They left the restaurant and got into Boyer’s automobile again.
“Guerrero Street,” Guild said, “though we ought to stop first at a booth where I can phone the police about the Leavenworth Street place and the office to pick up cancelled checks from both banks, so we’ll know if any of them are forgeries.” He cupped his hands around the cigarette he was lighting. “This’ll do. Pull in here.”
The district attorney turned the automobile in at the Mark Hopkins.
Guild, saying, “I’ll hurry,” jumped out and went indoors. When he came out ten minutes later his face was thoughtful. “The police didn’t find any fingerprints on Wynant’s car,” he said. “I wonder why.”
“He could’ve taken the trouble to -“
“Uh-huh,” the dark man agreed, “but I’m wondering why he did. Well, on to Guerrero Street. If Fremont’s not back from Hell Bend we’ll see what we can shake the girl down for. She ought to know where Kearny hangs out in the daytime.”
A Filipino maid opened the Fremonts’ door.
“Is Mr. Charles Fremont in?” Guild asked.
“No, sir.”
“Miss Fremont?”
“I’ll see if she’s up yet.”
The maid took them into the living-room and went upstairs.
Guild pointed at the broken window-pane. “That’s where the shot was taken at him.” He pointed at the hole in the green wall. “That’s where it hit.” He took a misshapen bullet from his vest-pocket and showed it to Boyer. “It.”
Boyer’s face had become animated. He moved close to Guild and began to talk in a low, excited voice. “Do you suppose they could all have been in some game together and Wynant discovered that his secretary was double-crossing him besides getting ready to go off with -“
Guild jerked his head at the hall-door. “Sh-h-h.”
Light footsteps ran down the stairs and Elsa Fremont in a brightly figured blue haori coat over light-green silk pyjamas entered the room. “Good morning,” she said, holding a hand out to Guild. “It is for me anyway.” She used her other hand to partly cover a yawn. “We didn’t close the joint till nearly eight this morning.”
Guild introduced the district attorney to her, then asked: “Your brother go up to Hell Bend?”
“Yes. He was leaving when I got home.” She dropped down on the sofa with a foot drawn up under her. Her feet were stockingless in blue embroidered slippers. “Do sit down.”
The district attorney sat in a chair facing her. The dark man went over to the sofa to sit beside her. “We’ve just come from the Manchu,” he said.
Her lanceolate eyes became a little narrower. “Have a nice lunch?” she asked.
Guild smiled and said: “We didn’t go there for that.”
She said: “Oh.” Her eyes were clear and unwary now.
Guild said: “We went to see Frank Kearny.”
“Did you?”
“See him? No.”
“There’s not much chance of finding him there during the day,” she said carelessly, “but he’s there every night.”
“So we were told.” Guild took cigarettes from his pocket and held them out to her. “Where do you think we could find him now?”
The girl shook her red head as she took a cigarette. ‘You can search me. He used to live in Sea Cliff, but I don’t know where he moved to.” She leaned forward as Guild held his lighter to her cigarette. “Won’t whatever you want to see him about wait till night?” she asked when her cigarette was burning.
Guild offered his cigarettes to the district attorney, who shook his head and murmured: “No, thanks.”
The dark man put a cigarette between his lips and set fire to it before he answered the girl’s question. Then he said: “We wanted to find out what he knows about Columbia Forrest.”
Elsa Fremont said evenly: “I don’t think Frank knew her at all.”
“Yes, he did, at least as Laura Porter.”
Her surprise seemed genuine. She leaned toward Guild. “Say that again.”
“Columbia Forrest,” Guild said in a deliberately monotonous voice, “had an apartment on Leavenworth Street where she was known as Laura Porter and Frank Kearny knew her.”
The girl, frowning, said earnestly: “If you didn’t seem to know what you’re talking about I wouldn’t believe it.”
“But you do believe it?”
She hesitated, finally said: “Well, knowing Frank, I’ll say it’s possible.”
“You didn’t know about the Leavenworth Street place?”
She shook her head, meeting his gaze with candid eyes. “I didn’t.”
“Did you know she’d ever gone as Laura Porter?”
”No.”
“Ever hear of Laura Porter?”
“No.”
Guild drew smoke in and breathed it out. “I think I believe you,” he said in a casual tone. “But your brother must have known about it.”
She frowned at the cigarette in her hand, at the foot she was not sitting on, and then at Guild’s dark face. “You don’t have to believe me,” she said slowly, “but I honestly don’t think he did.”
Guild smiled politely. “I can believe you and still think you’re wrong,” he said.
“I wish,” she said naively, “you’d believe me and think I’m right.”
Guild moved his cigarette in a vague gesture. “What does your brother do, Miss Fremont?” he asked. “For a living, I mean?”
“He’s managing a couple of fighters now,” she said, “only one of them isn’t. The other’s Sammy Deep.”
Guild nodded. “The Chinese bantam.”
“Yes. Charley thinks he’s got a champ in him.”
“He’s a good boy. Who’s the other?”
“A stumble-bum named Terry Moore. If you go to fights much you’re sure to’ve seen him knocked out.”
Boyer spoke for the first time since he had declined a cigarette. “Miss Fremont, where were you born?”
“Right here in San Francisco, up on Pacific Avenue.”
Boyer seemed disappointed. He asked: “And your brother?”
“Here in San Francisco too.”
Disappointment deepened in the district attorney’s young face and there was little hopefulness in his voice asking: “Was your mother also an actress, an entertainer?”
The girl shook her head with emphasis. “She was a school-teacher. Why?”
Boyer’s explanation was given more directly to Guild. “I was thinking of Wynant’s marriage in Paris.”
The dark man nodded. “Fremont’s too old. He’s only ten or twelve years younger than Wynant.” He smiled guilelessly. “Want another idea to play with? Fremont and the dead girl have the same initials – C.F.”
Elsa Fremont laughed. “More than that,” she said, “they had the same birthdays – May twenty-seventh – though of course Charley is older.”
Guild smiled carelessly at this information while the district attorney’s eyes took on a troubled stare.
The dark man looked at his watch. “Did your brother say how long he was going to stay in Hell Bend?” he asked.
“No.”
Guild spoke to Boyer. “Why don’t you call up and see if he’s there. If he is, ask him to wait for us. If he’s left, we’ll wait here for him.”
The district attorney rose from his chair, but before he could speak the girl was asking anxiously: “Is there anything special you want to see Charley about? Anything I could tell you?”
“You said you didn’t know,” Guild said. “It’s the Laura Porter angle we want to find out about.”
“Oh.” Some of her anxiety went away.
“Your brother knows Frank Kearny, doesn’t he?” Guild asked.
