"Yes, ma'am," I said, seating myself between the two ladies. "Reckon I could go for a martini, ma'am."
"Oh, no!" Genevieve protested. "Not a martini, Mr. Clevenger! That doesn't go with your Western act at all. Bourbon and branch water should be your tipple, or corn whiskey straight from the jug."
"Oh, Denver is a real modern city these days," I said. "We've got martinis and juvenile delinquents just like the rest of the country. And you don't sound as if you were approaching my case with an open mind, Judge Drilling, ma'am."
Penny said, "That's right, Mummy. You could at least try to sound unprejudiced."
Genevieve laughed. She was quite a pretty woman, I realized again, and her little-girl jumper costume didn't really go so badly with her wholesome, freckled type of good looks.
"All right," she said. "I'll try. Order me a martini, too, please, Mr. Clevenger, and a coke for Penny. Is it still raining out? I must say, it would be nice to see a little sunshine for a change…
We talked about the weather, and the country, and the roads we'd covered, and the fierce competitive spirit that seemed to burn, torch-like, in all Canadian drivers.
"It wouldn't be so bad if they'd just get out ahead and stay there!" Genevieve complained. "The minute you pass one, he's got to get back around you-but then he goes right to sleep again! So you've got to pass him again or poke along behind him at forty. By the time I've maneuvered sixteen feet of trailer around the same motorized cluck for the third time in ten miles, I'm ready to run him right off the road."
"Well, you handle that rig like an expert, ma'am," I said.
"I ought to," she said. "My father was a contractor. There wasn't a piece of machinery he used that I wasn't checked out on, Mr. Clevenger-that is, until we got rich and respectable and I was supposed to stay off the trucks and cats and look ladylike in a pale blue convertible with an automatic shift-" She broke off, and gave me a sharp glance. "You're a real confidence man, aren't you? You know just how to flatter a woman and get her talking about herself."
"Sure," I said. "Nothing softens them up like telling them they're swell truckdrivers. I've found the technique infallible, ma'am."
She laughed reluctantly, and stopped laughing. "Well, let's have it," she said. "I suppose you have a lot of phony identification cards and things that are supposed to convince me you aren't working for Uncle Sam in some clever and underhanded way."
Penny said, "Oh, Mummy! You promised you'd-"
"It's all right, darling," Genevieve said. "Mr. Clevenger has a tough hide, I'm sure. He doesn't mind my needling him a little. Well, Mr. Clevenger? Should we start with your private detective's license or permit or whatever you call it?" I showed it to her. She glanced at it and said, "A very handsome piece of work. Now, how about a pistol permit? You do have one, don't you, even though you don't have the gun with you? And a few credit cards, perhaps. Although that's pretty weak. Even I could get myself a credit card in the name of Clevenger if I wanted to."
Penny stirred uncomfortably. "Mummy, you're not being fair."
"Oh, I'm being very fair," her mother said. "Mr. Clevenger knows perfectly well that his documents mean nothing because any government agent could have them made up for any character he cared to impersonate. He's going to have to come up with better evidence than this." She smiled and patted her daughter's hand. "The fact that his Douglas Fairbanks routine is irresistible to teen-age girls hardly constitutes proof of his good intentions, darling."
I said, "Well, what about this, Mrs. Drilling?"
She looked at the paper I held out-a folded newspaper clipping-and at me. Then she took the clipping and unfolded it, frowned, studied it carefully, and looked up again suspiciously.
"I didn't see this item anywhere," she said. "I'd certainly have noticed it."
"Maybe you weren't looking at the right Winnipeg paper shortly after that little ruckus in the woods, ma'am. I just happened to come across it. Somebody'd left it behind at a roadside cafe."
This wasn't true, of course. Figuring I might have a chance to use it sooner or later, I'd phoned Mac to put somebody at tracking down all published news items bearing on the subject. They'd been rushed to a pickup spot-drop, if you want to be technical-here in Montreal as soon as it became clear we'd be passing through the city.
Penny was frowning at us. "What is it?"
"Oh, a little item I just knocked out on my portable printing press," I said. "It purports to be a news picture of two convicts who were recaptured in a rather battered state a few days after their escape from the penitentiary at Bran-don. Strictly counterfeit, of course, like all my documents. As your mother said back there, sooner or later we'll hear of the real escapees being taken in Labrador or British Columbia."
"Let me see!" The girl took the clipping from her mother's hand. "But those are the two men who tried to-"
I said, "Honey, don't look now but you're being naive. Naturally, if I'm going to fake a picture, I'll use faces you'll recognize. Look at your ma. She doesn't believe a word of it. And don't think she'll go hunting through old newspaper files to check it, either. She knows what she knows, and nothing's going to convince her otherwise." I sighed. "It's no use, Penny. I thank you for your good offices, but the court has already passed judgment and isn't about to reverse its verdict."
Penny turned indignantly to Genevieve. "But Mummy-"
"Let me see that again," Genevieve said. She frowned at the clipping for several seconds. Then she looked at me. "If that picture is genuine, I owe you an apology, don't I, Mr. Clevenger?"
"If," I said.
'9,Vell," she said, "is it?"
"Yes, ma'am," I said. "It is."
She hesitated. "I don't trust you," she said at last. "I don't trust you one little bit." Then she drew a long breath. "But I'll admit it begins to look as if I'd been a little hasty. What Penny bad to say about those men, and now this clipping… maybe you really did help us out of a very nasty situation, Mr. Clevenger. If so, please forgive me for jumping to conclusions."
It was a pretty good apology, as apologies go. I mean, she'd hedged a little, but on the whole I should have been pleased and satisfied-and I would have been, if I hadn't found myself wondering just how long she'd been sitting on that speech before she'd found an excuse to deliver it. I had a sudden strong feeling that the whole scene had been planned in advance: that I'd been brought here by the daughter so the mother could apologize to me on one pretext or another, if not a newspaper clipping then something else.
It was a snide thought, but I found confirmation when I glanced at Penny's face. Instead of jumping up and down happily because her hero had been vindicated, she was looking uncomfortable and embarrassed, as if she wished herself miles away where she wouldn't have to watch her mother putting on a humble act for a man for some obscure adult reason.
I didn't spend too much time worrying about the reason. It promised to be an interesting evening, and it was starting out well. Once we got over the little awkwardness that followed Genevieve's apology, everything went gracefully. The service was smooth and efficient and the drinks were excellent. The salmon was as good as a fish can be, and you forget how good that is when you live away from the ocean for a while.
Penny was allowed a glass of wine with her meal, and presently, not much to my surprise, she showed signs of getting sleepy and was given the room key and sent up to bed. I ordered a cognac and Genevieve took something green and' sweet and minty. She raised her glass to me.
"Well, Mr. Clevenger?" she murmured.
"Well what, Mrs. Drilling?" I said.