“For whatever you do. Detecting, of course. You do call yourself a detective, I believe.”

Shayne said gravely, “I am a detective, Miss Rogell. Licensed by the state of Florida to practice that profession. Tell me your problem and we can discuss the fee later.”

She said, “Nonsense. I’m too old to buy a pig in a poke. Let’s have it understood from the beginning so there’ll be no outrageous bill for me to pay at the end. Exactly what do you consider your time worth?”

Shayne got a pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket and lit one. He blew out the match with a stream of smoke and said, “That depends entirely on what I am able to do for you. I think you’ve come to the wrong office, Miss Rogell,” he went on briskly before she could speak. “My secretary can give you a list of half a dozen competent detectives who will quote you a flat daily rate for their services… plus expenses… and they won’t pad the expense account too heavily. I think you’d be happier with one of them.”

Her eyes were very clear and very blue. They remained unwinkingly fixed on his face as he spoke and her leathery face showed no trace of expression.

“You have no regular rate of charges?”

Shayne blandly expelled smoke from both nostrils and shook his head. “No more so then a self-respecting attorney has.”

“What assurance do I have that you won’t accept my case and then gouge me for some fantastic amount after doing nothing to earn it?”

Shayne said, “You have no assurance at all, Miss Rogell, that I won’t do exactly that.” He put his hands flat on the desk in front of him and half rose from his chair. “My secretary will give you that list of names on your way out.”

She remained firmly seated and said, “Humph. I like plain-speaking, young man. I’m a plain-spoken person myself. I want you to prove that my brother was murdered and to see that the person or persons responsible are made to pay for the crime.”