He could not see how she could have killed either Baker or her husband, but she could have been involved as the instigator. She had stayed in the car, according to Cor-dovez, while Fiske prowled about the hotel. Both knew that he, Jeff, had left here this afternoon to see Grayson at his office. But remembering the blue tinge on that face and the welts that marked it, he could not believe she could have made them, not unless she had been able to knock him unconscious with the first blow. What had been done to Grayson had been done by a man.
Why not Fiske? He had the motive, he could have made the opportunity. If he needed an alibi, the woman could supply it.
Yet even as these thoughts came to Jeff he knew it would do no good to voice them. He could accuse and they could deny. He had no proof and could think of no way of getting any. His own accomplishment was the understanding of the relationship of these two which made possible a motive for murder he had not considered before. But he was through for the moment and he knew it.
He stood up and Fiske rose with him, his round face relieved but his bespectacled gaze revealing no uncertainty. He nodded to the woman and thanked her for the brandy. To Fiske he said:
"If you want to call the police when I leave it's (X K. with me.**
"I don't think we will," Diana said. "They'll only come and clutter up the place, and as I said before I don't think either of us is in a vengeful mood. Good night, Mr. Lane."
Julio Cordovez stepped on the starter when Jeff opened
ONE MINUTE PAST EIGHT
the car door and this time, as they started to roll downhill, Jeff spoke of the things that had been said, his voice a monotone of dejection.
"Yes/' Cordovez said when the information had been given. "It is discouraging, but it is good that you came. If you had not done so you would not understand this man and this woman. As you say, you have no proof, but you now have a motive that did not exist for you before. . . You wish to see Dan Spencer?"
"Yeah/' Jeff said, "If you can find a telephone maybe you can get an idea when he should be through/'
They were in the valley now and presently Cordovez pulled into a gas station. When he had given his order to - the attendant he disappeared inside,
"Spencer will be finished by midnight and perhaps before," he announced when he came back. "It is now ten minutes after eleven."
"Let's go," Jeff said. And later, as they approached the downtown section, he roused himself and said: "I think 111 handle this one alone."
"As you wish."
"You go down to Segurnal and see what happened there this afternoon. See if you can find out how they're figuring this one. Also—"
"Yes?" Cordovez said when Jeff hesitated.
Td like you to see Miss Holmes and tell her 111 be at your place in case she wants to get in touch with me."
"You think this is wise?"
"If you mean can I trust her—yes. I wouldn't be here now if it wasn't for her."
"That is true."
"She knows I didn't kill Grayson and I think she'd like to help if she can. She might know something we don't. You can explain it. What I mean is"—Jeff paused because he was not exactly sure just what he meant and could find
no good reason for his concern—"if she doesn't know anything, tell her to keep away from me. I don't want her to get In any trouble on my account. But if she should know something—"
"I understand***
Cordovez made a turn into a narrow hillside street.
"I will let you out at the corner/' he said, "and point' out the proper building. You will want to wait near by, but I would not stand in one place too long."
"Oh?"
"The city police are not as smart as the oficiales of Segnrnal but one could become curious."
"Ill watch it," Jeff said as the car stopped at the intersection. He followed Cordovez's pointing finger and located the doorway to the Bulletin halfway down the block. "See you back at your place," he said, and then moved into the shadows, walking downhill and keeping to the curb.
It was quieter now. Cars were still parked on one side, but the few pedestrians were faceless individuals in the darkness and the doorways he passed were obscure. Opposite the newspaper he stopped to let his eyes become accustomed to the darkness. He could see a front office through the barred and open windows on the street floor. Light glowed more brightly from some room beyond, and far back in the adjacent hall he could make out the rolls of newsprint.
He found a cigarette and lit it, standing now so that he faced the street. Footsteps coming downhill made him turn his head. A man and woman, walking close together and speaking softly, passed behind him and presently the silence caine again. It had a strange, narcotic effect on his senses so that he was not aware of any sound or any movement behind him until something brushed against his
ONE MDWTE PAST EIGHT
shoulder and told him he was not alone. Before he could react the voice came, its accents clipped and quiet.
"Buenos noches, senor."
Without actually moving, Jeff felt as if he had jumped a foot and then the tension" hit him solidly to hold him rigid and close his throat. It took a tremendous effort to break his paralysis but when his mind began to work there was nothing in it but hopelessness and despair.
So this is it, he thought. The long arm of Segurnal had caught up with him and he had been a fool to think he could long escape it. So all right, he thought. You tried and you muffed it somehow so take your medicine. He took a small breath and moved his head slowly, still not recognizing the voice until it came again.
"You're hot, Lane. You ought to watch it."
Jeff stared until the face at his shoulder swam into focus. Because his nerves were frayed his first reaction was one of anger rather than relief.
"Jesus, Webb!" he said and let his breath out in a long blast. "Is that your idea of humor? You scared hell out of me. Where were you?"
"In the doorway here. I saw you come but I thought Td see what you had in mind. You gonna wait for Spencer?"
"Good enough. We'll wait together." He bent his head to examine his watch and slid a folded newspaper out from under his arm, "Take a look at this," he said. "We've got a little time. Take it up to the corner where there's some light. Ill stay here just in case."
Jeff took the paper, nerves quieting but still hesitant as he considered the suggestion. He did not understand the reason for it and he was reluctant to leave, yet something in Carl Webb's tone told him this was no idle whim. He glanced around, estimating the distance to the comer, took
another look across the street, and started off, his legs stretching.
Light from a tiny soft-drink stand proved sufficient for his needs and he saw that he held a Spanish-language newspaper whose masthead proclaimed it: Esfera. It had been folded twice and when he turned it over his jaw dropped and his eyes popped with incredulity.
For what he saw was a one-column picture topping a one-column head. He could not read the head but the photograph was agonizingly familiar because it was his own. Having no idea where it came from, he stared at it a long moment, fascinated, despairing, and empty inside. When he realized what he was doing, he glanced up to see if anyone had noticed him; then wheeled, and hurried back into the temporary security of the darkness.
Carl Webb was standing just where Jeff had left him. He accepted the newspaper and put it back under his arm,
"Kind of knocked you over, Hunh?" he said. "I told you you were hot."
"What's it say?"
"My Spanish is weak, but I think it says you're wanted for questioning. Did you knock him off?"
It was not an accusation and carried no overtones. It was simply a routine question and he accepted Jeff's denial without comment.