“Do you need a photocopy of this page?” Brenda asked.

“I need the original slip,” I said.

Brenda unclipped the blue receipt and handed it across the glass table.

At nine thirty, Arthur was sitting alone in the hotel lounge, staring into a cold cup of black coffee.

I sat down in the leather chair right across from him and laid the blue receipt flat on the dark mahogany table.

Arthur glanced down at the paper, then cleared his throat twice.