"None of them did very much talking. Strictly anti-social types."
Harry groaned, realizing he should have known better. "Thank you, Miss
Conway. That's all."
"The fourth guy is waiting outside."
"Let him sit for a couple of minutes, then send him in."
He decided to put the whole matter out of his mind and get the
interviews over as fast as possible. There were other, more serious
duties to attend to. The toupee episode was probably nothing more than a
crazy coincidence anyway. Strictly an item for Believe-It-Or-Not.
* * * * *
By two o'clock that afternoon the four remaining candidates had come and
gone. And Harry Payne sat at his desk in the immediate aftermath
questioning his sanity. All seven men wore toupees! It was incredible
but true. And now the matter was one of deep and abiding concern to him.
There was nothing funny about it. There was a touch of the macabre in it
that rendered his flesh cold and weak.
He lit a cigarette and tried to pull his thoughts together. Seven men
applying for the same job; seven men with one thing in common; seven men
as bald as Doctor Cyclops. Harry had to abandon the notion that sheer
coincidence brought these men together. That was too fantastic. They
were brought together by design.
Their backgrounds varied in that they had all worked and come from
different parts of the country. But those facts were only on paper. It
was an odds-on bet they all knew each other. There was even something
about the order in which they arrived at the office that indicated a
pattern or an over-all plan. Numbers three, five and six had worn false
mustaches.
If it was true the seven men were well acquainted then Paula Ralston
could undoubtedly give him some answers. Harry had another dinner
engagement with her at five o'clock. But this date, he told himself,
would be different. _He_ was going to be all business until he learned
exactly what she was involved in.
He picked up the phone, got an outside line and dialed. Frank Barnes was
a private detective. A good one. Harry was sure he could rely on him for
a small favor.
A subdued, resonant voice answered on the other end.
"Frank, Harry Payne here."
"Harry! Where you been hiding?"
"I need a favor."
"Only time you ever call me, you ingrate."
"There's a dame called Paula Ralston. Runs a business called Ralston
Personnel Consultants. How soon can you get anything on her?"
"How soon do you need it?"
"Today, if possible. You can call me at home. Any hour."
After promising Frank to meet him for lunch one day Harry sank into an
easy chair and tried to shake the unnerving effect the seven men had had
on him.
Maybe he shouldn't have called Frank. This might be something he should
have informed the army about. No. They'd want to know what business he
had seeing the seven men in the first place. He didn't have much of an
answer for that one.
* * * * *
Driving along Woodward Street toward Fourth Avenue, Harry was beset with
one nagging question. Why had Paula Ralston never brought any of her
clients to see him before? He was the dispenser of over a hundred good
jobs that offered high salaries. The answer was just as persistent as
the question. _Lab Technician was the only security job he handled._ She
was determined that one of her men get that job at any cost.
It wasn't a very pleasant thought. Harry didn't want to believe it. He
didn't want to believe that Paula Ralston was going to mean trouble for
him. And yet he knew that's exactly what she meant.
* * * * *
She was waiting for him at Maria's. She kissed him as he slipped into
the booth beside her. Through four drinks and a six-course dinner he
watched her smile. That smile could melt down the door on a bank vault.
He noticed how she laughed at all of his wisecracks. When it was her
turn to talk she talked about him. She offered a toast to their closer
friendship, with special emphasis on the word "closer."
But she did not mention the seven men. That was the smart approach,
Harry ventured. She'd save that until she got home and slipped into
something more comfortable.
* * * * *
He stood alone in Paula's living room nursing a scotch on the rocks. The
night before he had been too concerned about his progress with this
latter-day Aphrodite to give a damn about the place she lived in. He
glanced around the room. Every inch reeked of success. The furniture was
sleek, modern, exquisitely contoured ... like its owner. There wasn't
much question about it, Paula Ralston made a lot more dough than he did.
But how? That was the question.
She came out of the bedroom and mixed herself a drink. She was a living
dream in a black lace negligee. Transparent. It figured. A lot of things
were beginning to figure.
"Shall I tell you a secret?" she asked.
"I didn't think you had any left." He couldn't take his eyes from the
negligee.
"I think Mr. Chase and Mr. Boles are the best of the seven. I think they
come closest to what you're looking for." She lifted her glass and
clinked it against his.
Harry smiled. He wasn't looking at her anymore. It was more of an
education to look through her. She was good. Damn good. She could lull
you into believing the Grand Canyon was brimming over with silver
dollars, all yours for the taking. It was next to impossible to doubt
the sincerity in her face.
"I liked all seven of them," he said. "But since you know them better
than I do I'll take your recommendation that Chase and Boles are the
best."
She moved closer to him. He could feel the warmth of her body.
"We're making some progress, Harry. We've narrowed the field down to two
candidates."
Harry kept her maneuvering. "Paula, I'm still faced with the problem of
finding a way around the regulations. I can't hire either one of them
until I solve that."
Nothing stopped this girl. Nothing even slowed her down. She moved still
closer to him. "There's a way around anything if a man has the right
incentive to look for it."
He knew what the right incentive was. He didn't have to go looking for
that. He laid his drink down, put his arms around her and kissed her.
They walked to the sofa. Paula stayed close to him, the ever thoughtful,
loving female companion. She rubbed his back and neck and sprinkled him
with soft moist kisses. She never mentioned her clients again. And Harry
promised to hire one of them the following day.
* * * * *
He was anxious to get back to his apartment to find out if Frank Barnes
had called. As he drove back along Woodward Street he couldn't put Paula
out of his mind. He already had her character pegged. But what was she
up to? What was her goal? She wasn't doing all this for a lousy
commission. The stakes were bigger than that.
In a way it was too bad she was going to have to settle for less than
she bargained for. If her seven clients hadn't been so phoney she might
have gotten away with it. But why was it necessary for them to be
phoney? Why should a girl as shrewd as Paula send seven men in disguise
to see ...
Disguise! Somehow that word threw a different light on the matter. The
men had all been disguised in places where hair should grow. They were
_not_ bald. There was something abnormal about them. And Harry was
ninety percent certain what it was. The answer was incredible. There was
still a ten-percent margin for error. For Miss Paula Ralston's sake he
hoped he was wrong.
* * * * *
Frank Barnes' message was waiting for him at the switchboard in the
lobby. The word "urgent" was written on it.
He raced upstairs and picked up the phone. Frank answered on the first
ring. He sounded like a man with a gun at his back.
"Harry, what the hell kind of a mess have you gotten yourself into?"
"Why? Something go wrong?"
"You bet your sweet life. An hour after you called me to check on that
Ralston dame a guy came into the office and told me to lay off."
Harry was silent. And scared. His answer looked better all the time.
"What did the guy look like?"
"He looked important, Harry. And he meant business. He had a big bulge
in his pocket and he made it very clear I'd be up to my funny bone in
hot lead if I relayed any information about this girl to you."
"Frank, was the guy wearing a toupee?"
"A what?"
"A toupee, a hair piece!"
"How the hell should I know. I wasn't interested in his coiffure. He was
wearing a black overcoat, he kept his hand on that bulge and he didn't
care much for smiling. Harry, you in trouble with this dame?"
"What did you find out about her, Frank?"
"Between the time you called and the time the guy strolled into the
office I found out she's only had this Personnel Consultant racket for
about three months."
"You didn't learn anything else?"
"After I got warned I decided to wait'll I talked with you."
Harry was silent again. His mind was working.
"Frank, what causes baldness?"
"Baldness! Geez, Harry, you're in a fat mess of trouble and you're
worrying about losing your hair?"
"It's important, Frank. I must find out what causes total loss of _all_
hair."
The detective grunted. "Well, let's see, there are three or four
diseases I know of. Some people claim it's hereditary. Sometimes a
deficiency in the genes ..."
"Okay, Frank, that's enough."
"What do you want me to do about the girl?"
"Just as the man told you. Lay off. I'll call you tomorrow and let you
know what this thing is all about."
He hung up the phone and paced in front of his sofa for several minutes.
It was inconceivable that the seven men all had the same disease, the
same gene deficiency or the same hereditary shortcomings. So his own
answer must be much closer to the truth. He'd have to wait until morning
to put it to a test. If he was right he would call Colonel Waters and
dump the whole bizarre set-up right into the army's lap where it
belonged.
Again he found himself hoping he was not right, and, more important,
that Paula Ralston wasn't what he was beginning to think she was.
* * * * *
Miss Conway was already in when Harry arrived at the office. He managed
a half smile for her.
"Miss Conway, two of the seven men are coming back this morning and ..."
"And Mr. Boles is the one who's getting the job."
"Who called you this time?" he asked with exasperation.
"Colonel Waters."