Well, she’s a little different. When you called I couldn’t place her in my mind, but after I talked to Frank I looked up my files. She came in here three weeks ago yesterday. In my kind of business it’s awfully easy to get mixed up in shady deals unless you’re careful. I’m careful. At least I thought I was. If this Murphy affair turns out bad—”
“Just tell me what happened.”
“Well, all right. Like I said, it was three weeks ago yesterday. When she came in, I couldn’t figure her at first. She didn’t act hesitant or nervous or anxious to please the way most girls do when they’re looking for a job. She was very sure of herself, talked pretty fancy using a lot of four-bit words. To impress me, I guess. I’m not easily impressed,” Miss Raffin added dryly. “She struck me as a sharp operator. Is she?”
“I’m beginning to think so.”
“Confidence racket?”
“Maybe.”
“I hope to heaven I’m not going to be dragged into anything that smells. After all, her story was plausible enough: she lived out of town, she was putting a want ad in the paper and she needed a local phone number to use since a lot of people won’t go to the trouble of writing to a box number or calling long distance. That sounds plausible to you, too, doesn’t it?”
“Sure. I don’t think it was the truth, though.”
“Well, I couldn’t be expected to know that,” the girl said sharply. “I haven’t got X-ray eyes for reading minds. To me it sounded like the truth. Naturally I asked her what kind of ad it was, since my charge would depend on the number of calls she got and the trouble I went to. She showed me a tentative copy that she’d written in pencil. I was surprised. She didn’t look like the type for a domestic job. She was far too — well, superior is the word. I couldn’t imagine any woman having enough courage to give her orders, if you know what I mean.”
“I know very well,” Greer said, thinking of his own introduction to Murphy.
“I run a small employment bureau here, too, so I asked her if she’d been trained for any other kind of work. She said certainly she had, but this happened to be what she wanted. So that was that. I charged her two bucks for the use of my services.”
“What instructions did she give you?”
“I was to make a record of all replies to her ad and call her if any of them were especially good.”
“Call her where?”
“I don’t know where, but she gave me a phone number. I have it written down somewhere — yes, here it is — 22881, ask for Rose.”
Frank made a little movement of surprise. But for Greer it was the confirmation of his own theory that the connection between Rose and the Goodfields was through Murphy.
He said, “Did you call 22881 and ask for Rose?”
“Certainly. I gave her the names and addresses of three people who’d phoned about the ad and she said she’d relay them to Miss Murphy. That’s about all I can tell you.”
“That’s enough.” He looked at Frank. “Are you beginning to get a different picture of your old pal Rose?”
“No.”
“Well, I am. This smells to me like a con game that backfired.”
“Rose would never have had any part in a con game. She didn’t care about money.”
“A lot of people don’t care about money until they’re broke. Rose was good and broke.”
Miss Raffin was busy at the switchboard again, talking in clear emphatic syllables as if she thought all people who used a telephone were deaf or senile. She wheeled around suddenly in the swivel chair and said to Greer, “There’s a call for you, Captain. Are you in or out?”
“In.”
“You can take it at the desk.”
Greer picked up the desk phone. “Greer speaking.”
“Jim, this is Daley. I’ve got some dame on the wire. She insists on talking to you, says it’s very important. Shall I put her on?”
“All right.”
“Okay Miss, you can go ahead now.”
Greer waited a moment and then repeated, “Greer speaking.”
A woman spoke in a hurried breathless way. “I hate to call you so early, Captain, but I thought I’d better tell you before you went to any more trouble.”
“Who is this, please?”
“Heavens, that shows how rattled I am, doesn’t it. I’m Mrs. Goodfield. Ethel Goodfield.” She stumbled over her own name. “You needn’t bother looking for Murphy anymore. She’s home.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, she came home late last night. The silly girl never dreamed we’d be worried. You know how girls are.”
“I know how some of them are.”
“She was just out on a little fling, one of those impulsive little flings.”
“I see.”
“So... well, I just thought I’d tell you that everything’s all right, everything’s fine, and you needn’t go on looking for her.”
“Is she right there?”
“What do you mean, right here?”
“In the room with you. I’d like to talk to her.”
“Oh no, she’s not right here. She’s... s-sleeping. In her own room. She’s all tired out from her — her little fling.”
“I’d like to hear more about this little fling.”
“I don’t know anymore.” Ethel’s voice was so shrill that both Frank and Miss Raffin could hear every word she spoke as plainly as they could hear Greer’s laconic comments.