"Show him, Mr. Thompson." She lit a cigarette and folded her legs under
her.
Mr. Thompson reached into his pocket and produced a small object. He
tossed it into Harry's lap. Harry examined it.
"Do you recognize it?" Mr. Thompson asked.
"It's a microphone," Harry replied.
"That's just what it is." Paula savagely flung her cigarette to the
floor. Her own disguise, the one concealing her true, ruthless self, was
gone. Her voice was cold and harsh. "How much do you know, Harry? How
much?"
Harry folded his hands, rested his full weight on the arm of the sofa
and crossed his legs. "How much is it worth to you?"
Paula's hand struck with fury across his face. His cheek went numb.
Blood ran from an uneven gash left by the diamond in her ring. He took
out his handkerchief and dabbed at the wound.
"You're real high class, aren't you, Paula? They don't make traitors as
high class as you anymore."
She raised her hand and aimed for the other cheek. Thompson bolted out
of his chair and grabbed her.
"I suggest you have a drink, Miss Ralston. Let us handle the rest."