“What were you doing on Friday, June 12th?”I asked him. “Late afternoon or evening. It was a Friday.”

He sipped his drink and thought, shaking the ice around gently and drinking past his gum. “I was right here, six to twelve shift,” he said.

“A woman, slim, pretty blonde, checked in here and stayed until time for the night train to El Paso. I think she must have taken that because she was in El Paso Sunday morning. She came here driving a Packard Clipper registered to Crystal Grace Kingsley, 965 Carson Drive, Beverly Hills. She may have registered as that, or under some other name, and she may not have registered at all. Her car is still in the hotel garage. I’d like to talk to the boys that checked her in and out. That wins another dollar—just thinking about it.”

I separated another dollar from my exhibit and it went into his pocket with a sound like caterpillars fighting.

“Can do,” he said calmly.

He put his glass down and left the room, closing the door. I finished my drink and made another. I went into the bathroom and used some more warm water on my torso. While I was doing this the telephone on the wall tinkled and I wedged myself into the minute space between the bathroom door and the bed to answer it.

The Texas voice said: “That was Sonny. He was inducted last week. Another boy we call Les checked her out. He’s here.”

“Okay. Shoot him up, will you?”

I was playing with my second drink and thinking about the third when a knock came and I opened the door to a small, green-eyed rat with a tight, girlish mouth.

He came in almost dancing and stood looking at me with a faint sneer.

“Drink?”

“Sure,” he said coldly. He poured himself a large one and added a whisper of ginger ale, put the mixture down in one long swallow, tucked a cigarette between his smooth little lips and snapped a match alight while it was coming up from his pocket. He blew smoke and went on staring at me. The corner of his eye caught the money on the bed, without looking directly at it. Over the pocket of his shirt, instead of a number, the word Captain was stitched.

“You Les?” I asked him.

“No.” He paused. “We don’t like dicks here,” he added. “We don’t have one of our own and we don’t care to bother with dicks that are working for other people.”

“Thanks,” I said. “That will be all.”

“Huh?” The small mouth twisted unpleasantly.

“Beat it,” I said.

“I thought you wanted to see me,” he sneered.

“You’re the bell captain?”

“Check.”

“I wanted to buy you a drink. I wanted to give you a buck. Here.” I held it out to him. “Thanks for coming up.”

He took the dollar and pocketed it, without a word of thanks. He hung there, smoke trailing from his nose, his eyes tight and mean.

“What I say here goes,” he said.

“It goes as far as you can push it,” I said. “And that couldn’t be very far. You had your drink and you had your graft. Now you can scram out.”

He turned with a swift tight shrug and slipped out of the room noiselessly.

Four minutes passed, then another knock, very light. The tall boy came in grinning. I walked away from him and sat on the bed again.

“You didn’t take to Les, I reckon?”

“Not a great deal. Is he satisfied?”

“I reckon so. You know what captains are. They have to have their cut. Maybe you better call me Les, Mr. Marlowe.”

“So you checked her out.”

“No, that was all a stall. She never checked in at the desk. But I remember the Packard. She gave me a dollar to put it away for her and to look after her stuff until train time. She ate dinner here. A dollar gets you remembered in this town. And there’s been talk about the car bein’ left so long.”

“What was she like to look at?”

“She wore a black and white outfit, mostly white, and a Panama hat with a black and white band. She was a neat blond lady like you said. Later on she took a hack to the station. I put her bags into it for her. They had initials on them but I’m sorry I can’t remember the initials.”

“I’m glad you can’t,” I said. “It would be too good. Have a drink. How old would she be?”

He rinsed the other glass and mixed a civilized drink for himself.

“It’s mighty hard to tell a woman’s age these days,” he said. “I reckon she was about thirty, or a little more or a little less.”

I dug in my coat for the snapshot of Crystal and Lavery on the beach and handed it to him.

He looked at it steadily and held it away from his eyes, then close.

“You won’t have to swear to it in court,” I said.

He nodded. “I wouldn’t want to. These small blondes are so much of a pattern that a change of clothes or light or makeup makes them all alike or all different.” He hesitated, staring at the snapshot.

“What’s worrying you?” I asked.

“I’m thinking about the gent in this snap. He enter into it at all?”

“Go on with that,” I said.

“I think this fellow spoke to her in the lobby, and had dinner with her. A tall good-lookin’ jasper, built like a fast light-heavy. He went in the hack with her too.”

“Quite sure about that?”

He looked at the money on the bed.

“Okay, how much does it cost?” I asked wearily.

He stiffened, laid the snapshot down and drew the two folded bills from his pocket and tossed them on the bed.

“I thank you for the drink,” he said, “and to hell with you.” He started for the door.

“Oh sit down and don’t be so touchy,” I growled.

He sat down and looked at me stiff-eyed.

“And don’t be so damn southern,” I said. “I’ve been knee deep in hotel hops for a lot of years. If I’ve met one who wouldn’t pull a gag, that’s fine. But you can’t expect me to expect to meet one that wouldn’t pull a gag.”

He grinned slowly and nodded quickly. He picked the snapshot up again and looked at me over it.

“This gent takes a solid photo,” he said. “Much more so than the lady. But there was another little item that made me remember him. I got the impression the lady didn’t quite like him walking up to her so openly in the lobby.”

I thought that over and decided it didn’t mean anything much. He might have been late or have missed some earlier appointment. I said:

“There’s a reason for that. Did you notice what jewelry the lady was wearing? Rings, ear-pendants, anything that looked conspicuous or valuable?”

He hadn’t noticed, he said.

“Was her hair long or short, straight or waved or curly, natural blond or bleached?”

He laughed. “Hell, you can’t tell that last point, Mr. Marlowe. Even when it’s natural they want it lighter. As to the rest, my recollection is it was rather long, like they’re wearing it now and turned in a little at the bottom and rather straight. But I could be wrong.” He looked at the snapshot again. “She has it bound back here. You can’t tell a thing.”

“That’s right,” I said. “And the only reason I asked you was to make sure you didn’t over-observe. The guy that sees too much detail is just as unreliable a witness as the guy that doesn’t see any. He’s nearly always making half of it up. You check just about right, considering the circumstances. Thanks very much.”

I gave him back his two dollars and a five to keep them company. He thanked me, finished his drink and left softly. I finished mine and washed off again and decided I would rather drive home than sleep in that hole. I put my shirt and coat on again and went downstairs with my bag.

The redheaded rat of a captain was the only hop in the lobby. I carried my bag over to the desk and he didn’t move to take it off my hands. The eggheaded clerk separated me from two dollars without even looking at me.

“Two bucks to spend the night in this manhole,” I said, “when for free I could have a nice airy ashcan.”

The clerk yawned, got a delayed reaction, and said brightly: “It gets quite cool here about three in the morning. From then on until eight, or even nine, it’s quite pleasant.”