Traps Need Fresh Bait

Chapter 2

The apartment I got wasn’t exactly what I had had in mind. It was in a third-rate apartment house, but there was a telephone booth at the end of the hall on each of the three floors. The furnishings were old and a little musty, and there was the odor of cooked cabbage clinging to the poorly ventilated hallways.

I had better luck on the car, picking up what looked to be a really good buy at less than Blue Book.

I wrote a letter, giving my new address, to Box 685, drove down to the newspaper and delivered it.

The letter gave the number of the telephone booth on the third floor of the apartment house. My letter had said I would be at that number promptly at ten o’clock that night and at eleven o’clock the next morning.

I signed the letter with my real name, Donald Lam. I had a hunch they’d want to see my driver’s license and I didn’t have time to get a set of phony credentials.

On the other hand, it’s basic policy with a good detective never to let his name and address get listed in a telephone book: so if they tried to look up Donald Lam, they would find nothing.

If they had looked up detective agencies, they would have found a Cool and Lam, and that might have been a giveaway, but there were a lot of detective agencies in the city — and, anyway, it was a chance I had to take.

I made no attempt to cover the phone at ten o’clock but went home and went to bed. However, the next morning at eleven o’clock I was out in the corridor and when the phone rang I answered it within a matter of seconds.

It was a feminine voice, crisp, businesslike. “Mr. Lam?”

“Yes.”

“You answered an ad we had in the...?”

“That’s right — about the accident.”

“You think you could put us in touch with a witness?”

I let my voice show I was playing the cards close to my chest. “There’s a reward in case I do?”

“If you will study the wording of the ad, you will notice that there is a reward if you can produce a witness and if the witness can give the testimony mentioned in the ad.”

“I think you’ve got a customer,” I told her.

“A customer?”

“Well,” I explained hastily, “I mean I think I can... Yes, I’d better talk with you.”

“Very well, Mr. Lam. Where are you now?”

I gave her the address.

“Promptly at twelve-thirty o’clock this afternoon, you will be at Room Sixteen twenty-four, Monadnock Building. Go right into Sixteen twenty-four and sit down. I will see you just as soon as possible. Be sure you are there promptly at twelve-thirty.”

“I’ll be there,” I promised, and hung up.

I drove my car down to a parking lot near the place I was to be at later and looked around a bit.

The Monadnock Building was one of the older office buildings. The elevators rattled a bit. The tile floor in the lobby of the building was a little uneven. The newsstand wasn’t very efficiently arranged: cigars, tobaccos, paperback books were all mixed in a merchandising hash. Magazines were in a display rack and also stacked in piles on the floor at the foot of the display rack. The place wasn’t too well illuminated.

I decided not to take a chance on going up to look the place over in advance, because the old-fashioned elevators had operators and I didn’t want to have anyone remember me as having been in earlier.

I went back out, walked around awhile, came back promptly at twenty-three minutes past twelve, and took the elevator to the sixteenth floor.

Room 1624 was an office with half-a-dozen different names on the door. None of the names meant anything to me.

I went in, and a woman at a desk smiled impersonally and handed me a card. “Will you please fill out your name and address and the nature of your business?”

I put down my name, the address of the dummy apartment, and wrote “Answering newspaper ad”.

“Oh, yes,” the woman at the desk said, “Mr. Lam. I believe you have an appointment for twelve-thirty.”

She consulted her wrist watch, smiled and said, “I have five minutes to twelve-thirty.”

I nodded.

“Would you mind sitting down and waiting, Mr. Lam?”

“Not at all”

I had been there about three minutes when the outer office door opened and a woman in her twenties took a couple of steps into the room, then paused and looked to the left and right.

It wasn’t exactly the pause one makes in appraising surroundings. It was the pause one makes when trying to decide whether to go ahead with something or to get the hell out of there.

The woman at the desk smiled the same impersonal smile. “Good afternoon,” she said.

The young woman in the doorway squared her shoulders and marched up to the desk.

The woman handed her one of the cards. “Will you please write your name, address and the nature of your business?”

I watched the girl filling out the card. Then the woman at the desk said, “Oh, yes, Miss Creston, you have an appointment for twelve forty-five. You’re early... quite early.”

The girl laughed nervously. “Yes, I... I’m not fully familiar with the city and I didn’t want to be late. I...”

“Well, would you mind sitting down and waiting, or would you prefer to come back?”

“Oh, I’ll sit and wait.”

The woman started for a chair on my side of the room, then changed her mind and went over and sat across from me.

I had several minutes to look her over. There was nothing else to look at except the desk and a row of chairs on each side of the room. It might have been a waiting room in a doctor’s office, only there were no tables with magazines — nothing except the two rows of chairs and the receptionist at her desk.

I looked Miss Creston over.

She had nice legs, wavy chestnut hair, and she was jittery.

A good detective should know something about women’s clothes, but that was a branch of my profession on which I needed a lot of coaching.

This girl was wearing clothes that seemed to have been designed for business or travel, and somehow they looked as though they had been traveled in rather extensively. The first spring had gone out of the material, which I gathered had originally been fairly expensive; but the outfit she wore was all well matched — a long topcoat of the same gray material as the two-piece suit beneath — and there was a touch of bright-red scarf at the neck. Her shoes and purse matched in some sort of snakeskin and were the same brownish red as her hat and gloves.

I could see she was interested in me — not, apparently, as another human being, but perhaps as a source of potential trouble.

She looked at me from time to time with quick nervous glances, as though she might be looking over her shoulder apprehensively.

The door from the inner hallway opened and the young woman gave a convulsive start.

A suave-appearing man with a brief case said, “All done in Twelve A, Miss Smith.”

The woman at the reception desk nodded, smiled, picked up a telephone and said something I couldn’t hear.

The man who was all finished in 12A withdrew and the automatic doorstop clicked the door softly shut behind him, and the woman at the reception desk said, “You may go in for your appointment, Mr. Lam,” and then smiled at the girl and said, “It will only be a few minutes, Miss Creston.”

“Thank you. I’ll wait,” she said.

I walked on past the desk. The receptionist handed me a little slip and said, “Third room to the right.”

I looked on the slip of paper. It had the number 12A.

I opened the door to the inner offices. There were six of them — three on each side of a little corridor.

I walked down to 12A, the last room on the right, and opened the door.

A dark-complexioned, big-bodied man with oily hair appraised me with eyes that were as cold and hard as those of Bertha Cool.

“Mr. Lam?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Sit down.”

The office was a little cubicle with an interoffice telephone, a desk, a swivel chair, two straight-backed chairs, some pictures on the wall, and nothing else.

The man behind the desk said, “My name is Rodney Harper, Mr. Lam. I’m very glad to meet you. You wrote us that you had seen our ad in the paper.”

“That’s right.”

“And that you thought you could give us information about a witness?”

“Right.”

“Could you tell us a little more about the witness?”

“He’s someone I know.”

Harper smiled. “Naturally,” he said.

He was a big man, with big hands which rested on the desk in front of him. There was a desk set with a couple of penholders on the desk, a blotter, an empty pad of paper and the telephone.

I said, “There’s a reward offered?”

“There’s a reward offered,” he said. “Now, I’ll have to explain certain things to you at this time so that there will be no possibility of a misunderstanding.”

Harper bent down, opened a brief case, took out a map, spread it on the desk, then took two little plastic automobiles from the brief case and put them on the map.

The map was a large-scale diagram of the intersection of Gilton Street and Crenshaw. They were plainly labeled.

“Now, then,” Harper said, “this car is a Ford Galaxie that was coming down Gilton Street. You’ll remember there’s a traffic signal at that street, Mr. Lam.

“At the time of the accident, the Cadillac was coming along Crenshaw Street, and the Galaxie was coming down Gilton Street at high speed. The traffic signal was on amber from the Gilton Street side as the car approached, and the car evidently made a desperate attempt to get across the street before the amber light changed. However, the amber light had very definitely changed to red by the time the Galaxie was at the intersection. It was going too fast to stop.

“It came into the intersection at high speed and hit the Cadillac.”

I said nothing.

Harper moved the car which represented the Cadillac going down Crenshaw. “Now,” he said, “this is the Cadillac coming down Gilton. There was a car stopped here in the right-hand lane. The Cadillac was coming in the left-hand lane and was getting ready to stop for the red signal. But, just before the Cadillac got to the intersection, the signal changed to green, so the driver of the Cadillac went on into the intersection.”

“Did he see the Ford?” I asked.

Harper was a little indefinite. “He was looking at the green light,” he said, “and he went on into the intersection with the green light. Then this Ford, which was driven heedlessly through the red light into the intersection, came up on his left, traveling at high speed.”

“Where was the Cadillac hit?” I asked.

“Now that, of course, is the embarrassing part,” Harper said. “The Cadillac was going at a fair speed through the green light at the intersection. And then suddenly the driver saw this Ford and slammed on his brakes. The Ford, however, in place of putting on brakes, speeded up and tried to shoot ahead of the Cadillac and... well, it was the Cadillac, actually, that hit the Ford. At the time of the collision, the Cadillac was almost stopped.”

“I see,” I said.

“Now, the fault is plainly with the driver of the Ford automobile.”

“Oh, yes,” I said.

“You have a witness to the accident?” Harper asked.

I said, “You mentioned a reward.”

“That’s right. A reward of three hundred dollars.”

“All I have to do is produce the witness?”

Harper tapped his finger on the map. “You have to produce a witness,” he said, “who is prepared to testify that the Ford ran through the red light directly into the intersection and was responsible for the accident.”

“I see,” I said, and was silent.

“You think you know of such a witness?” Harper asked.

“Yes.”

“Well, we’d like very much to talk with him. And, of course,” Harper said with an affable smile, “it will be to your interest to produce the witness and bring him in here.”

“In that event, when would I get the three hundred dollars?”

Harper was very definite on that point. “After you have produced the witness,” he said. “After we have talked with him and learned that his testimony is accurate; after he has made an affidavit as to what happened.”

“And then I get the three hundred dollars?”

“Then you get the three hundred dollars.”

“Suppose he doesn’t testify your way?”

“Tut, tut,” Harper said. “Not my way, young man. I want him to testify to things as they are — to what actually happened. I have told you what happened. We know what happened. We have statements from the driver who is our insured. We naturally wouldn’t pay you three hundred dollars for producing a witness whose memory was inaccurate or who was perhaps tied up with the other side of the case.”

“No, I suppose not,” I said. “But suppose I bring in my witness and something happens and you don’t pay off.”

“I am a man of my word, Mr. Lam.”

“It seems I should have something in advance.”

“We can’t pay out money for finding a witness before the witness has been found.”

“Suppose I am the witness. Would I still get the reward?”

He frowned. “That’s a perplexing question. You gave me no prior intimation that such was the case. In fact, your questions indicated you had no firsthand knowledge of the accident.”

“I wanted to find out your attitude,” I said.

“Are you a witness?” he asked abruptly.

“Would I get the three hundred dollars if I am?” I countered.

He teetered in his swivel chair for a few moments, then said, “Well, let me talk with my superiors, Mr. Lam, and then you can be available. Perhaps you’d better call me at three o’clock this afternoon at this number. Now, this number I am giving you isn’t the number of the office here, but it’s a number where I can be reached.”

He scribbled seven figures on a sheet of paper, tore the sheet of paper from the pad, folded it, got to his feet, shook hands, presented me with the piece of paper and said, “Until three o’clock then.”

“Three o’clock,” I said, and went out.

I hadn’t cleared the door before the receptionist said, “You may go in, Miss Creston. Room twelve A, the last room on the right.”

I took the elevator down to the lobby, bought a pack of cigarettes at the tobacco counter, walked out to the sidewalk and killed time pretending to be looking at the window display of a sporting-goods stores, mingling with the lunch-hour crowds, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible.

It was about twenty minutes later that she came out.

I followed her for a block and a half.

She turned into the lobby of the Travertine Hotel, walked directly to one of the overstuffed leather chairs which faced the window, and sat down facing the street. She had that air of over positive assurance adopted by people who aren’t at all sure of themselves and expect to be called to task at any time.

I took up a position on the sidewalk where I could see without being seen and waited for the clerk to ask her courteously what her room number was, what she was doing there and so forth, and then let her know in a tactful way that the lobby was reserved for guests of the hotel.

At the end of another fifteen minutes, I was tired of standing on my feet and tired of waiting. I knew that I might be tipping my hand, but I had a feeling this girl was occupied with troubles of her own.

I walked in through the door to the hotel, looked around the lobby, let my eyes fall on her, grow wide in recognition, and said, “Why, hello!”

She gave me a dubious smile. “Hello,” she said.

I made quite a point of looking around the lobby, apparently searching for someone who wasn’t there, then let my eyes drift back to hers.

She was staring at me with curiosity and a little trepidation.

I moved over toward where she was sitting and said, “Had a friend supposed to meet me here for lunch. I’m late, and I guess he decided not to wait. I... gosh, I know I know you, but I can’t remember where we met before.”

She laughed and said, “We didn’t meet.”

I registered indignation. “Don’t tell me that,” I said. “I know you just as well. I’ve seen you — not too long ago. We... oh,” I said, and my voice trailed off into silence.

Her laughter was musical. “You’ve got it now?” she asked.

“I’ve got it now,” I said. “You were at that office up in the Monadnock Building. I was sitting looking across at you for several minutes... Say, don’t think I’m trying to be fresh. I came in here looking for my friend, and your face was familiar and... gosh, I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to be,” she said.

“You’re staying here?” I asked.

“I... I was waiting for a friend.”

I looked at my watch and said, “Well, I’ve missed my appointment all to pieces. I’m twenty minutes late and my friend makes it a point not to wait for anybody... Had lunch?”

I made it sound so casual that it would, I hoped, make the question appear sufficiently innocent.

“No,” she said. “I was going to lunch with my friend but I guess I’ve missed her.”

“They have a fine merchant’s lunch in the dining room here,” I said. “My friend and I eat here quite frequently and it’s really a good place. Since we both lost a luncheon date, let’s eat together.”

I kept all anxiety out of my voice, made the invitation sound as casual as though Emily Post had given the procedure the benefit of her blessing.

Her hesitation was just enough to disguise eagerness. “Well, I... I guess perhaps I’ve missed my appointment... I was to be here shortly after twelve-thirty, but I was detained on a business matter... you know, up there in the office... and I didn’t get out until just a few minutes ago.”

“No doubt about it,” I said; “your friend has thought there was a misunderstanding and gone on. Let’s eat.”

I turned casually toward the dining room and she joined me.

“Hungry?” I asked.

“Actually,” she said, “I’m starved. I had a very light breakfast.”

“Tell you what let’s do,” I said. “If my friend should come here and find me in the dining room with you, he’d claim that I had it all planned that way; and if your friend should come, it might be embarrassing. Let’s go down the street about a block to the Steak House.”

“The Steak House?” she asked.

“Most wonderful steaks in the world,” I said, holding up my thumb and finger about an inch and a half apart. “Extra-thick New York cuts or filet mignons, baked potatoes that are out of this world, onion rings and a nice crisp green salad and...”

“Don’t,” she said. “My figure!”

“Won’t hurt your figure at all,” I said. “This food is non-caloric.”

“Yes, particularly,” she said, “the baked potato.”

“With lots of butter melted into it.” I said, “and paprika on top. And they make some wonderful garlic toast, a concoction of cheese, butter and garlic all melted into...”

“I have a business appointment this afternoon.”

“If you drink a good wine,” I said, “it will neutralize the garlic.”

She laughed. “What a salesman you are. What’s your name?”

“Donald,” I said. “Donald Lam.”

“Mine’s Daphne Creston.”

“Miss or Mrs.?”

She said, “It’s going to be Miss from now on. Actually, it’s Mrs. My husband walked out on me.” Her voice became filled with bitter sarcasm. “My dear, darling, devoted husband is all tied up with another woman and left me without a” — she caught herself hastily and finished lamely — “care in the world.”

Then she went on hurriedly. “It isn’t easy for a person to get by where you have to explain your marital status, so I’m just taking my maiden name back.”

“And shifting for yourself?” I asked.

“That’s right”

At the entrance to the Steak House, she held back a bit. “Donald,” she said, “this looks frightfully expensive.”

“Well, it isn’t cheap,” I admitted. “You don’t get food like they serve here at bargain-basement prices.”

“But... is it all right? I mean, can you afford it? I can’t go Dutch in this place.”

I laughed the carefree laughter of reassurance and said, “Who said anything about Dutch? Just don’t look at the right-hand side of the menu. Cover it up; look at the left-hand side; tell the waiter what you want, and it’ll be all right.”

“Donald,” she said, “you certainly are happy and carefree... It’s going to be mid afternoon before we finish. Don’t you have a job?”

“My job is working for me,” I said, “and I’m one of the most indulgent employers you ever encountered. I think nothing of giving a faithful employee like me the afternoon off, particularly when he’s having lunch with a beautiful young woman. I find that it improves the morale of the personnel to encourage them in these little dissipations.”

She laughed and said, “Well, I’ve got an appointment at four o’clock, but until then I’m free; and the way I feel, I’m just as apt as not to spend the intervening time eating.”

“Wonderful,” I said.

The headwaiter deferentially escorted us to a booth for two. I ordered cocktails and appetizers; soup; a couple of extra-thick filet mignon steaks, medium rare; baked potatoes; green salad; onion rings; garlic bread; a bottle of Guinness stout for myself and some red wine for Daphne.

The cocktails were delicious and were served almost immediately. Daphne ate the appetizers with a relish she didn’t try to disguise.

We had vegetable soup, then a small green salad; and then the steaks came on, sizzling hot and cooked to perfection. The steak knives were razor sharp. As they cut into the steaks, the red juices spurted out to form little pools on the plates.

I took a piece of garlic bread and shamelessly sopped the bread in the steak gravy.

Daphne followed suit.

I had my stout; Daphne had the wine I had ordered — wine of a special vintage which I felt certain she would appreciate.

Gradually the color came back into her cheeks.

She tucked away every scrap of food that was on her plate, had two pieces of garlic bread, finished up the small bottle of wine, settled back and smiled.

“My,” she said, “that tasted good!”

I said, “Were you up in that office in the Monadnock Building on the same errand I was?”

“You mean about the accident?”

“Yes.”

She hesitated a moment, then said, “Yes.”

“That was a peculiar accident,” I said. “Where were you standing?”

“I was standing on Gilton,” she said.

“You know that the signal changed before the Ford went through?”

“Oh, yes. I was trying to hurry to get across the street, but the signal changed to amber when I was still some distance away and it changed to red before I got to the intersection.

The Ford may have started on the last of the amber, but the signal was red before the Ford ever got across the line into the intersection. He was going fast trying to beat the red light.”

I nodded. “Got your three hundred bucks?” I asked.

“Not yet. I signed an affidavit. Mr. Harper is going to take it up with his superior. I’m to be back at four o’clock this afternoon. If they use me as a witness, I’m going to get the three hundred dollars.”

“That wasn’t the way the ad read,” I said. “The ad read that they would give three hundred dollars reward for anyone giving information resulting in locating a witness.”

“Well, of course,” she said, “I didn’t comply technically. I didn’t give them information. I witnessed the accident.”

The waiter hovered inquiringly over the table.

“How about some pineapple sherbet?” I asked Daphne.

She smiled and said, “I might just as well go all the way.”

I nodded at the waiter. “Two pineapple sherbets, and then the demitasse.”

We had the sherbet, lingered over the coffee.

“You still have a little time to kill,” I told her. “Any particular program?”

“No, I’m free until four o’clock.”

I said, “Where are you staying, Daphne?”

She started to say something, caught herself, looked me in the eye and said, “I’ll be frank with you, Donald. I just came. I parked my bags in a locker at the bus depot. That’s only a few blocks, and I’m going back and get them after I have a place to stay.”

“Can I help you? I have a car and...”

“Oh, that would be wonderful! And if you could get me a place to stay — I don’t want an expensive hotel. I don’t know just how long I’ll be in town... I’m looking for work, Donald.”

I leaned slightly forward, caught her eyes, and said, “And you’re flat broke.”

Her eyes shifted for a moment of swift panic, and then she turned back and looked straight at me.

“And I’m flat broke,” she admitted.

“And,” I told her, “you were a good many miles away from here on April fifteenth at the time of that accident. You didn’t see it, but you did see the ad in the paper.

“You were desperate. You were coming to the city to find work. You looked through the ads to see what you could find. You saw this ad and thought there was a chance to pick up three hundred dollars by making a bluff and saying that you had seen the accident and...”

“Stop it, Donald!” she said. “Don’t read my mind that way. You terrify me!”

“Suppose you tell me a little about yourself.”

“There isn’t too much to tell,” she said. “I am a pretty fair secretary — that is, I used to be. I can do shorthand; I can do dictating-machine work; I am reasonably fast and quite accurate. I had a very fine job, and this Prince Charming came along and — all right, I fell for him. I listened to a wonderful siren song. That man can charm the birds out of the trees. I married him. I gave him what money I had and transferred all my savings into a joint account.

“Then something happened and I became suspicious. I started checking. The man was married, had a wife and a small daughter and had never been divorced. He was keeping them in another home he had here in Los Angeles, and... all right, I lost my head. I let him know what I knew. The next morning he was gone. He’d cleaned out the joint bank account.”

“You can get a man like that for bigamy,” I said.

“And what good does that do?” she asked. “He’ll go into court and talk the judge out of doing anything. He’ll tell how repentant he is, how he wants only to go back to his legal wife and make a home for his child. The judge will give him probation — and, even if he doesn’t, what good is it going to do me to have the guy serving time in a penitentiary?”

“How long did you live with him?”

“About six months. He was, of course, away a lot of that time. He told me he was a manufacturer’s representative and had to be on the road a lot of the time.”

“What about getting your old job back?”

She shook her head emphatically. “It was in a Midwestern city, and the girls in the office all envied me. I tell you this man really had a front. He could impress people. I was so proud of him! I told everyone how I had waited until just the right man came along. No spur-of-the-moment, marry-in-haste-repent-at-leisure stuff for me!”

“Those girls were all so downright envious, I just couldn’t bear the thought of letting any of them find out what had actually happened to Daphne Creston’s fine marriage.”

“Does the first wife know about you?” I asked.

“I don’t think so. I found out about her; there’s a seven year-old daughter.”

“What’s his name?” I asked.

She shook her head.

“You might as well tell me. You’ve told me this much. His name wouldn’t mean anything to me.”

“Why do you want to know, Donald?”

“Just in case I should ever meet the guy. I’d know enough to be on my guard.”

She shook her head.

“You still love him,” I charged.

“I hate his guts!”

“Then why did you come to Los Angeles and why are you trying to protect him?”

“I’m not trying to protect him!”

“Have it your own way,” I said, and was silent.

She was uneasy at my silence.

“I took all the money I could scrape up and bought a ticket here and traveled by bus,” she went on after a moment or two. “I arrived here hungry and dirty. I need a bath. I need to change my clothes and...”

“And you came here because you wanted to plead with him to take you back,” I interrupted.

“Plead with him, hell!” she blazed. “The no-good louse won a hundred and twenty thousand dollars in the Irish Sweepstakes and had his name and picture in all the papers.

“So I had to come here so I can send cards to the girls in the office where I worked. Those cards have to have a Los Angeles postmark because the newspapers said he was living here.

“I can’t let the girls in the office think I’m high-hatting them, and I have too much pride to even let them suspect the truth.

“And somewhere, somehow, a purse snatcher got my purse out of my bag, lifted all the money and then returned the purse. I didn’t discover what had happened until I got here.

“I’m broke, Donald, flat broke.”

“Go to him, make him give you a stake,” I said.

“I wouldn’t ask him for a glass of water if I was dying of thirst in the middle of the Mojave Desert.

“You know what I’m planning to do? If I can’t get a job, I’m going to sell myself until I can get one. I’m broke — flat broke!”

I left a bill for the waiter.

“Come on,” I said.

“Where?” she asked.

“I have an apartment,” I told her. “It’s near here. It’s not too swanky, but I’ll take you there and leave you the key. You can go in and have a steaming-hot tub bath. While you’re doing that, I’ll get your suitcases out of the locker at the depot. If you hurry, you’ll have time to go up and keep your four o’clock appointment. Were you to call personally or to telephone?”

“To call personally.”

“All right,” I said. “You can...”

“No, I can’t, Donald,” she said. “I couldn’t do anything like that. After all, you’re — well, you’re almost a stranger.”

“You were talking about selling yourself to strangers,” I said. “The door of my apartment has a bolt. You can lock it on the inside. I’ll give you ten minutes to soak in a good hot tub bath, ten minutes to dress. All I ask in return is that you clean up the bathroom when you leave.”

That did it — that plus the fact that the soak in a hot tub bath appealed to her almost as much as the steak.

She smiled and said, “It’s awfully kind of you, Donald. I’m afraid I’m taking an unfair advantage.”

“No advantage, and nothing unfair about it,” I told her. “You need a place to bathe and change. Then when you finish up this afternoon you’ll have three hundred bucks which you can use as a stake.”

She sighed. “I certainly can use that bath,” she said.

I got my secondhand car out of the parking lot, drove her to my apartment, showed her the towels.

“All right,” I said, “it’s all yours until I get back with the baggage. That bolt on the inside of the door locks the...”

“I hate to keep you out of your own apartment, Donald.”

“It’s all right,” I told her. “It’s all yours until I get back. Then I’ll be up and knock on the door and you can open it for the baggage, and I’ll drive you to your four o’clock appointment as soon as you dress.

“And then,” I went on as she hesitated, “you’ll have completed your arrangements, you will have three hundred dollars in cash, and that will serve as a stake until you can get a job. The lawsuit over the collision of the automobiles will be compromised on the strength of your affidavit and you’ll never have to get on the witness stand.”

“Oh, I hope so,” she said, “I... I doubt if I could possibly go through with it, but... I did this whole thing on impulse after I saw that ad in the paper. I was down to bedrock. It was either that or...”

“Sure thing,” I said as she hesitated. “You had to play it that way. You have no choice. Good heavens girl, suppose you had tried to get a night’s lodging by dating some man. The city is crawling with fly-cops. Suppose you had been picked up for prostitution. Then what? Wouldn’t that have been something for the girls in your office to have read about!”

She caught her breath. “I never thought about that,” she said.

“I’m thinking about it for you,” I said. “Give me the key to the baggage locker. I’ve got to hurry.”

She gave me the key.

“How about you, Donald?” she asked. “Did you see the accident?”

I said, “I thought I might be able to dig up a witness who saw it — that was the man I was to have lunch with. But we haven’t any time to go into that now if you’re going to get all cleaned up. And be sure to get that bathtub clean!”

She laughed and said, “I’m an excellent housekeeper, Donald.”

“I’m on my way,” I said. “When I knock, open the door a crack and I’ll slide your suitcases inside.”

“Thanks, Donald — for everything!” She had started taking off her clothes even before I had the door closed.

I listened for a moment to see if she turned the bolt on the inside of the door, but I didn’t hear it.

The bus depot wasn’t far, but I took a cab so I wouldn’t have a parking problem. I went to the locker, fitted the key, got out a very good looking suitcase and overnight bag, and had the cab rush me back.

I knocked on the door.

“It’s not locked,” Daphne called.

I opened the door.

She was holding a towel around her, looking all fresh and steamy. “Oh, Donald, you’re a dear!”

I smiled, said, “You’d better hurry,” put the suitcase inside, and backed out of the apartment.

She was smiling as I closed the door.

“You’ll be back?” she called to me.

“In ten minutes,” I promised.

I went down to the telephone at the end of the corridor.

I called the number Harper had given me.

He answered the phone right away.

“Mr. Harper,” I said, “this is Donald Lam. I was to call you at three o’clock. I’m sorry to be a little late. You were going to give me an answer.”

“Yes, Mr. Lam.”

“You have the answer?”

“Yes, Mr. Lam.”

“What is it?”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “You impress me as being a very estimable young man, but my superiors don’t feel the same way, about you that I do. They feel that you hadn’t really witnessed the accident at all but were simply anxious to make three hundred dollars and were willing to testify to the required facts in order to get the money.

“Now, don’t blow your stack, Lam! Hear me out. I simply acted as a go-between in the matter. I reported to my superiors. There’s a lawyer in this deal who leans over backwards. He insisted that it would be suborning perjury to pay a witness in return for false testimony. I’m terribly sorry it turned out this way, but it’s my duty to report facts.”

“How could you give him a statement of our conversation?” I asked. “I...”

“With a tape recorder, of course,” he interrupted. “I had a concealed tape recorder. Remember the desk set of the two pens? It had a concealed microphone in it, and I let my superiors listen to the tape recording. As I say, this one attorney is a stickler for legal ethics and he felt that you — well, he listened to the tape recording twice and said that you should have told me frankly that you were a witness right at the start if you had actually seen the accident. But your questions, the tone of your voice, and... well, that’s the way it is, Mr. Lam. I’m afraid the decision is final. But thank you for calling, and thank you for the interest you took in the matter. Goodbye.”

He didn’t wait for me to say anything but hung up the phone at his end.

I went down and sat in my car for ten minutes, then I went back up to the apartment and tapped on the door.

Daphne threw it open. She looked fresh as a daisy and exuded self-confidence.

“Oh, Donald,” she said, “I feel so much better. This was a wonderful thing — a nice steak, a hot bath, clean clothes... Do we have time to get there at four o’clock? I want to be sure — absolutely sure to be there and...”

“Come on,” I told her.

“What about my baggage, Donald?”

“We haven’t time to bother with it now. Leave it here. We’ll get it when we come back.”

“You have your key?” she asked. “There’s a spring lock on the door.”

“I have it,” I said.

She laughed. “I never did shoot the bolt you were talking about, Donald. I see it now above the knob on the door. I... I guess I just trusted you.”

“That’s what you should do, Daphne,” I said.

I took her down to the automobile, drove to the Monadnock Building, then went on past.

“It’s very important,” I warned, “that we shouldn’t be seen together. And you must be very careful in talking with Mr. Harper not to let him know that you know me. That might be fatal.

“There’s a parking lot half a block down the street here. I’m going down and wait in the parking lot. Walk down there when you finish with your interview and I’ll be waiting in the car. Just stand at the check-out station of the parking lot and I’ll spot you.”

“Donald, you’re wonderful!” she said. She put her hand over mine, gave it a quick squeeze, jumped out of the car and hurried into the Monadnock Building.

I drove around the block, down to the parking place; checked the car in; told the attendant my wife was doing some shopping and I was waiting for her; and sat there with the car pointing toward the street.

It was twenty-three minutes past four when she showed up. I tapped the horn, started the motor, and drove over to pick her up.

“How was it?” I asked.

“O.K.,” she said, “only... only they didn’t give me the three hundred dollars.”

“They have your affidavit, don’t they?”

“Yes.”

“Well, why didn’t they give you the money?”

“I’m to get it tonight at ten o’clock.”

“Where?”

“It’s out in Hollywood somewhere. They’ll pick me up at the Monadnock Building. It seems there’s some attorney connected with the case who wants to study my affidavit carefully and test it against the physical acts in the case. He’s a stickler for ethics and he wants to be absolutely certain that he’s dealing with a bona fide witness.”

“And if decides he isn’t?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “Then perhaps I won’t get the money after all.”

“And if you don’t?”

She said, “If I don’t...” And I could see her collapse like a punctured tire.

She was silent for a moment, then said, “Donald, why did you say that? Do you think there’s any chance they’d have gone this far and had me sign an affidavit and then not give me the money?”

“I don’t know,” I told her. “I was just asking questions.”

“Donald, that three hundred dollars is going to be every red cent I have in the world. I’ve got less than thirty-five cents in my coin purse, and that’s it. And because I’ve been counting on this three hundred dollars I didn’t go to an employment agency and... Of course, there are ads in the paper; but unless a girl is mighty lucky, she can waste several days going around from place to place, calling on the telephone, making applications. And then you’re apt as not to find out the place has been filled.

“And thirty-five cents isn’t even enough for bus fare, even if you read the ads in newspapers that have been discarded in the waiting room at the bus depot — which is how I happened to see this ad in the first place.

“I suppose I’m an idiot taking all my money to try to get away from my past — just as if the wheels of a bus could purge my folly... and that contemptible purse snatcher!

“When you spoke to me I was on the point of spending the few cents I had for a hamburger sandwich. I was that hungry and that desperate.

“Donald, these people simply have to give me that money. If they try to double-cross me, I’ll...”

“Careful,” I interrupted.

She lapsed into silence.

After a minute she said, “Donald, a big city is a terrifying place for a young woman who has no money and no connections.”

“What do you mean — no connections?” I asked.

“Just what I said. I don’t know a soul...”

“Yes, you do,” I interrupted. “You have a connection; you have me.”

She turned to look at me, then said, “All right, Donald, I have you. And we may as well put the cards on the table. I’m very grateful. I’m down and out and... well, you’re in the driver’s seat.

“I can’t begin to tell you how much I appreciate what you’ve done for me. I’m not a piker, and I am truly grateful.”

“It wasn’t anything,” I told her. “And after ten o’clock tonight you’ll have three hundred dollars.”

“Donald, what do you really know about that accident?”

“I thought I could put them in touch with a witness,” I said. “But this attorney who keeps in the background must be a pretty stuffy individual. He thought perhaps I was more interested in the three hundred dollars than in the ethics of the case, and they turned me down. Don’t ever let any person with whom you are talking know that you know me or have talked this over with me.”

“I won’t,” she promised; then, after a moment, she said, “Are you going back — to the apartment?”

“Why not?”

“I... all right, Donald, I’ll go and get my things packed up and — can you take me out for the ten o’clock appointment?”

“Sure thing.”

“And until then?”

“Got any other place to go?” I asked.

“No.”

“Then you may as well stay in the apartment,” I said. “I’ve got some business to take care of. You can stretch out and get a little rest.”

“Donald, are you leaving your apartment just because — because I’m there?”

“I’ve got things to do,” I told her.

“Donald, you’re being a gentleman. You’re giving me your apartment. You don’t need to, Donald.”

“Forget it,” I told her. “Things will work out all right.”

We drove back to the apartment. I gave her my extra key.

“Just go in and make yourself at home,” I told her. “And remember there’s a bolt on the door. I think you’d better use it.”

“Donald, I don’t want to put you out of your own apartment.”

“You’re not.”

“I am, too. Couldn’t you... I mean, if... well...”

“Nope,” I told her. “I’ll pick you up at nine-thirty. We’ll go out to keep this ten o’clock appointment, and then we can have some ham and eggs.”

Her face lit up. “By that time, I can treat you,” she said. “I’ll have the three hundred dollars.”

“It’s a date,” I told her.

I saw her as far as the door of the apartment house, then patted her shoulder and drove to the office.

The receptionist was just leaving as I entered. Elsie Brand was at her desk. Bertha Cool was still in the office.

Elsie Brand said, “Bertha is very anxious to see you, Donald. She’s been asking every few minutes.”

“O.K.,” I said, “we’ll see what Bertha has on her mind.”

I walked over to Bertha’s private office. As soon as I opened the door she said, “Donald, where the hell have you been?”

“Working on this insurance case.”

“Well, this fellow Adams has been calling up half-a-dozen times this afternoon. He wanted to know if you had established contact. He said to be very, very, very careful — that he had a feeling they were suspicious of you and thought you might be a detective.”

“Who was the ‘they’ he was referring to?”

“The people who put that ad in the paper.”

“All right,” I said. “Anything else?”

“What do you mean ‘anything else’? You’ve seen them, haven’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Were they suspicious?”

“I don’t know. I had an interview and let them know I’d be receptive, but they turned me down.”

“That’s what Adams was afraid of, Donald. They’ve got you spotted. He was afraid you’d be too direct. He wants a report.”

“I’ll contact him after a while,” I said.

“Adams was all worked up,” Bertha went on. “He felt that we had loused the job up. He left a number for you to call just as soon as I could get in touch with you.”

“O.K., call him now,” I said.

Bertha said, “He may be rather rough. He said he was very much disappointed and... well, the son of a bitch seemed angry.”

“Let’s get him on the phone,” I said. “You have his number?”

“I have his number.”

Bertha got an outside line, dialed the number, said, “Mr. Adams?”

Butter wouldn’t have melted in her mouth. “This is Bertha Cool, Mr. Adams. Donald just came in and I told him you wanted to talk with him. Here he is; hold the phone, please.”

I took over the phone, said, “Hello. This is Donald Lam.”

“What the devil has happened?” Adams said. “You’ve loused the job all to pieces!”

“What do you mean I’ve loused the job?” I asked.

“They’ve got wise to you in some way.”

“What do you mean they’re wise to me?”

“That you’re a phony; that you’re a private detective.”

“I don’t think they have,” I said.

“Well, I think they have,” he told me.

“On what do you base your information?” I asked.

He said, “I base my information on the fact that they have very definitely closed with someone else.”

“What do you mean closed?”

“They have another witness.”

“They didn’t say anything in the ad about only one witness.”

“Well, you try and collect for two and see what happens,” Adams said.

“Of course, I can’t help it if there were other witnesses,” I told him. “Thousands of people read those want ads, and someone who saw the accident could very well have...”

“Saw the accident, my eye!” Adams stormed. “That was why I was so anxious to get action. I was afraid they might close the deal with someone else.”

“I had a very nice interview with them,” I said.

“Did you get the three hundred dollars?”

“No.”

“When was the last contact you had with them?”

“About three o’clock. It seems there’s some lawyer connected with the case that is so ethical he leans over backwards and...”

“Phooey!” Adams interrupted. “I tell you they brushed you off. You didn’t put on the right kind of an act.”

“All right,” I told him. “Have it your own way. I’m not going to argue with you. Now what do you want me to do?”

“I want my money back.”

“All of it?”

“All of it.”

“There have been quite a few expenses,” I said. “We don’t guarantee results. We guarantee effort and that’s all.”

“Look here,” Adams said, “you try that approach with me and you’ll regret it. I represent big business. I gave you a job and you loused it up.”

“I haven’t loused it up yet,” I told him.

“Yes, you have. You’ll never have any more contact with that outfit. And if you try it, they’ll be so suspicious they won’t let you get within a mile of them.”

“You know that for a fact?”

“I know it for a fact.”

“All right,” I said. “Now, I’ll ask you a question: How do you know it?”

“Don’t think I was foolish enough to trust everything entirely to you. I had other contacts.”

“Exactly,” I said, “and those other contacts are what loused up the job. That’s the worst of you amateurs — you want to act like professionals. Just because you’re dabbling around with investigations in an insurance company, you think you know all about detective work.

“I wondered who else was butting into the picture. Now I know: it’s you. All right, you created a lot of obstacles and made things more difficult for me, but I’ll take it in my stride and come out all right. But, from now on, I’m warning you: keep out of the case!”

“You think you still have a chance?”

“There’s more than one way to skin a cat,” I told him. “Of course I have a chance. If I can’t get what I want one way, I’ll get it another. But you keep out of this, you understand?”

“You can’t give me orders!”

“The hell I can’t,” I said. “I’m giving you orders right now! If you don’t stay out of it beginning as of now, you’re going to be out of luck!

“As it is, you’ve loused things up, but I think perhaps I can recoup our losses.”

There was a silence for several seconds; then he said, “I see no reason for your confidence.”

I asked, “Where can I reach you?”

“Right here at this number.”

“It may be late tonight.”

“You can always reach me through this number.”

“O.K.,” I said. “Can you give me an address?”

“No, this is an unlisted telephone number. Call me here and I’ll answer. But I want you to understand...”

“I understand everything,” I told him. “I took a contract to do a job, and I’m going to do it. But I want you to keep the hell out of it. Now, do you get that?”

He hesitated for two or three seconds, then he said, “Very well, but don’t talk to me like that.”

“Keep out of my way, then,” I told him. “Just so that’s understood, we’ll get along.”

I hung up the telephone.

Bertha was watching me with apprehensive eyes. “You can’t talk to a client like that, Donald,” she said.

“The hell I can’t!” I said. “I can and I did. He’s one of those guys who won’t trust anyone. He hired us to do a job and then he either hired some other agency to check on us or he tried to do it through his own operative. The result of it is that the fat is in the fire and I’m going to have a hard job getting things straightened out.”

“He’s an influential businessman,” Bertha said. “You mustn’t antagonize clients that way. You...”

“Phooey!” I interrupted. “I know the type. He’s the arrogant, browbeating businessman — the sort of individual who gets you on the defensive and then rides you to death. I don’t intend to have him riding me to death.”

“What are you going to do?” Bertha asked.

“Go out on the job and get results,” I told her.

“Do you think you can?”

“I always have, haven’t I?”

“You’re a smart little bastard,” Bertha admitted grudgingly, “but I wish you hadn’t talked to him that way.”

I leaned over Bertha’s desk, copied the telephone number Adams had given her into my notebook, and said, “It’s the only way to talk to him. I think I know how he loused the job up. If he calls you, don’t knuckle under to him.”

“Did he want his money back?” Bertha asked.

“He started talking that way.”

Bertha’s expression changed. “Under those circumstances,” she said, “we can’t afford even to be halfway pleasant to the son of a bitch!”

“Keep that in mind,” I told her, and walked out.

I said good night to Elsie, told her not to worry if she didn’t see me for a few days, to keep her mouth shut and be enigmatic to callers. Then I drove to police headquarters, got into the traffic division and started pawing through records. It took a while to find what I wanted but, finally, I found it. On 15th April a Cadillac driven by Samuel Afton had collided with a Ford Galaxie driven by George Bains at Gilton and Crenshaw. Police had made an investigation and had issued a citation to Samuel Afton, driver of the Cadillac, for running a red signal without making a stop and for failing to yield the right of way.

After that I dropped by a friendly newspaper office and looked in the files — the so-called morgue — for the names of the last winners of the Irish Sweepstakes.

The big winner was Dennison Farley. His picture showed him to be a good-looking guy with a big mouth.

I copied his address.