“I got her wave-characteristics when she came up the other day to get us to serve the papers,” he said. “I got Tom’s today while we were talking. The machine was all set and the recording needles made a permanent record.”
I swallowed. “Can you get the landlord’s characteristics too?”
Slim held up a sheet of ruled paper. “Got his already. I was just practicing; I got him when he was trying to hammer the door down yesterday.”
Suddenly I felt a deep peace. I had the landlord in my power, now, and I didn’t have to hurry; I could take my time.
But Slim notched me down. “Get this hundred changed,” he said. “Give the landlord fifty and then have the telephone connected again.”
I took the hundred.
“Get some more sandwiches, too. We’ll be here late tonight.”
Well, the landlord wasn’t as sarcastic as I had feared. He defrosted slightly when he saw the fifty. Now we owed him only two hundred. I knew he was probably going to put us out on September the first, but I soothed my hurt feelings by imagining him walking around in his shorts. There is nothing else that will so undignify a man. But before long—in fact, as soon as I could get to the Brain-Finder while Slim wasn’t watching—I’d get the facts.
We watched Mrs. Ellingbery for four straight nights and days. She went visiting; she played bridge; she shopped. She never did give more than a second glance at any man, and she didn’t talk to any man over the phone. We could see her only when she looked at herself in the mirror. That was enough.
We followed her like two bloodhounds, from the time she ate breakfast until she went to bed at night, but Slim turned the machine off when she sat down to remove her stockings. Slim always was a gentleman.
We went back in “time”—fast. Flashes here and there. But Mrs. Ellingbery was like Caesar’s wife. On the fifth day Slim called Tom Ellingbery and told him he was dropping the case, that his wife was above suspicion and it wasn’t worth while to watch her. I was glad, but Tom Ellingbery swore; anyway, he said he’d send a check for another hundred. Then Slim sat back and looked at me. “Now,” he said quietly, “we’ll turn this thing where it belongs.”
I’d been hoping he’d go out for a sandwich, now that we dared to use the passenger elevators, so that I could sneak a preview of the landlord biting his fingernails in seclusion, but no. Slim fixed his deep eyes on me and said, “We’ll see what Tom has been doing recently. Do you realize he hasn’t been in the picture but once in five days?”
Tom was it, all right. We trailed him that night to a big apartment house across town. Yes, it was a blonde, only this one had had considerable help from a bottle of peroxide. …
Slim made a deal with Mrs. Ellingbery’s lawyers. We were to get five triple-o’s if Mrs. Ellingbery won. So Slim spent the weekend trailing Tom for the past three months while I wrote it all down like a chronological history of the war. I was tickled over July the Fourth. On July the Fourth, Tom and the bleached blonde started out with a popcorn picnic and wound up—you guess. Riding the roller coaster! I could just imagine what old Judge Monday would say to that; that little scene would be worth half of the property settlement.
We were short on time. Some way or another Tom Ellingbery had rushed the trial, and it was set for August 30. We turned over our notes to Mrs. Ellingbery’s lawyers and sat back and waited. Private investigators never go near the courts unless they have to.
At four thirty that day the telephone rang. Slim listened, then he hung up. “Tom has got a couple of shrewd, tough lawyers,” he said. “We have to go to court. Tom isn’t admitting anything and he isn’t taking any bluffs. He demands proof.”
“Well,” I said, “for five M notes I’ll tell everything.”
Slim was worried. He talked to her lawyers, Youngquist and Rubicam, that night. The next morning we were both in court. It was direct examination. Slim identified himself, then he was asked: “You have investigated Tom Ellingbery’s activities over the past three months?”
“Yes.” Slim was very self-composed.
“Did you, on the night of August 26, observe him going into an apartment house at this address?”
“Yes.”
And so on—but never a word of where Slim was when he saw all this. Very clever, I thought, but when I looked at those sharp-eyed young fellows at Tom Ellingbery’s table, I knew it’d never get by.
Presently Mr. Youngquist said, “You may inquire.” I held my breath. But one of the young fellows looked up and said, “Are you going to put his partner on?”
“Yes,” said Mr. Youngquist.
“With that understanding, there are no questions of this witness, your honor.”
I jumped as if I had sat down on an electric griddle. It was plain even to me; they figured Slim was pretty sharp, so they’d wait for me, and in the meantime they wouldn’t tip me off by asking Slim any questions. I wished I could have held my breath for about three days.
I got along all right with Mr. Youngquist. I was careful not to say anything about where I had stood or sat or walked. I said, “Yes, I followed him,” because I did follow him with my eyes. Then Mr. Youngquist turned to the young fellow and said, “You may inquire.”
The young fellow got up slowly and looked at me easily and gently, but it was still August. I was sweating. I knew it was coming. I looked at Slim. Slim was sweating too. I looked at Mr. Youngquist. He wiped the perspiration from his forehead.
“You say,” the young fellow began softly, “that you and your partner followed Mr. Ellingbery from sometime in June?”
“Yes.”
“You testified, I believe, that on the night of July
