Guilty as Hell

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Hal Begley, president and sole owner of Hal Begley Associates, buzzed his secretary.

“Ask Miss Morse to come in, please.”

He did a quick isometric exercise while he waited. A big, well-tailored man in his middle thirties, Begley had the look of a former college athlete. In his business, the facade was important. As a matter of cold fact, he had lasted a single semester at a second-rate college, and he was totally uninterested in athletics. He was doing well. Two years earlier his taxable income had passed $100,000. His firm occupied a suite of offices in a high-rent building on North Miami Avenue, and Begley himself owned an oceanfront property in Coconut Grove. His manner was crisp, genial and self-assured, and it concealed the fact that he was beginning to lose his nerve.

Candida Morse, his executive assistant, came in from an adjoining office. She was younger than Begley, a blonde in a pink suit that had originated in the workrooms of a famous New York designer. She wore it well. She was a slender girl with delicately carved features. She looked smart and ambitious, and in her case it was more than a facade. She was very smart and very ambitious, as her employer had reason to know.

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