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consisted merely in making a round of night spots and using him to “show them the town,” police were withholding their names. It was known, however, that they had been interviewed and had confirmed Billings’s story in every detail.

The newspaper carried an excellent picture of John Carver Billings, a good, clear photograph taken by a newspaper photographer.

I went around to the newspaper office and hunted up the art department. A couple of two-bit cigars got me a fine glossy print of the picture, a real likeness of John Carver Billings the Second.

I strolled back to the telegraph office. There was no wire from Elsie.

I took a streetcar to Millie Rhodes’s apartment.

I found her home.

“Oh, hello,” she said. “Come on in.”

Her eyes were sparkling with excitement. She was wearing an outfit which evidently had just been removed from a box bearing the label of one of San Francisco’s most expensive stores.

“No work?” I asked.

“Not today,” she said, smiling enigmatically.

“I thought your vacation was up and you were due back to work.”

“I changed my plans.”

“And the job?”

“I’m a lady of leisure.”

“Since when?”

“That’s telling.”

“Like it?”

“Don’t be silly.”

“You’re burning bridges, Millie.”

“Let ‘em burn.”

“You might want to go back.”

“Not me. I’m going places, not going back — ever.”

“That’s a new suit, isn’t it?”

“Isn’t it divine? It does things for me. I found it and it fits me as though it had been made for me. It didn’t need the slightest alteration. I’m crazy about it.”

She had been standing in front of the full-length mirror. Now she raised her hands slightly and turned slowly around so I could see the lines.

“It’s a nice job,” I said. “It does things for you.”

She sat down, crossed her legs, and smoothed the skirt over her knees with a caressing motion.

“Well,” she said, “what is it this time?”

I said, “I don’t want you burning bridges. It was all right to lie to me about the John Carver Billings alibi.”

“John Carver Billings the Second,” she amended with a smile.

“The Second,” I admitted. “Lying to me was one thing — lying to the police is another.”

“Look, Donald,” she said, “you look like a nice boy. You’re a detective. That makes you have a nasty, suspicious mind. You came here and intimated that I was lying in order to give John Carver Billings the Second an alibi. I rode along with you in order to see what you’d say.”

I said, “You broke down on cross-examination, and couldn’t tell a consistent story.”

She laughed as though the whole thing was very amusing. “I was just sounding you out, Donald, riding along with the gag.”

She moved over to the davenport and sat down beside me, put one hand on my shoulder, said softly, “Donald, why don’t you grow up?”

“I’ve grown up.”

“You can’t buck money and influence — not in this town.”

“Who has the money?” I asked angrily.

“Right at the moment,” she said, “John Carver Billings the Second has money.”

“All right. Who has the influence?”

“I’ll answer that question. John Carver Billings.”

“You left off the Second,” I told her sarcastically.

“No, I didn’t.”

“You mean that?”

She nodded. “I mean John Carver Billings, the old man. He’s calling the turns.”

I thought that over.

She said, “You stuck your neck out. You did things you shouldn’t have done. You said things you shouldn’t have said. Why didn’t you ride along, Donald?”

“Because I’m not built that way.”

“You’ve lost five hundred dollars, you’ve got yourself in bad with the police, there’s an order out to pick you up, and you’re in a sweet mess. Now, if you wanted to grow up and be your age you could have that all straightened out. The police would withdraw their pickup order, the fivehundred- dollar check would be reinstated, and everything would be hunky-dory.”

“So you’ve gone back to the alibi story.”

“I never abandoned the alibi story.”

“You did to me.”

“That’s what you say.”

“You know you did.”

She said almost dreamily, “John Carver Billings the Second, Sylvia Tucker, and I all tell the same story. You come along and claim that I changed my story to you. I deny it. John Carver Billings the Second says you tried to blackmail him. Police say you were snooping around trying to get something which you could use to blackmail a client. That’s not being smart, Donald.”

“So you’ve decided to sell me out?”

“No. I’ve decided to buy me in.”

“You can’t get away with it, Millie. Don’t try it,” I pleaded.

“You run your business. I’ll run mine.”

“Millie, you can’t do it. You can’t get away with it.

Within two minutes of the time I started to cross-examine you, you had yourself all mixed up.”

“Try cross-examining me now.”

“What good would it do if I trapped you again? You’d simply be that much wiser and you’d lie out of it.”

“I’m wise now, Donald. Why don’t you get wise?”

I said, “You’re dealing with a bunch of amateurs. They think they can fix things up. You’re a nice girl, Millie. I hate to see you get mixed up in this thing. You could get in pretty bad over this.”

“You’re the one who’s in bad now.”

I started for the door and said angrily, “Stick around and see who’s in bad.”

She came running to me. “Don’t leave like that, Donald.”

I pushed her to one side.

Her arms were around me. “Look, Donald, you’re a swell guy. I hate to see you get in bad. You’re bucking power and influence and money. They’ll crush you flat and throw you to one side. You’ll be discredited, convicted of extortion, you’ll lose your license. Donald, please. I can fix it all up for you. I told them they’d have to square things for you or I wouldn’t go along. They promised.”

I said, “Millie, let’s look at it from the standpoint of cold-blooded logic. It cost John Carver Billings the Second almost a thousand dollars to manufacture that alibi, and that isn’t taking into consideration what they paid you. I have an idea Sylvia was softhearted and they didn’t pay her much. They paid you two hundred and fifty dollars the first time. When they came back this second time they really decorated the mahogany.

“You started buying clothes and suitcases. You’re going to make an affidavit and then you’re going traveling,