papers of a book on chess by Blackburn, the English chess wizard, probably the most dynamic chess player who ever lived, although he wouldn’t get to first base in the cold war type of chess they play nowadays. The Sphynx is an eleven-mover and it justifies its name. Chess problems seldom run to more than four or five moves. Beyond that the difficulty of solving them rises in almost geometrical progression. An eleven-mover is sheer unadulterated torture.
Once in a long while when I feel mean enough I set it out and look for a new way to solve it. It’s a nice quiet way to go crazy. You don’t even scream, but you come awfully close.
George Peters called me at five-forty. We exchanged pleasantries and condolences.
“You’ve got yourself in another jam, I see,” he said cheerfully. “Why don’t you try some quiet business like embalming?”
“Takes too long to learn. Listen, I want to become a client of your agency, if it doesn’t cost too much.”
“Depends what you want done, old boy. And you’d have to talk to Carne.”
“No.”
“Well, tell me.”
“London is full of guys like me, but I wouldn’t know one from the other. They call them private enquiry agents. Your outfit would have connections. I’d just have to pick a name at random and probably get hornswoggled. I want some information that should be easy enough to get, and I want it quick. Must have it before the end of next week.”
“Spill. ”
“I want to know something about the war service of Terry Lennox or Paul Marston, whatever name he used. He was in the Commandos over there. He was captured wounded in November 1942 in a raid on some Norwegian island. I want to know what outfit he was posted from and what happened to him. The War Office will have all that. It’s not secret information, or I wouldn’t think so. Let’s say a question of inheritance is involved.”
“You don’t need a P.I. for that. You could get it direct. Write them a letter.”
“Shove it, George. I might get an answer in three months. I want one in five days.”
“You have a thought there, pal. Anything else?”
“One thing more. They keep all their vital records over there in a place they call Somerset House. I want to know if he figures there in any connection—birth, marriage, naturalization, anything at all. ”
“Why?”
“What do you mean, why? Who’s paying the bill?”
“Suppose the names don’t show?”
“Then I’m stuck. If they do, I want certified copies of anything your man turns up. How much you soaking me?”
“I’ll have to ask Carne. He may thumb it out altogether. We don’t want the kind of publicity you get. If he lets me handle it, and you agree not to mention the connection, I’d say three hundred bucks. Those guys over there don’t get much by dollar standards. He might hit us for ten guineas, less than thirty bucks. On top of that any expenses he might have. Say fifty bucks altogether and Carne wouldn’t open a file for less than two-fifty.”
“Professional rates.”
“Ha, ha. He never heard of them.”
“Call me, George. Want to eat dinner?”
“Romanoff’s?”
“All right,” I growled, “if they’ll give me a reservation.—which I doubt.”
“We can have Carne’s table. I happen to know he’s dining privately. He’s a regular at Romanoff’s. It pays off in the upper brackets of the business. Carne is a pretty big boy in this town.”
“Yeah, sure. I know somebody—and know him personally—who could lose Carne under his little fingernail. ”
“Good work, kid. I always knew you would come through in the clutch. See you about seven o’clock in the bar at Romanoff’s. Tell the head thief you’re waiting for Colonel Carne. He’ll clear a space around you so you don’t get elbowed by any riffraff like screenwriters or television actors.”
“See you at seven,” I said.
We hung up and I went back to the chess board. But The Sphynx didn’t seem to interest me any more. In a little while Peters called me back and said it was all right with Carne provided the name of their agency was not connected with my problems. Peters said he would get a night letter off to London at once.
41
Howard Spencer called me on the following Friday morning. He was at the Ritz-Beverly and suggested I drop over for a drink in the bar.
“Better make it in your room,” I said.
“Very well, if you prefer it. Room 828. I’ve just talked to Eileen Wade. She seems quite resigned. She has read the script Roger left and says she thinks it can be finished off very easily. It will be a good deal shorter than his other books, but that is balanced by the publicity value. I guess you think we publishers are a pretty callous bunch. Eileen will be home all afternoon. Naturally she wants to see me and I want to see her.”
“I’ll be over in half an hour, Mr. Spencer.”
He had a nice roomy suite on the west side of the hotel. The living room had tall windows opening on a narrow iron-railed balcony. The furniture was upholstered in some candy-striped material and that with the heavily flowered
