From the branch post office I purchased a stamped envelope and a special delivery stamp. I addressed the envelope to Jerry Wegley, Brinmore Rooms, tore a page of newspaper into strips, folded some of the strips into the envelope, sealed it, and took a taxicab to the Brinmore Rooms.
The Brinmore Rooms consisted of a door on the street level, a flight of stairs, a little counter with a call bell, a register, and a fly-specked pasteboard placard with the words ‘Ring for Manager’ printed on it. I rang.
When nothing happened, I rang again. After another ten seconds, a thin-faced woman with a gold-toothed smile came out to see what I wanted.
‘Special delivery letter for Jerry Wegley,’ I said. ‘You want to take it in to him?’
‘No, he’s in 18, straight down the hall,’ she said shortly, folding her lips back down over her gold teeth and slamming the door of her room behind her as she turned back.
I went on down to 18, knocked three times gently on the door, and got no action. I tried to insert a knife blade along the side of the lock, and decided after five minutes that I was a failure as a burglar. I walked back down the threadbare carpet to the counter with its bell and register, lifted up the hinged gate in the counter, and looked around on the inside. There were a half dozen bundles of laundry, three or four magazines, and a pasteboard suitcase. I kept looking around and finally found what I wanted, a nail with a big heavy wire loop hanging on it. A chain hung from the loop, and the key dangled at the end of the chain. I took care to keep the chain from jingling against the wire as I took the key and walked back down the hall.
The passkey opened room 18 without any difficulty.
The bird had flown the coop.
There was some dirty underwear on the floor of the closet, a sock with a hole in the big toe, a rusty safety razor blade, and the stub of a lead pencil.
The bureau drawers yielded nothing but a frayed necktie which had begun to pull apart in the center, an empty gin bottle and a crumpled cigarette package. The bed hadn’t been slept in since it had last been made, although the sheets and pillow cases looked about ready for the laundry.
The place was dingy, smelly, dejected, and deserted. The mirror over the cheap pine bureau threw back a faded, distorted reflection of my face.
I went back to the closet and looked the underwear over for laundry marks. I found an old X-B391. It was pretty well faded. The same number had been written more recently and in a different handwriting on the waistband of the shorts.
I made a note of the number, left the room, locked the door, and paused long enough in front of the counter at the head of the stairs to slide the wire hoop down under the counter where it would look as though it had fallen off the nail.
Jerry Wegley had the last laugh. I’d paid him twenty-five dollars to slip me a gun which was hotter than a stovelid. Wegley went on duty at four o’clock in the afternoon and was off at midnight. He probably went to bed as a rule around two or three o’clock in the morning. This time he hadn’t gone to bed. Had it been because he’d learned what had been done with the gun he’d passed off on me?
I didn’t know, and had no immediate way of finding out.
I waited on the street until a cruising cab came along, and went out to the airport. An aviator who made a specialty of chartering planes to bridal couples agreed to take me to Yuma, Arizona, and seemed surprised that I was making the trip alone.
Once in Yuma, I followed a plan of operation which I had rehearsed in my own mind so many times that it made me feel I was playing a part in a play.
I went to the First National Bank, went to the window marked ‘New Accounts,’ and said, ‘My name is Peter B. Smith. I’m looking for some investments.’
‘What sort of investments, Mr. Smith?’
‘Anything that I can turn to quick advantage and make a profit.’
The assistant cashier smiled. ‘A lot of people are looking for these same things, Mr. Smith.’
‘Exactly,’ I said. ‘I don’t expect you to help me look, but if I find something, I’d appreciate having your reactions.’
‘You wish to open an account?’
‘Yes.’
I took two thousand dollars in cash from my pocket.
‘Where’re you going to live, Mr. Smith?’ he asked.
‘I haven’t got located yet.’
‘You come from the East?’
‘No, from California.’
‘Just got in?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did you have a business in California?’
‘Just sharpshooting,’ I said. ‘But I think California’s just about reached the maximum of its growth. Arizona has a long way to go.’
That was all the reference I needed. He made out a deposit slip, gave me a withdrawal card to sign, counted the two thousand dollars, and entered the amount in a deposit book. ‘Do you,’ he asked, ‘want a flat checkbook or a pocket checkbook?’
‘Pocket.’
He fitted a block of blank checks into an imitation leather folder stamped with the name of the bank, and handed it to me. I put it in my pocket, shook hands, and walked out.
I went to the Bank of Commerce, hunted up the new account man, gave the name of Peter B. Smith, shook hands, told him the same thing, and deposited two thousand dollars. I also rented a safety deposit box and put most of the balance of Sandra Birks’ money in there.
It was late afternoon by the time I’d secured a room, paid a month’s rent in advance, and explained to the landlady that my baggage would be along later.
I walked around town, sizing up the automobile agencies. I picked the one which looked as though it was doing the largest business, walked in, and asked to be shown a light sedan for immediate delivery. I told the salesman I was thoroughly familiar with the performance of the car, that what I wanted was an immediate delivery. I wanted a car that could start out and go. I’d prefer a demonstrator to a new car. He said he had a demonstrator he could have ready for the road in thirty minutes. I told him I’d be back. He asked if I wanted to buy it on contract, and I said no, I’d pay for it in cash. I whipped the checkbook from my pocket, asked the total amount that would be due, and wrote a check for one thousand six hundred and seventy-two dollars.
I signed the check and said, ‘This is my first day in Yuma. I am going to be in business here. You don’t know of any good investments, do you?’
‘What sort of investments?’
‘Things where a man can put a little money, figure on a quick turn-over, and large profit with no risk.’
It spoke volumes for his credulity that he stopped and gave the matter frowning concentration for several seconds before he shook his head slowly. ‘No, I don’t know of anything like that right now, but I’ll keep you in mind, Mr. Smith. Where are you going to be staying?’
I made a show of trying to recall the address, said, ‘I have rather a poor memory at times,’ and fished the rent receipt from my wallet. I held it so he could see the name of the apartment house. ‘Oh yes,’ he said, ‘I know the place. Well, I’ll keep in touch with you, Mr. Smith.’
‘Do that,’ I said. ‘I’ll be back in half an hour, and I want to be ready to roll.’
I went out to a restaurant, ordered the biggest steak on the menu, and polished it off with mince pie k la mode. I went back to the automobile agency to pick up the car. They had pinned my check to the top of a pile of papers.
‘You’ll have to sign your name here two or three times,’ the salesman said.
I noticed that someone had written in indelible pencil in the upper left-hand corner of my check the word ‘Okay,’ followed by the initials ‘GEC.’ I signed the name Peter B. Smith two or three times, shook hands all around, climbed in the car, and drove out. I went directly to the First National Bank. It lacked about fifteen minutes of closing time. I went to the counter and drew a sight draft on H. C. Helmingford for five thousand six hundred and ninety-two dollars and fifty cents. I drew a counter check for one thousand eight hundred dollars. I went to the cashier’s window and said, ‘I’m Peter Smith. I opened an account here today. I was looking for some investments. I have found one which is going to require immediate cash. I have here a sight draft drawn on H. C. Helmingford. I want this presented to him through the Security National Bank of Los Angeles. It will be honored immediately on presentation. I want it rushed.’