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the lot and both of them were in costume, we’ll look terrible.”
    â€œIs this your idea?” I asked.
    â€œHell no,” gasped Hoff. “I think we should just drop the goddamn thing and let it ride out. M.G.M. isn’t going to fold over this. Oz has already had its run. It’s not even playing anywhere now, and I doubt if there ever will be a sequel. But Mr. Mayer says there are millions to be made from the picture, re-release and.…”
    â€œAnd what?”
    â€œTelevision,” Hoff said sounding embarrassed. “He thinks we’ll be able to sell it to television someday.”
    Not knowing what television was I didn’t say anything, but I grunted in sympathy for Hoff. I agreed with him. I had nothing against putting in another few days work for the money even if I didn’t expect anything to come of it.
    â€œO.K. Warren,” I said pulling out an unsharpened pencil. I bit wood away to get to the lead, “I’ll put some more time into it. I’ll try to get to Wherthman. Who are the witnesses, the ones who saw the two midgets fighting this morning?”
    â€˜One is Barney Grundy, a studio photographer,” said Hoff. He gave me Grundy’s office address on Melrose. “The other two are Victor Fleming and Clark Gable. They were coming from breakfast together. If you want to talk to Fleming, I’ll find out where he is. Your brother already talked to him and Gable. Gable’s going out of town for the weekend, but I’m sure we can track him down if you want him.”
    I said thanks and told him he had done a good job, which he had. My praise didn’t mean much to him. We hung up.
    I didn’t know where to look for the midget suspect Wherthman, so I called Steve Seidman at police headquarters. He told me Wherthman had been brought in for questioning, but it was a pretty sure bet they were going to hold him for the murder. As far as the L.A. police were concerned, the case was just about wrapped up and they could turn their attention back to a pair of ax murders in Griffith Park.
    Shelly was still working on Walter Brennan when I put on my hat and stepped through my office door.
    â€œI think we’ve save it,” Shelly beamed, sweat dripping from his hair. The old man in the dental chair was having trouble focusing his eyes.
    â€œGreat,” I said. “You’re a saint.”
    On the way down to try to get a word with Wherthman, I realized that Mayer had a few reasons to worry about publicity. The primary witnesses for the case against Wherthman seemed to be the studio’s top star and top director. Coming off of The Wizard of Oz and Gone With The Wind, Fleming was almost as great publicity material as Gable. A trial would be front page news for weeks. As far as M.G.M. was concerned, it would probably be better if Wherthman would just confess and plead guilty. Wherthman, however, might not care much about Metro’s publicity problems.
    Wherthman hadn’t been charged or booked when I got to the station. Phil wasn’t there, which was fine with me; Seidman was, and he told me that the little suspect was just about wrapped up and ready to be put away.
    â€œA couple of people saw Wherthman arguing with Cash, the dead midget, early this morning,” Seidman explained. “One of the witnesses got close enough to hear them talking. He heard a German accent. Wherthman’s got a German accent. The dead guy called the other guy Gunther. We found blood on a suit in his apartment. We’re checking it now to see if it matches the dead guy.”
    â€œHe sounds all wrapped up,” I said. “Can I talk to him?”
    â€œWhy?” Seidman asked reasonably.
    â€œI’ve been hired by his lawyer.”
    â€œHe hasn’t called a lawyer. Who’s his lawyer?”
    â€œI’m not at liberty to say,” I said seriously.
    Seidman smiled and shook his head.
    â€œPhil would have your head in