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the sheriff had written down: “Stella Karis, 6825 Morehead Street, Los Angeles. License No. JYH 328.”
    I went to my motel. The manager said the sheriff had phoned to move the things out of my unit and give me my money back.
    I opined that was real thoughtful of the sheriff.
    I drove down to the second boulevard stop, parked my car and waited. It was dark now but street fights enabled me to read license numbers.
    An hour passed.
    I was ready to give up and was just starting my motor when my car came along, a Ford, license number JYH 328.
    A young woman was driving it and when I fell in behind her I realized she was breaking all speed laws. I tagged along behind for a ways.
    Suddenly the red brake lights blazed on in the car in front. The driver pulled over to the side of the road and stopped. The door on the driver’s side opened. I saw a beautiful pair of legs, a flash of skirt, and then she was standing in front of me on the highway.
    I slid rubber getting to a stop.
    She didn’t budge.
    I opened the door and got out.
    “Now just what do you think you’re doing?” she demanded.
    “Me?” I said. “I’m going to Reno.”
    “Yes, I know you’re going to Reno, but you’re afraid you might get lost so you want a pilot car to keep ahead of you and you’ve been tagging me for the last twenty miles. Now suppose you just get that car of yours going and keep it going until you get to Reno.
    “However, if, as I suspect is the case, you’re a local minion of the law making certain that I’m leaving the county, you can go back to Susanville and tell them that I don’t want any part of the place.”
    I said, “I’m not connected with the Susanville law. I’m on my own. And if you don’t mind my saying so, a good-looking young woman like you could get into serious trouble stopping her car to find out who had been following her for the last twenty miles.”
    “That’s right!” she blazed at me. “I mind your saying so. It was so nice of you to think of it first. Now get going, and keep going! How many of you are in the car?”
    “Just me.”
    She walked over to the car and took a look.
    “All right, go on ahead.”
    “I might have something in the line of information that you could use,” I said. “My name’s Donald Lam.”
    “I don’t care a hoot what your name is. As far as I’m concerned you can get lost.”
    I climbed in the car and pulled ahead of her. I rolled on down the road about five miles until I found a crossroad, then brought my car to a stop, backed into the crossroad, switched off the lights and the ignition, and waited.
    Headlights appeared down the road. I could hear the whine of tires on the highway. A car rocketed on past. It wasn’t the car the girl had been driving.
    This was out in the wilderness and cars were relatively few and far between. I sat behind the steering wheel and waited.
    Another car rocketed past. That wasn’t the girl’s car. Five minutes after that another car came along rather slowly.
    That was the girl’s car.
    I gave her about five minutes’ start, then gave my car the gas. I overtook her, went tearing on past, got over a little rise in the road and slowed almost to a stop. When I saw her headlights in my rearview mirror I kept going. I kept ahead of her for another twenty or thirty miles before she got the idea. Then she came barreling up with her headlights on high blazing into my rearview mirror and crowded me off the road. I stopped and she stopped.
    She got out of the car and walked over to the window. “What did you say your name was?”
    “Donald Lam.”
    “What do you do, Mr. Lam?”
    ‘I’m a private detective.”
    “How interesting! You don’t have one of your cards, do you?”
    I gave her one of my cards.
    “Could I see your driving license, just to check?”
    I showed her the driving license. She put the card in her purse. “All right,” she said, now I know who you are, and if you keep annoying me on the road I’m going to have you