I looked back over my shoulder. The tall, gangling guy in the Ford sedan was two cars behind us.

  I suddenly fumbled at the car door. “If you wouldn’t mind stopping,” I said, “I’d better get out here, lady.”

  “The name is Doris,” she said.

  “I’d better get out here, Doris.”

  “I’m going to the Miramar Apartments, Donald. That’s where I live.”

  A signal light turned against us. She pressed a delicate, high-arched foot on the brake pedal. “I live there,” she repeated.

  “Goodbye, Doris,” I told her. “You were wonderful.”

  I opened the door, jumped out and slammed the car door shut.

  She started to say something but the light changed and the driver of the car behind her pressed the horn button gently.

  She looked at me almost wistfully for a moment, then drove on.

  The tall, rangy driver of the Ford sedan was looking for a parking place but couldn’t find one. He reluctantly moved on with the string of traffic.

  I walked back to the supermarket, fitted my key to the ignition lock and drove back to the city, turned the car in and called Bertha.

  “Where are you now?” Bertha asked.

  “I’m back in town,” I said. “I’ve been to Colinda.”

  “Donald, there’s something fishy about that case.”

  “Are you just finding that out?”

  “Now, don’t be smart. That secretary of yours, Elsie Brand, and those clippings you’ve been having her save.”

  “What about them?”

  “She’s been looking through the personal ads, trying to make a good job of it—My God, the way that girl worships the ground you walk on. What the hell do you do to women, anyway? What are you going to do, marry her? You’d better.”

  “I will if you insist,” I said. “Of course that would make her a partner in the firm.”

  “Make her what!” Bertha screamed into the telephone.

  “A partner in the firm.”

  “You go to hell. I’m not going to have any goddam secretary marrying into my business.”

  “All right then, I won’t marry her. What did she find out?”

  “The insurance company has been running a blind ad.”

  “What is it?”

  “It’s an ad offering one hundred dollars for any witness who will testify as to an accident taking place at Seventh and Main Streets in Colinda on August thirteenth, involving a rear-end collision.”

  “How do you know it’s the insurance company?”

  “It has to be. Nobody else would have money enough to offer a hundred dollars a witness.”

  I said, “Why would the insurance company want witnesses? They’re going to admit liability. They don’t have a leg to stand on as far as the liability is concerned.”

  “All right, I’m telling you what’s in the paper,” Bertha said. “You better check in the Colinda paper and see if there’s anything in there.”

  “Good idea,” I told her. “I will. I’ve got some news for you, Bertha.”

  “What?”

  “I’ve been wearing a tail.”

  “You have.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Where have you been?”

  “Colinda, and back.”

  “How do you know you’re being shadowed?”

  “Rear-view mirrors and general observation.”

  “Donald, what the hell goes on in this case?”

  “I don’t know,” I told her. “Not yet.”

  “Do you suppose they shadowed Lamont Hawley to our office?”

  “I wouldn’t know,” I said, “but he should.”

  “Then there’s something back of this whole business. You’d better watch your step.”

  “Oh, no,” I told her. “This is one of those nice conservative cases, remember? This is the kind of respectable work that you want us to handle.”

  “The hell of it is,” Bertha yelled into the telephone, “this thing is loaded with dynamite and you know it! Why did that Hawley guy stop in the doorway and tell you there was an element of danger in the case? What the hell was he trying to do?”

  “Trying to keep me from running head-on into something I couldn’t handle,” I said.

  “Then why didn’t he tell us that when he was briefing us on the case, and tell us what it was?”

  I was careful to wait until Bertha had finished talking so my shot would tell, and then said, “Because if he’d been frank with us, you’d have fixed a fee commensurate with the amount of work and danger involved. As it was, he suckered you into fixing a nominal fee. He’d have paid ten thousand just as quick as he’d have paid one, and—”

  The inarticulate roar at the other end of the line could only mean one thing.

  I gently hung up the telephone before Bertha’s screaming indignation could melt the wires in the receiver.

  I picked up the agency heap and drove to my apartment, taking it easy and keeping an eye on the rear-view mirror. There was no tail.

  I made it a point to get the morning newspapers when they came out late that evening. I looked in the personal ads. Sure enough, there was the ad, but this time they boosted the ante. The ad read: “Will pay $250 for contact with witness who saw rear-end collision Seventh and Main, Colinda, August 13th at 3:30 P.M. Box 694-W.”

  I clipped out the ad, pasted it on a sheet of paper and scribbled beneath it, call Mayview 6-9423 and ask for Donald.

  I addressed the envelope to the box number on the ad and put it in the mail.

  Mayview 6-9423 was the number of Elsie Brand’s private telephone.

  I called her. “Hi, Elsie, how’s tricks?”

  “Fine, Donald. Where are you?”

  “I’m in town.”

  “Oh, was there something you wanted?”

  “Yes, Elsie. If somebody telephones and asks for Donald, be just a little cagey. Tell whoever it is that I’m in and out but that you’ll take a message for me. If they want any information or ask for my last name, tell them I’m your brother.”

  “Are you supposed to be living at this address, Donald?”

  “Perhaps.”

  “Wouldn’t it be rather awkward, having a brother living in this single apartment?”

  “Okay,” I said, “tell them I’m your husband.”

  “That would be even more embarrassing.”

  “All right,” I said, “which would you prefer, to have it awkward or to have it embarrassing?”

  “Which would you prefer, Donald?”

  “Better leave it just awkward,” I said. “Out of consideration for your feelings. Tell them I’m your brother.”

  “Anything you say,” she said.

  “Sleep tight,” I told her, and hung up.

  The next day I went to the car rental place and got a Chevrolet sedan. I drove to Colinda.

  As nearly as I could find out, no one had the slightest interest in my movements. Aside from normal traffic, I had the road all to myself. I drove fast and I drove slow. I couldn’t find anyone following me.

  I got to Colinda and bought a newspaper.

  There wasn’t anything in the want ad column about advertising for a witness who had seen the August 13th accident.

  I went to the traffic department at the police station and looked up the records.

  There was a routine report that had been made by Carter Jackson Holgate on the day after the accident, mentioning that he had collided with the rear end of a vehicle at Seventh and Main Streets at 3:30 P.M.; that the other car involved was license number TVN 626 and was the property of Vivian Deshler, living at the Miramar Apartments; that damage had been estimated at $150 to the front end of Holgate’s automobile; that the damage to the rear of the other car had been “negligible.”

  I drove out to the Miramar Apartments. Doris Ashley’s car was in the parking lot.

  A little after two, she emerged from the apartment house and started walking with her characteristic short, snappy stride to the parking lot.

  I waited until her back was turned, started my car, drove to the supermarket, parked it and went inside.

  Doris entered the market, picked up a shopping cart, made a few purchases and started toward the checker.

  I walked up to the checker and lowered my voice. “Look, Buddy,” I said, “I’d like to open up a line of credit.”

  He shook his head. “We’re cash.”

  “But this would only be a short-term credit. I’d just like to have—”

  He shook his head again. “I’m sorry,” he said. “We just don’t have credit, not to anybody. We wouldn’t give credit to the President of the United States. We’re on a cash basis here. If you want to cash a check, that’s something else again. I can refer you to the manager. But no credit.”

  “Not even for an amount up to five dollars?” I asked.

  He shook his head vehemently.

  I looked up and saw Doris Ashley standing there staring at me, taking in the whole situation. She couldn’t have heard the conversation but she saw the man shaking his head and saw me turning away.

  “Donald!” she exclaimed.

  “Hello,” I said dejectedly.

  “Donald, wait for me. Wait, I want to talk with you.”

  She hurried up to the checking counter, said, “Check these through, please, and give me my change.”

  She dropped twenty dollars in front of the checker, hurried through and took my arm.

  “Donald, why did you duck out on me yesterday?”

  “I…I was afraid I was going to go out of control.”

  “What do you mean, out of control?”

  “I said something I hadn’t intended to.”

  “What, about your past? You didn’t tell me anything.”

  “No, about…about your legs.”

  She laughed. “What about my legs, Donald?”

  “They’re wonderful.”

  “Silly boy!” she said. “Did you think I didn’t know I had good-looking legs? They’re part of me. I use them to walk around with and when I want to impress somebody—well, I did give you a good look, Donald, when you were nice to me and had started that car for me.”

  “You’re not angry because I—”

  “I’d have been angry if you hadn’t.”

  The checker said, “Here you are, ma’am, three dollars and twelve cents and here’s your change out of the twenty.”

  Doris moved over to the paper bag.

  I hesitated for just the right period of time, then said, “May I?” and picked up the bag for her.

  I carried it out to the car.

  “Just put it in back, Donald.”

  I put it in back and held the car door open for her. “What are you going to do now, Donald?”

  “Going back to San Francisco.”

  “You saw the person you wanted to see?”

  “Yes.”

  “Get what you wanted?”

  “No.”

  “Get in,” she said.

  “I—”

  “Get in. I’ll give you a ride uptown—and don’t jump out on me this time.”

  I got in the car.

  Doris had her short skirt up to the hemline of her stockings and this time she didn’t make the gesture of pulling it down.

  She backed the car out of the stall, drove out of the parking lot and as we left the parking lot I got a glimpse of the tall, rangy individual who had been driving the Ford yesterday. This time he was driving a nondescript Plymouth that had seen plenty of use.

  We got into traffic. The Plymouth was four cars behind. Doris said, “Donald, you’re lonely, aren’t you?”

  “Maybe.”

  “And you’ve been starved for…for feminine companionship?”

  “Could be.”

  “And you’re going to San Francisco, Donald, and you’re going to get into trouble. You wanted something here. What did you want—to get a job in that supermarket?”

  “Could be.”

  “And because you couldn’t get it, you’ve given up the idea of going straight. You’re going to San Francisco—why?”

  “I know somebody there.”

  “Man or woman?”

  “Woman.”

  “Young?”

  “So-so.”

  “Attractive?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’ve known her before?”

  “Before what?”

  “Before you got in trouble.”

  “Could be.”

  “Donald, you know what’ll happen. You’ll need money and you’ll meet some of the old gang up there and the first thing you know you’ll be in trouble all over again and be back.”

  “Back where?”

  “San Quentin.”

  She looked at me with a sidelong, searching gaze.

  I hung my head and didn’t say anything.

  “Donald, I want you to do something.”

  “What?”

  “Come up to my apartment.”

  “Huh?” I said, jolting to quick attention.

  “I just want to talk with you,” she said. “I want to find out something about you. Perhaps I can help you. Are you hungry?”

  “Not too hungry.”

  “But you’re hungry?”

  “I could eat.”

  She said, “Look, I’ve got a nice filet mignon in the ice box. I’m going to cook that for you and you’re going to sit down and relax. You’re under some sort of tension and it bothers me. You’re too nice to just go drifting back into trouble.”

  “You’re taking an awful lot for granted,” I told her.

  “People have to take each other for granted sometimes.”

  I didn’t say anything for a while, but watched her driving the car.

  “Like them today, Donald?” she asked.

  “What?”

  “The legs.”

  “They’re wonderful.”

  She smiled.

  We drove in silence until we came to the apartment house. She parked in the vacant lot.

  Out of the corner of my eye I saw the tall, rangy guy in the Plymouth park at the curb half a block away.

  I got out of the car, walked around and held the door open for her.

  She swung her knees from under the steering wheel and slid to the ground. “You can take the bag of groceries, Donald.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said.

  “Doris,” she said.

  “Yes, Doris.”

  I took the bag of groceries and closed the car door. We walked to the apartment house and went up in the elevator.

  Doris walked down to her apartment, fitted the key to the door, walked in and said, “Make yourself at home, Donald. Would you like a drink?”

  “I don’t think I’d better.”

  “It is a little early,” she said. “I’m going to cook you a nice steak.”

  “No,” I said, “you don’t have to. I—”

  “Hush,” she said. “You sit right down in that chair and be comfortable and I’m going to broil that steak and I’ll talk with you while the steak’s broiling.”

  I sat in the comfortable chair she indicated.

  Doris moved around with swift efficiency.

  “You’re not going to have much in the line of vegetables,” she said, “but you’re going to have a darned good steak, with bread and butter and potato chips and coffee.…How do you like your steak, rare, medium…?” she hesitated.

  “Rare.”

  “Good,” she said.

  “You?” I asked her.

  “I’ve just had breakfast, not too long ago—besides, I’m watching my figure.”

  “So am I,” I told her, and then caught myself up short.

  She laughed and said, “Go ahead and watch, Donald. I don’t mind.”

  She plugged in a coffee percolator, put the steak in the broiler, and came over and sat on the arm of my chair.

  “Are you looking for something to do, Donald?”

  “Yes.”

  “Perhaps you could do something for me.”

  “What?”

  “A job.”

  “I’d love it.”

  “It might be—well, a little risky.”

  “I’d take risks for you.”

  “Donald, don’t keep moving away from me. I’m not going to bite you.”

  “I’m afraid.”

  “Afraid of what?”

  “Afraid of what I might do.”

  “What might you do?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Donald, you’re lonely. You’ve been deprived of women for so long you’ve forgotten how to treat one. Put your arm around my waist. Here…like this.”

  She took my arm. I put it around her waist.

  She smiled down at me.

  I tightened my arm.

  She slid off the arm of the chair and into my lap and her arm was around my neck. Her lips were pressing against mine. Then her mouth opened slowly and she melted into my arms.

  After a minute she said, “Donald, you’re wonderful. Now be a good boy for a few minutes. I’ve got to watch that steak.”

  She slid down off my lap and went to the broiler, took a long-handled fork, turned the steak over, put the fork down and was starting back to the chair, her eyes starry, her lips parted, when the buzzer sounded on the door.

  For a moment her eyes were startled and incredulous. Then she half-whispered, “No, oh, no!”

  The buzzer sounded again.

  Doris came running to me. She grabbed my hand, pulled me up out of the chair. “Quick, Donald,” she whispered. “In this closet. In there. Stay there. It’ll only be a few minutes. Quick!”

  I showed apprehension. “Your husband?” I asked.

  “No, no, I’m not married, silly. It’s—Quick, in here.”

  She led me to a door and opened it. It was a long closet, stretching the length of the room, with feminine wearing apparel on one side and a wall bed which swung out on a door on the other side.

  I slipped in among the garments and she swung the door closed. Then I heard the door of the apartment open and a man’s voice said, “What’s cooking?”

  She laughed and said, “Coffee.”

  I heard him come in and close the door. I heard the rustle of motion, then the man’s voice saying, “Hey, this chair is warm.”

  “Of course it’s warm,” she laughed. “I was sitting there. I’m warm—or didn’t you know?”

  “I know,” he said.

  Again there was silence for a minute. Then the voice said, “What you been doing, Doris?”