"Wonder if she could give me a luck charm?" asked Sam.

"If you've got the dust, she can make you anything. Them as lives around
here says she's a witch. Maybe so. I think she's some cursed half-breed,
myself. None too good now, I tell you."

"Lived here long?"

"Who? Me?"

"No, the woman."

"I've been here five years, and she was here before me."

"I suppose she has plenty of customers, eh?"

"You bet she has. The fool-killer ought to lay around here for a while.
There were two dandy blokes come out of there this morning."

Sam started, and inwardly cursed his stupidity in letting his game get
away from him. The two men of which the bar-keeper spoke, were probably
the very persons he wanted, so, in an indifferent tone, he inquired:

"What's her office hours?"

"Any time night or day I reckon. The two swells came out about 10, I
guess. Maybe later."

"She don't throw on much style?"