Harry cleared his throat. "As a matter of fact I'm not supposed to do
business with civilian agencies."
"Mr. Payne," she smiled demurely, "do I look like an agency? Or do I
look like a Personnel Consultant?"
* * * * *
Now there was an opening, Harry thought, but it might be best to avoid
it. "You're working to get someone a job. It amounts to the same thing."
"I see. Then how _do_ you go about hiring your new personnel?"
"I do the soliciting myself. Sorry, Miss Ralston, but I don't make the
rules and regulations."
But the lady was undeterred. She crossed her legs and sank further into
the easy chair. Her eyes sparkled at Harry.
"These clients of mine are all top men, Mr. Payne. Why couldn't I just
leave you their names? You can still do the soliciting. I'd be happy to
forego my regular commission on this job. Call it the value of
prestige."
Harry recognized another opening and this time plunged in. "Suppose we
talk it over later. There's a place at Fourth Avenue and Woodward called
'Maria's.' Best Italian food in captivity. I'm through at five. What
about you?"
She didn't have to say anything. Her eyes told him he would be having
an Italian dinner that night. And not alone. She rose and walked in
front of his desk.
"I'm so glad we have something in common, Mr. Payne. I can't think well
on an empty stomach either."
After walking her to the outer office he came back to his desk. He took
a deep breath and loosened his tie. Dreams like Miss Ralston didn't
materialize every day. For a first meeting he figured he hadn't fared
too badly at all. And if this first date went well he was sure he'd be
seeing a lot of this girl.
It did not escape Harry's mind that here was a girl who was in the habit
of getting what she wanted. But why not? Her powers of persuasion were
Grade-A. They were so good they presented him with one big problem. He
had regulations. Army regulations. He couldn't violate them. Miss
Ralston, it was obvious, was going to meet him solely for the purpose of
getting a client a job. Would he be able to see her again after she knew
he had no intention of hiring that client?
* * * * *
The following morning Harry entered the office to find his secretary
unusually busy. She was pecking away furiously at the typewriter.
He handed her a sheet of paper and said, "Miss Conway, copy these names
and addresses and when they ..."
"When they come in you'll see them at half-hour intervals." She smiled
benignly. "Miss Ralston just called and told me. Pretty smart chick,
huh, boss?"
Harry did a slow burn and ambled into his office. Miss Conway was right,
of course, and that's what annoyed him. It had been quite a night. He
wined and dined her. They did all the bright spots. And, wonder of
wonders, on the first date they wound up at Paula Ralston's apartment.
She was a captivating hostess, an exquisite dancer and something of a
sorceress. After one kiss, an unforgettable one, Harry had agreed to
interview her seven clients.
But all this was last night, Harry reminded himself. Today was a
different matter. He was in the sanctity of his office now and capable
of clearer thinking. Paula Ralston had accomplished the first phase of
her mission. The next move was his. _Seeing_ the clients, he
rationalized, was not violating the regulations. And for the moment it
satisfied her.
She certainly was a determined girl. Anyone would think, watching her
operate, that a lab technician was a job of world-shaking importance.
What the hell, he shrugged, if the girl didn't look out for her own
interests, she wouldn't have a successful business. There's only one way
to keep clients happy and that's to keep them busy.
Besides, her maneuvering wasn't going to work anyway. He just couldn't
hire any of them. His problem now was to stall her for a couple of days
so he could keep seeing her. In the end he might possibly tell her the
army had refused to accept any of them.
He glanced out the window and saw the Weapons Development Center across
the parade ground. Business appeared to be going on as usual. Routine.
Quiet. Cautious. _High time I start thinking seriously about that
replacement_, he thought.
There was a knock at the door.
"Come in."
Miss Conway bounced in. "They've started to arrive. The first one is a
Mister Thompson."
"Okay, let's get started. Send him in."
* * * * *
Thompson was a small, roundish man in his mid-forties. He remained quite
at ease during the interview. Harry began the session in the usual dull
manner, formulating his questions from the several sheets of information
Mr. Thompson had brought with him.
It wasn't long before Harry detected something unusual about the man.
But he couldn't determine what it was. He became more alert, more
interested as the interview progressed.
"Where are you from originally, Mr. Thompson?"
"Chicago."
"Oh, yes." He glanced at the written information. "I see you went to the
University."
"Yes, sir. My practical experience is documented on the second sheet."
What was it about this guy? He was overly polite but that could hardly
be considered strange. His answers were brief, to the point, even curt.
That was just a personality trait, Harry supposed. Couldn't condemn a
man for that.
"How long did you live in Chicago?"
"Twenty-one years, sir."
"Are you married?"
"No, sir."
He had noted before that Mr. Thompson had a distracting habit of patting
his hair. Now he knew why. He was wearing a toupee. Harry wondered if
the poor guy was sensitive about it. If he _was_ that conscious of it,
it might account for his strange attitude.
"Thank you for coming in, Mr. Thompson. I'll submit your papers to
Colonel Waters. If he has any further interest in you, don't be
surprised if you receive a visit from a couple of Intelligence agents.
That's routine for this job. I just tell you in advance so you won't
worry."
"I understand," he said, rising and checking his toupee once more. "Many
thanks to you, sir." He shook Harry's hand and left the room.
Harry glanced at the papers again. Mr. Thompson's background was
impressive indeed. There didn't seem to be much question as to his
ability. But what a queer duck he was!
The second applicant was a short, wiry man named Chase. Like his
predecessor, he was brief and to the point with his answers. He let his
qualification papers speak for themselves. He was formal and polite.
Midway through the interview Harry noticed that he too was wearing a
toupee. If that wasn't the damnedest coincidence! Fortunately Mr. Chase
didn't have the annoying habit of patting his head every thirty seconds.
Harry guessed he either had a more expensive one or was just endowed
with more confidence that it would not slip off.
The interview over, Mr. Chase offered his thanks and strolled out.
Harry had a few moments to himself before Paula's third client arrived.
He thought about the first two men. Funny thing about toupees ... even
the most expensive ones could always be detected. He couldn't quite
understand why the two men wore them. They were often used by playboys,
actors, self-styled over-age Romeos, people whose niche in society
depends upon their looks. But not scientists or technicians. In fact
Harry couldn't remember ever having known one such person who shunned
his baldness in this manner. That didn't mean they had no right. But it
did seem peculiar as hell.
* * * * *
By the time the third interview was over Harry Payne's curiosity was
ablaze. Applicant number three, Mr. Boles, was not only wearing a toupee
but had gone one step further. Just north of his mouth there was a
mustache! A good-looking mustache, well groomed and shaped, but phoney
as a wax banana.
For a moment he thought Paula Ralston might be perpetrating a joke of
elaborate proportions. He rejected the idea as fast as it came to him.
He didn't know the girl very well yet, but he knew her well enough to
know she was strictly business. _She wanted one of these men to get that
job._
He flipped the intercom button for Miss Conway. She might be able to
tell him ... indirectly.
"You wanted me, Mr. Payne?"
"Yes, Miss Conway. The three men who've already been in here ... have
you noticed anything strange about them?"
Her eyebrows merged and spelled perplexity. She pursed her lips and gave
the matter the gravest consideration. Then she concluded, "Yes,
something very strange."