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  “When did you first know about the murder?”

  “Whitewell told me this morning.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He thought there was some possibility he might be detained here, in which event he wanted me to take a plane to Los Angeles.”

  “Why the hurry?”

  “Because the business has to be kept running.”

  “How do I know you went to the picture show last night between eight-thirty and quarter to nine?”

  Endicott said, “I’m sure I wouldn’t know.’

  “What was the picture?”

  “Oh, a light comedy, something about a divorced husband who returned just as his wife was about to marry again. Some rather interesting situations in it.”

  “Can’t you describe the plot any better than that?”

  “No.”

  Kleinsmidt said, “I don’t suppose there’s any chance you preserved your ticket stub?”

  Endicott said, “I may have.” He started searching mechanically through his pockets. From a right vest pocket, he took out several stubs of tickets, looked at them, selected one, and said, “This is probably it.”

  Kleinsmidt walked over to the telephone, picked it up, and called a number.

  “The theater won’t be open this time in ‘the morning,” Endicott said.“I’m calling the manager’s house.”

  A moment later, Kleinsmidt said into the telephone, “Frank, this is Bill Kleinsmidt. Sorry I got you up, but a glass of hot water with a little lemon juice, and a brisk walk will do your waistline a lot of good. Now, wait a minute. Don’t get sore— I want to ask you something about your tickets. I have the stub of a ticket that was sold last night. There’s a number on it. Is there any way of telling when that ticket was sold? Oh, there is— Just a moment. Hold the phone.”

  Kleinsmidt raised the ticket stub, studied it, and said, “The number is six-nine-four-three— What’s that? Yes, there is. Two letters. BZ. Oh, you’re certain? Okay, thanks a lot.”

  “I’m afraid,” he said to Endicott, “you’re going to have to revise your time schedule somewhat.”

  Endicott tapped the end of a cigarette on a broad thumbnail, shaking the tobacco down. “Sorry,” he said, and then after a second added, “I can’t do it.”

  “Those tickets are keyed,” Kleinsmidt told him. “They’ve had so much trouble with kickbacks on tickets, that they decided to tell exactly when the ticket was sold—at what part of the show in other words. So they worked out a time signal system. A is seven o’clock. B is eight o’clock. C nine o’clock, D ten o’clock. And X, Y, Z stands for fifteen-minute periods. For instance, B on a ticket means that it was sold between eight o’clock and eight-fifteen. BX means the ticket was sold between eight-fifteen and eight-thirty. BY means eight-thirty to eight-forty-five, and BZ means eight-forty-five to nine. They have an automatic stamp which is connected with the clock, and the letters are changed automatically.”

  “Sorry,” Endicott said. “I still think I was in there before eight-forty-five.”

  “All right then, if you were in there before eight-fortyfive, yon could have got up and walked out.”

  A slow smile came over Endicott’s face. “Afraid, Lieutenant, that I can’t oblige you this time. I didn’t realize how lucky”’ was, but if you’ll check back on the show last night, you’ll find that the feature picture ended about eight-fifty-five, and there was a drawing which took place immediately afterwards. The number of a ticket was called out. I somehow read my number incorrectly and started up to the stage. I saw my mistake. The audience gave me the ha-ha. You can verify that.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Lieutenant Kleinsmidt asked.

  Endicott’s voice held just the right amount of amused half-contemptuous tolerance. “As you so aptly express it—yeah,” he said.

  Kleinsmidt said, “That’s an angle I’ll investigate. I’ll want to talk with you again.”

  “If you do, come to Los Angeles.”

  “Don’t go to Los Angeles until I tell you to.”

  Endicott laughed. “My dear sir, if you wart to ask me any more questions, you’d better ask them now, because within two hours I’ll be headed for Los Angeles.”

  “Being independent?” Kleinsmidt inquired.

  “Not a bit of it, Lieutenant. I simply happen to have a deep-seated avers* to letting an important business get at sixes and sevens merely because you want to hold everyone here in Las Vegas until you’ve finished your investigation. I can quite understand your position, Lieutenant, and I don’t blame you in the least, but I have my own responsibilities.”

  “I can have you subpoenaed as a witness before the coroner’s jury.”

  Endicott thought it over, nodded slowly, and said, “My mistake, Lieutenant, you can.”

  “And then you couldn’t leave until the case was cleaned’ up .”

  “That’s right—and the aftermath might be unpleasant. This is important business to you, Lieutenant. To me it’s merely an unpleasant Interruption, and I propose to see it causes me the least inconvenience.”

  “Suppose we compromise,” Kleinsmidt suggested. “If I do nothing to interfere with your going, will you come back of your own accord if I send for you?”

  “Yes—on two provisos. One, that it’s really necessary; two, that I can adjust the business so I can leave it.”

  Endicott started for the door. “If it’s all right with you, Arthur,” he said, standing with one hand on the knob, “I’ll leave here as close to ten o’clock as possible. That will get me in the office shortly after noon.”

  Whitewell nodded.

  “Now, you wanted to write a letter of acceptance on that option given by—”

  “Yes,” Whitewell interrupted as though anxious to keep details from being disclosed in public.

  Endicott took his hand from the door knob, nodded , toward the writing-desk. “Just scribble a note,” he said. “All you need is to mention the option. It was dated the sixteenth of last month.”

  Whitewell dashed off a note and affixed his signature with something of a flourish. Kleinsmidt watched him, studying every move he made.

  “There aren’t any stamps here,” Endicott said suddenly. “I’ll run down to the lobby and pick up some stamps. There’s a vending machine—” Whitewell said, “Don’t bother, Paul. I always carry stamped envelopes ready for just such an emergency as this. Not quite as fresh perhaps as one you’d take from a desk drawer, but Uncle Sam will honor ‘em just the same.”

  He took a stamped air-mail envelope from his pocket, slid it across the desk to Endicott, and said, “Fill out the address. You know where it is.” I glanced quickly at Bertha to see if Whitewell’s habit of carrying stamped air-mail envelopes had registered. Apparently it hadn’t.

  Whitewell sealed the envelope, handed it to Endicott. “Rush this into the mail, Paul.”

  Endicott took the envelope, said, ‘I’m not certain of airmail connections out of here, but even if it has to go to San Francisco and back, it’ll be there by tomorrow morning at the latest—which will protect you.”

  Kleinsmidt watched him, his eyebrows ominously level.

  Abruptly he turned and smiled at Bertha. “So sorry, Mrs. Cool, I interfered with you so early in the morning. Try and overlook it. If you people can learn to accept these interruptions philosophically, it’s going to be a lot easier on you.”

  He walked quickly to the door, turned on the threshold, and went out.

  I looked over at Arthur Whitewell. He was no longer the flatterer, the somewhat muddled and very much worried father. He showed instead as a man with a quick, keenly incisive mind and the ability to reach snap decisions.

  “All right, Endicott,” he said, “you’re going to be running the business. I’ll stay here until this thing is straightened up. You get started for Los Angeles.”

  Endicott nodded.

  “I’ll be willing to bid up to eighty-five dollars a share to get that block of stock we were talking about last night. You understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “I won’t go over fifty thousand for that Consolidated outfit. I think there’s a good prospect of oil in that underwriting proposition put up by Fargo. I’ll go to seventy-five thousand on it, but I want my money to be the last in and the first out, with as big a slice of velvet as you can get. Understand?”

  “You mean to tell them—”

  “No. Listen. They’re making the same mistake every new business makes—underestimating the amount of capital which is going to be required. Put in twenty thousand on their terms. Stipulate that the stockholders have to raise an additional twenty thousand. Then sit tight. When the shoe begins to pinch, they’ll ask for small amounts, two thousand to five thousand dollars. Sit absolutely tight. Wait until they’re desperate, then make them our proposition.”

  “Control?” Endicott asked.

  “Control of the common and first preferred covering my investment. I want control after I’ve withdrawn all the money I’ve put in.”

  Endicott pursed his lips. “I don’t think it can be done.”

  “It can if you go at it the way I’ve outlined. They’re asking for, thirty-five thousand dollars. Ask if they won’t be able to raise twenty thousand dollars among themselves if I put in twenty thousand dollars. They’ll do it—and they think that will be ample capital.”

  “I understand,” Endicott said.

  “Don’t talk about this case,” Whitewell instructed him. “If any newspaper reporters get in touch with you, laugh at them. I’m here on business. Point out very casually that I stopped off here several hours before the murder was committed. In other words, this is a business trip. My business here was important enough to cause me to take a plane and stop over for several days. Philip is here assisting me and learning certain details about the business. Understand?”

  “Right.”

  “Now Philip is young, hotheaded, and impulsive. He’s in love and worried sick over the disappearance of the young woman he was going to marry. You can appreciate the state of his nerves. Temporarily, he’s estranged from me. We had an argument. I don’t think he’s apt to come around holding out an olive branch. I don’t think the authorities here will let him leave Las Vegas. If they do, he’ll come to you. I’m relying on you to keep him in line.”

  Endicott nodded.

  “Under no circumstances is he to talk with the newspaper reporters. I think you can leave that to his good sense, but if you find him slipping, check him up. If you need anything, get in touch with me by telephone.”

  ‘“How long do you expect to be here?”

  “I don’t know, perhaps for some time.”

  “But surely, you’ll be in the office within two or three days. The investigation won’t take—”

  “I may be in jail,” Whitewell said shortly.

  Endicott puckered his lips and gave a faint whistle. “I think you’d better get started,” Whitewell said. “There’s a bare possibility your departure might be delayed.”

  “Not mine,” Endicott said. “The time being stamped on those tickets and the drawing puts me in the clear. But it’s all foolishness to suspect everyone who hasn’t an alibi or who was anywhere in the neighborhood. That’s a goofy way of going at the thing. Why don’t they establish a motive and then start checking the time element.”

  “Because he’s an overzealous cop in an isolated community,” Whitewell said. “We can’t expect metropolitan brains—and you’re going to miss connections if you don’t get started.”

  Endicott got to his feet, bowed to Bertha Cool, shook hands with me, flashed a quick smile at Whitewell, said, “Carry on,” and hustled his big frame through the door. I could hear his heels pounding heavily on the corridor. Whitewell crossed over to the door and the sound of the clicking bolt in the lock made me realize that his approach toward me held some definite purpose.

  “Now then, Lam, what can you do?”

  Bertha said, “Arthur, you can trust the agency to—” ‘ He didn’t even turn toward her, merely motioned for silence with the palm of his hand.

  “If you’ll tell us—”

  “Shut up,” Whitewell said.

  The command was so crisply authoritative that Bertha Cool mechanically lapsed into an uncomfortable and surprised silence.

  “What about it, Lam? What do you want and what can you do?” •

  “Tell me what I’m up against first. Kleinsmidt knows about Corla now. That means some of the Clutmers’ eavesdropping.”

  He said, “That girl is mistaken. I wasn’t near Miss Framley’s apartment.”

  I said, “I don’t think she’s lying.”

  “Neither do I. Don’t you see what it means? There’s a great family resemblance between Philip and me. She saw Philip. She had no reason to notice him closely, simply saw him as a passing pedestrian. If Philip had been here this morning, she’d have identified him, but he wasn’t. She was anxious to make good for the police; she saw me, and there was enough resemblance— We must manage things so she doesn’t ever see Philip.”

  “She’s identified you now. She won’t go back on that.”

  “Well, be sure she doesn’t. Can you make any suggestions?”

  “Sure. Let her see you a few times more, talk and move around in front of her. Then when she sees Philip, he’ll register as a total stranger.”

  “Excellent.”

  “Does Philip have any alibi?”

  “I wouldn’t know. That’s one thing I want you to find out.”

  “Shall let him know that I’m working on that angle?”

  “No. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. You mustn’t let him know you’re working on anything except Corla Burke’s disappearance.”

  I said, “This is going to mean more expenses, you know, and—”

  “That’s all right.”

  Bertha Cool straightened up in her chair. “Pardon me,” she said, “but—”

  Whitewell’s hand motioned her into the background. Bertha said, “To hell with that stuff. Don’t think anyone sets prices in this agency except Bertha Cool.” He suddenly became his old self, smiling at her. “Pardon me, Bertha,” he said. “No one was trying to go over your head. I simply wanted Lam to understand what has to be done, because he’s got to start immediately.”

  Bertha smiled up at him. Her voice was butter-andsyrup. “You know, Arthur, we have to charge more for working on murder cases than on other matters.”

  “How much more?”

  Bertha looked at me and nodded toward the door. “All right, lover, you’d better get started.”

  Chapter Ten

  THE STILL cold of the desert night had melted under the impact of the sun’s rays. The Dearborne residence seemed devoid of life. The brilliant desert sun caught the front of the building and turned the white stucco into eye-aching glare.

  I sat in my rented car, parked across the street and in the middle of the block, waiting—soaking up the warmth of the sunlight and trying to keep from feeling drowsy.

  I tried smoking cigarettes, but they only relieved the nerve tension” and made me feel even more relaxed. There was a mellow somnolence permeating the entire atmosphere. I closed my eyes to relieve them of the glare—and couldn’t raise the leaden lids again. It might have been ten seconds or ten minutes. I snapped to reproachful wakefulness with a start, lowered a window in the door of the car, tried inhaling and .exhaling as deeply and rapidly as possible, getting an over-abundance of oxygen in my blood. I tried to think of something that would make me mad. The door opened, and Ogden Dearborne came out.

  He stood on the front porch for a minute, stretching his arms above his head. I slid down in the seat of the automobile so that only my eyes remained above the level of the glass in the door.

  He looked up at the sky, down at the little strip of lawn in front of the house, straightened, and yawned again, a man without a care in the world, just an engineer working on a government job under civil service, pay checks coming in regularly, election over with, his party in power, and to hell with taxes. Then he casually went back into the house.

  Within three seconds after the door had closed on him, it opened again, and Eloise Dearborne came out.

  She wasted no time looking up and down the street or at the scenery. She walked with quick, firm steps, quite evidently headed toward some definite destination. - I sat in the car and watched her go. She turned a corner to the left, three blocks down the street. I started the motor, kept far enough back to be out of sight, and swung the car in close to the curb.

  It was easy to keep her in view now. The district was becoming more built up, with little stores rubbing elbows. She went into a small grocery store, and I quit crawling along close to the curb, and shut off the motor.

  I waited for nearly ten minutes, then she came out, carrying two large paper bags. This time she went only half a block. The sign on the door said, “Light housekeeping apartments.”

  I jumped out of the car, walked rapidly to the grocery store, bought a ten-cent can of condensed milk, went down to the rooming-house. A woman was sweeping the corridor. I held out the can of milk with an ingratiating grin, and asked, “Where can I find the woman who just came in with the groceries?”

  The woman paused in her sweeping, looked up, saw the can of milk.

  “What’s the matter? Did she drop something?”

  “Apparently so.”

  “I think she’s in apartment Two-A,” she said. “That’s right upstairs and on the front.”

  I thanked her, climbed halfway up the stairs, waited until I heard the swish-swish-swish of the broom cease, and heard the click of a door. Then I ran back down, jumped into my car, tossed the can of milk into the back, and went to the telephone office.

  “Long distance,” I said, “station-to-station call. The number of the B. Cool Detective Agency in Los Angeles. Make it snappy.”

  Elsie Brand came on the line almost as soon as central got the Los Angeles connection.

  “Hello, Elsie. How’s the sex appeal?” I asked.

  “Rotten. How’s the boss?”

  “You won’t believe it. She’s slimmed herself down to around a hundred and fifty.”