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Just as I had predicted, Broxden turned up a few minutes later, looking harassed. He hurried through the door and looked up and down the crowded side-street until he spotted us lounging against the wall. He beckoned us over. I took a final drag and stubbed out my cigarette. "Oh, it is you, Gask," Broxden muttered as we approached, as if he had expected somebody else to be here. Then he looked askance at Campsie, who was standing with eyes demurely downcast at my side. "Mister Broxden," I said expansively, "Let me introduce my, ah, associate, Miss Campsie Burnside. I hope she will be helping me with this case." Broxden frowned briefly, then muttered "come on" before leading us through the building and into his office. He gestured at a couple of the overstuffed chairs, then threw himself into the swivel chair. A much nicer one than the article behind the desk in my office, I noted. "Any progress, Gask?" he said, seemingly distracted. I guess he had a lot on his mind. "Early days yet," I replied ambiguously, "A few leads to follow up, though." "Okay," he mumbled, "You're the expert. But I want this sorted out as quickly as possible." I nodded. "To that end," I went on, "I would like to invite you to retain my assistant here." Broxden frowned. "You want more money already, Gask?" he asked sharply. I smiled wryly. "No, sir. Just a dollar to make it all legal for me to work with Miss Burnside. Client confidentiality, and all that." He stared at me for a second, then grunted and reached for his wallet. I turned to Campsie. "Please write Mister Broxden a receipt, Miss Burnside," I reminded her, using my best talking-to-clients voice. "Right away, Mister Gask," he replied, clearly picking up on the correct tone of voice to use under these circumstances. While Campsie was scribbling in her ubiquitous notebook, Broxden stared at his desk, finally managing to focus on something on the desktop itself. "I've got that list you asked for," he announced without me having to remind him. He was clearly taking this seriously. He handed over a sealed manila envelope which looked a little bit like I was receiving an anonymous cash sweetener, together with a single bill which I gave to Campsie. "Thank you," I said, pocketing the envelope without opening it, "And now we'd like to interview Miss Fordun." Broxden looked confused again, then brightened. "Yes, you did say you wanted to talk to Machany," he said, picking up the desk phone.
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Part 21