inquiries we learned that you had at one time known her quite well. It occurred to me that you might be in possession of some facts about her that would assist us in our investigation."
A saponaceous smile, meant to be genial, parted the man's heavy lips.
"Sure, I knew the Canary—a long time ago, y' understand." He permitted himself a sigh. "A fine, high-class girl, if I do say so. A good looker and a good dresser. Too damn bad she didn't go on with the show business. But"—he made a repudiative motion with his hand—"I haven't seen the lady, y' understand, for over a year—not to speak to, if you know what I mean."
Mannix clearly was on his guard, and his beady little eyes did not once leave the District Attorney's face.
"You had a quarrel with her perhaps?" Markham asked the question incuriously.
"Well, now, I wouldn't go so far as to say we quarrelled. No." Mannix paused, seeking the correct word. "You might say we disagreed—got tired of the arrangement and decided to separate; kind of drifted apart. Last thing I told her was, if she ever needed a friend she'd know where to find me."
"Very generous of you," murmured Markham. "And you never renewed your little affair?"
"Never—never. Don't remember ever speaking to her from that day to this."
"In view of certain things I've learned, Mr. Mannix"—Markham's tone was regretful—"I must ask you a somewhat personal question. Did she ever make an attempt to blackmail you?"
