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Do you want to see him if he comes in again?’
    ‘Not tonight. Tell him to come in tomorrow morning. If it’s urgent call my room and I’ll speak to him on the ‘phone. I want some sleep tonight.’
    ‘I’ll do that,’ Larson said.
    I went upstairs, along the passage to Bernie’s room. I found him sitting in an armchair, his feet in a basin of hot water. By his side, on a table, stood a bottle of Scotch, two glasses, one of them half-full, and a bottle of charge water. He gave me a wan smile as I stood in the doorway, gaping at him.
    ‘What do you imagine you’re doing?’ I asked, coming in and shutting the door.
    ‘Resting my dogs,’ he said. ‘Have you forgotten you had the car? I’ve been tramping my feet into the sidewalk. You wouldn’t believe it, but there are fourteen hotels in this dump. Think of it! Fourteen! They’re spread out all over the town. I’ve called on the lot.’
    ‘Did you find him?’
    Bernie laughed bitterly.
    ‘There’s not a sign of him. I wore my feet out for nothing.’
    I lit a cigarette and poured myself a drink.
    ‘You didn’t miss one hotel? You’re sure?’
    ‘I’m sure. I got Larson to make out a list. He swears it’s complete. The guy didn’t stay at a hotel in Welden. I’m telling you. It’s now an established fact. He either lives in an apartment
    or a house or else he came in from Frisco or some place, but he didn’t stay at a hotel!’
    ‘The cops are looking for him now,’ I said, and went on to tell Bernie of my visit to Welden’s police headquarters. I broke the news as gently as possible that Hesson had been murdered.
    ‘You see what I mean?’ Bernie said, starting to dry his feet. ‘That’s three of them knocked off. If we keep sticking our noses into this, we’ll get knocked off too.’
    ‘Relax,’ I said. ‘The police are taking care of it now. I’m disappointed you didn’t find that guy in the camel hair coat, Bernie. I would have liked to have talked to him before Creed got
    on to him.’
    ‘Well, he didn’t stay in any of the hotels in this town,’ Bernie said. ‘You’d better let the cops hunt for him.’
    ‘You asked Larson if he stayed here, of course?’ I asked casually.
    Bernie started as if someone had touched him with a red-hot poker. He turned the colour of an overripe tomato as he stared at me, his eyes bulging.
    ‘Why should he stay here?’ he demanded hoarsely.
    ‘Why shouldn’t he? Did you ask Larson?’
    ‘No, I didn’t!’ Bernie clutched at his hair. ‘Mercy! If he did stay here. . .! To think I’ve been tramping the streets all day, wearing myself to a shadow and it never crossed my mind to ask Larson.’
    I picked up the telephone.
    ‘This is Sladen,’ I said when Larson answered. ‘Do you remember if a guy stayed here around August of last year who wore a camel hair coat? He’s tall, suntanned and has a small moustache.’
    ‘Sure,’ Larson said. ‘I remember him well. What about him?’
    ‘I’ll be right down. I want to talk to you about him.’ I hung up and looked accusingly at Bernie. ‘You big mutton head! He did stay here!’
    Bernie closed his eyes.
    ‘How was I to know?’ he wailed. ‘To think of the miles I’ve walked!’
    I left him and ran down the stairs.
    ‘Tell me about this guy,’ I said, coming to rest at the reception desk. ‘What was his name?’
    Larson opened the register.
    ‘He booked in on August 9th. His name’s Henry Rutland. Here’s the entry. He came from Los Angeles. What’s the excitement about?’
    ‘He arrived the same day as Miss Benson did?’
    ‘Yes. Miss Benson booked in at noon. Rutland booked in at six in the evening.’
    ‘Did he own a green and cream Cadillac?’
    ‘That’s right. He garaged it across the way.’
    ‘Would they have the licence number?’
    ‘They might. I wouldn’t know.’
    ‘When did he leave?’
    ‘The morning of the 17th.’
    ‘That’s the day Miss Benson disappeared.’ I ran my fingers through my hair. ‘I