“How long had he been going under that name?”
“Two or three months.”
“What was the name before that?”
“Jack Waterbury.”
“Get this,” I said, “because it’s important. What was the name on his driving license?”
“Jack Waterbury.”
“One other thing. When I came in and asked you about gamblers, why did you tell me about Ringold?”
She said, “Honestly, Donald, you had me fooled. You certainly took me in on that one. You didn’t look like a detective. You looked like a — well, a sucker— You know what I mean. Occasionally a man comes in and gets in touch with either Jed or Tom Highland. They’ll have a poker game running.”
“Who’s Tom Highland?”
“He’s a gambler.”
“Connected with the Atlee outfit?”
“Yes.”
“And he’s in the same hotel?”
“Yes, room seven-twenty.”
“Why not look him up? If the papers went upstairs with Ringold and didn’t come down, and Highland is in the hotel, why doesn’t that add up to make an answer?”
“Because it doesn’t. Highland hasn’t got them.”
“How do you know?”
“Because Highland wouldn’t dare to hold out. There was a poker game going on in Highland’s room at the time, and they all say Highland never left it.”
“In a killing of that sort, the one who has the most perfect alibi is usually the one who did it.”
“I know, but these weren’t the sort of people who would lie. One of them was a business man. He’d have a fit if he thought he was being dragged into it as a witness. You were following Alta to the hotel, weren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“She asked you to do it?”
“No. Her dad.”
“How much does he know?”
“Nothing.”
“Well,” she said, “let’s don’t stand here and talk. Do you want to come up for a while?”
“No. I’ll get you your room and then go and raise some money.”
She put her hand in mine to steady herself as she came out of the car. Her hand was cold. I walked into the hotel with her, and said to the night clerk, “This is Evelyn Claxon. She’s my secretary. We’ve been doing some work late at the office. She had no baggage, so I’ll register and pay in advance.”
The clerk gave me a fishy eye.
I said to Esther for his benefit, “You go up and get to bed, Evelyn. Get a good night’s rest. You won’t need to come to the office in the morning until I telephone you. I’ll make it as late as possible. Perhaps not before nine or nine-thirty.”
The clerk handed me a fountain pen and a registration card. “Three dollars with bath,” he said, and then added, “single.”
I registered for her and gave him three one-dollar bills. He called the bellboy over and handed him a key. I gave the bellboy a dime, raised my hat, and walked out.
I went as far as the car, stood there for a minute, and then came back. The clerk’s lips tightened when he saw me. I said, “I want to ask you some questions about rates by the month.”
“Yes?”
I said, “It isn’t very satisfactory to me, having my secretary live way out in the sticks where it’s a nuisance getting back and forth. She has a sister who’s working here in town, and the two of them have been talking about getting a place in town where they could be together. How about a monthly rate?”
“Just the two girls?” he asked.
“Just the two girls.”
“We have something very attractive — some nice rooms we could give them on a permanent basis.”
“A corner room?”
“Well, no, not a corner room. It’d be an inside court room.”
“Sunlight?”
“Yes, sir. Sunlight. Not a great deal — of course they wouldn’t be here during the day except on Sundays and holidays if they’re working.”
“That’s right.”
The bellboy came back down in the elevator.
“Whenever they get ready to move in, I’ll be glad to talk rates with them,” the clerk said.
“Do you happen to have a floor plan of the hotel so that I can look at the rooms and figure on prices? I might have to make some salary adjustment. You see the girls are living at home now.”
He reached under the counter, took out a floor plan of the hotel, and started pointing out rooms. The switchboard buzzed. He moved over to it, and I picked up the floor plan, walked over, and started talking to him while he was taking the call. “How about this suite of rooms on the corner in front? Would that—”
He frowned at me and said, “What was that number again, please?”
He was holding a pencil over a pad. I shifted around so as to get a better light on the floor plan and be where I could watch his pencil as he wrote the number down. I didn’t need to. He repeated it. “Orange nine-six-four-three-two. Just a moment, please.”
He dialed the number on an outside extension, then when he had it on the line, plugged in the line and moved over to me. “What was it you wanted to know?”
“About that suite.”
“That’s rather expensive.”
“Well, you might give me prices on these three.” I checked three rooms. He went over to the desk, looked over a schedule, and wrote the prices on a slip of paper with the room numbers opposite. I folded the paper and put it in my pocket.
“You understand,” he said, “that includes everything: light, heat, maid service, and a complete change of linen once a week, fresh towels every day if desired.”
I thanked him, said good night, and went out. Two blocks down the street, I found a restaurant with a public phone. I went in and looked in the directory under the C’s, found Crumweather, C. Layton, attorney, office Fidelity Building. Down below that was the number of a residence telephone. It was Orange nine-six-four-three-two.
That was all I wanted to know.
Chapter thirteen
Bertha Cool, clad in gaudy striped silk pyjamas and a robe, was sprawled out in a big easy chair, listening to the radio. She said, “For Heaven’s sake, Donald, why don’t you go to bed and get some sleep? — and let me get some.”
I said, “I think I’ve found out something.”
“What?”
“I want you to get dressed and come with me.”
She looked at me in contemplative appraisal. “What is it this time?”
I said, “I’m going to put on a show. I may get into an argument with a woman. You know the way women work me. I won’t be tough enough. I want you along for moral support.”
Bertha heaved a tremendous sigh that I could see rippling all the way up from her diaphragm. “At last,” she said, “you’re getting some sense. That’s about the only excuse you could have made that would have dragged me up and out after I’ve got ready for bed. What is it, that blonde?”
“I’ll tell you about it after we get started.”
She heaved herself up out of the hugh reclining chair and said acidly, “If you’re going to keep on giving the orders, you’d better raise my salary.”
“Let me have the income, and I will.”
She walked past me into the bedroom, the floor boards creaking under her weight as she walked. She flung back over her shoulder, “You’re getting delusions of grandeur,” and slammed the bedroom door.
I switched off the radio, dropped into a chair, stretched my feet out, and tried to relax. I knew there was a tough job ahead.
Bertha’s sitting-room was a clutter of odds and ends, tables, bric-a-brac, books, ash trays, bottles, dirty glasses, matches, magazines, and an assortment of odds and ends piled around in such confusion that I didn’t see how it was ever possible to get things dusted. There was only one clear place in the whole room, and that was where Bertha had her big chair stretched out, a magazine rack on one side, a smoking stand on the other. The radio was within easy reaching distance, and the doors of a little cabinet were open, showing an assortment of bottles.