Johnny grimaced. “I guess I’ll have a couple of bad moments with Catch ’Em Alive.”
“He isn’t an unreasonable man,” Cobb said. “For instance, he asked me what I heard on the telephone line and when I told him nothing, he didn’t even press me.”
“Then you didn’t hear anything?”
Walter Cobb rubbed his palms together. His wife, watching him, snorted. “Now, don’t start that cat-and-mouse stuff, Wally. Spill it — without any frills.”
“Well, first,” said Cobb, “there were your two calls to the house. About two minutes went by and then they made a call. They have a dial phone, but the person at the other end who answered said that it was the H-C Ranch...”
“—Chatsworth!” exclaimed Johnny.
“So I assumed,” said Cobb, “but the party making the call asked for a Larry Piper...”
“Who’s he?”
“My dear Fletcher,” expostulated Cobb, “how could I know? I’m merely repeating what I heard over a telephone line. I couldn’t ask any questions, could I?”
“Stop it, Wally!” snapped Mrs. Cobb.
Cobb nodded surrender, then resumed his account. “Very well, this Larry Piper, who has a somewhat uncouth voice and is probably a ranch hand was told to watch his step and if anything suspicious happened to telephone at once. That was all, except that the speaker identified himself as Carl.” Cobb looked sharply at Johnny. “Carl, not Jim...”
“I got it,” Johnny replied. “Carl. I know him. Now, who was the second call to?”
“It went to the El Casa Rancho — the switchboard operator identified it. The caller wasn’t Carl, though — he had a deeper, harsher voice. He asked for Room 24...”
“24?” cried Johnny. “You’re sure about that?”
“The operator repeated the number.”
“But that’s my room!”
“Oh,” said Cobb. “And whose is Number 41?”
“Why 41?”
“That was the fourth call. But there, as at your room, was no answer.”
Johnny frowned. “And the third call?”
“That was to Mark Morrison, an attorney here in town. I do a little work for him once in awhile. The caller this time identified himself as Jim Langford and he told Morrison that he was going to appear in court tomorrow to contest his wife’s divorce suit, on the grounds that she was not a bonafide resident of the state...”
“Is that any good in Nevada?” Johnny interrupted.
“Depends on whether he can prove it; if she left the state overnight — and it can be proved — she’ll have to start all over again.”
Johnny nodded thoughtfully. “How did Morrison take that?”
“Not badly at all. He told Langford that he had definite proof that Mrs. Langford had lived up to the terms required of her and that it was too bad Mr. Langford should take such an attitude at this late date. Whereupon Mr. Langford called Mr. Morrison a damned shyster and Mr. Morrison hung up on it. And then, you called for the third time, Mr. Fletcher, and I decided to come down the pole.”
“Did you tell Mulligan who it was you listened in to?”
“He didn’t ask me.”
“I’m surprised at that.” Johnny frowned. “I don’t like the way Mulligan takes some things so casual. You’d almost think...”
A phone in the dining recess suddenly rang and Mrs. Cobb hurried to it. She took down the receiver and said, “Mrs. Cobb speaking. Yes...” Then she signalled to Johnny. “This is Chicago...”
“Let me take it,” exclaimed Johnny. He strode into the other room and took the phone just as Beeler’s purring voice came on.
“Beeler,” he cried into the phone. “This is Johnny Fletcher; how are you?”
“I’m fine,” retorted Beeler. “I could tell you in about ten dollar’s worth of time, if you want me to...”
“Same old sourpuss,” Johnny said, “well, go ahead, give it to me — what’ve you got?”
“Chatsworth, Homer Chatsworth, Harvard, ’16, lives in Glencoe, belongs to the University Club, the Midwest Athletic Club, president of the Central Accident and Assurance Company, director of the North Side Bank and Trust Company, owns a summer place in Bar Harbor, and a ranch in Las Vegas, Nevada. A widower...”
“Okay, okay,” Johnny interrupted. “I could get all that out of Who’s Who...”
“Then why didn’t you look?” Beeler snapped, “I’ve got an important murder case on my hands and I’m only doing this as a favor to you.”
“Baloney, you’re doing it for two hundred bucks...”
“—Which I haven’t received yet,” Beeler exclaimed.
“It’s on the way. What else have you found out?”
“Charles Halton isn’t in the phone directory, but a man by that name owns an automobile, License Number 6N66-63. His address is a hotel on the near North Side and I’m going over there as soon as I hang up on you. It’s about Langford that I really called you this time... I hear his number’s up in Chicago. He and another hoodlum stuck up The Ojai Club about four weeks ago. Langford’s wife used to be a singer there before her marriage, so they knew Langford. There’s nothing against his wife, though. She sang professionally under the name of Jane Castle, but her real name is Bloss...”
“What!” roared Johnny.
“Bloss,” said Beeler, “Jane Bloss. Does that name mean something?”
“It means two hundred bucks extra for you, if you can get me her complete history — her father’s first name — the names of any other relatives; their history and present whereabouts. Get that first — before you do anything else. Understand?”
“All right, Fletcher.”
Johnny hung up abruptly and turned to face the Cobbs.
“He get something interesting?” Walter Cobb asked.
Johnny thrust the phone at Cobb. “This Morrison who’s handling Mrs. Langford’s case... you said you worked for him at times; call and get him to tell you Mrs. Langford’s maiden name...”
Cobb nodded and dialed a number. “Louise,” he said into the phone. “This is Walter Cobb; let me talk to the boss... Oh!... No, never mind, but look — do something for me; look at Mrs. Langford’s divorce plea... tell me her maiden name...” He nodded. “Thanks, Louise, thanks a million...” He hung up. “Mark’s gone out to the El Casa Rancho, to see Mrs. Langford—”
“All right, all right,” Johnny cried, impatiently. “But what’s the name...?”
“Louise had the papers right there...” He winced as Johnny’s face twisted into a snarl. “It’s Bloss!”
“Well!” said Mrs. Cobb. “I hadn’t expected that.”
“Neither had I,” Johnny said. “Beeler dropped it by accident...”
“Harry Bloss’ daughter?”
“It looks like it — that’s what I want Beeler to check for sure.”
“We could ask Mrs. Langford herself,” Cobb suggested.
“That’s one thing I don’t want to do.”
Johnny reached into his pocket, skimmed two hundred-dollar bills off his roll. “Wire this money to Beeler in Chicago...”
“There’s a charge for wiring money,” Mrs. Cobb said.
Impatiently, Johnny peeled off another bill. “Keep the change for incidentals.” He went to the door. “The minute Beeler has anything call me at El Casa Rancho. If I’m not in my room, get Nick the bellboy and tell him to find me.”
Chapter Seventeen
Leaving his car in front of El Casa Rancho, Johnny went directly to Jane Langford’s room and knocked on the door. There was no response. He tried the door, and found it locked.
Annoyed, he went to his own room and saw Sam Cragg’s suit hanging up in the bathroom. Leaving, Johnny headed for the casino. The tables were already receiving some play, but Johnny was not tempted at the moment. He went through the lobby to the terrace in front of the hotel.