"That could be costly," Sammy pointed out cautiously.
"I don't care. I'll pay. You just do your job."
"Check," Sammy said happily. "You'll be hearing from me." He hung up on Llona.
He was as good as his word, but it took almost another entire week. This time when he called, he was unusually abrupt. He gave Llona no further information, only made an appointment for her to come in and see him.
When she got to Sammy Spayed's office, Llona found herself in the middle of a scene resembling a cross between Grand Central Station on the day the kids leave for
summer camp and the climax of an old Miriam Hopkins movie where she confronts her husband with the evidence of his infidelity. The evidence was a large white handkerchief heavily crimson with lipstick. Mrs. Sammy Spayed was waving it like a battle flag and playing the Hopkins role for all it was worth. The eight kids were bouncing up and down and screaming their support of her.
"Daddy's a lecher!" they chanted. "Daddy's a dirty old man who can't be trusted!"
"You lecher!" their mother bayed. "You dirty old man! You can't be trusted!"
"Now wait a minute!" Sammy was cringing behind his desk. "Don't get so upset, dearest. It was all in the line of duty."
"Duty! I'll give you duty! The minute my back is turned-"
"Oh, Daddy!" the children wailed. "How could you?"
"I had to do it! It's part of my job. Can't you understand? Do you think his family bugs James Bond the way you're-"
"James Bond! James Bond!" Mrs. Spayed sputtered. "Look who thinks he's James Bond! You fat little adulterer, you!" She turned for support to Llona, who was hovering in the doorway. "What would you think if you found lipstick all over your husband's hanky?" she demanded. "How would you feel?"
"Sort of surprised," Llona admitted. "My husband's dead."
Mrs. Spayed ignored her answer as irrelevant. "What would you tell your children?" she wailed.
"I wouldn't tell them anything. I don't have any children. Still, how did they find out?" Llona wondered.
"The two youngest was helping me sort the wash from the hamper," Mrs. Spayed explained. "They ran to tell the others. I was too busy crying to stop them."
"Oh." Llona didn't know what else to say.
"Mama was crying 'cause Daddy's got a girlfriend he kisses," the children screeched. "Daddy doesn't love Mama. Daddy doesn't love us. He's going to leave us for -" They paused en masse to heighten the drama of the last two words: "another woman!"
"Oh, no!" Sammy Spayed protested. "I'd never leave you!"
"Why not?" Llona wondered, murmuring.
"Why not?" Sammy picked it up.
"Yes. Why not?"
"Hmm." He thought about it.
"Sammy!" His wife's voice exploded him out of his reverie. "You have an obligation! Remember, I'm pregnant again!"
"Again," Sammy sighed.
"Mama's got a bun in the oven," the children chorused.
"That's no way to talk," Sammy censured them.
'"Who is she?" his wife demanded. "Who is this other woman?"
"There is no other woman!" Sammy insisted wearily.
"Who is this homewrecker?" Mrs. Spayed persisted.
"The identity of the woman in question is strictly a matter between me and my client," Sammy said loftily. "Such confidences are not to be shared even with my family."
"That sounds reasonable," Llona told Mrs. Spayed. "After all, a private detective should be as sworn to secrecy as one's family doctor."
"Our doctor's a blabbermouth." Mrs. Spayed disposed of that reasoning. "I'm one month gone and already the whole neighborhood knows."
"We know what you've been doing!" the children chanted. "Shame-shame on Mama!"
"Don't knock it until you've tried it," Llona counseled them. "Look," she continued, "I'm sorry you're having family troubles, but I came up here on business." "That's right," Sammy agreed. "You'll all have to get out of here now while I consult with my client."
"Client! Hah!" Mrs. Spayed peered closely at Llona's mouth. "No, it doesn't match," she admitted reluctantly.
"What doesn't match?" Llona asked.
"Your lipstick with this." She waved the handkerchief.
"Well, I should hope not!" Llona was indignant. "Your husband's relationship with me is strictly professional!"
"But whose profession?" Mrs. Spayed wondered maliciously. "
"I don't have to stand here and-"
"Quite right, Mrs. Rutherford," Sammy soothed her. "Now take the children and get out of here," he told his wife. "You're interfering with business."
"All right," she sniffled. "But just wait until I get you home! Just wait!"
"Just wait!" the children echoed. "Daddy's gonna catch it from Mama! Just wait!"
They tramped out of the office, and Sammy followed to close the door behind them. Then he returned to his desk, mopping his brow. He waved Llona to a chair and shuffled through some papers. "Sorry about that," he apologized.
"It's all right. But you really should be more careful. I imagine that if I were your wife, I wouldn't look kindly on finding lipstick on your handkerchief."
"Mrs. Rutherford, please," Sammy said in an injured tone. "You're the last one who should pick on me for that. Believe me, it was in your interests that the lipstick got there."
"What do you mean?"
"The information that you requested about Archibald Ogilvie is kept under lock and key at the Happy Acres Institute. Outside of the doctor who heads the Institute, only one person has access to those locked files. That person is Miss Hannah Urbach, the doctor's secretary. It is her lipstick which my wife found on my handkerchief." "You mean you seduced some girl to get into the files?" Llona looked at the fat little man unbelievingly.
"In a manner of speaking." Sammy Spayed puffed up a little.
"Gosh," Llona said. "I never thought you'd have to go to such an extreme."
"All in a day's work," Sammy said cheerfully.
"Was she attractive?" Llona was curious.
"Umm-well, sort of."
"Sort of? How do you mean?"
"The eye of the beholder. You know."
"Young?" Llona persisted.
"Not exactly."
"Middle-aged?"
"In the prime of life, you might say."
"I see. Thin? Fat?"
"Plumpish," Sammy admitted reluctantly.
"What color are her eyes?"
"Beige."
"Beige? That's very unusual."
"Yes. She wears very thick spectacles, and that makes them seem very large. Very compelling. Large, compelling, beige eyes. Slightly crossed," Sammy admitted in all honesty.
"It sounds to me like you went beyond the call of duty," Llona observed.
"Oh, I wouldn't say that. Hannah may not be without flaws, but she has her positive points too."
"Such as?"
"Well, for one thing, it's the first time in a long time that I wasn't a target for interruption by eight kids. Although I was a little anxious that the doctor might come in before we finished."
"'You mean you did it in his office, where she works?"
"Well, yes. You see, it was there that the opportunity presented itself."
"How did it present itself?"
"I was hiding under Hannah's desk. You see, I'd waited outside until I thought she'd gone out to lunch. Then I went in to try to jimmy the lock on the files. Only she came right back, and I had to hide under her desk. See, she brings her lunch with her and puts it in the refrigerator in one of the labs. She'd just gone to get it."
"Then what happened?"
"She dropped a piece of baloney, and when she bent to pick it up, she saw me under the desk."
"Did she scream?"
"No. On the contrary, she seemed more pleased than alarmed. I guess she's been hoping to find a man under her desk for years. It was like a dream come true to her. Anyway, when I tried to get out from under there, I got all tangled up under her skirt. After that, one thing followed another sort of naturally."
"You didn't mind her being fat?"
"Who am I to mind?" Sammy patted his belly meaningfully. "Erotically speaking, I believe in equal rights for fat people," he told Llona.