Shayne shook his head. “Not right now.”

The woman wasn’t more than forty, he guessed, but her bloated cheeks and unhealthy pallor made her appear much older. Her hair was obviously bleached and recently marcelled, but it was straggly now and she continually pushed damp strands away from her face with wavering fingers. And yet, in her bearing there was a suggestion that under happier conditions she might have dignity and poise.

Shayne again tried to break through her gin-induced fog to learn why she wanted to see him. “Why did you call for me on the phone today? Where did you get my name?”

“I heard them talking about calling you in on the case,” she mumbled. “As soon as I heard them talking about you I said to myself, I said, ‘Mayme Martin, here’s your chance to pick up some easy money for yourself.’ Yes, sir, I said, ‘You’ve been a fool long enough. All your life you’ve been giving away what you might as well get paid for, and this is one time when you’re going to cash in while the getting is good.’ So I packed up and came right down here to see you, Mr. Shayne.”

“All right,” Shayne said. “So you’re determined to cash in. On what? What have you got to sell me?”

“Not what you think, mister.” She opened her eyes wide and smiled cunningly. “I’ve been around long enough to know there’s younger and prettier girls than me on the make. Though there was a time… I’m telling you there was a time-”

“I don’t doubt that,” Shayne broke in. “But what are you selling today?”

“Information, mister. The old inside info. I’ve got it on tap, see? But it’s for sale. I’m not giving anything away. No, sir. I’ve learned my lesson. What does it get you? Tell me that? What does it get a girl?”

“Information about what?” Shayne asked patiently.

“Oh, you know, all right. Listen, I can crack that case wide open for you. Wide open-” she snapped her fingers feebly-“just like that.” She pursed her lips and nodded sagely. “And that’s worth money. Don’t tell me it isn’t.”