Casey’s eyes flickered. Whit saw him picking out the best direction in which to make a break, and he fastened firmly on to Casey’s coat. “None of that, now. Come clean. What are you doing in Reno looking like a tramp?”

  “Things haven’t been breaking right for me, Whit,” Casey said earnestly. “I didn’t want you to see me looking like this, so I ran.” He put his free hand on Whit’s arm.

  “Horse collar. I’ve known you too long. Something is up.”

  “It’s the truth.” Casey’s hand slid down Whit’s arm to the wrist. “I wouldn’t lie to you.”

  Whit felt the grip tighten, but he was too late. He flew gracefully into the air over Casey’s head and came down with a thump that knocked the wind out of him. Casey had a tight hammerlock on him before he could move.

  “I’m sorry. Take it easy, now. I can’t tell you any more than I have.” Casey’s low voice in Whit’s ear was commanding. “Where did you meet those people I saw you with back there?”

  “Ow. Go easy on my arm.”

  Casey eased the hammerlock slightly. Whit said, “One of them is Pete Weston. He’s working here in Reno. We picked the others up this morning – or they picked us up. What’s it all about?”

  “Who is we?”

  “Kitty – my wife – and I. We just got married.”

  “Is that why you’re in Reno?”

  “Yes. And I’m getting tired of having my nose rubbed in it. Get off.”

  “I’ll let you up in a minute.” Casey seemed to be thinking hard. Whit was getting ready to buck him off, broken arm or no broken arm, when Casey came to a conclusion.

  “Listen, Whit. I'm in trouble. I can’t tell you what it is, but I’ve got to keep under cover. I’m not known around town at all, and if it got out who I am I’d be washed up – bad – worse than I can tell you. You’ve got to forget you ever saw me.”

  “If you need help—”

  “No. No. I’ll work it out all right. Just don’t mention me to anyone. Nobody at all. When you go back to those people, tell them you were sick or you had to go to the can in a hurry or something, but keep me out of it. It’s important, Whit. I can’t tell you how important it is.”

  He was convincing. Whit said reluctantly, “All right. But I’m not just going to forget about it. Do I have to run you down again as soon as I get up or will you tell me what’s the matter, without an argument?”

  Casey chuckled. “Stubborn as ever, aren’t you?”

  “I sure am.”

  Casey let him up. They brushed themselves for the second time. Whit said, “Well, how about it?”

  “Not now. Not here. It’s a long story. I’ll look you up when we can talk. Where are you staying?”

  Whit told him and gave him the room number. He said, “I’m going to get it out of you if I have to chase you all over town, so don’t try to give me a runaround. I’ll expect to see you at the hotel – if they let you in.”

  He was looking at Casey’s shabby clothes. Casey said, “Don’t worry about me. I’ll get there. Just remember what I said about keeping your mouth shut.”

  “I told you I’d keep quiet, didn’t I? What do you want – an affidavit?”

  Casey put his hand briefly on Whit’s shoulder. “Good boy. I’m sorry I can’t talk just now, but I’ll come clean later.”

  “You’d better, by God.”

  Whit limped away. He did not look back.

  The others were waiting for him in Pete’s car when he returned. Except for his hands, which still showed traces of alley-dirt, he was presentable enough in the dim light. He got into the car, apologized briefly for keeping them waiting, and offered no explanation.

  He was on one side of Kitty in the back seat, with Jess Caldwell on the other. Gladys sat with Pete in front. While Caldwell leaned forward to give Pete directions, Kitty whispered in Whit's ear.

  “Where did you go?”

  Whit whispered back. “I had to wee-wee.”

  “It certainly came on you in a hurry.”

  “I’m like that.”

  Kitty was puzzled. But Caldwell had finished talking to Pete, and Kitty knew that Whit would elaborate his explanation loudly and publicly if she asked any further questions. She let the subject drop until a more opportune moment arrived.

  Jess Caldwell’s apartment could have been the den of vice that Kitty had been looking for, if sinful luxury would satisfy her. It was a beautiful suite in an apartment building on a bluff overlooking the river, upstream about half a mile from their hotel and away from the central part of town. A balcony hung over a garden sloping gently to the stream below, and the view of the city’s lights was beautiful. It had taken money to furnish the place, and it took money to keep it up. Jess Caldwell’s liquor supply was large, high in quality, and as freely flowing as the river below.

  Whit did his best to dent the supply during the course of the evening, first because Caldwell really had some good dance music for them and the kind of struggle that Whit called dancing made him thirsty, and second because he had a hunch that Caldwell would like to see him drunk and talkative. He was willing to oblige at Caldwell’s expense. Caldwell himself was too cagey to drink much, but he would have to ask questions if he wanted answers. It would be interesting to hear what the questions were.

  So Whit obligingly emptied his glass as fast as Caldwell filled it, danced with Kitty, danced with Gladys, and had a good time. When he got too warm, he took the latest refill and went out on the balcony to cool off, feeling high, hot and happy.

  The music broke off after a while. Caldwell came out on the balcony with two glasses, put one at Whit’s elbow, and settled himself in a chair with the other.

  “Nice night,” he said.

  It was coming at last. Whit said, “Swell. Hope the weather keeps up while we’re here.”

  “How long are you going to be in town?”

  “A week or so. First vacation I’ve had in two years.”

  Caldwell didn’t follow the lead. Whit helped him out.

  “Yes, sir, in my business nobody can afford to let go of the reins long enough to take a holiday. Things happen too fast.”

  “Is that so? What is your business?”

  “I’m a C.P.A. Tax consultant.”

  Jess hitched his chair forward an inch. “What does that mean?”

  “Well, tax consultants are a low form of life like revenue agents, only in reverse. A revenue agent tries to get you to pay twice as much income tax as you should, a tax consultant tries to get you off for half as much as you ought to pay, and it’s usually settled at about what would have been the right amount in the first place. Lots of good clean fun, nobody hurt, and we make a living.”

  Caldwell laughed. “Are you any good at it?”

  “I’m reasonably successful, if that’s what you have in mind. What do you mean by good?”

  “Successful. Maybe you can give me some professional advice – for a fee, of course.”

  “Sure. Be glad to. What’s the trouble?”

  “Oh, not while you’re on your honeymoon. Let me have a card and I’ll get in touch with you.”

  Whit thought it was very neatly done, although it was shame to waste such an elaborate build-up just to get a business card. He produced one from his wallet.

  “Here. But don’t let the honeymoon bother you. I like to talk about taxes any time. What’s the problem?”

  “I’ll write you a letter when you get back to your office.”

  “Oh, the hell with that.” Whit waved his glass, spilling part of the drink on his pants. “I must be getting drunk. You go ahead and tell me what’s bothering you, and I’ll bet I can give you an answer in two minutes. One minute.”

  “I don’t want to trouble you now.”

  “It isn’t any trouble, I tell you. Now what’s the matter?”

  “Well, it’s – the government wants more tax.”

  “They always do. What’re the grounds?”

  Jess Caldwell was in a corner. Whit didn’t want to leave him there too long. When Caldwell couldn’t think fast enough, Whit said, “It isn’t one of those back-year adjustments, is it? A lot of my clients have been getting hooked for additional taxes because the Treasury Department finally made up its mind to disallow stock losses back in ’33, ’34, and those years.” He hiccupped. “You wouldn’t be the only one that got hurt, if that’s why they’re after you.”

  Caldwell took the bait. “I’m glad I’ve got company. I’ve been pretty badly hit.”

  “Well, I guess I can’t bail you out as easy as I thought, then. But you send me your papers when I get home and I’ll see what I can do for you. My address is on the card.”

  “I’ll do that.”

  There were no more leading questions. Caldwell either had got what he wanted or he had been scared off when Whit backed him into a corner. They talked for a while – Whit was careful to slur his speech slightly, not too much – and after a while they went inside to dance with the girls again.

  Whit’s drunk act was only about one-third acting. When he stumbled over the carpet for the fifth time, Kitty recognized the symptoms. She didn’t want to spend the next day helping him with a hangover. Pete, who was thoroughly occupied with Gladys, made a half-hearted offer to drive them home when Kitty announced that they were leaving, and was grateful when she said they would walk. Her husband needed fresh air. Her husband was a man who had been behind the door when the brains were passed out, and he didn’t know yet that one man couldn’t drink the country dry. She said good night to their host and thanked him for a lovely evening.

  Whit was full of love and good liquor as they walked back to the hotel, and he sang bawdy songs quietly to himself. He was so cheerful that it was a shame to light into him about his drinking, but it had to be done periodically, for his own good. When they came to a park bench near the river-bank, Kitty sat him down and lit in.

  “I wish you wouldn’t drink so much, honey. It isn’t good for you. Besides, we’re going to get up and go horseback riding in the morning, and you’ll feel terrible.”

  “I feel fine. Ragtime cowboy Whitney, that’s me.”

  “You won’t feel that way in the morning.”

  “That’s tomorrow. Anyway, I had to get drunk to get Jess Caldwell to talk.”

  “You had to get drunk so he’d talk?”

  “Sure. The delicate approach. I found out what I wanted to know.”

  “What?”

  “He’s a liar, for one thing. Not a very good one.”

  “Why is he a liar?”

  “I don’t know. Why do people lie?”

  “I mean, how do you know he’s a liar?”

  “He wanted to find out what my business was and where I had an office, so he handed me a lot of malarkey about his income tax troubles and how he was going to write me a letter about them, until I gave him a business card.”

  “Maybe he really does want to write you a letter about his income tax troubles. That’s possible, isn’t it?”

  “Not about stock losses disallowed in 1933 and 1934, it isn’t. I gave him that as a suggestion and he bit. The trouble is that the statute of limitations has run against those years and the Government can’t reopen them. He wants to check up on me, for some reason.”

  “Why?”

  “I wish I knew,” Whit said seriously. “I wish I knew.”

  CHAPTER 7

  IN THE MIDDLE of the night Abou Ben Adhem Whitney awoke suddenly, conscious that someone had dug him in the ribs with a hard thumb. It was the early hour in the morning when his mind didn’t function very well. He investigated the situation and discovered that he was in bed with someone warm and obviously female. It interested him. While he meditated sleepily on an appropriate course of action, he heard Kitty’s whisper in his ear.

  “Keep still. Someone is in the room.”

  He remembered where he was then, and that he was a happily married man with a fuzzy taste in his mouth and a desire for peace. But he had responsibilities. If he were still single he could pull the covers over his head and pretend to be asleep. Marriage made it different. He turned his head slowly until his mouth was free and his lips were near Kitty’s ear.

  “Where?”

  Kitty’s answering whisper was barely audible. “At the window.”

  Whit cautiously turned his head in the other direction. He could see a motionless shadow against the pale curtains. He wondered what he ought to do about it. If he felt braver, he could jump out of bed and tackle the intruder, but it was a long way to go for a man who had to disengage himself first from a pile of bedclothes. And it was hard to be brave at that hour of the morning.

  Kitty’s lips moved against his ear. “I’m scared.”

  Whit laboriously turned his head again. “My God, so am I. I’m going to switch on the light. If anything happens, roll out on the floor and scream your head off. Here goes.”

  The lamp at the bedside table had a chain pull. The chain clicked faintly as Whit’s fingers found it, and the man at the window had whirled and was facing them with a gun in his hand when the light came on. It was a big, efficient gun, but Whit’s heart, after the first bound, left his throat and went back approximately to where it belonged. The visitor was Casey Jones.

  Casey was not something that a bride of one day should have had to confront in her bedchamber. His face was unshaven and haggard, he was hatless, and his clothes had been stolen from a dustbin. The only clean thing about him was the gun in his hand, and that was clearly in first-class shooting condition. Kitty took a deep breath when she saw it. Whit barely had time to clamp his hand over her mouth before she woke the neighborhood.

  “It’s all right, honey. He’s a friend of mine.” He kept her mouth covered as a precaution. “What’s the cannon for, Casey?”

  “I wasn’t sure I had got into the right room.” Casey stowed the gun away in his coat. “Put out the light. No use attracting attention.”

  Kitty said indignantly under Whit’s hand, “Blug go.” He let go and reached for the lamp.

  Casey stayed at the window for a moment after the light went out. Then his shadow moved across the room and a chair made faint noises. He said, “Sorry to bust in on you like this, but I didn’t want to be seen. Can you spare a cigarette?” His voice had an undertone of strain.

  “Sure.”

  Whit groped for his cigarettes on the bedside table and threw the package towards the voice. A match flared, cupped in Casey’s hands, and was quickly extinguished.

  “Just for the record, that’s Casey Jones over there and Mrs. Whitney over here,” Whit said.

  They both said how d’you do. It was all very polite and sociable. Whit waited for a decent interval, but Casey did not open the conversation. Whit had to throw the first ball.

  “How did you get in?”

  “Fire-escape.” The strain was still present in Casey’s voice. “Have you told Mrs. Whitney about me?”

  “She knows who you are. You don’t have to worry. She can keep her mouth shut.”

  “Did you talk to anyone else?”

  “I told Pete Weston I had seen you in town, after I chased you this morning. That’s all. He didn’t believe me.”

  The coal of Casey’s cigarette glowed in the dark. He said, “I’m in trouble, Whit.”

  “What kind of trouble?”

  “I’m wanted for murder and desertion.”

  “Go ahead.”

  Kitty moved uneasily at Whit’s side. He gave her a soothing pat.

  “I was commissioned in the Army after I saw you last, and they sent me to a camp in Idaho as an engineering instructor. There was a shooting one night. Another officer was killed, and someone arranged to have it appear as if I had done it. I don’t know why, but it looked so bad for me I had to run out.”

  “Why Reno?”

  “I followed a man here, a civilian. He was mixed up in the shooting. I’m trying to get something to clear myself before they catch up with me.”

  “Anyone I know?”

  “No.”

  The room was quiet for a moment. In the remote distance a bell tolled four times. Whit said, “You don’t want to tell me anything about it, do you?”

  “I don’t want you to get involved. I can pull myself out if I’m lucky, and if I’m not lucky there’s nothing you can do to help me except forget that you’ve seen me. Nobody else knows me in Reno, but if I keep bumping into you around town you’ll give me away. How long are you going to be here?”

  “A week. But don’t forget Pete Weston. He’s a permanent resident.”

  “I’ll look out for Pete. You’re the one that I’m worried about.”

  “I’ll make you a deal. Tell me the whole story and I’ll forget I ever saw you in my life.”

  “I told you the story. What more—”

  “No. Who are you after here?”

  “It’s nobody you know.”

  “What’s his name?”

  Casey said flatly, “I’m not going to tell you, so you might as well stop needling me. I don’t want you mixed up in this. You probably won’t see me again before you leave town, but if you do all I ask is that you look the other way. And don’t mention my name to anyone, no matter who it is, or you’ll get me hanged for a murder I didn’t commit. I’ll go back and clear myself when I get the information I need, but I’ve got to have time. It’s God’s truth, Whit.”

  “Am I calling you a liar?” Whit asked irritably. The desperation of Casey’s appeal was too real to ignore.

  “I just wanted to make sure you know how important it is for you to keep quiet.” Casey’s voice was more controlled now. “That’s all. I’m sorry I had to disturb you, Mrs. Whitney.”

  “Oh, heavens,” Kitty said. “Don’t apologize. I wish there were something we could do.”

  “I’ll be all right. Just forget about me. I’ll see you again sometime, Whit.”

  The chair made its faint noise again. Casey’s shadow appeared at the window.

  Whit said, “Wait a minute. You can’t walk out like this. There must be something we can do to help.”

  “No. I’d tell you.”