"Well, what's the trouble? Cigarette?" Martinez held out a pack. "Girl-friend give you the air?" "As a matter of fact, yes; that's what I want to see you about." "This isn't a lonely-hearts club," said Martinez. "And I've told you time and again a private dick isn't a wisecracking superman. Our work is ninety-nine percent routine; and for the other one percent, we call in the police." "Let me give you the story," said Fraser. He rubbed his eyes wearily as he told it. At the end, he sat staring at the floor. "Well," said Martinez, "it's too bad and all that. But what the hell, there are other dames. New York has more beautiful women per square inch than any other city except Paris. Latch on to somebody else. Or if you want, I can give you a phone number--" "You don't understand," said Fraser "I want you to investigate this; I want to know why she did it." Martinez squinted through a haze of smoke. "Snyder's a rich and powerful man," he said. "Isn't that enough?" "No," said Fraser, too tired to be angry at the hint. "Judy isn't that kind of a girl. Neither is she the kind to go overboard in a few days, especially when I was there. Sure, that sounds conceited, but dammit, I _know_ she cared for me." "Okay. You suspect pressure was brought to bear?" "Yeah. It's hard to imagine what. I called up Judy's family in Maine, and they said they were all right, no worries. Nor do I think anything in her own life would give a blackmailer or an extortionist anything to go on. Still--I want to know." Martinez drummed the desk-top with nervous fingers. "I'll look into it if you insist," he said, "though it'll cost you a pretty penny. Rich men's lives aren't easy to pry into if they've got something they want to hide. But I don't think we'd find out much; your case seems to be only one of a rash of similar ones in the past year." "Huh?" Fraser looked sharply up. "Yeah. I follow all the news; and remember the odd facts. There've been a good dozen cases recently, where beautiful young women suddenly married rich men or became their mistresses. It doesn't all get into the papers, but I've got my contacts. I know. In every instance, there was no obvious reason; in fact, the dames seemed very much in love with daddy." "And the era of the gold-digger is pretty well gone--" Fraser sat staring out the window. It didn't seem right that the sky should be so full of sunshine. "Well," said Martinez, "you don't need me. You need a psychologist." _Psychologist!_ "By God, Juan, I'm going to give you a job anyway!" Fraser leaped to his feet. "You're going to check into an outfit called Sentiment, Inc." * * * * *