«Ah, too bad,» I said out loud. «Too bad. Must do. Okay, Charlie. I’ll be seeing you.»
I swayed a little, still groggy as a three-day drunk, swiveled slowly and prowled the room with my eyes.
A man was kneeling in prayer against the side of the bed. He wore a gray suit and his hair was a dusty blond color. His legs were spread out, and his body was bent forward on the bed and his arms were flung out. His head rested sideways on his left arm.
He looked quite comfortable. The rough deer-horn grip of the hunting knife under his left shoulder-blade didn’t seem to bother him at all.
I went over to bend down and look at his face. It was the face of Mr. Weber. Poor Mr. Weber! From under the handle of the hunting knife, down the back of his jacket, a dark streak extended.
It was not mercurochrome.
I found my hat somewhere and put it on carefully, and put the gun under my arm and waded over to the door. I reversed the key, switched the light off, went out, and locked the door after me and dropped the key into my pocket.
I went along the silent hallway and down the stairs to the office. An old wasted-looking night clerk was reading the paper behind the desk. He didn’t even look at me. I glanced through the archway into the dining room. The same noisy crowd was brawling at the bar. The same hillbilly symphony was fighting for life in the corner. The guy with the cigar and the John L. Lewis eyebrows was minding the cash register. Business seemed good. A couple of summer visitors were dancing in the middle of the floor, holding glasses over each other’s shoulders.
FIVE
I went out of the lobby door and turned left along the street to where my car was parked, but I didn’t go very far before I stopped and turned back into the lobby of the hotel. I leaned on the counter and asked the clerk: «May I speak to the maid called Gertrude?»
He blinked at me thoughtfully over his glasses.
«She’s off at nine-thirty. She’s gone home.»
«Where does she live?»
He stared at me without blinking this time.
«I think maybe you’ve got the wrong idea,» he said.
«If I have, it’s not the idea you have.»
He rubbed the end of his chin and washed my face with his stare. «Something wrong?»
«I’m a detective from L.A. I work very quietly when people let me work quietly.»
«You’d better see Mr. Holmes,» he said. «The manager.»
«Look, pardner, this is a very small place. I wouldn’t have to do more than wander down the row and ask in the bars and eating places for Gertrude. I could think up a reason. I could find out. You would save me a little time and maybe save somebody from getting hurt. Very badly hurt.»
He shrugged. «Let me see your credentials, Mr. —»
«Evans.» I showed him my credentials. He stared at them a long time after he had read them, then handed the wallet back and stared at the ends of his fingertips.
«I believe she’s stopping at the Whitewater Cabins,» he said.
«What’s her last name?»
«Smith,» he said, and smiled a faint, old, and very weary smile, the smile of a man who has seen too much of one world. «Or possibly Schmidt.»
I thanked him and went back out on the sidewalk. I walked half a block, then turned into a noisy little bar for a drink. A three-piece orchestra was swinging it on a tiny stage at the back. In front of the stage there was a small dance floor, and a few fuzzy-eyed couples were shagging around flat-footed with their mouths open and their faces full of nothing.
I drank a jigger of rye and asked the barman where the Whitewater Cabins were. He said at the east end of the town, half a block back, on a road that started at the gas station.
I went back for my car and drove through the village and found the road. A pale blue neon sign with an arrow on it pointed the way. The Whitewater Cabins were a cluster of shacks on the side of the hill with an office down front. I stopped in front of the office. People were sitting out on their tiny front porches with portable radios. The night seemed peaceful and homey. There was a bell in the office.
I rang it and a girl in slacks came in and told me Miss Smith and Miss Hoffman had a cabin kind of off by itself because the girls slept late and wanted quiet. Of course, it was always kind of busy in the season, but the cabin where they were — it was called Tuck-Me-Inn — was quiet and it was at the back, way off to the left, and I wouldn’t have any trouble finding it. Was I a friend of theirs?
I said I was Miss Smith’s grandfather, thanked her and went out and up the slope between the clustered cabins to the edge of the pines at the back. There was a long woodpile at the back, and at each end of the cleared space there was a small cabin. In front of the one to the left there was a coupé standing with its lights dim. A tall blond girl was putting a suitcase into the boot. Her hair was tied in a blue handkerchief, and she wore a blue sweater and blue pants. Or dark enough to be blue, anyhow. The cabin behind her was lighted, and the little sign hanging from the roof said Tuck-Me-Inn.
The blond girl went back into the cabin, leaving the boot of the car open. Dim light oozed out through the open door. I went very softly up on the steps and walked inside.
Gertrude was snapping down the top of a suitcase on a bed. The blond girl was out of sight, but I could hear her out in the kitchen of the little white cabin.
I couldn’t have made very much noise. Gertrude snapped down the lid of the suitcase, hefted it and started to carry it out. It was only then that she saw me. Her face went very white, and she stopped dead, holding the suitcase at her side. Her mouth opened, and she spoke quickly back over her shoulder: «Anna — achtung!»
The noise stopped in the kitchen. Gertrude and I stared at each other.
«Leaving?» I asked.
She moistened her lips. «Going to stop me, copper?»
«I don’t guess. What you leaving for?»
«I don’t like it up here. The altitude is bad for my nerves.»
«Made up your mind rather suddenly, didn’t you?»
«Any law against it?»
«I don’t guess. You’re not afraid of Weber, are you?»
She didn’t answer me. She looked past my shoulder. It was an old gag, and I didn’t pay any attention to it. Behind me, the cabin door closed. I turned, then. The blond girl was behind me. She had a gun in her hand. She looked at me thoughtfully, without any expression much. She was a big girl, and looked very strong.
«What is it?» she asked, speaking a little heavily, in a voice almost like a man’s voice.
«A Los Angeles dick,» replied Gertrude.
«So,» Anna said. «What does he want?»
«I don’t know,» Gertrude said. «I don’t think he’s a real dick. He don’t seem to throw his weight enough.»
«So,» Anna said. She moved to the side and away from the door. She kept the gun pointed at me. She held it as if guns didn’t make her nervous — not the least bit nervous. «What do you want?» she asked throatily.
«Practically everything,» I said. «Why are you taking a powder?»
«That has been explained,» the blond girl said calmly. «It is the altitude. It is making Gertrude sick.»
«You both work at the Indian Head?»
The blond girl said: «Of no consequence.»
«What the hell,» Gertrude said. «Yeah, we both worked at the hotel until tonight. Now we’re leaving. Any objection?»