“A little. Why—if she didn’t expect to be followed—would she change her name? Why if she did expect to be followed would she make it so easy? I told you two other guys were working the same side of the street. One is a Kansas City private detective named Goble. He was in Esmeralda yesterday. He knew just where to go. Who told him? I had to follow her and bribe a taxi driver to use his R/T outfit to find out where her cab was going so that I wouldn’t lose her. So why was I hired?”
“We’ll come to that,” Umney said curtly. “Who was the other party you say was working the same side of the street?”
“A playboy named Mitchell. He lives down there. He met the girl on the train. He made a reservation for her in Esmeralda. They’re just like that”—I held up two touching fingers—”except that she hates his guts. He’s got something on her and she is afraid of him. What he has on her is a knowledge of who she is, where she came from, what happened to her there, and why she is trying to hide under another name. I overheard enough to know that, but not enough to give me exact information.”
Umney said acidly: “Of course the girl was covered on the train. Do you think you are dealing with idiots? You were nothing more than a decoy—to determine whether she had any associates. On your reputation—such as it is —I relied on you to grandstand just enough to let her get wise to you. I guess you know what an open shadow is.”
“Sure. One that deliberately lets the subject spot him, then shake him, so that another shadow can pick him up when he thinks he is safe.”
“You were it.” He grinned at me contemptuously. “But you still haven’t told me where she is.”
I didn’t want to tell him, but I knew I’d have to. I had up to a point accepted the assignment, and giving him back his money was only a move to force some information out of him.
I reached across the desk and picked up the $250 check. “I’ll take this as payment in full, expenses included. She is registered as Miss Betty Mayfield at the Casa del Poniente in Esmeralda. She is loaded with money. But of course your expert organization must know all this already.”
I stood up. “Thanks for the ride, Mr. Umney.”
I went out and shut his door. Miss Vermilyea looked up from a magazine. I heard a faint muffled click from somewhere in her desk.
“I’m sorry I was rude to you,” I said. “I didn’t get enough sleep last night.”
“Forget it. It was a standoff. With a little practice I might get to like you. You’re kind of cute in a low down sort of way.”
“Thanks,” I said and moved to the door. I wouldn’t say she looked exactly wistful, but neither did she look as hard to get as a controlling interest in General Motors. I turned back and closed the door.
“I guess it’s not raining tonight, is it? There was something we might have discussed over a drink, if it had been a rainy night. And if you had not been too busy.”
She gave me a cool amused look. “Where?”
“That would be up to you.”
“Should I drop by your place?”
“It would be damn nice of you. That Fleetwood might help my credit standing.”
“I wasn’t exactly thinking of that.”
“Neither was I.”
“About six-thirty perhaps. And I’ll take good care of my nylons.”
“I was hoping you would.”
Our glances locked. I went out quickly.
12
At half past six the Fleetwood purred to the front door and I had it open when she came up the steps. She was hatless. She wore a flesh-colored coat with the collar turned up against her platinum hair. She stood in the middle of the living room and looked around casually. Then she slipped the coat off with a lithe movement and threw it on the davenport and sat down.
“I didn’t really think you’d come,” I said.
“No. You’re the shy type. You knew darned well I’d come. Scotch and soda, if you have it.”
“I have it.”
I brought the drinks and sat down beside her, but not close enough for it to mean anything. We touched glasses and drank.
“Would you care to go to Romanoff’s for dinner?”
“And then what?”
“Where do you live?”
“West Los Angeles. A house on a quiet old street. It happens to belong to me. I asked you, and then what, remember?”
“That would be up to you, naturally.”
“I thought you were a tough guy. You mean I don’t have to pay for my dinner?”
“I ought to slap your face for that crack.”
She laughed suddenly and stared at me over the edge of her glass.
