Shills Can't Cash Chips

Chapter Three

Bedford guided me down to Main Street, then walked on until we came to the block between Seventh and Eighth. He said, “The accident took place at the intersection just ahead.”

I paused a moment to look at the intersection.

“No, no,” Bedford warned, “take it in your stride. Keep right on walking, Lam. We’ll go to the corner, then turn right, cross the corner, then turn left, and keep walking toward Sixth Street. We’ll pause to look in a store window at something, then turn around and go back to the corner of Seventh and Main, turn right, then turn left, and walk on down to the Perkins Hotel. That’ll give you a chance to see everything.

“Now remember, there were two or three cars ahead of the car that was hit. You can’t remember just how many, but you know that the one that was hit wasn’t the one that was right up against the intersection traffic signal.

“You’d noticed this car driven by Holgate, although of course you didn’t know who he was at the time, but he was evidently impatient and he’d swung out to the left to try and get ahead of the string of traffic. He was making a run for it when something caused him to change his mind. He evidently saw he couldn’t make it — you don’t know what it was — so Holgate swerved his car back to the right into the line of traffic next to the curb, but he was going pretty fast. The light at the intersection changed to red, the whole string of traffic came to a stop and—”

“As I remember it,” I interrupted, “the light changed to amber first. The car that was in the lead could have got through the crossing before the red light came on, but the driver chose to slam on the brakes.”

Bedford put a hand on my shoulder and patted me approvingly, as a trainer might pat a smart dog. “Donald,” he said, “you’re all right! You’re a wonder. Now go ahead and tell me what happened after that.”

“Well,” I said, “everybody had to stop rather fast but this Buick that was driven by a man whose name I now understand was Holgate just didn’t stop at all. It kept right on going until it was within maybe three to four feet of the car ahead and then, apparently for the first time, he realized the traffic ahead had come to a dead stop. He slammed on the brakes so hard that I heard the rubber scream for just a tenth of a second and then there was the sound of the impact.”

“And then what happened?”

“The other cars went on through the crossing but these two cars stopped, and the girl who was in the sports car that had been rammed, got out and kept feeling the back of her neck with her hand. She seemed just a little dazed. She started to walk toward the front of the car, then turned and walked toward the back where Holgate was coming up. They stopped for a minute and exchanged names and addresses from driving licenses, and then the girl got in her car and drove off.

“Holgate walked around to look at the front of his car, which was leaking water from a punctured radiator, shook his head, got in his car, seemed rather surprised when it started to run, and then he drove off.

“The whole episode didn’t take over a minute, I guess — not more than the length of time required for a traffic signal to change maybe once, maybe twice.”

We reached the corner and waited for the signal.

“That’s fine,” Dudd said. “Now, if the accident took place between the third and fourth cars back from the intersection, that would put the car that was struck—”

“Right in front of that theater entrance,” I said. “That’s the way I remember it.”

“And the other car?”

“Well, the other car would naturally have been about fifteen feet farther back, just a car’s length.”

“You heard the noise of the impact?”

“I heard the noise but there were traffic noises and it was surprisingly quiet for an accident. I suppose that was because it wasn’t a head-on collision but one car rammed the tail of another.”

“Did it attract a lot of attention?”

“A few people looked but they kept on going about their business.”

“What did you do?”

“Well, I stopped until I saw the man getting ready to drive away.”

“Why?”

“Why did he drive away?”

“No, why did you stop?”

“I don’t know, just natural curiosity, I guess. And the girl was most attractive. I wondered if she was all right because I saw her head shoot back when the car hit. Evidently her neck was relaxed at the time because her head just snapped back.”

We crossed the street to the right. Dudley Bedford said, “Hell, Lam, you don’t need to walk around the corner with me. Start back on this side of the street. Stop when you get to the theater and we’ll look to see what’s playing.”

I walked across the street with him, then we turned to the right and started back down on the other side of Main Street. We paused at the entrance to the movie theater, looked at the announcements of what was playing, and Bedford said in a quiet voice, “You’ve got the scene of the accident all fixed?”

“Sure,” I told him. “I saw it. It was the afternoon of August thirteenth — about three-thirty.”

Again he clapped me on the back. “Donald,” he said, “you’re a regular guy! All right, we’ll walk down here to the Perkins Hotel, that’s a block and a half. It’s about the best we have in this town... Now, you’ll be getting a call inside of an hour so be available.”

“And after that?” I asked.

“After you get the call,” he said, “you’ll want to go talk with this man.”

“Who’ll be calling? Some insurance company?” I asked innocently. “Or an attorney, or—”

“No,” Bedford said, “you may as well know it now as later. The man who is going to call you will be Carter J. Holgate. He’s a real estate subdivider and he has a partner by the name of Chris Maxton. They have lots of irons in the fire. Holgate and Maxton.”

“Why,” I said, “I’ve seen their name a lot. It’s—”

“Sure. They’re subdividers,” Bedford said. “There’s one of their trucks now. They carry their own lumber, buy it in carload lots.”

I watched as the big truck with the name painted on the side, HOLGATE & MAXTON, rumbled on past.

“They have activities near here?”

“Right now they’re putting on a subdivision about three miles out of Colinda,” Bedford said, putting his hand on my elbow and gently guiding me down the street. “We don’t want to be seen loafing around here, Donald,” he explained.

I walked along with him, taking about a step and a half to his one.

“I’m sorry about that sock in the puss,” he said. “I lost my temper.”

“Forget it.”

“I hope I didn’t hit you too hard.”

“Not too hard,” I said. “I guess I was out for fifteen or twenty minutes.”

“Hell, you weren’t out for more than a minute and a half or two minutes,” Bedford said, “but I sure am sorry about it.”

“That’s all right.”

“I’ll make it up to you some way.”

“Forget it.”

“Now about Doris. I lost my temper but that doesn’t mean I’m building a fence around her. I want you and Doris to be friends. You’re lonely and — well, you just go ahead as soon as you get this chore done. You see all you want of Doris. I’m probably going to be out of town for a few days.”

“How long do I stay at the Perkins Hotel?”

“You stay there until you get a call from Holgate.”

“And then what?”

“Then go out and see him. Talk with him. Tell him about the accident.”

“Is he the one who offered the reward for the witness?”

“Now look, Donald, you’re asking lots of questions. You’re not supposed to ask questions. You’re supposed to tell the facts.”

“Okay,” I said.

“Then you can stay at the hotel tonight and tomorrow— Well, why don’t you run out and see Doris? She likes you and she’s a good kid. She’ll tell you what I want you to do after that — mainly I want you to keep in touch with me — and of course I’m not loaded with dough; but we’ll try and see if we can’t get you something that you can do.”

“That’ll be just dandy,” I told him.

We walked on down the street until we came to the Perkins Hotel.

Bedford handed me a hundred dollars. “All right, Lam,” he said, “you’re on your own. This is some more expense money. You get a hundred more when you finish up. I like you.”

He gave me another pat on the back and swung off down the street.

The hotel clerk looked me over appraisingly. I said, “Good afternoon. My name’s Lam. I came up here on a business deal and it’s taking longer than I anticipated. In fact, I can’t even see my man for a little while. I want a good room with bath. I want to be sure I get any telephone calls that come in, and I haven’t any baggage.”

I pulled some bills out of my pocket.

“Quite all right, Mr. Lam,” he said after a moment’s thoughtful appraisal. “Just sign the register here, please.”

We had an affiliate in San Francisco with whom we exchanged courtesies, so I wrote my name and gave the address of the San Francisco agency. I was shown up to a room, tipped the bellboy, took off my shoes, stretched out on the bed and relaxed.

Within an hour the phone rang.

I answered it.

A man’s voice said, “Mr. Lam?”

“That’s right.”

“I’m Carter Holgate of Holgate and Maxton.”

“Oh, yes, Mr. Holgate.”

“I understand you saw an accident at Seventh and Main Streets on the afternoon of August thirteenth.”

“Why, that’s right, Mr. Holgate. I did, yes, but I don’t know how you found out about—”

“I’d like to talk with you.”

“Well, I’ll be here—”

“Look, Mr. Lam, I can’t get away at the present time, but I’ll send a car in for you. You can come out here for a few minutes and then I’ll deliver you back to your hotel. How’s that?”

“That’ll be fine,” I said.

“All right. A car will be there within twenty minutes, perhaps fifteen.”

“I’ll be waiting in the lobby,” I said. “Can you describe the man who’ll be driving it?”

“It won’t be a man, it’ll be a woman, my secretary,” Holgate said. “Her name’s Lorraine Robbins. She’s a redhead about... well, I’d better not say anything about age because she’s sitting across the desk from me.”

I looked at my watch and said, “In exactly fifteen minutes I’ll be standing in front of the door of the hotel on Main Street. I’ll stay there until she comes.”

“That’s fine,” he said. “Remember the name. Lorraine Robbins.”

“I’ll remember.”

I freshened up, waited ten minutes, took the elevator down to the lobby, nodded to the clerk, walked out and started briskly down the street. Then, when it had registered in the clerk’s mind that I was going somewhere in a hurry, I turned and sauntered back to stand by the door of the hotel, just to one side of the revolving door so that the clerk couldn’t see me.

She came within the next two minutes, driving a big, shiny Cadillac which she handled as though it had been a baby buggy.

She swung it in to the curb with a deft flick of the wrist and the aid of power steering. She braked to a stop, slid across the seat, opened the door and then paused as she saw me standing there.

She was a dish.

Poised there on the edge of the seat, just ready to get out, her skirt well up, her face alert and intelligent, she caught my eye, smiled and moved over as I crossed the sidewalk to the car.

“Well. What a show!” she said. “These modern skirts just won’t behave in these low cars... Now, wait a minute. We’d better get things straight first. You’re Donald Lam?”

“I’m Donald Lam.”

“I’m Lorraine Robbins. If you’re ready, let’s go.”

“I’m ready,” I said, sliding into the car and pulling the door shut.

She gave a quick glance to the rearview mirror, put the signal light on a left turn, gave one second glance to make sure, shot out to the left and into traffic.

She threaded her way through the afternoon traffic and across the Seventh Street intersection. “Live here?” she asked.

“Not permanently,” I said. “I’m here back and forth.”

“So you saw the accident?”

“That’s right.”

She said, “Mr. Holgate is going to want me to take down what you say in shorthand.”

“Now?” I asked.

“Heavens, no. I’m driving the car now. Later on, when you talk with him.”

“Okay by me.”

“What do you do, Mr. Lam?”

“Almost anything,” I said.

She laughed and said, “I didn’t mean it that way. I mean what’s your occupation?”

“I’m sort of between jobs at the moment.”

“Oh.”

She flicked the directional signal over to right, glided around a right turn on First Street, then speeded up.

She handled the car with such skill that she never seemed to have to use the brakes, simply picking the potential openings in traffic before the opening itself had materialized. Then, by the time she got there, the opening had developed and she was able to glide through with a touch of the throttle.

It was a swell job of driving.

“You’re Mr. Holgate’s secretary?”

“His, and Mr. Maxton’s. It’s a partnership. Real estate, subdivisions.”

“Lots of correspondence?” I asked.

“Correspondence,” she said, “telephone calls, contracts, options, receipts, figuring interest, keeping a tickler system for time payments, running errands, making a sales pitch once in a while.”

“How big’s the subdivision here?” I asked.

“Quite a project,” she said. “Right at the moment it’s taking just about full time for everyone, but that’s the way things go in this business. You’re working at high speed to full capacity one day and the next you’re carrying a fifty per cent overload and the next you’re working twice as hard — and I like it.”

“You seem to be good at it.”

She flashed me a glance and said, “I try to be good at everything I do. I think a girl owes that much to herself — and to her employers. This is a competitive world. You can’t get anywhere if you aren’t good. If you’re going to do anything, do it so you make an outstanding performance. That’s my motto.”

“It’s a pretty good philosophy,” I told her.

“Thanks,” she said. “I like it.”

She swung the wheel to the left, then to the right into a semicircular driveway, came to a stop in front of a typical real estate subdivision building and said, “Here we are.”

A big sign said HOLGATE & MAXTON, SUBDIVIDERS and then underneath in large red letters outlined with a green border: BREEZEMORE TERRACE ESTATES.

I got out of the car and stood for a moment, ostensibly taking in the srroundings with an air of deep approval. Actually I was looking around to see if there was any sign of the person who had been shadowing me.

I couldn’t see anyone.

Down at the place marked Parking there were half a dozen cars and in a couple of places salesmen were showing potential customers blueprints of the subdivision. A couple of hundred yards farther up the hill I could see three or four parties standing on the curving driveways inspecting lots.

The real estate office consisted of typical freakish high-peaked portable structures which had evidently been trucked out to the location separately and then joined together.

Lorraine Robbins got out of the car on the left, walked around to where I was standing, said, “What do you think of it?”

“Sure looks good,” I said. “It’s a beautiful site.”

“The best suburban homesite in the country,” she said. “It’s a shame somebody didn’t open this up sooner because there’s a tremendous population pressure in this area. Believe it or not, the horny-handed son of toil who owned this place had been operating it for fifty years as a dairy.”

“You mean no one approached him to—”

“Sure, they approached him,” she said, “but he wouldn’t listen. He’d got this place as a dairy and, by gum, it was going to keep right on being a dairy! Gosh all tarnation, what do you think I am, anyway?”

Lorraine’s flexible voice changed so that she gave a perfect mimicry of an obstinate old man.

“So,” I said, “he died.”

“He died, and when the heirs saw the appraisal of the land on the basis of inheritance tax, they fell all over themselves getting in touch with Holgate and Maxton. Actually they got in touch with three different subdividers. We made them the best offer.

“Want to go in?”

“It’s so beautiful out here that—”

“Mr. Holgate is expecting you. He’s held his time open.”

I grinned at her and said, “Let’s go.”

She led the way into a reception room where the walls were plastered with photographs and maps. There were half a dozen desks in here and at three of the desks salesmen were evidently closing deals, giving receipts and taking checks.

To the right was an office door with a sign, CHRISTOPHER MAXTON, and to the left one that said CARTER J. HOLGATE.

The back part of the reception room had three typewriter desks, some telephones and filing cases. A good-looking brunette was hammering away on a typewriter. “My assistant,” Lorraine said over her shoulder as we turned toward Holgate’s office.

The assistant looked up with big, romantic dark eyes and smiled directly at us, vivid red lips parting over pearly teeth.

She got up and came toward us.

She was a long-legged, graceful, statuesque girl who could have won first prize in a bathing-beauty contest hands down.

She said, “Is this—”

Lorraine cut her off. “For Mr. Holgate,” she said. “We’re going in.”

She opened the door without knocking and left the brunette standing there looking at me, the smile on her face but her eyes no longer smiling.

Holgate’s office was a big sumptuous room with a long table containing model dwellings, built to scale and placed on lots on a papier-mâché sloping hillside which had been carved with contour roads, covered with green paint to simulate lawns, and had artificial trees growing here and there. The scale houses were on the level lots and could be moved from lot to lot. Their red tile roofs gleamed in artificial sunlight thrown down by a powerful searchlight in the ceiling.

Holgate’s desk was a huge affair covered with various knick-knacks and a few loose papers.

Holgate himself, in his late forties, a big, beaming individual with shrewd gray eyes, a slight drawl and the easy affability of a successful salesman, got up to shake hands.

The guy looked like a tall Texan. He was wearing Pendleton pants and cowboy boots. He must have been well over six feet two and he had the kind of face that would break into a smile at the slightest excuse.

“How are you, Mr. Lam, how are you? It’s certainly nice of you to come out. Please sit down there.” He had a close-clipped iron-gray mustache which gave strength to his mouth.

I shook hands and told him I was glad to have an opportunity to meet him, that he had a nice-looking subdivision and it looked as though it was headed for a big success.

“Of course it is, of course it is,” Holgate said. “We have some of the finest homesites anywhere in this part of the country but we’ve got something more than that, Lam. We have an opportunity for people to make money.

“We got in on this subdivision right, and we’re selling it right. We’re splitting the potential profits with our customers.

“I don’t mind telling you I’m a fast worker. I get into a place, clean it up and get out. I don’t like these subdivisions that drag on and on and maybe a week or two will pass before there’s a sale; sometimes a month — not for me. I buy property right and then I split the potential profits with the customers so that I move the whole subdivision within a short time, then make a blanket deal with some financial company to take over what lots are left and go on to something else.

“That way I make a low margin of profit but I have a fast turnover. I— Hell’s bells, Lam, I sound like I’m trying to sell you a lot. I’m not — although if you did want to put some money into one of these lots it would be the slickest, safest method of doubling, tripling and quadrupling your money you ever saw.

“Well, here I go again, getting too enthusiastic and talking real estate. I wanted to talk to you about the accident.”

“Oh, yes,” I said.

“Would you mind telling me just what you saw, Mr. Lam?”

I said, “Well, it was about half-past three o’clock in the afternoon on the thirteenth of August.”

Holgate nodded to Lorraine Robbins. She dropped into a chair, whipped a shorthand book off the desk and her pen started flying over the pages.

“If you don’t mind,” Holgate said, “I’ll ask my secretary to take a few notes so that we can keep things straight. There’s so much going on around here I try to make notes of everything; otherwise I forget... I don’t think my memory is as good as it used to be. How’s yours?”

“Seems to be working all right,” I told him.

“Well, you’re young,” he said. “It should be. Now let’s see, where were we?”

“Three-thirty on the afternoon of August thirteenth,” Lorraine said.

“Oh, yes. Would you care to go on, Mr. Lam?”

I said, “I was walking on the west side of Main Street approaching the intersection of Seventh and Main. Over on the east side where northbound traffic was going I noticed a string of cars. I guess there were probably four or five in the string — well, probably four.

“Now, I was noticing the intersection because I intended to turn to the right and cross over to the east side of Main Street and I was wondering just how it was going to be for catching the traffic signal, so I was watching the light.

“The light changed from green to amber. The car that was nearest the intersection could have gone through all right but the driver slammed on his brakes hard. The car behind him almost hit him. The next car was driven by a young woman — very attractive— Now wait a minute. I think it was the next car. There may have been three between her and the corner but the way I see it now there were only two.”

I closed my eyes as though trying to recall the scene.

“Yes, yes, go ahead,” Holgate said.

“This car was a light car. I don’t know whether it was foreign-made or not. It was a sports car and the top was down. I remember that because I could see this girl when she got hit; that is, when the car got hit. I could see her neck snap back — I mean, her head snap back.”

“Yes, yes, go on,” Holgate said.

“It was a big car that was behind,” I said. “That is, not the biggest but a good-sized automobile, a Buick as I remember, a big one, and — well, that man simply didn’t stop in time. He’d been out in the left-hand lane, evidently trying to pass, because when I first noticed him he was swerving back to the right to get in the line of traffic and—”

“Yes, yes, yes,” Holgate said. “Now, did you see that man clearly enough to recognize him?”

I shook my head. “Not then.”

He frowned slightly.

“Later on after the accident,” I said, “I saw him get out of the car.”

“You recognized him then?”

“Not at the time because I didn’t know him, but I recognize him now. You were that man.”

A big smile broke over his face. “And whose fault would you say it was?”

“Lord, there’s no question about whose fault it was,” I said. “I’m sorry to say this, Mr. Holgate, and I hate to be a witness against you, but it was your fault all the way. You slammed into the rear of the car. That is, I say you slammed into it. You started putting on your brakes hard about three or four feet before you got to the rear of the car. That cut down the impact a lot — in fact it was surprising how little noise the accident made. But nevertheless you hit that light car with sufficient force so that — well, I saw the girl’s head snap back.”

“Yes, yes, and then what happened?”

“She got out of the car, you got out of your car, you evidently showed each other your driving licenses and made notes.”

“How did the young woman act when she got out of the car?”

“Sort of dazed,” I said. “She kept putting her right hand to the back of her neck, and then when you showed her your driving license and as she made a note of the name, she kept rubbing her neck with her left hand.”

“Then what?”

“Then she got in the car and drove away.”

“Do you know the exact location of this accident?”

“Sure. It was on the east side of Main Street just before you come to the Seventh Street intersection. It was just about in front of the entrance to that motion picture theater there.”

Holgate said, “Lam, I’m going to ask you to do something.”

“What?”

“I want an affidavit from you.”

“Well, why not?” I asked.

He beamed at the secretary and said, “Draw it up, Lorraine. Use his exact words, make it verbatim.”

She nodded, got up and crossed the office.

When she had gone out I said, “There’s a remarkable young woman.”

“One of the most efficient secretaries I’ve ever had,” Holgate said. “But I have to have efficiency.”

“She’s also one of the most beautiful,” I said. “And her assistant seems to be no slouch either.”

Holgate grinned. “Window dressing, Lam. I have to have them beautiful. Did you ever buy a lot in a subdivision?”

“I don’t know that I have.”

“Well, there has to be a first time sometime, Donald. You’d better buy one in this subdivision and really make some money.

“You understand I can’t give you any money for your testimony. That would make it worthless. But I could give you the inside track on one of our lots and— How I talk. I can’t keep away from making a sales pitch. What were we talking about, Donald?”

“Secretaries.”

“Oh yes,” he said. “You know, you should see the other one. She’s a very wonderful blonde.”

“You have three?”

“Lorraine has two assistants. The other one is off today — but what I was going to say was, Donald, that if you ever bought a lot in a subdivision from a salesman and then came in to have the secretaries make out the papers and there was some crabby, hatchet-faced battle-ax on the job, you’d get out of the buying mood.

“I want beauty. Two of those girls won beauty contests. They have what it takes, and I tell them to be friendly, affable. Meet the customer halfway. That’s my motto.

“We keep things jazzed up around here. Right from the time the customer arrives on the ground we try to give him a feeling of importance, and we try to get him in the right mood... Take for instance the way these girls get out of a car.

“I don’t know whether you’ve ever seen any of these motion pictures or not, showing young women the modest way to get out of a car; refined, ladylike — to hell with that stuff! When they get out of a car here we just reverse the process. We give them a motion picture lesson of how to get out — that is, if they’re dealing with a man. If they’re dealing with a woman, of course, the situation is different.”

“And when it’s a couple?” I asked.

“When it’s a couple they have to use their own judgment, find out who’s wearing the pants in the family, who’s going to sign on the dotted line.

“You know, it’s a funny thing about men, Donald. They go down to the beach and they see a girl’s legs just as far as there are any legs and they look, but it’s just a look.

“But when they see a girl getting out of an automobile, if it looks accidental, if she just gives them a brief glimpse — you know, just a flash — about half as far as they’d see in a bathing suit but— Boy, it makes a man feel devilish. He thinks he’s seen something.

“Now you take women. Just look at the psychology of the thing. When they’ve got on stockings and a skirt, if you see their legs above the top of the stocking, they act like you’re a Peeping Tom — and as far as panties are concerned, my God, that’s sacred ground.

“But you let that skirt be labeled a play skirt and the panties made of the same material as the skirt and what happens? They act like it’s perfectly all right to whip the skirt off and parade around in panties, just because the panties are made of the same cloth as the skirt. I don’t get it. It’s a kind of feminine psychology that— But what the hell, I use it, Donald. I use everything. I use all kinds of psychology in sales. Well, here we are...”

He broke off as the door opened and Lorraine Robbins came back in and handed me two sheets of paper and gave a copy to Holgate.

The typing was letter-perfect; neat, even, regular typing with the new modern electric typewriter. It looked as though it had been done on a printing press. There wasn’t an erasure, there wasn’t a strike-over, there wasn’t the faintest irregularity.

And the thing was a verbatim transcription of what I had said.

“Any objection to signing it?” Holgate asked.

“None whatever,” I told him.

He handed me a fountain pen.

I signed on the dotted line.

“Any objection to swearing?” he asked. “Just to make it official.”

“None whatever.”

He glanced at Lorraine Robbins. Lorraine said, “Hold up your right hand, Mr. Lam.”

I held up my right hand.

“You solemnly swear that the statements contained in this affidavit which you have just signed are true, so help you God?”

“I do.”

She had been carrying a notarial seal concealed in her left hand, one of these little pocket nickel-plated doodads that a notary public can slip into a purse when she’s going out.

She pulled the document over to her and on the place where it was written: “Subscribed and sworn to before me this 5th day of October,” she signed her name as notary public, impressed the seal and handed it to Holgate.

Holgate looked at it, nodded, got up and gave me his hand, signifying that the interview was over.

“Thank you, thank you very much, Lam. It’s wonderful to have citizens come forward and volunteer information in regard to accidents they’ve seen.

“Now Lorraine will take you back to your hotel — unless you want to look over some of our lots. If you do, she’ll be glad to show you around and—”

“Some other time,” I said. “I’m — well, I’m not in a position where I care to make any investments at the moment. I don’t have any surplus capital to tie up.”

His tongue made clucking sounds of sympathy. “Too bad, too bad,” he said. “That’s the way it is, though. So many times when you have an opportunity for an absolute sure-fire profit you can’t put your hands on the necessary money. We’ll take a small down payment, Lam, and...”

I shook my head firmly.

“Okay, okay. I’m not going to press you. I just feel sufficiently grateful to put some profit your way — you know, something I could do legitimately. Lorraine, take him up to the hotel... Now, wait a minute, Donald. I don’t think your address is in the affidavit.”

“It’s on the hotel register,” I said.

“Well, you’d better let me have it so I can make a note right on this affidavit. Where can I reach you?”

I gave him the San Francisco address.

He came around the desk, put a big hand on my left shoulder, grabbed my right hand and shook it. “Thank you, Donald. Thanks a lot. Any time you want anything in the line of real estate, you just let me know. I’ll tell you what I’m going to do. I’m not going to tell you what lot it is because that wouldn’t be fair, but I’m going to take one of our best lots and sort of hold it back so that in case you want to get in on the ground floor any time within... well, within the next thirty days, just let me know.”

“Now, let’s not have any misunderstanding, Mr. Holgate,” I said. “That accident was your fault.”

“I know it was. I’m responsible,” he said. “I’m to blame. I only hope that poor girl isn’t injured seriously.”

“So do I,” I said. “She’s a good-looking girl.”

“You notice those things, don’t you, Donald?”

I looked at Lorraine and said, “I notice those things.”

He laughed and said, “Take him to the hotel, Lorraine.”

She smiled at me and said, “Ready, Mr. Lam?”

“Ready,” I told her.

We went out to the car. I started to walk around to the left side to help her in but she jerked the door open on the right side, jumped in and slid across the seat.

I got in beside her, shut the door and she touched a shapely toe to the throttle and we swept around to the driveway.

“How did you like Mr. Holgate?” she asked.

“Fine.”

“He’s a wonderful man. A fine man to work for.”

“How about Mr. Maxton?” I asked.

The half-second of silence could have been due to the fact that she was concentrating on approaching the intersection. It could have been due to something else.

“He’s fine,” she said.

“You must have a nice job.”

“I do have.”

“You like it?”

“I love it.”

“You like lots of action yourself?”

“Action,” she said, “is life. Inactivity is death. Routine is deadly. I want variety. I want new circumstances arising every minute of every day where I have to use my individuality, my initiative, and what brains I have.”

“I think you do all right,” I said.

“Thank you, Donald. Has anybody ever told you you’re awfully nice?”

“Holgate did,” I said, “but I think he wanted to sell me a lot.”

She burst out laughing and said, “Donald, you do say the damnedest things! How long are you going to be in town?”

“I don’t know.”

“Know anyone here?”

“Just a few people.”

“Men or women?”

“Both.”

“Well,” she said, “don’t get lonely.”

“I won’t,” I said.

“I’m satisfied you wouldn’t,” she said, glancing at me, “but in case you do — well, you could always get in touch with me. My name’s in the phone directory.”

“Would you try to sell me a lot?” I asked.

She laughed again and said, “Probably.”

She was silent for two or three minutes, then as she drove up in front of the hotel she smiled at me and said, “And, on the other hand, Donald, I might give you a lot.”

She gave me her hand with a quick, impulsive gesture, flashed me a quick smile, then turned her attention to the front of the car, waiting for me to close the door.

I closed the door, she gave a quick look into the side mirror and shot out into traffic.