"I had a session with the law this afternoon myself," he said, and related how he had gone to Grayson's office to find Karen Holmes already there and the body on the floor.
"What do the police think?"
'They're not saying," Webb replied. "I don't think they know."
"Where did they get my picture?"
**You had three of those tourist cards when you came, didn't you?"
"Sure"
ONE MINUTE PAST EIGHT
"They had your picture on them, didn't they? And Immigration took two of them? Hell, it's simple; the trouble is you're not thinking. Segurnal knows when you got here. They borrow a photo from Immigration, make copies, and spread them around.**
Silently Jeff agreed that the explanation was simple. What discouraged him now was die fact that Segurnal could work so swiftly and efficiently and, recalling things Cordovez had said, he began to wonder how long he could keep his freedom now that his picture had been published. To add to his dismay was the knowledge of that thirty-day term of arrest that was waiting for him if Pedro Vidal decided it was necessary.
"Why should they be looking for me at ail?" he demanded querulously.
"I don't know," Webb said. "Why did you disappear?"
"I had a row with Grayson earlier/' Jeff said, deciding that he had very little to lose in confiding in Webb. "I got a couple of scabs on my knuckles and a cut mouth/' he said, "They're going to be hard to explain unless I can pick something out of the hat before I get grabbed/'
He hesitated, considering Webb's background and Ms mission, and now his mind began to work and he put his thoughts in order,
"You didn't get your cash, hunh?"
"Not yet."
"Did you expect to?"
"What do you mean?"
"Did Grayson make you any promise?"
"Hell, yes. That's why I went to his office this afternoon. He told me this morning he'd have four hundred thousand bolivars—which is the same as a hundred and twenty grand and just as good—by four thirty. In five-hundred-bolivar bills/' he said. "Eight packs of a hundred bills each. He said it would be all wrapped up and ready to go and I'm
damn store lie wouldn't con me if lie didn't think lie could deliver."
Jeff agreed with, the statement, though lie did not say so. "And you think Spencer might have it?"
"I just want to be sure."
"You knew him in Las Vegas?"
"Sure I knew him."
"What kind of a guy is lie? Could he have killed Baker or Grayson? Or both?"
"Dan Spencer," Webb said disdainfully, "is a mouse with the heart of a chicken. He hasn't the guts to kill anyone. He wouldn't' even swing at you unless he was cornered and he's too fast on his feet for that,"
"He had guts enough to blackmail Grayson."
"Who told you?" Webb demanded. "What kind of blackmail?"
Jeff spoke of the checkbook he had inspected and his theory of the reason for the payments.
"That could be/' Webb admitted. "Grayson was running scared and Spencer knew all about the trouble. He's not the kind to get greedy about a big score so he tried a small tap; when it worked he was on the payroll."
"He was also around here this afternoon."
"Where?"
Jeff pointed up the street and explained how Spencer had come along with his invitation to have a beer,
"He could have seen somebody else besides me."
Webb thought it over a silent moment. A match scratched loudly and his squarish, muscular face was highlighted as he put the flame to his cigarette. When darkness came again he said:
"If he did he won't be telling if there's a chance to collect. He's the kind of guy that fools around with things he can't handle and winds up dead."
"So how do you figure It?" Jeff said. "You're not standing around here for the fun of it."
"You know I'm not, ... I'll tell you/' he said after a moment's pause. "Have you ever been In the Westwind or any of those places in Vegas?"
"No."
"But you've been in gambling casinos where they play roulette."
"I've been In a couple."
"Well, in our place the drinks are free to gamblers. If you're having a play at the wheel or the dice game the drinks are on the house and you can generally find one at your elbow if you're not too busy to turn around. It keeps the gamblers happy and there's an angle, too, because a guy—or a dame either for that matter—with a few shots under his belt sometimes gets to thinking bigger than he should. If he's going well he gets more confidence and if it's the other way he gets the courage to forget the percentages and try to get even.
"It don't always work out for us because sometimes you run into a guy who is practically stiff—that kind gets real lucky sometimes—and he's on a streak and he hasn't got sense enough to drag down. I've watched guys like that who couldn't hardly see, guys you practically have to hold on the stool, stagger away from the table with a week's profits. But it don't happen often. Mostly the liquor works for us.
"But what I'm sayin' about Dan Spencer is this. He's a moocher. He used to hang around the gambling rooms and move in on some lush and watch his chance. When he thought he could get away with it he'd cop a couple of chips. He had it worked out so it was pretty hard to catch him but he'd been thrown out of half the joints In town and sometimes he'd get roughed up. Word got around. Finally the paper gave him the bounce and he drifted. I
didn't know where he'd gone, or care, but what you say fits.
"Dan Spencer," he said, "is a scavenger. A hundred and twenty grand in cash is something he could smell a block and a half away. If he located it, and nobody was looking, and he thought he could get away with it, he'd grab it and run—if he didn't get scared to death thinking about it,"
He grunted softly, a disdainful sound. "If you're trying to figure him for murder, forget it. But that money's around somewhere and I came a long way to collect. I may be grabbing at straws, but I'm going to go over Spencer's apartment like a vacuum cleaner and he's going to help. If you want to come you're invited."
He stopped abruptly, stiffened slightly, and dropped his cigarette. "Here he comes now," he said. "Let's go."
Jeff saw the thin, stooped silhouette as it passed the front windows of the newspaper office. He still was not positive, but Webb seemed to be, and now he was moving a step behind the man from Las Vegas, slanting diagonally across the pavement to intercept Dan Spencer.
Webb seemed to make no noise as he walked and Jeff, not knowing just what might develop, found himself moving on the balls of his feet. He sidestepped a man who was walking uphill and then Webb moved farther ahead so that he could come alongside Spencer from the inside of the walk. When he was close he spoke softly.
"Hi, Danny boy," he said. "Keep moving!"
Spencer's thin form seemed to straighten as he hesitated; then he was walking again, but slowly, as though he lacked the strength to put one foot in front of the other. Without turning his shoulders, his head came round first one way to look at Jeff, and then the other.
"Come on, boy," Webb said. "Your feet are dragging. Feel this thing in your back? Know what it is?"
"It—if s a gun. Take it easy, Carl," he pleaded, stuttering
now. He glanced round at Jeff and solicited his support. "Tell him to take It easy, Mr, Lane. . . . I don't know what this is all about/' he said, a note o£ rising hysteria in his voice.
"See that doorway up ahead/' Webb said. "That wide one. We'll stop there and I'll tell you what it's all about, fm not going to start popping this thing in the street but I'd just as soon bend it over your head if you get noisy."
He reached out and pulled Spencer to a stop, half spinning him about. "This is fine/' he said. "Do you know why I'm in town?'*
"No/' Spencer said, and then appealed again to Toff. "What is this?"
"It's his idea/' Jeff said. "He'll tell you."