Free The Big Bite by Gerry Travis Page A

course.”
    Knox was beginning to believe that she was no more than she claimed to be, that the vague hunch he had had when she first addressed him was not going to pay off. Then she reached abruptly for her brandy glass, struck her glasses so that they fell to the floor, moved her foot and stepped on the glasses. The crunch was quite distinct.
    “Oh dear, how clumsy of me.” She looked nearsightedly up at him. “I’m so awkward without my glasses. But I dislike wearing them. I think they rather detract from a woman’s appearance, don’t you?”
    “I find you charming with or without them,” Knox assured her.
    “I have another pair in my cabin. Would you be so kind as to help me get them? I know I’d stumble alone.”
    He rose promptly. “Of course.”
    Knox took her arm to guide her. She did not seem to need much help, although once outside in the darkness he had to steer her sharply from a head-on collision with a flowering mimosa. She did not speak until they reached her door, where she stopped and fumbled at the catch of her over-the-shoulder bag. “Oh, dear.”
    “May I?”
    She handed him the bag. He dug through cigarettes and matches and a small radio-type tube, and finally found her key. He opened the door, returned the key to the bag and the bag to Adele Fisher, and then reached in for the light switch.
    When the light flared up, she merely blinked, although the room had the appearance of having been used for a small rodeo. The chairs were overturned, their bottoms slashed; pictures were askew on the walls; the writing desk was open and papers were spread everywhere; and a tape recorder lay in pieces in the middle of the litter.
    Knox steered her along the wall to the bedroom door where she bumbled in. He stood back and waited. She returned with a pair of glasses exactly like the others perched on her rather long but well-shaped nose. She stopped in the doorway.
    “Oh! Who the damned—”
    Knox listened in admiration. Etymologists apparently had access to many words; she knew the more violent ones of several languages.
    She stopped suddenly as if remembering that she was not alone. “Excuse me. I—but this is terrible!”
    Before he could find an answer, she had dropped to her knees beside the tape recorder and began counting from the scattered but intact rolls of tape. Knox thought he saw a flash of relief cross her strained features, but it was gone too quickly for him to be certain.
    She rose and looked at him. “Did you have anything to do with this, Mr. Knox?”
    “Good Lord, no! Why should I?”
    His surprise was so obviously genuine that she flushed. “I—well, you’re a detective—”
    “An insurance agent,” he said. “I assure you that if I had done this, I’d have been much neater.”
    She looked at him as if seeing him fully for the first time. “Yes, I’m sure.” She looked about her again. “Oh, damn!”
    “Is anything missing?”
    “I don’t think so.”
    Knox said, “But what could anyone have wanted in here? Surely you keep your money in the safe.”
    “Oh, yes. It wasn’t money. If anything, it was my data they were after.”
    Knox did not answer.
    She was busily putting her tape recorder back into one piece, and in a short while she had deftly reassembled it. She sat down wearily.
    “Mr. Knox, I don’t know anyone else to turn to. I know you’re working on a case, but would you consider taking on another?”
    Knox lowered himself gently into a chair. “For what purpose?”
    “Someone did this. I want to know who!”
    “The police—” he began.
    She cut him off sharply. “I don’t want the police—or anyone else—to know about this.” Her gaze met his squarely. “And if I become your client, you’ll have to respect my confidence.”
    “I will anyway,” he assured her. “Please understand that I’m not a private detective as you think of one. I work for an insurance company and—”
    “Even so, you’ve had more experience at this sort of thing