“No. He pulled a fast one with Cushing. He said he was a special investigator and sort of gave Cushing to understand he was from your office. Cushing talked a little bit. I don’t know how much... Suppose we could throw a scare into this bird for impersonating an officer?”
“Special investigator doesn’t mean anything,” Selby said slowly. “Let’s go slow on bothering about what the other people are doing, Rex, and solve the case ourselves. After all, we have all the official machinery at our disposal, and we’ve got a head start.”
“Not very much of a head start,” the sheriff said. “We collect the facts and the other fellows can use them.”
“We don’t need to tell them all we know,” Selby pointed out.
“That’s one of the things I wanted to ask you about. Suppose we clamp down the lid on information?”
“That’s okay by me.”
“All right, we’ll do it. Now here’s something else for you. Mr. and Mrs. Leslie Smith are phonies. They gave an address of 3350 Blair Drive. There isn’t any such number. There are about fifty automobiles registered to Leslie Smiths in various parts of the state.”
“Okay,” Selby said after a moment, “it’s up to you to run down all fifty of those car owners.”
“I was talking with Cushing,” Brandon went on, “and he says they were a couple of kids who might have been adventuring around a bit and used the first alias that came into their heads.”
“Cushing may be right,” Selby rejoined, “but we’re solving this case, he isn’t. It stands to reason that someone got into the minister’s room through one of the adjoining rooms. That chair being propped under the doorknob would have kept the door of three twenty-one from opening. Both doors were locked on three twenty-three. I’m inclined to favor three nineteen.”
“But there wasn’t anyone in three nineteen.”
Selby said, “Let’s make absolutely certain of that, Rex. I don’t like the way Cushing is acting in this thing. He’s not co-operating as well as he might. Suppose you get hold of him and throw a scare into him?
“And here’s something else,” Selby went on. “I noticed that the writing on the letter which had been left in the typewriter was nice neat typewriting, almost professional in appearance.”
“I hadn’t particularly noticed that,” the sheriff said, after a moment, “but I guess perhaps you’re right.”
“Now then, on the scenario, which was in his brief case,” Selby pointed out, “the typing was ragged, the letters in the words weren’t evenly spaced. There were lots of strike-overs and the punctuation was rotten. Suppose you check up and make sure that both the scenario and the letter were written on the same typewriter.”
“You mean two different people wrote them, but on the same machine?”
“Yes. It fits in with the theory of murder. By checking up on that typing we can find out a little more about it. Now, Rex, we should be able to find out more about this man. How about labels in his clothes?”
“I’m checking on that. The coat was sold by a firm in San Francisco. There weren’t any laundry marks on his clothes. But I’ll check up on this other stuff, Doug, and let you know. Keep your head, son, and don’t worry. We can handle it all right. G’by.”
Selby hung up the telephone as Amorette Standish slipped in through the door and said in a low voice, “There’s a man in the outer office who says he has to see you upon a matter of the greatest importance.”
“Won’t he see one of the deputies?”
“No.”
“What’s his name?”
“Carl Bittner.”
Selby nodded slowly. “Show him in,” he said.
Carl Bittner was filled with bustling efficiency as he entered the room. Almost as tall as Selby, he was some fifteen years older. His face was thin, almost to the point of being gaunt; high cheekbones and thin lips gave him a peculiarly lantern-jawed appearance.
“I’m Bittner,” he said. “I’m with The Blade. I’m working on this murder case. What have you to say about it?”
“Nothing,” Selby said.
Bittner raised his eyebrows in surprise. “I’ve been working on some of the large dailies in Los Angeles,” he said. “Down there the district attorney co-operates with us and gives us any information he has.”
“It’s too bad you left there, then,” Selby said.
“The idea is,” Bittner went on, “that newspaper publicity will frequently clear up unexplained circumstances. Therefore, the district attorney feels it’s good business to cooperate with the newspapers.”
“I’m glad he does.”
“Don’t you feel that way?”
“No.”
“There’s some chance we could identify the body, if you’d tell us everything you know.”
“Just what information did you want?”
“Everything you know,” Bittner said, dropping into a chair, lighting a cigarette and making himself thoroughly at ease.
“So far,” Selby said, “I have no information which would enable me to identify the dead man.”
“Don’t know anything about him, eh?”
“Virtually not a thing.”
“Wasn’t he mixed up with some Hollywood picture actress?”
“Was he?”
“I’m asking you.”
“And I’m asking you.”
“Don’t some of your investigations lead you to believe there’s a picture actress mixed up in the case?”
“I can’t very well answer that question.”
“Why?”
“As yet I haven’t correlated the various facts.”
“When do you expect to correlate them?”
“I don’t know.”
Bittner got to his feet, twisted his long mouth into a grin and said, “Thank you very much, Mr. Selby. The Blade will be on the street in about two hours. I’ll just about have time to get your antagonistic attitude written up against the deadline. Call me whenever you have anything new. Good-by.”
He slammed the door of Selby’s office triumphantly, as though he had succeeded in getting the district attorney to say exactly what he wanted said.
Chapter VIII
Selby switched on the lights in his office and read the terse telegram he had received from the chief of police at Millbank, Nevada: “BROWER HAD MANY FRIENDS AMONG MINISTERS IMPOSSIBLE IDENTIFY FRIEND MENTIONED FROM DESCRIPTION.”
Selby consulted his wristwatch. Shirley Arden and Trask should arrive to keep their appointment within fifteen minutes.
Selby spread out The Blade on his desk. Big headlines screamed across the front page: “SHERIFF AND DISTRICT ATTORNEY BAFFLED BY CRIME. NEW AND INCOMPETENT OFFICIALS ADMIT HELPLESSNESS — REFUSE AID OF PRESS — UNIDENTIFIED CLERGYMAN MURDERED IN DOWNTOWN HOTEL!”
There followed a more or less garbled account of the crime, but that which made Selby’s jaw clinch was a column of “Comment” under the by-line of Carl Bittner, written with the technique of a mud-slinging metropolitan newspaper reporter.
“When the district attorney, Selby, was interviewed at a late hour this afternoon,” the article stated, “he admitted he had no information whatever which would be of any value in solving the murder. This, in spite of the fact representatives of The Blade have been able to uncover several significant facts which will probably clear up the mystery, at least as to the identity of the murdered man.
“For some time a rumor has been rife that a prominent Hollywood picture actress figures in the case, that for reasons best known to himself District Attorney Selby is endeavoring to shield this actress. Pressed for information upon this point, Selby flew into a rage and refused to answer any questions. When it was pointed out to him that an identification of the victim, perhaps a solution of the crime itself, depended upon enlisting the aid of the press, he obstinately refused to divulge any information whatever, despite his admission that he was groping entirely in the dark.