“This is a bad time,” I said.

Now Peggy was looking at me, really frowning.

“We have to talk,” Beth’s voice said.

“Can’t this wait till business hours? I can be in my office at the Bradbury Building tomorrow morning.”

“I know about your office,” Beth said. “How do you think I found you? Your friend Mr. Rubinski gave me your number.”

My friend Mr. Rubinski and I would have to have a little talk.

“I just need your help,” she said, “you know, to… get rid of it.”

So she wanted money. What a shock.

“It must be something, staying at the Beverly Hills Hotel,” Beth’s voice was saying, the sob gone now, replaced with a sort of purr. “I always dreamed of staying there.”

“Yeah, it’s a swell place,” I said. Swell place to be staying when somebody was sizing you up for a shakedown.

Peggy said, “Who is that?”

I covered the mouthpiece, whispered, “A client.”

Peggy smirked irritably and returned to her movie magazine.

Into the phone, I said, “Where can I reach you?”

The response had an edge in it: “I want to talk now.”

“How about in an hour?

“… All right. I’m at the Biltmore-Fifth and-”

“I know where the Biltmore is.”

“Why don’t you come down here, Nathan, and meet me in the lobby?”

“That’s impossible. I’ll call you back.”

“I’m in a pay phone.”

“Well give me the number.”

She did; I scribbled it down on a pad by the phone on the end table.

“I’ll be waiting, Nathan,” Beth said. “Let it ring a long time-I’ll be sitting in the lobby, listening for your call. Don’t disappoint me.”

The click in my ear was a relief-a momentary one. I felt sick to my stomach, head whirling. Pretty much the symptoms of morning sickness, but then this was evening, and I was a man. Sort of.

“Do these people have to bother you at home?” Peggy asked.