“What are you going to do?”

  “Not even think about it for a few days. Just rest up and forget I ever was a waitress. Then—well, maybe I'll try to get into modeling. That's hard to get into, but it pays better and the hours are better.”

  I said, “I guess you've got what it takes.” But I wasn't guessing; Estelle had been with the posing show at the carney and she did have what it took.

  “And if I can't get into modeling—well, it's September now, so I'll have to take something for the winter, clerking or something, and in the spring I'll probably go with a carnival again.”

  I said, “That's a hell of a life for a girl, 'Stelle. You don't want to do that.” She didn't answer.

  That left me rather out on a limb. But the phone rang, and I ran down to answer it. I got there just as Mrs. Brady was opening her door. I said, “It's probably for me, Mrs. Brady,” and took down the receiver.

  I said, “Ed Hunter speaking,” and Jane Rogers' voice said, “This is Jane, Ed. Mr. Starlock just phoned. He's talked to one of the two clerks and the clerk doesn't remember anyone having asked for four-eighteen late this afternoon. And he couldn't identify the photograph of your uncle.”

  “Has Starlock got a photograph?”

  “Yes. You must have been in the back room when I was getting it for him from the file.”

  “But how—?” And then I remembered that my application for work with the agency had required a photograph to be clipped to it. Uncle Am's application would have been the same. So I said, “Okay, Jane. Anything else?”

  “No. And the clerk didn't remember who was in four-eighteen or the name Richard Bergman. Mr. Starlock's gone on to find the other clerk.”

  I said, “Okay, Jane. And the man I'm waiting for isn't home yet, so I'm sitting tight. So long.”

  When I put the receiver back, I saw that Mrs. Brady was still in the doorway. She said, “Ed, something must be wrong. Has something happened to your uncle?”

  “We don't know where he is,” I told her. “We are worried; we're trying to find him.” I turned to go to the stairs, but she said, “Ed Hunter!” in so commanding a tone that I had to stop. She said, “You come in and tell me about it. Maybe there's something I can do to help. And anyway, if you're up this late, I can give you a cup of coffee. And if you won't drink it, I can pour it down your neck. I was just making some.”

  “Coffee sounds good,” I admitted. “But can I have a cup for Estelle too? She's waiting with me.”

  “Bring her down.”

  I started to turn and then hesitated. I said, “We'd better not, Mrs. Brady. I'm listening for—someone to come in. And in your place, back in the kitchen anyway, we couldn't hear even if we left the hall door open. Tell you what, I'll tell Estelle to keep guard and then I'll come down and get coffee for both of us. And let you pump me.”

  I ran up and told Estelle and then went back to the main floor again. Mrs. Brady had left her door open so I walked in and went back to the kitchen. She'd exaggerated in saying she was just making some coffee; she hadn't started yet. She was just putting fresh coffee into the percolator as I walked into the kitchen. She waited until she had it on the stove and then said, “Now tell me, Ed.”

  I didn't give her any of the details, just that Uncle Am was so far overdue that even our boss was worried and that he and I were working on different angles trying to locate him. And that Estelle was helping, too.

  “And what about Karl Dell? How does he come into this? Almost the first thing you asked when you came in before was whether Karl was back yet.”

  I didn't want to explain something that I didn't know how to explain anyway, so I thought fast and came up was something a little more believable than the truth. I said, “Karl was talking, early this evening, about going to a poker game; he asked me to go with him. Uncle Am likes to play poker and I thought he might have been coming in as Karl was leaving and have gone to the game with him.”

  She said “Oh,” as though that made sense—which is more than could have been said for the truth. She went on, though. “Ed, I don't quite trust Karl Dell. I don't know why but—sometimes he gives me the creeps, some of the things he says. What's the matter with you and Estelle?”

  It was such an abrupt change that “Huh?” was the best I could do. She just looked at me without answering, so I had to explain it. “What do you mean, Mrs. Brady?”

  “You know perfectly well what I mean. That girl's head over heels in love with you and has been every since I've known the two of you. She came here because you and your uncle did, and you know it. And what's wrong with her?”

  “What do you mean, what's wrong with her?”

  “Nothing's wrong with her, that's what I mean. She's the prettiest girl I know. And I'm pretty sure you're not in love with anybody else—not even yourself. And she's crazy about you and what more than that do you want?”

  I opened my mouth and then closed it again because nothing came out of it. I didn't know the answer to that myself. Even telling Mrs. Brady that it was none of her business wasn't the answer and didn't have anything to do with the answer.

  She said, 'You're afraid of the fact that she is in love with you, Ed. You figure you don't want to get married yet, so you're afraid of her. If she was some little floosie who didn't give a damn about you, you'd be panting outside her door every night.”

  I grinned at her and said, “Why, Mrs. Brady.”

  The coffee was starting to percolate and I got cups and saucers from the cupboard. I got three, but she told me to put one back because she was going to turn in. She had, then, made the coffee just for Estelle and me.

  When it was ready, I watched while she poured two cups for us, and thanked her.

  When I was helpless with a cup in either hand she patted my shoulder before she opened the door for me. She said, “I shouldn't have jumped you, Ed, when you're worried about your uncle. Come down some other time and I'll take a switch to you.”

  “That'll be fine,” I said. “Thanks, Mrs. Brady.”

  “And don't worry about Ambrose Hunter. He's all right, wherever he is. I'll bet on that.”

  At one-fifteen in the morning, I'd have bet against it—not that I wouldn't gladly have lost my bet. Uncle Am is a pretty smart cookie, but he hadn't been looking for trouble or for Ambrose Collectors. And no matter how smart you are, it doesn't help counteract a blackjack over your head or a gun in your ribs.

  But I said, “Sure, he's all right, I guess. If you're going to turn in, don't worry about the phone, Mrs. Brady. I'll get it if it rings again.”

  I went upstairs with the coffee, a cup in each hand; and it's a good thing that the phone didn't ring while I was on my way up or I'd probably have dropped both cups in my hurry to answer it.

  Chapter 5

  ESTELLE WAS LEANING BACK in the overstuffed chair as I came in. Her eyes were closed as though she were asleep and there was a faint smile on her lips. I stood there a moment, a cup of steaming coffee in either hand, looking at her as though I'd never really seen her before.

  Not that I hadn't seen her often enough. Even on the stage of the posing show at the carney, in nothing but a G-string and a bit of net. And then there had been the night we'd wandered off the carney lot into the woods—but I'd been in love with Rita, then, and it hadn't meant anything to me. I hadn't thought it had meant anything, much, to Estelle.

  But now I wondered. Her reason, I knew, for leaving the carney hadn't been because Uncle Am and I had left it; it had been because a guy she didn't like—that none of us liked—had taken over the management of it. I'd figured that she liked both Am and me and I knew that was part of the reason why she'd picked Chicago when we had. And she lived her own life here; she went out with other men.

  But I had a sudden hunch, standing there, that our Irish landlady was right, down the line. Not only about Estelle, but about me—about my being afraid of something too big for me to keep casual—about my being too selfish to risk being jarred out of what had been a comfortable groove.

  And now, suddenly, that groove was gone.

  Estelle opened her eyes and said, “Hi, Ed. Going to stand there till the coffee gets cold? I wasn't asleep.”

  “I was just looking at you,” I told her. “Maybe I never saw you with your eyes closed before.”

  I handed her one of the cups of coffee and then I pulled up the hassock and sat down on it to sip mine; it was still too hot to drink. I asked her, “You're sure you didn't doze off? If you're not sure, Karl might have come in. I was back in Mrs. Brady's kitchen; I wouldn't have heard him.”

  I'm sure, Ed. I didn't close my eyes till I heard you coming.”

  “Why did you then?”

  She laughed. 'You'd never seen me with my eyes closed before. Maybe I wanted you to. You got up early this morning, didn't you, Eddie?”

  “Usual time, seven-thirty. Why?”

  “Karl might play poker all night, for all you know. Why don't you take a nap, and I'll wake you when he comes in. I won't close my eyes; promise.”

  “I couldn't sleep.”

  “You'll be sorry tomorrow. And it might be important that you feel fresh and not tired tomorrow.”

  That made a lot of sense; right then I wasn't doing anything but worrying. I didn't even have any facts to think about and to try to build into something. I was just waiting for Karl Dell and I could do that as well asleep.

  I said, “Maybe you've got something there, 'Stelle. Soon as I finish my coffee, I'll rest a little anyway, even if I can't sleep.”

  I took another sip; it was still too hot to drink down. Then I remembered something I wanted to do because I might forget to do it in the morning; I wanted to get some pictures of Uncle Am and have them in my pocket, as Ben Starlock had one in his.

  I went to the dresser and got a stationery box that held the few photographs we had—all of them just snapshots—and picked out the two that showed Uncle Am pretty well. Both of them were taken at the carnival, one of Uncle Am standing in front of his ball-game concession, the other showed him sitting in the doorway of Hoagy's trailer on the lot at Louisville with Hoagy sitting beside him and both of them with beer bottles in their hands.

  Marge Hoagland had taken both snapshots, and it gave me a turn to realize that Marge was dead and that Hoagy was dead—and that I didn't know where Uncle Am was, except that if he was all right there wasn't any logical explanation why he hadn't come home or phoned. Marge and Hoagy both dead and now Uncle Am— —Cut it out, I told myself. But I put the picture of Uncle Am and Hoagy back into the box and just kept out the one of him alone in front of the booth.

  It looked most like him, anyway. He was grinning and he had on the sloppy black slouch hat—like the one the Shadow wears—that he always wears and that I've always kidded him about. And the sun was low, so the brim of it didn't shade his eyes and they showed up well, the little crinkles around the corners of them and the tolerant amusement in them. And his biggish nose didn't shade or hide the brown, scraggly mustache that's as much a part of him as his right arm. Yes, it was a better photograph for identification than the passport-sized portrait Starlock had. Of course, there was nothing on it from which to judge his height, but I could supply that. I remembered how I had described him to somebody once: “shortish, fattish, and smartish.”

  And he hadn't changed a bit since that snapshot was taken, except that—aside from the black slouch hat—he dressed a bit more neatly now than he used to on the carney lot.

  I put the snapshot into my billfold and went back to the hassock and my coffee. It was plenty cool by now.

  Estelle must have been watching me. She said, “He's really like a father to you, isn't he, Ed?”

  “Yes,” I said, and I wanted to let it go at that because this was something I'd never told Estelle about, but I found myself going on. “I never really got to know my own father—until it was too late, until after he was killed. Then I got to know Uncle Am and he pulled me through that and—well, together we found the guy who'd killed my father.”

  “Your father was—murdered, Ed?”

  I nodded. “Uncle Am took me back to the carney with him, and—well, you know what happened there. The business about Hoagy and Marge. That, and the business about my father, showed me that Uncle Am and I clicked in some funny way when it came to detective work. We fitted somehow; together we were a hell of a lot more than the sum of what we were separately. And he'd been a private detective before he went with the carney and I talked him into going back into it and getting me a job along with him with the same agency. I even dreamed of having an agency of our own someday, 'Stelle—Hunter and Hunter.”

  “That would be nice, Ed. But why do you say 'dreamed'; you haven't changed your mind about it, have you?”

  I didn't want to put into exact words why I'd used the past tense. I didn't even want to think why I had. And then it occurred to me that I'd feel better if I did put things into words instead of trying to keep them at the back of my mind.

  I said, “Let's face it, 'Stelle. It's one-thirty, and if Uncle Am were all right, he'd have been in touch with us hours ago. What alternatives are there? He isn't in a hospital. He wouldn't just stay out when he'd know we'd be worrying about him, would he? Some people might, but not Uncle Am. And something might have come up that would have kept him away from a phone for an hour or so—but not for eight hours, 'Stelle.”

  She reached over and put her hand on mine. She said, “I got a hunch, Ed, that he's all right.”

  But I could tell from the tone of her voice that she didn't really believe it herself. Neither the hunch part, nor the rest of it.

  I said, “I haven't any hunch. I'm just figuring the odds. And the odds are pretty bad, 'Stelle. But what I was starting to say, before, was that I talked him into this. That's what hurts.”

  “Talked him into what? I don't understand.”

  “Into being a private detective again, 'Stelle. If I hadn't heckled him into it, he'd still be a carney. And still be alive—if he isn't.”

  “That's silly, Ed. Blaming yourself. Anyway, how do you know what happened— if anything has happened, really—had anything to do with his being a detective?”

  “You mean it could be some personal grudge? That's silly and you know it. Uncle Am hasn't an enemy on earth, unless it's one he made on some case he's worked on.”

  The phone rang. I nearly broke my neck getting down the stairs to answer it.

  It was Ben Starlock. He said, “Didn't get much, Ed. I'm heading back to the office. This Dell is still out?”

  “Yes. You said you didn't get much; what did you get?”

  “The second desk clerk—Everest—didn't identify Am's picture or remember anyone asking for four-eighteen at the desk, but he does remember Richard Bergman, the guy in four-eighteen. Says he's stayed at the hotel before and always registers under the same name and from Cleveland, but he thinks the guy is from New York and he thinks he's in the numbers racket.”

  “Thinks or knows?” I asked.

  “Someone told him so, but he doesn't remember who. About a month ago, Everest says, this Bergman was staying there a few days and Everest was talking to someone at the desk, someone else who was staying there and he doesn't remember who, when Bergman walked through the lobby, and this guy made some crack—Everest doesn't remember the exact words—about the New York numbers rackets moving into Chicago.”

  I asked, “Has Uncle Am been working on any job connected with the numbers racket?”

  “No. I don't take that kind of work, Ed. One other thing: I fixed it with Everest to check on slips for outgoing phone calls from four-eighteen. I slipped him twenty, and as soon as he starts work at nine tomorrow, he'll look and see if any outgoing calls were made from four-eighteen yesterday. Incoming calls won't show. Neither will the phone numbers—unless on long-distance calls—but it could be interesting to know if he made a local call, from his room, a few minutes before four o'clock. Anyway, Everest will phone the agency the minute he gets a chance to check the slips in the morning.”

  “Good,” I said. “And that reminds me I forgot to get the name and address of the girl who'd have been on the switchboard this afternoon. One of us ought to talk to her.”

  “I got it from Everest, Ed. But we can't see her until tomorrow. Everest knows her fairly well; she's a cousin of his and he got her the job. And tomorrow's her day off and she went up to Racine this evening to spend the night with some friends there; she'll be back sometime tomorrow.”

  “Could we phone her?”

  “Everest knows the people and says they haven't got a phone. And I don't think it's important enough for one of us to go to Racine and back tonight. After all, Ed, were pretty sure the guy in four-eighteen hasn't anything to do with it. I think both the hotel and the room numbers were picked out of the air, and somebody got Am before he ever got there.”

  “I think so, too. What are you going to do next, Ben?”

  “Go back to the office. I'll check up on what kind of job Jane's been doing on the hospitals and everything, and then I think I'll catch a few hours' sleep in the back room unless something develops. How's about you, Ed? Is there any way you can fix it so you can sleep a little and still know when this Dell character comes home? You know what poker games are; he may be out till five or six o'clock.”

  “I think I can,” I told him. “Estelle will watch for me; and she can sleep as late as she wants to tomorrow, and says she isn't sleepy now.”

  “Okay, Ed. You catch sleep, then, and I won't call you up again unless something important develops. Use your own judgment on whether to call me up after you've seen Dell. You may get a lead or you may get nothing.”

  I said, “I'll call the office in either case, or come in. But I won't have Jane wake you up unless it's something we can get our teeth into.”

  “Attaboy, Ed. So long.”

  I went back upstairs and, since Estelle knew everything that had happened up to then, I told her everything Starlock had told me over the phone.