'He's been living on a diet of reefers for the past six months, and boy! does that guy hit the roof after a reefer session!'
'In what way?'
'He runs amok.' Fedor took out his handkerchief and blotted his face with it. 'He set fire to one of the studios the week before last. Then last week, at Maurice Laird's swim party, he started something that took Laird everything he had to hush up. Jordan had some kind of acid he went around splashing on the girl's swim-suits. The stuff started burning, and Bingo! there were no swim-suits. You've never seen anything like it. Some thirty of our best-known stars were running around without a stitch on. Okay, it was pretty funny for us guys, and we appreciated the joke until we found the stuff hadn't only taken off the swimsuits. It took off a few yards of skin as well. Five girls had to go to hospital. They were in a terrible state. If Laird hadn't paid up handsomely Jordan would have been prosecuted. Next morning Laird tore up his contract.'
Conrad and Bardin exchanged glances.
'Sounds as if we might go along and talk to this guy,' Bardin said.
'For the love of mike don't tell him I said anything about him,' Fedor said feverishly. 'I've enough on my hands without having to cope with him.'
'Apart from Jordan,' Conrad said, 'does anyone else come to your mind who might have done this?'
Fedor shook his head.
'No. Most of June's friends were pretty rotten, but not all that rotten.'
'Is there anything in the story that she and Jack Maurer were lovers?'
Fedor suddenly looked down at his hands. A cold, remote expression came over his face.
'I wouldn't know.'
'You could make a guess. Did she ever mention Maurer to you?'
'No.'
'Did you ever hear his name coupled with her?'
'I guess not.'
'Did you ever see him with her?'
'No.'
Conrad looked across at Bardin.
'Isn't it wonderful that as soon as Maurer's name is mentioned everyone clams up? You'd think the guy didn't exist.'
'Don't get me wrong,' Fedor said hastily. 'If I knew anything I'd tell you. I don't know a thing about Maurer except what I've read in the papers.'
'The same old song and dance,' Conrad said in disgust. 'One of those days, with any luck, I'll come across someone with a little guts who isn't scared of Maurer, and who knows something : one of these days but, God knows when.'
'Take it easy,' Bardin said. 'If the guy doesn't know he doesn't know.'
Sergeant O'Brien came down .the steps of the patio.
'Can I have a word, Lieutenant?'
Bardin took his arm and walked with him into the lounge.
'Stick around,' Paul said to Fedor, and went after them.
'He's found the gun,' Bardin said, his heavy face more cheerful. He held out a .45 Colt automatic. 'Look at this.'
Conrad took the gun and examined it. Engraved on the butt were the initials R.J.
'Where did you find it?' he asked O'Brien.
'In the shrubbery about thirty yards from the main gate. I'll bet a dollar it's the gun. It's empty; it's been fired very recently, and it's a .45.'
'Better get it checked, Sam.'
Bardin nodded. He handed the gun to O'Brien.
'Take it down to headquarters and have it checked against the slug you've found.' He turned to Conrad. 'R.J. That's easy, isn't it? Looks like I've got me an open and shut case. Looks like Jordan's got some talking to do. Coming?'
IV
According to Fedor, Ralph Jordan had a penthouse apartment on Roosevelt Boulevard. He had taken the apartment soon after June Arnot had got rid of her Hollywood home, and although he had kept on his own luxurious home in Beverly Hills, he seldom lived there.
Conrad swung the car up the circular drive leading to Jordan's apartment block and pulled up in the shadows. Near by was a row of garage lock-ups. A big black Cadillac, parked half in and half out of one of the lock-ups attracted his attention.
'Someone wasn't looking where he was driving,' he said as he got out of the car. He walked over to the lock-up. Bardin followed him.
