He said, “Well, he didn't have any really close friends. He knew a lot of people, naturally, tending bar. I know names of some of the guys he used to pal around with, but he didn't tell any of them where he was going, I'll bet. He wouldn't have been that dumb. But if you want, I can give the names of everybody I know of that he knew. It won't get you nowhere.”

  “How many names did the other investigator take down?” I asked.

  “Three. I told him three guys.”

  “I'd like those, even if it won't do any good. I mean, even if they can't tell me anything about Reynal, I want to find out whether the other investigator saw them. We're also trying to find out what happened to him and why he left town so suddenly.”

  He gave me the three names. Addresses of two and the place where the third worked.

  I asked him if he'd told our other investigator anything he hadn't told me, especially anything that might have been a lead he could have followed down.

  Jennings shook his head. He stood up. “Hate to rush you,” he said, “but it's eleven; I got to shave and get ready to beat it. I start work at twelve and it takes me a while to get there.”

  “Sure,” I said. “And thanks a lot.” I started toward the hallway and then turned. “Did the other man from our company talk to Mrs. Jennings?”

  His hand scraped across his chin again. “Didn't exactly talk to her. I called her in once to tell her to give him the name of a fortuneteller she went to and that Tommy went to once, too, when she told Tommy about him. Or maybe more than once, I don't know.”

  He waved toward the kitchen. “You ask her about it, huh? I got to start getting ready.”

  I went along the hallway to the kitchen. Mrs. Jennings turned away from the sink, drying her hands, and I stood in the doorway. I told her what I wanted.

  She said, “Oh, yes. His name is Ramah Singh. S-i-n-g-h. He's wonderful. He told me everything about myself the first time I went to him. I don't know how he does it, but he's wonderful.”

  “A Hindu?” I asked.

  “Well—I don't know. He doesn't look like one, but he wears a turban around his head. He speaks perfect English, but I think he said he studied in India or somewhere.”

  “And Reynal went to see him?”

  “He said he did. I found him—Mr. Singh, I mean—through a friend of mine about three months ago. He lives about ten blocks from here, on Barr Street. I don't remember the number but it's just around the corner off Polk; you go over the Polk Street bridge. I tried to get Jim to go, and Madge, but they wouldn't. But Tommy said he would, and later he said he did. But he never told me what Mr. Singh told him and I don't know if he went more than once.”

  It didn't seem to mean anything except that Uncle Am might possibly have gone there. It didn't seem likely. But I asked, “Did our other investigator write down the name and address?”

  “I don't think so. Not while I was telling him, anyway.”

  I thanked her and went on out. I went up to the next floor and rang the bell of Apartment seven.

  The woman who answered the door and asked me in looked to be about thirty, quite a bit younger than her brother. Also quite a bit less intelligent. She didn't exactly look stupid, but she came close. Her face might have been pretty had there been more animation and intelligence in it. She already had twenty to thirty pounds more weight than she needed and in ten years she'd look more like a cow than a cow does.

  She took me into the living room to talk, and she talked. I didn't have a chance to say much; I managed to get across my explanations of why the investigation was being made over again, but I wouldn't have needed to. She was perfectly glad to tell everything a second time.

  I learned everything that I'd learn from Jennings over again and a lot of domestic and intimate details besides. But nothing that sounded at all helpful in locating Tommy Reynal—or Uncle Am.

  After about three quarters of an hour of it, I started bearing down on what I really wanted to know, which was what leads she had given Uncle Am which he might have decided were worth following down. I knew now, for sure, that he'd seen all the people who'd been mentioned in Starlock's notes before noon. He hadn't got back to the agency till four, so he must have spent three hours following leads he got from Mrs. Reynal and her brother.

  Mrs. Reynal wasn't as good at specific remembering as she was a general talking, but I kept bearing down and finally came up with two points. One was the name and address of a fairly close friend of Tommy's whom Jennings hadn't mentioned. She was pretty sure that the other investigator had written that down.

  The other was the fact that he had an uncle—the only relative she'd ever heard him mention—by the name of Charles Reynal, who was in the real-estate business in Jacksonville. She thought Tommy would likely have headed for either California or Florida, because he always hated Chicago weather. And if he went to Florida, he might get in touch with his uncle there. She thought she'd told that to the other man from the finance company, but she couldn't be sure. I felt sure that she had, for Uncle Am wouldn't have missed asking if Reynal had any relatives anywhere, and that would have brought it out.

  That was at least something I'd have to give to the finance company for the day's work they'd authorized. They could write to the police at Jacksonville to watch out for the car and for Tommy Reynal.

  It was a little after twelve when I got away from Mrs. Reynal. I doubt if Uncle Am could have done it any sooner, so we were still even. He'd have probably eaten lunch next, so I did the same thing. Maybe even in the same restaurant, because it was only a block from Mrs. Reynal's place. I might possibly have found out by showing the snapshot of Uncle Am, but it didn't seem worth the trouble. And I think it would have scared me a little if I'd found out that he really had eaten there.

  Before I even ordered lunch I went to the phone and called the agency. Ben said nothing had come in and nothing had happened. He wanted to know how I was coming. I told him I was doing swell on finding out where Uncle Am had been and when, but that none of it seemed to be leading anywhere or to have any possible connection with what had happened after he got back to the agency.

  He said, “Stick with it, Ed. The more I think of it, the more I think you had an idea there. I mean, tracing everything he did up to the time he reported in. We should have done that even sooner.”

  When I left the phone I took one of the booths at the side instead of sitting at the counter. I wanted to look over my notes, the names and addresses, and plan out my afternoon's work. Uncle Am would probably have done the same thing while he ate.

  I had four names down, probably the same ones Uncle Am had taken. If Jennings' and Mrs. Reynal's memories were correct, he'd not made notes of any others.

  Three of the four were on the near south side, all within a radius of a mile or so. Those three Uncle Am would have seen in person, or at least tried to. The other address was way west, almost out to Cicero.

  When I finished eating, I went back to the phone book and looked for Harvey Spengler, the one who lived far west. He wasn't listed so I called Information and gave them the address and found there was a phone listed and got the number. I called it.

  Apparently it was a rooming house; Spengler wasn't there, but they thought he'd just going out to eat and would be back pretty soon.

  I picked the nearest of the other addresses and walked there; the guy's name was Albert Burgoyne. I learned that he worked on Saturday afternoon, so he wasn't home. I got the address of the haberdashery shop where he worked, and learned that he'd been working Wednesday afternoon too. The shop wasn't far; a Clark Street car would take me there in five minutes or so.

  But first I stopped in a drugstore and tried the phone number for Spengler again. This time I got him.

  The finance-company line doesn't go so good over a telephone. People clam up unless you're talking to them face to face.

  So I said, “This is Jay Wheeler talking. Could you tell me where I can get in touch with Tommy Reynal?”

  “No, I haven't seen Tommy for over a month. Who is this?”

  “Jay Wheeler. Met you with Tommy once. I took some money for him. Not much, but I want to get it off my books.”

  “Money for what?”

  “A bet,” I said. “A little over a month ago he gave me five on a nag and it came in. Thirty-four bucks and sixty cents. He never came around to get it, so maybe he didn't know he hit. And I don't like unpaid bets on my books; I'd rather get it off. You don't know where he is?”

  “I heard he skipped town. So I guess you're in that much dough. Unless you want to give me twelve bucks of it. He owes me twelve bucks.”

  I just laughed. I asked, “No idea where he'd have headed for?” I knew that wasn't a good question because, in character, I wouldn't have asked it. But he didn't notice.

  “Not unless it's California. But I'm wondering now if he did skip. Another bookie called me a few days ago and damn if he wasn't holding a winner for Tommy, too. More than yours. Damn if I see why he wouldn't have waited to collect any money he had coming.”

  I thanked him and hung up. It was funny—Uncle Am having used exactly the same pretext I'd thought of. It was funny, but I didn't want to laugh. Anyway, one name was off my list.

  I took the streetcar to the haberdashery. I got there at half past one and was told that Albert Burgoyne was out to lunch; that he was due back at two o'clock.

  I decided that it would be better to wait around than to try to make either of my remaining two calls, so I strolled down to the corner and killed half an hour with one bottle of beer. Also I called the agency to make sure nothing had come in.

  At two I went back to the haberdashery. Burgoyne had just come in. I gave him the finance-company story and asked him if he knew where Tommy Reynal was.

  He frowned and hesitated for a few seconds. Then he said, “Sure, I know where Tommy is.”

  Chapter 16

  IT WAS THE LAST THING ON EARTH I'd expected him to say. It nearly floored me Hadn't Uncle Am been here? Jennings had said he'd taken down the name. Actually, I didn't give a damn where Tommy Reynal was. I wanted to skip that and ask right away about Uncle Am. But I had to stay in character, so I curbed my impatience and asked him where Reynal was.

  “In Louisville, Kentucky. Staying at the Kentucky House, under the name of Tom Reynolds; he changed his name a little, but not much. I got a letter yesterday.”

  “From him?” I asked.

  “Hell, no. From a cousin of mine in Louisville, makes deliveries for a big liquor store. He was here in Chi for a couple of weeks about a year ago, and he and Tommy met once. He wrote me that a few days ago he had some liquor to deliver to a Tom Reynolds at the Kentucky House. He said the name reminded him of having met a Tommy Reynal here and when he took the liquor up to the guy's room, it was Reynal. He says Reynal didn't recognize him—they'd met only the once, and he might not have been sure about recognizing Reynal if it hadn't been for his taking a name so close to his own. Anyway, on account of the change of name he didn't say anything; he wrote me instead.”

  “You say you got the letter just yesterday?”

  “Yeah, and I was still trying to remember the name of your company. Another guy was here a few days ago, Wednesday I think. Or was that a different outfit that's after Tommy too?”

  I told him it was the same one and gave him the usual line about the other investigator and why we were curious about him. I asked him what time he'd been there and how he'd acted.

  “About this time or little later. He acted okay, didn't seem screwy or anything if that's what you mean. I'd have told him about Reynal if I'd known then. But he didn't leave a card, and I couldn't remember his name or the name of the finance company. What'll you do about Reynal? Bring him back?”

  “That's up to the company,” I said. “I don't know whether they'll extradite or not, but they'll at least repossess the car.”

  I wish they'd repossess the twenty-five bucks of mine he ran off with. That's why I'm glad to give you the dope. I thought he was a friend of mine, but it isn't like he just owed me the money and walked off. It was worse than that. He borrowed it the day before, so he must have been planning to skip out. Probably borrowed everything he could from everybody, knowing he'd never have to pay it back.”

  “I guess he did,” I said. “Were there any more details in your cousin's letter?”

  “No, that's all. But I know the Kentucky House; I lived in Louisville once. It's a fairly nice place. Not swanky, but he isn't on his uppers if he's staying there. And it isn't a transient hotel; they rent places by the month, bachelor apartments. So he's probably still there if he was there a few days ago. But that's all I can tell you.”

  I thanked him and went back to the subject of Uncle Am and asked if he knew just what time he'd come here, explaining that we were trying to trace everywhere he'd been that day.

  “He got here while I was out to lunch, somewhere around half past one. I know because when I got back the boss told me someone had been in to see me about half an hour ago, and he'd told the guy to come back after two. I'd say he got back two-fifteen; I'd been working fifteen or twenty minutes when he came back.”

  “Have any idea where he went from here?”

  “He asked me if I knew a Tex Wilkins who was another friend of Reynal's and when I said I did, he asked me if I knew whether Tex would be working that afternoon. All he had on him was the address of the hash house were Tex is a counterman, and he didn't know what shift.”

  “Good,” I said. That was one of my two remaining names. “And was Tex Wilkins working then, and is he now?”

  “Yeah, until four o'clock. He works seven in the morning till four in the afternoon, every day but Sunday.”

  I thanked him again and left. Tex would be next on my list, as he had been on Uncle Am's but first I went back to the place where I'd killed half an hour with the bottle of beer and called the agency again. Starlock said, “Hi, Ed. Got something?”

  “On Uncle Am, no. But I got a hot lead on Thomas Reynal. Thought I'd call in right away so you can pass it on to Bartlett Finance while it's hot. They'll probably want to phone Louisville police right away.”

  I told him what Burgoyne had told me about Reynal and explained that Uncle Am hadn't missed the boat, that Burgoyne had got the news after he'd talked to Uncle Am.

  Starlock said, “Nice work, Ed. I'll phone Bartlett. But I wish you'd got something about Am instead of about Reynal.”

  “So do I. Well, I've got two calls to go. I'll be in before five.”

  The restaurant where Tex Wilkins worked was on South State. I took a Clark Street car to the right latitude and walked over to State.

  I tackled Wilkins with the same approach I'd used on the others, not telling him that I already knew where Reynal was. I didn't want to miss any leads that he might have given Uncle Am and that Uncle Am might have followed up.

  But he didn't know anything about Reynal, hadn't seen him for almost two months. He'd heard Reynal had skipped town, but that was all. Yes, another investigator had been here a few days ago, but he hadn't been able to tell him anything. No, he hadn't mentioned any specific contacts or people whom the other guy might have traced down; he was sure of that.

  He thought it was about three o'clock that the man had been there, but he wasn't sure; it might have been a little earlier.

  I thought three o'clock was a good guess; I'd been fifteen minutes ahead of Uncle Am at the haberdashery, and it was a quarter of three now.

  I had only one address left, a man named Gaines. It was over a dozen blocks so I took a cab.

  He wasn't home, but I talked my way inside the door and got the information I needed from his wife. It didn't help.

  Mr. Gaines had been out of town on Wednesday, too, when another man from a finance company had called to see him. He was a traveling salesman and was away from Chicago over half the time. She knew almost less than nothing about Thomas Reynal; she'd heard her husband mention him and knew they were friends—but she didn't think they were very close friends—and that was all. She'd never met Reynal, and didn't recall her husband having spoken of him recently. She hadn't even known that Reynal had left town until the other investigator, in asking the same questions, had mentioned it. And she hadn't talked it over with her husband because, he hadn't been home since Wednesday; he was on a selling trip in Minnesota and would be gone another two or three days.

  Aside from the fact that it had been in the afternoon, she didn't know when the other investigator had been there until I jogged her memory a little by asking if it hadn't been about half past three. Then she remembered that it was after she'd been out shopping for the day, so it must have been at least that late.

  And I knew it couldn't have been later because Uncle Am had been back at the agency before four o'clock.

  I thanked her.

  I walked back over to Clark Street slowly, trying to think if there was any possible angle I might have missed. I hated to go back to the agency; there'd be nothing to do there.

  I looked at my watch and saw it was three o'clock. If I went back now, I'd get there just about half an hour before Uncle Am had. I'd been every place he'd been, as far as I could figure and from ten o'clock on I'd been just about even with him, time for time, except for fifteen minutes I'd gained by seeing Burgoyne at two o'clock instead of two-fifteen or so, and the fifteen minutes I'd saved by taking a taxi between my final two calls, instead of walking or taking a streetcar as Uncle Am would have.

  That second fifteen minutes was easily enough explained, but what had happened to the first fifteen? Uncle Am had reached the haberdashery, just as I had, at about half past one and he had found that Burgoyne was out to lunch and would be back at two. But he hadn't returned until two-fifteen or two-twenty. What had he done during the three quarters of an hour?

  I'd killed my half hour between one-thirty and two by dropping in at the corner tavern and having a beer. Uncle Am might have done the same thing, but it was unlike him to overstay and be fifteen minutes late unless there was some reason for it. He had a watch that kept good time.