"Park your fanny," I said, waving to a chair, "and have a drink."
He edged into the chair as if it was a bear-trap. Then he took off his hat, held it on his knees. His blond hair was slicked down, parted in the middle.
"How do you like working for me ?" I asked, pushing the bottle of Scotch and a glass towards him.
"I like it fine, Mr. Cain," he said nervously; shook his head at the bottle. "No, thank you. I don't use it."
"You mean you don't drink?"
"Not in my profession," he returned seriously. "Alcohol dulls one's powers of observation."
I nodded gravely. "So it does," I said. "How long have you been in this racket ?"
"You mean how long have I been a private investigator?" he asked, blushing. "Well, not long." He looked at me earnestly. "As a matter of fact, Mr. Cain, I—this is my first big job."
"Well, you're doing fine," I said. "It doesn't worry you to work for me ?" I grinned to soften the blow, added, "I'm wanted for three murders."
He stared at his hat, twisted it, put it on the table. "My view of the matter, Mr. Cain, is you've been unjustly accused by an unscrupulous person," he said.
I blinked. "You really think that?" I said, glancing at Tim whose mouth had fallen open.
"Oh yes," Clairbold said. "I've studied the facts very closely. You see, i have my reputation to consider. It wouldn't do for me to work for anyone guilty of murder. I have satisfied myself that you are an innocent party to the murders."
"Pity there aren't more like you around," I said. "Well, you have something to tell me, haven't you?"
"Yes. I have a full report here," he said, drawing a sheaf of papers from his pocket.
I hurriedly waved them away. "Just tell me," I said. "Reading isn't my strong suit."
He squared his shoulders and fixing his eyes on the wall behind my head, he said, "At ninethirty p.m. this evening, I received instructions from Mr. Davis to shadow Juan Gomez, a jai alai player, suspected of running Cuban nationals between this coast and Havana."
I ran my fingers through my hair, looked at Tim, shook my head.
Clairbold went straight on. "I took up a convenient position where I could observe Gomez without being seen. He was playing on the jai alai court at the time. At the end of the game, I waited in my car at the players' entrance. Gomez eventually appeared with a red-headed woman I identified as Lois Spence. They drove away in a Cadillac." He paused to look at his report.
"Never mind the licence number," I said, guessing what he was looking for. "Where did they go?"
He put his report away regretfully. "They took the coast road, and I had no difficulty in following them. The traffic was heavy and I kept two cars behind them. Three miles beyond Dayden Beach there's a branch road that goes down to the sea. They took this road, and I thought it unwise to follow. My headlights would have revealed my presence. I left my car and followed on foot. At the end of the road I found the Cadillac had been parked, and I observed Gomez and Miss Spence walking along the beach in an easterly direction. There was no cover, and it was impossible to go after them without being seen. Fortunately, they did not go far, and I was able to watch them from behind the Cadillac. They waited for several minutes, then a boat, out at sea, began signalling. Gomez returned the signals with a flash-light, and the boat came in. She was a thirty-footer, painted dark green. She wasn't equipped with outriggers and had no mast. One of the windshields on the pilot house was broken." He cleared his throat, holding his hand before his mouth. "I then observed a concrete ramp, cleverly concealed in the sand, had been built out to sea, allowing the boat to come practically up to the beach. The boat tied up to the ramp. Gomez and Miss Spence went aboard." He paused here, blushed slightly. "My instructions were to find out where the boat was going to. From where I was it was impossible to hear anything. I decided to crawl to the boat, although the risk of detection was considerable. However, I succeeded."
I stared at him, imagining him crawling over the white moonlit sand towards a bunch of cutthroats who'd've rubbed him out without a thought. My estimation of him went up sharply.
"That was a nervy thing to have done," I said, and meant it.
The blush turned to a deep scarlet. "Well, I don't know," he said, rubbing his cheek with his hand. "You see, I've had a thorough training." He hesitated, then blurted out: "Although the Ohio School of Detection teaches through the mail, it doesn't leave anything to chance. They impressed on me that the art of stalking was a pretty useful thing to learn. I'd practised it quite a bit in my room."
Tim choked, coughed, looked away. I scowled at him.
"Go on," I said.
"I succeeded in reaching the concrete ramp, and hid behind it," Clairbold continued, as if it was just another daily task set by the Ohio School of Detection. "After a while Gomez and Miss Spence came on deck, and I heard what they said. He told her he would leave Havana at nine o'clock tomorrow night, drop his cargo at Pigeon Key, and come back here. She arranged to meet him, and then she left the boat. She drove away in the Cadillac. After further delay, another car arrived and four men, obviously Cubans, went on board."
"What were you doing all this time?" I asked, staring at him.
"I had dug myself a kind of fox-hole in the sand," he explained, "and buried myself. I kept a newspaper I had with me over my face so I could breathe, see and hear. It was an idea I got from the chapter in my course on watching suspected people in sandy districts." He brooded for a moment, said: "It's a very satisfactory course. I—I recommend it."
I blew out my cheeks. "It certainly thinks of everything," I said.
"The boat pulled away from the ramp and headed for Havana. I gave it time to clear and then I came back here to report," he concluded.
"Well, I'll be damned," I said.
He looked up. "I—I hope you're satisfied, Mr. Cain," he said anxiously.
"I'll say I am," I told him. "Now look, young fellow, you ought to be more careful. This is a tough mob, and you're taking too many risks. You've done a swell job, but I don't want to lose you."
He smiled. "Oh, I can take care of myself, Mr. Cain," he assured me. "I have learned boxing, and I can shoot."
I looked him over and wondered where he had left his muscles. Probably at home, I thought. He certainly hadn't brought them with him. "Did you learn boxing and shooting through the mail too?" I asked gently.
He blushed. "Well, yes. I haven't had a chance yet to try any of it out, but I understand the theory pretty well."
This time I didn't dare look at Tim. I took out my wallet, pushed over two hundred dollar bills, "That's for being a smart guy," I said. "Stick around, and I'll have something more for you before long."
His eyes lit up and he picked up the notes eagerly.
"I'm glad you're satisfied, Mr. Cain," he said. "This means a lot to me " He hesitated, plunged on: "If it's all right with you, I thought I might investigate this—er—house of ill-fame. Of course, I don't like going to such a place, but it's part of my job, isn't it?" He eyed me hopefully, seriously.