how men with moustaches a foot long used to teach mathematics in schools in Montenegro, required, if it was to bear fruit, some information from the janitor at 829 Wixley Avenue. But when, immediately after dinner, I drove up there, he had gone to the movies and I had to wait over an hour for him. I got what I hoped would be all I needed, generously ladled out another buck of Starlite money, drove back downtown and put the car in the garage, and went home and up to my room. Wolfe, of course, was in the office, and the door was standing open, but I didn't even stop to nod as I went by.
In my room I gave my teeth an extra good brush, being uncertain how long they would have to wait for the next one, and then did my packing for the trip by putting a comb and hairbrush in my topcoat pocket. I didn't want to have a bag to take care of. Also, I made a phone call. I made it there instead of in the office because Wolfe had put it off on me without a trace of a hint regarding ways and means, and if he wanted it like that, okay. In that case there was no reason why he should listen to me giving careful and explicit instructions to Saul Panzer. Downstairs again, I did pause at the office door to tell him good night, but that was all I had for him.
Tuesday night I had had a little over three hours' sleep, and Wednesday night about the same. That night Thursday, I had less than three, and only in snatches. At six-thirty Friday morning, when I emerged to the cab platform at the Atlantic City railroad station, it was still half-dark, murky, chilly, and generally unattractive. I had me a good yawn, shivered from head to foot, told a taxi driver I was his customer but he would please wait for me a minute, and then stepped to the taxi just behind him and spoke to the driver of it: “This time of day one taxi isn't enough for me, I always need two. I'll take the one in front and you follow, and when we stop we'll have a conference.” “Where you going?” “Not far.” I pushed a dollar bill at him. “You won't get lost.” He nodded without enthusiasm and kicked his starter. I climbed into the front cab and told the driver to pull up somewhere in the vicinity of the Ambassador Hotel. It wasn't much of a haul, and a few minutes later he rolled to the kerb, which at that time of day had space to spare. When the other driver stopped right behind us I signalled to him, and he came and joined us.
“I have enemies,” I told him.
They exchanged a glance and one of them said, “Work it out yourself, bud, we're just hackies. My meter says sixty cents.” “I don't mean that kind of enemies. It's wife and daughter. They're ruining my life. How many ways are there for people to leave the Ambassador Hotel? I don't mean dodges like fire escapes and coal chutes, just normal ways.” “Two,” one said.
Three,” the other said.
“Make up your minds.” They agreed on three, and gave me the layout.
“Then there's enough of us,” I decided. “Here.” I shelled out two fives, with an extra single for the one who had carried me to even it up. “The final payment will depend on how long it takes, but you won't have to sue me. Now listen,” They did so.
Ten minutes later, a little before seven, I was standing by some kind of a bush with no leaves on it, keeping an eye on the oceanfront entrance of the Ambassador. Gobs of dirty grey mist being batted around by icy gusts made it seem more like a last resort than a resort. Also, I was realizing that I had made a serious mistake when I had postponed breakfast until there would be time to do it right. My stomach had decided that since it wasn't going to be needed any more it might as well try shrivelling into a ball and see how I liked that.
I tried to kid it along by swallowing, but because I hadn't brushed my teeth it didn't taste like me at all, so I tried spitting instead, but that only made my stomach shrivel faster. After less than half an hour of it, when my watch said a quarter-past seven, I was wishing to God I had done my planning better when one of my taxis came dashing around a corner to a stop, and the driver called to me and opened the door.
“They're off, bud.” “The station?” “I guess so. That way.” He made a U turn and stepped on the gas. “They came out the cab entrance and took one there. Tony's on their tail.” I didn't have to spur him on because he was already taking it hop, skip, and jump. My wrist watch told me nineteen past-eleven minutes before the seven- thirty for New York would leave. Only four of them had been used up when we did a fancy swerve and jerked to a stop in front of the railroad station. I hopped out. Just ahead of us a woman was paying her driver while a girl stood at her elbow.
“Duck, you damn' fool,” my driver growled at me. “They ain't blind, are they?” “That's all right,” I assured him. “They know I'm after them. It's a war of nerves.” Tony appeared from somewhere, and I separated myself from another pair of fives and then entered the station. There was only one ticket window working, and mother and child were at it, buying. I moseyed on to the train shed, still with three minutes to go, and was about to glance over my shoulder to see what was keeping them when they passed me on the run, holding hands, daughter in front and pulling Mom along. From the rear I saw them climb on board the train, but I stayed on the platform until the signal had been given and the wheels had started to turn, and then got on.
The diner wasn't crowded. I had a double orange juice, griddle cakes with broiled ham, coffee, French toast with sausage cakes, grape jelly, and more coffee. My stomach and I made up, and we agreed to forget it ever happened.
