She hesitated momentarily before the doorway of the prestige restaurant allowing the passers-by to realize she’d just emerged, and then turned to her right to promenade along the shopping street. Fifty feet below La Calvados, Steve said, “Let’s go, Woolford.” One stepped to one elbow, the other to the other. Steve said quietly, “I wonder if we could ask you a few questions?” Her eyebrows went up, “I _beg_ your pardon!” Steve sighed and displayed the badge pinned to his wallet, keeping it inconspicuous. “Secret Service, Miss,” he murmured. “Oh, devil,” she said. She looked up at Larry Woolford, and then back at Steve. Steve said, “Among other things, we’re in charge of counterfeit money.” She was about five foot four in her heels, had obviously been on a round of beauty shops and had obviously instructed them to glamorize her. It hadn’t come off. She still looked as though she’d be more at home as cheerleader of the junior class in small town high school. She was honey blond, green-blue of eye, and had that complexion they seldom carry even into the twenties. “I ... I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Her chin began to tremble. Larry said gently, “Don’t worry. We just want to ask you some questions.” “Well ... like what?” She was going to be blinking back tears in a moment. At least Larry hoped she’d blink them back. He’d hate to have her start howling here in public. Larry said, “We think you can be of assistance to the government, and we’d like your help.” Steve rolled his eyes upward, but turned and waved for a street level cab. In the cab, Larry said, “Suppose we go over to my office, Steve?” “O.K. with me,” Steve muttered, “but by the looks of the young lady here, I think it’s a false alarm from your angle. She’s obviously an American. What’s your name, Miss?” “It’s Zusanette. Well, really, Susan.” “Susan what?” “I ... I’m not sure I want to tell you. I ... I want a lawyer.” “A lawyer!” Steve snorted. “You mean you want the juvenile authorities, don’t you?” “Oh, what a mean thing to say,” she sputtered. ------------------------------------- In the corridor outside the Boss’ suite of offices, Larry said to Steve, “You take Miss ... ah, Zusanette to my office, will you Steve. I’ll be there in a minute.” He opened the door to the anteroom and said, “LaVerne, we’ve got a girl in my office—” “Why, Larry!” He glowered at her. “A suspect. I want a complete tape of everything said. As soon as we’re through, have copies made, at least three or four.” “And, who, Mr. Woolford, was your girl Friday last year?” “This is important, honey. I suppose you’ve supplied me with a secretary but I haven’t even met her yet. Take care of it, will you?” “Sure enough, Larry.” He followed Steve and the girl to his office.