hot water. By his side, on a table, stood a bottle of Scotch, two glasses, one of them half-full, and a bottle of charge water. He gave me a wan smile as I stood in the doorway, gaping at him.
‘What do you imagine you’re doing?’ I asked, coming in and shutting the door.
‘Resting my dogs,’ he said. ‘Have you forgotten you had the car? I’ve been tramping my feet into the sidewalk. You wouldn’t believe it, but there are fourteen hotels in this dump. Think of it! Fourteen! They’re spread out all over the town. I’ve called on the lot.’
‘Did you find him?’
Bernie laughed bitterly.
‘There’s not a sign of him. I wore my feet out for nothing.’
I lit a cigarette and poured myself a drink.
‘You didn’t miss one hotel? You’re sure?’
‘I’m sure. I got Larson to make out a list. He swears it’s complete. The guy didn’t stay at a hotel in Welden. I’m telling you. It’s now an established fact. He either lives in an apartment
or a house or else he came in from Frisco or some place, but he didn’t stay at a hotel!’
‘The cops are looking for him now,’ I said, and went on to tell Bernie of my visit to Welden’s police headquarters. I broke the news as gently as possible that Hesson had been murdered.
‘You see what I mean?’ Bernie said, starting to dry his feet. ‘That’s three of them knocked off. If we keep sticking our noses into this, we’ll get knocked off too.’
‘Relax,’ I said. ‘The police are taking care of it now. I’m disappointed you didn’t find that guy in the camel hair coat, Bernie. I would have liked to have talked to him before Creed got
on to him.’
‘Well, he didn’t stay in any of the hotels in this town,’ Bernie said. ‘You’d better let the cops hunt for him.’
‘You asked Larson if he stayed here, of course?’ I asked casually.
Bernie started as if someone had touched him with a red-hot poker. He turned the colour of an overripe tomato as he stared at me, his eyes bulging.
‘Why should he stay here?’ he demanded hoarsely.
‘Why shouldn’t he? Did you ask Larson?’
‘No, I didn’t!’ Bernie clutched at his hair. ‘Mercy! If he did stay here. . .! To think I’ve been tramping the streets all day, wearing myself to a shadow and it never crossed my mind to ask Larson.’
I picked up the telephone.
‘This is Sladen,’ I said when Larson answered. ‘Do you remember if a guy stayed here around August of last year who wore a camel hair coat? He’s tall, suntanned and has a small moustache.’
‘Sure,’ Larson said. ‘I remember him well. What about him?’
‘I’ll be right down. I want to talk to you about him.’ I hung up and looked accusingly at Bernie. ‘You big mutton head! He did stay here!’
Bernie closed his eyes.
‘How was I to know?’ he wailed. ‘To think of the miles I’ve walked!’
I left him and ran down the stairs.
‘Tell me about this guy,’ I said, coming to rest at the reception desk. ‘What was his name?’
Larson opened the register.
‘He booked in on August 9th. His name’s Henry Rutland. Here’s the entry. He came from Los Angeles. What’s the excitement about?’
‘He arrived the same day as Miss Benson did?’
‘Yes. Miss Benson booked in at noon. Rutland booked in at six in the evening.’
‘Did he own a green and cream Cadillac?’
‘That’s right. He garaged it across the way.’
‘Would they have the licence number?’
‘They might. I wouldn’t know.’
‘When did he leave?’
‘The morning of the 17th.’
‘That’s the day Miss Benson disappeared.’ I ran my fingers through my hair. ‘I believe this guy had something to do with her disappearance. Did you ever see them together?’
‘I don’t think so. He went out early and Miss Benson didn’t leave her room until late.’
‘Where was his room? Near Miss Benson’s?’
‘Their rooms were opposite on the second floor,’ Larson said after consulting the register.
‘So they could have got together without you knowing it?’
‘I guess so. We haven’t any permanent floor staff. After eight, none of the staff goes upstairs.’
‘Did Rutland say why he had come to Welden?’
‘No. He didn’t mention what his business was.’
‘Did he have much luggage?’
‘Just a suitcase.’
‘Any visitors, mail or telephone calls?’
‘I don’t think so. I’m sure he didn’t.’
‘Would there be anyone at the garage now?’
‘Joe will be there. We don’t shut down until one o’clock.’
‘I’ll have a word with him.’
But the garage attendant didn’t remember the licence number of the Cadillac. He remembered the car and he remembered Henry Rutland.
‘He had plenty of dough,’ he told me, ‘and he was pretty free with it. He took the car out every morning around ten and brought it back any time between midnight and one o’clock. He wanted it cleaned every day. He was fussy about how it looked. Sorry I can’t remember the licence number. It’s fourteen months ago, and I get a lot of cars through my hands.’
I gave him half a buck and went back to the hotel. I found Bernie lying on his bed, a look of anguish on his fat face.
‘His name is Henry Rutland and he came from Los Angeles.’
‘I couldn’t care less who he is,’ Bernie groaned. ‘I could kick myself. To think I’ve been walking five solid hours when all the time I could have been resting in the bar.’
I laughed. It struck me as funny.
‘Forget it. It’s probably done you good. It’s time you had some exercise. It’s too late to tell Creed tonight. I’ll see him tomorrow. Well, I guess I’ll turn in.’ I broke off as I saw Bernie’s eyes open very wide as he stared past me towards the door.
I looked over my shoulder and my heart skipped a beat. Standing in the doorway was a short, thickset man whose round heavy face was the colour of cold mutton fat. He had on a dirty trench coat and a black slouch hat pulled down over his right eye. A two-day growth of beard darkened his jowls, and there was a cold viciousness in his slate-grey eyes that sent a chill of apprehension up my spine.
In his right hand he held a .38 automatic, and it pointed at me.
III
For a long moment we stared at each other, then he said, ‘Stay just as you are.’ His voice was low pitched and nasal. His lips scarcely moved when he spoke. ‘Which of you is Sladen?’
‘I am,’ I said and I was annoyed my voice sounded unsteady.
‘Okay; now listen: you two get out of town tomorrow. We don’t want you in Welden. You’re to be out by eleven tomorrow morning. We shan’t tell you again. If you think we’re bluffing, stick around and see what happens to you. Get it?’
I drew in a deep breath. I was over my first shock and now I was angry.
‘What’s the idea?’ I demanded, glaring at him. ‘Who are you, anyway?’
‘Never mind what the idea is. This is a tipoff.’ He suddenly began to shake and twitch. He put his left hand
