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When they finally handed it to me I saw the clerk looking at me with that type of curiosity the average public reserves for famous criminals, private detectives, and prostitutes.

“Sign here,” she said.

I signed.

The message read:FOR YOUR INFORMATION G.G. WHO TOOK POWDER FROM HOSPITAL IS ABOARD UNITED AIRLINES FLIGHT NUMBER 665 LEAVING LOS ANGELES THREE P.M. ARRIVING SAN FRANCISCO AIRPORT FOURTHIRTY TODAY. HE IS TRAVELING UNDER NAME GEORGE GRANBY AND THINKS HE IS ALL COVERED UP. I GOT IT FROM CONNECTION MENTIONED ON PHONE SO KEEP CONFIDENTIAL. BERTHA BLOWING TOP EVERY THIRTY MINUTES LIKE OLD FAITHFUL GEYSER IN YELLOWSTONE. YOU MUST BE LOW ON MONEY UNABLE CHISEL FROM FIRM BUT AM SENDING YOU LOAN FROM PRIVATE SAVINGS TRY TO MAKE IT LAST AS THERE ISN’T ANY MORE. ALL MY LOVE TO SYLVIA. YOURS.

It was signed, Elsie.

“Do you,” asked the person behind the counter, “have anything to show your identity? A business card, a driving license, things of that sort?”

I showed her my driving license and my business card as a private investigator.

“Sign here,” she said.

I signed.

She started counting out money. Three hundred and fifty dollars in twenties and tens. It was one of the most welcome sights I had ever seen.

Gabby Garvanza’s plane would already be in, but I made a list of five of the principal hotels and started calling, asking if they had a George Granby registered.

In the third hotel I struck pay dirt. George Granby was registered and was in.

I waited on the line until a voice that sounded sullen and a little resentful said, “Hello.”

I said, “I want to talk to you about the Maurine Auburn case. I’m a private detective from Los Angeles. I’ve been cutting corners and the police have issued a pickup on me. I don’t want to be picked up and I don’t want to be quoted. I want to talk.”

Gabby Garvanza lived up to his reputation of being taciturn.

“Come up,” he said, and slipped the phone back on the receiver.

I took a taxi to the hotel and went up to George Granby’s room without being announced.

“Come in,” a voice called as I knocked on the door.

I hesitated.

“Come on in, the door’s unlocked.”

I opened the door.

The room seemed empty.

I stepped inside and could see no one.

Abruptly the door was kicked shut. The heavy-set gorilla who had been standing behind the door came toward me.

The bathroom door opened and a sallow-looking man, who was evidently Gabby Garvanza, closed in from the other side.

“Up,” the heavy-set man said.

I elevated my hands.

He was a big, burly fellow with a cauliflower ear and a face which showed the ravages of conflict. He gave me a complete and thorough frisking.

“He’s clean,” he said.

Gabby Garvanza said, “Sit down. Tell me who you are and what the hell you want.”

I sat down and said, “I’m interested in finding out what happened to Maurine Auburn.”

“Who isn’t?”

I said, “I’m a private detective. I’m working on a case.”

I handed him a card.

He barely glanced at the card, tossed it to one side, then thought better of it, took it up, looked at it again, gave it thoughtful consideration, and pushed it in his pocket.

“You’ve got a nerve, Lam.”

I said nothing.

“How did you find me?”

“I’m a detective.”

“That doesn’t tell me anything.”

“Think it over and it will.”

“I don’t like to think. You do it — out loud.”

I shook my head.

“I’m supposed to be under cover,” Gabby went on. “If it’s that easy to lift the cover I want to know about it.”

I said, “I’m here. Therefore it’s that easy.”

“How?”

“I don’t know. I only know I have connections. They know I’m protecting them.”

He said, “You talk big as hell for a little guy.”

“That makes for a fair average,” I told him.

He laughed at that and said, “I like your guts.”

“Thanks.”

“What’s your problem?” Gabby asked after a minute.

I said, “It involves John Carver Billings the Second, the fellow who said he was with Maurine when she walked out on the party she was with.”

“Go on.”

“That’s all.”

He shook his head.

I said, “I’m interested in finding out where John Carver Billings was that night.”

“What’s stopping you?”

“Nothing.”

“Go ahead and find out, then.”

“That’s what I’m doing.”

“You’re not getting very far here.”

I grinned and lit a cigarette.

The bodyguard looked at Gabby, questioning him with a glance whether I should be tossed out of the window or kicked out into the corridor.

I blew out the match and said, “Young Billings says he picked up Maurine and then went out to a nitery and she went into the powder room and never came out.”

“Sound reasonable to you?” he asked.

“No,” I said.

“Keep talking,” he invited.

I said, “The way I size it up, Maurine Auburn was out with fellows that know their way around. They were giving her protection. Young Billings tells a nice story about drifting in and picking her up and taking her away from the party she was with, just as though she’d been some secretary out with a couple of filing clerks and accountants from the office. I don’t think it would have happened that way.”

“Keep on thinking — out loud.”

“So,” I said, “I hate to see young Billings getting in bad over something he didn’t do, something he couldn’t have done. And I wondered if perhaps you came up here to question him.”

Gabby Garvanza laughed.

I quit talking.

“Go on,” Garvanza said.

“That’s all there is.”