"So all I can tell you at the moment is that you'll be hearing from us as soon as possible." Harry got up thinking the interview was over. Mr. Boles remained seated. "Miss Ralston would like to see you, Mr. Payne." "Oh, yes," Harry chuckled, "I'm going to see her this evening." "She wants to see you now." "Afraid I can't make it right now. I have a pile of work to do. Besides I'm expecting another client of hers. Have to let him know he didn't get the job." "Mr. Chase is waiting for us downstairs in the car. You will come with me, Mr. Payne." The order was clear and firm. Harry didn't like it. "I don't get it. What's so important that Miss Ralston has to see me ..." He stopped at the sight of the gun leveled at his chest. "When we pass your secretary's desk, you will tell her you are taking an early lunch. I will return you in an hour if you cooperate." Harry Payne knew better than to argue. * * * * * Mr. Chase was seated behind the wheel of a blue sedan. Boles and Harry climbed into the back seat. They drove away from Fort Dickson toward the city. The two men remained silent during the trip. Harry had plenty of time to think. Why this sudden move of Paula's? He must have done something to motivate it. But what? The only person he had talked to was Frank Barnes and he hadn't divulged anything to him. She couldn't be sore because he had asked Frank to check on her. Routine investigation was part of his job. She knew that. He failed to come up with an answer. He was worried. He knew who the seven men were but he didn't know where they came from. It could have been any one of a million different places. Heaven only knew what kind of people they were. The shades were drawn in Paula's apartment. There was no sign of her. But as soon as Harry entered the room he forgot about her anyway. His gaze rested upon the small, roundish man sitting in the contour chair, the bald man with no eyebrows and no beard. "Please be seated, Mr. Payne." The man's tone was soft and courteous. "Which one are you?" Harry asked. The man was amused. "I am Mr. Thompson." "Oh, yeah," said Harry, "you're the one who kept patting your skull. Couldn't you find one that fit you?" Nobody was amused. Boles and Chase took positions on either side of Thompson. Their faces were drawn and sober. They resembled two bankrupt morticians. "Where is the body beautiful?" Harry asked. "Or is she no longer the body beautiful?" "Take a look for yourself." It was Paula's voice. The familiar sultriness was missing. Harry swung around to see her emerge from the bedroom. "Well, well, well! If it isn't Miss Lonelyhearts. Mind if I ask why I'm here? I mean the gun and all?" He had to be flippant. It was the only way he knew to conceal the terror he felt in their presence. She sat beside him on the sofa. "Harry, you've disappointed me. You haven't been playing the game fair and square." "If you're referring to the private eye I put on you ..."