Nothing More Than Murder

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WANTED: Unencumbered woman for general work in out-of-town home. Forty to forty-five; able to wear size 14 uniform. Excellent wages, hours. Box No. –

"I'll let you write in the box number," I told the girl behind the counter. "Have to let you do something to earn your money."

She smiled, kind of like an elevator boy smiles when you ask him if he has lots of ups and downs. "Yes, sir. What is your name, please?"

"Well," I said, "I'm going to pay for the ad now."

"Yes, sir," she said, just as much as to say you're damned right you're going to pay now. "We have to have your name and address, sir."

I told her I was placing the ad for a friend, "Mrs. J.J. Williamson, room four-nineteen, Crystal Arms Hotel," and she wrote it down on a printed slip of paper and stabbed it over a spike with a lot of others.

"That runs one word over three lines. If you like, I think I can eliminate a-"

"I want it printed like it stands," I said. "How much?"

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