"I'm _not_, Harry. You put him on, we took him off. Those things even themselves out." Harry shrugged. "Okay, I give up. What did I do wrong?" "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." Paula was furious. "He's not going to tell you anymore ..." "We'll handle the rest!!" * * * * * Thompson didn't raise his voice. But there was a firmness, a deadly conviction in his inflection. Paula went for a drink. Harry didn't like that. Paula had a temper. He could deal with her. But the others ... they displayed very little emotion. He had no idea how to handle them. Thompson sat down again facing Harry. "The fact is," he began gracefully, "we discovered this microphone and four others like it here in Miss Ralston's apartment. One in each room. Now we are very cautious people, Mr. Payne. We are quite certain no one knows our whereabouts. It is logical then that the microphones have not been here long. Miss Ralston's only visitors are ourselves and you. You have known her two days. So you are the only person who knows this apartment well enough to have planted these tell-tale devices in a hurry." "Why should I want to plant them?" "You took the trouble to have Miss Ralston investigated. But more than one means of investigation produces better results. The microphones were wired to a small radio which we located in the basement of this building. We have assumed that everything spoken into them was transmitted over the radio and recorded at your end. That makes sense, doesn't it?" Harry was confused. "So far, so good." "We want those recordings, Mr. Payne."