“I thought it was thirty.”
“Sixty,” he said, with the money light in his eyes. “Thirty in cash, and the house is worth another thirty, easily.”
I looked around the place, which must have cost him fifty dollars a day. Above the palms, the first few stars sparkled like solitaire diamonds.
“You seem to have some left.”
“Sure I have. But I work for my money. Ethel was strictly from nothing when I met her. She owned the clothes on her back and what was under them and that was all. So she gives me a bad time for three years and I pay off at the rate of twenty grand a year. I ask you, is that fair?”
“I hear you threatened to get it back from her.”
“You have been talking to Clare, eh? All right, so I threatened her. It didn’t mean a thing. I talk too much sometimes, and I have a bad temper.”
“I’d never have guessed.”
The girl said: “You hurt me, Teddy. I need another drink. Get me another drink, Teddy.”
“Get it yourself.”
She called him several bad names and wandered into the cottage, walking awkwardly like an animated doll.
He grasped my arm. “What’s the trouble about Ethel? You said she disappeared. You think something’s happened to her?”
I removed his hand. “She’s missing. Thirty thousand in cash is also missing. There are creeps in Vegas who would knock her off for one big bill, or less.”
“Didn’t she bank the money? She wouldn’t cash a draft for that amount and carry it around. She’s crazy, but not that way.”
“She banked it all right, on March fourteenth. Then she drew it all out again in the course of the following week. When did you send her the draft?”
“The twelfth or the thirteenth. That was the agreement. She got her final divorce on March eleventh.”
“And you haven’t seen her since?”
“I have not. Frieda has, though.”
“Frieda?”
“My secretary.” He jerked a thumb towards the cottage. “Frieda went over to the house last week to pick up some of my clothes I’d left behind. Ethel was there, and she was all right then. Apparently she’s taken up with another man.”
“Do you know his name?”
“No, and I couldn’t care less.”
“Do you have a picture of Ethel?”
“I did have some. I tore them up. She’s a well-stacked blonde, natural blonde. She looks very much like Clare, same coloring, but three or four years older. You should be able to get a picture from Clare. And while you’re at it, tell her for me she’s got a lot of gall setting the police on me. I’m a respectable businessman in this town.” He puffed out his chest under the bathrobe. It was thickly matted with brown hair, which was beginning to grizzle.
“No doubt,” I said. “Incidentally, I’m not the police. I run a private agency. My name is Archer.”
“So that’s how it is, eh?” The planes of his broad face gleamed angrily in the light. He cocked a fat red fist. “You come here pumping me. Get out, by God, or I’ll throw you out!”
“Calm down. I could break you in half.”
His face swelled with blood, and his eyes popped. He swung a roundhouse right at my head. I stepped inside of it and tied him up. “I said calm down, old man. You’ll break a vein.”
I pushed him off balance and released him. He sat down very suddenly on the chaise. Frieda was watching us from the edge of the terrace. She laughed so heartily that she spilled her drink.
Illman looked old and tired, and he was breathing raucously through his mouth. He didn’t try to get up. Frieda came over to me and leaned her weight on my arm. I could feel her small sharp breasts.
“Why didn’t you hit him,” she whispered, “when you had the chance? He’s always hitting other people.” Her voice rose. “Teddy-bear thinks he can get away with murder.”
“Shut your yap,” he said, “or I’ll shut it for you.”
“Button yours, muscle-man. You’ll lay a hand on me once too often.”
“You’re fired.”
“I already quit.”
They were a charming couple. I was on the point of tearing myself away when a bellboy popped out of the darkness, like a gnome in uniform.
“A gentleman to see you, Mr. Illman.”
The gentleman was a brown-faced young Highway Patrolman, who stepped forward rather diffidently into the light.
“Sorry to trouble you, sir. Our San Diego office asked me to contact you as soon as possible.”
Frieda looked from me to him, and began to gravitate in his direction. Illman got up heavily and stepped between them.
“What is it?”
The patrolman unfolded a teletype flimsy and held it up to the light. “Are you the owner of a blue Buick convertible, last year’s model?” He read off the license number.
“It was mine,” Illman said. “It belongs to my ex-wife now. Did she forget to change the registration?”
“Evidently she did, Mr. Illman. In fact, she seems to’ve forgotten the car entirely. She left it in a parking space above the public beach in La Jolla. It’s been sitting there for the last week, until we hauled it in. Where can I get in touch with Mrs. Illman?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t seen her for some time.”
The patrolman’s face lengthened and turned grim. “You mean she’s dropped out of sight?”
“Out of my sight, at least. Why?”
“I hate to have to say this, Mr. Illman. There’s a considerable quantity of blood on the front seat of the Buick, according to this report. They haven’t determined yet if it’s human blood, but it raises the suspicion of foul play.”
“Good heavens! It’s what we’ve been afraid of, isn’t it, Archer?” His voice was as thick as corn syrup with phony emotion. “You and Clare were right after all.”
“Right about what, Mr. Illman?” The patrolman looked slightly puzzled.
“About poor Ethel,” he said. “I’ve been discussing her disappearance with Mr. Archer here. Mr. Archer is a private detective, and I was just about to engage his services to make a search for Ethel.” He turned to me with a painful smile pulling his mouth to one side. “How much did you say you wanted in advance? Five hundred?”
“Make it two. That will buy my services for four days. It doesn’t buy anything else, though.”
“I understand that, Mr. Archer. I’m sincerely interested in finding Ethel for a variety of reasons, as you know.”
He was a suave old fox. I almost laughed in his face. But I played along with him. I liked the idea of using his money to hang him, if possible.
“Yeah. This is a tragic occurrence for you.”
He took a silver money clip shaped like a dollar sign out of his bathrobe pocket. I wondered if he didn’t trust his roommate. Two bills changed hands. After a further exchange of information, the patrolman went away.
“Well,” Illman said. “It looks like a pretty serious business. If you think I had anything to do with it, you’re off your rocker.”
“Speaking of rockers, you said your wife was crazy. What kind of crazy?”
“I was her husband, not her analyst. I wouldn’t know.”
“Did she need an analyst?”
“Sometimes I thought so. One week she’d be flying, full of big plans to make money. Then she’d go into a black mood and talk about killing herself.” He shrugged. “It ran in her family.”
“This could be an afterthought on your part.”
His face reddened.
I turned to Frieda, who looked as if the news had sobered her. “Who was this fellow you saw at Ethel’s house last week?”