The elevator doors rattled open, and I raised my eyes from the papers on the table. A rather short but well-statured lady in her mid-thirties stepped out, and I could see how her light blue gaze began to waver as she noticed me. She blushed faintly, and her hand touched the long and straight straw-coloured hair, briefly and hesitatingly. I examined her with some mild curiosity. The light yellow dress and the matching bonnet, gloves and handbag were brand new, and stylish in a way that made me sure she belonged to a well-respected and wealthy family. She looked around in bewilderment, clasped her handbag tighter, as if trying to recover, and then forced herself to walk on. The carpeted floor muffled her footsteps as she passed me to the leftward corridor.

I arranged myself beside the table and opened the folder Mr. Ribbons had given me. I glanced through the sheet briefing the case: the victim was Mr. Stephen Bowlin, white male, age 52, stabbed to death in his apartment in North Christie. The evidence found at the crime scene included a piece of fabric torn from a women's overcoat, a bloody handprint, and a threatening note written by a left-handed person. There were seven known suspects. The piece of fabric had matched the overcoat of Mr. Bowlin's loan shark, Ms. Linda Rittenhouse, but her alibi for the time of the murder had been confirmed. The handprint and the handwriting didn't match any of the known suspects. Apparently, Mr. Ribbons hadn't listed his acquaintance as one of the suspects.

I heard Mr. Ribbons close the door behind me as I turned to the right towards the elevators. I passed three doors both sides of the corridor, and reached a small alcove with five wooden chairs and a matching small table. Not much room there, but I squeezed in.

It took some time to get him over his doubts, but finally I saw his eyes change. He turned towards the window, thinking.
- "I could give you the case file to look at," he said. "But I have to keep one piece of evidence."
He picked up a yellow folder from a pile on his table, took a piece of paper out of it, and handed me the file. I took it.
- "This piece of evidence is a handwritten note," he explained, "found at the crime scene. My problem is that I know that handwriting. I need to check out about it personally. I'll give it to you later."
I saw him hesitate for a moment, but when he continued his voice was determined.
- "I'd better get at this now." His eyes turned to me. "I need to make a phone call, privately. Can you wait in the hallway for 15 minutes?"
- "Yes, sure," I nodded.
- "Good. There are chairs behind the corner, near the elevator," he said, "I'll see you there."

It flashed through my mind that this case might bring me a way up in the circles if I cracked it. It would be a good idea to convince Mr. Ribbons to trust me. I clasped my hands and leaned towards him.
- "You know I can be discreet. You remember the Lander case with the old lady?" I paused for a moment and watched him intensely. "If you let me handle this case, I'll keep your acquaintance out of it. And if it turns out the killer can't be accused without it, I'll give the case back to you."
- "That would mean a quit case in your records." I could hear doubt in his voice. "Are you sure?"
- "Absolutely."

Mr. Ribbons looked at me with a serious expression on his round reddish face. Thick brown hair was hanging down on his forehead as it always did.
- "Well, I have this case," he said tentatively, "that I might need some help with, but I'm not yet quite sure I should pass it on."
I raised my eyebrow. That was a line I hadn't expected.
- "Why's that?" I asked and took a better position in the chair.
- "There's a complication. Someone I know might become involved."
- "Enough reason to hush it down?"
- "Not if my acquaintance is quilty. Otherwise, well.."
- "Discretion needed?" I looked straight into his grey eyes.
He frowned for a moment, opened his mouth to say something, but then just nodded.

The room I entered was a spacious one with a wide window that gave in sunlight. Mr. Ribbons sat in a leather chair behind a large mahogany table, and raised his eyes from a bunch of papers scattered on it. I had met him a few times before on behalf of the old lady, so I greeted him politely but casually. He nodded and pointed to a chair in the front of his table. I sat and faced him.