Oh, to be a fly on the wall of that room. Ben was, despite the nature of his work, not a professional spook. He'd sell his left nut for the super-spy gadgets from the pre-occupation pulp novels that the Nazis hated so much. A bug to hear just what they were talking about, rather than trying to read lips, and doing a miserable job of it. 

Still, Jacqueline and this John in the office seemed to be pretty chummy, but nothing scandalous. Sure, she lit a smoke off of his, but that wasn't anything inherently nefarious. Ben snapped a photo of that momentary closeness anyway. The little rendezvous felt more like a pair of old business partners talking about a deal rather than a sweltering tryst between lovers. Ben supposed that wasn't outside the realm of possibility. Hollywood types have been getting "party aides" from the docks for decades, and despite what the Krauts liked to think that everything marched to their tune, the Nips enjoyed their cut on the opium trade. 

Could that be what was going on? Jacqueline didn't look the type, with her sophistication and charm, but the prettiest vipers were usually the deadliest. Snapping a few more photos, Ben watched the scene with a growing sense of sensational curiosity. Not merely for the prospect of some grandiose silver-screen plot, but just how interesting his mark was. 

Here Ben was expected another titty-shoot and a quick buck, but this Jacqueline had shown him that she was as smart as she was pretty, and had the moxie to back it all up. Where was she when he cut the perfect picture of a man in uniform? It seemed a damn shame for her to be stuck with the ball and chain that was her husband... but then again, everyone needed to eat. Mr. Schultz was their mutual meal ticket, after all. 

Satisfied with his photos for the time being, Ben would do what he did best: wait and watch. He figured that he'd need to resume his part as the lady's shadow once she made her departure.