She grinned. Then she grew very sober. “How did you know about that?”
“Never mind,” Bingo said. He gave her his friendliest and most reassuring smile. “We’re going to be friends, Janesse. And something is going to come of those lovely pictures we took tonight.” Just what, he had no idea, but he’d worry about that later. “So as a friend, you really ought to tell us—”
“It was for a joke he wanted to play on someone,” she told him. “A few pieces of letter paper and some forms and some envelopes from Pa’s office. It was just for a harmless joke.”
Two thousand bucks’ worth of harmless joke, Bingo thought. But at least, that cleared that up.
“All right,” he said, “who was he?”
She shrugged her shoulders again. “I don’t see any harm in telling you. It was Clifford Bradbury. You may meet him sometime.”
Bingo and Handsome glanced at each other. “We’d like to,” Bingo said. “We’d like to very much.”
Another thought struck him. “I don’t suppose he ever told you how he happened to have the keys to this house?”
She stared at him. But before she could say a yes, a no, or just look stubborn, there was a startlingly loud ring at the door.
Janesse Budlong jumped up, collecting the mink, the cigarette case and the small suitcase in one quick move. She looked around a little helplessly.
Handsome pointed wordlessly toward the empty library. Janesse nodded and fled. The doorbell rang again.
“Damn it, Handsome,” Bingo said, ignoring the doorbell, “how did he get keys to this house? Nobody seems to worry much about that, either, except us. And,” he added, scowling, “he may still have a set.” It wasn’t a cheering thought.
Sixteen
It was Chester Baxter who stood in the doorway. He looked tired and a little dusty, and there was a faint odor of beer on his breath. But he looked pleased.
“You’ve found him?” Bingo said excitedly. “Where is he? What’s his real name?”
“Give a guy a chance to catch his breath, willya?” the small man said, puffing. “I walked all the way here from the bus stop.” He came in and sat down. “Why people want to live miles and miles from a bus stop, I don’t know. I ought to have a car.”
“We’re not going to buy one for you,” Bingo said. The next moment he relented. Chester Baxter did look very tired indeed. “Handsome,” he said, “do we have any beer left?”
They did. Handsome brought it out. Bingo offered a cigarette. The little man seemed to revive considerably.
“All right,” Bingo said. “Where is he?”
“I don’t know where he is right this minute,” Chester Baxter said. He finished the beer in a gulp. “But I know where he’s going to be later tonight. That’s what I need the extra expense money for.”
“Who said anything about extra expense money?” Bingo demanded.
“I did,” Chester Baxter said. “Just now.” He raised a placating hand. “Wait a minute. I don’t need very much. Five dollars will do it. I have had expenses I didn’t anticipate, making my investigation this afternoon. But since I succeeded in my objective—”
“How do we know you’re going to find him?” Bingo said, trying to be stern. “How do we know you won’t just keep coming back with more stories and your hand out for more expense money?”
Chester Baxter gave him a wounded look. “Sir,” he said stiffly, “there is a matter of honor. Especially in my business.”
Bingo could see the justice of that. He reached for his wallet, took out a five-dollar bill and handed it over. “Is it any of our business what you’re going to use it for?”
“Expenses,” the small man said, pocketing the money. “Frankly, buying drinks for various people in the place where your Courtney Budlong, whose real name is probably Twivelpiece, or Ripsling, or Slidge, or something like that, is going to be, later in the evening.”
Bingo eyed him thoughtfully. “If you know exactly where he’s going to be—” he began slowly.
Chester Baxter shook his head. “It would not do at all. Yes, certainly you could inform the police and they could pick him up at this place I am speaking of. Or you could go there yourselves. But,” he said firmly, “the proprietor of this place is a friend of mine, and so are many of his regular patrons. It would not do for the police, or the general public, to get the impression that this is a favorite recreation place for—” He paused.
“All right,” Bingo said, “we get what you mean. And when he turns up at this thieves’ hangout, what do you plan to do?”
Chester Baxter looked pained at Bingo’s choice of words. “I shall tag along and find out where he holes up,” he said. “And immediately let you know.” He added, “I may even engage him in conversation at the bar, though it might be better not.”
“Much better not,” Bingo agreed. He wondered if he ought to tell the small man that Courtney Budlong-Charlie Browne-Clifford Bradbury was not only a con man, but probably a murderer.
“And don’t worry about me,” Chester Baxter said, “I can take care of myself.” His lips pulled back in an unpleasant grin. He was silent for a moment. “You know,” he said reflectively, “I’ve been thinking. There is more to this than the matter of the little job he pulled on you.”
“Five dollars,” Bingo said firmly, “is all!”
Chester Baxter waved his hand deprecatingly. “Who said anything about more money? No. I have been doing some looking into the future, yours and mine.”
“When I need our fortunes told—” Bingo began.
“You don’t follow me at all,” Chester Baxter said. “This man gave you papers in exchange for your money. I saw them at the police station. They had Julien Lattimer’s signature on them. His genuine signature.”
“Well?” Bingo said.
“So,” Chester Baxter said, with a look of triumph, “Julien Lattimer must still be alive somewhere. There must be a reward for finding him.”
“No doubt,” Bingo said.
“All right then,” Chester Baxter said gleefully. “Our man, your Courtney Budlong fella, he must know where Julien Lattimer is. It only remains to sweat it out of him. Therefore,” he finished, “since I find him, I’m entitled to half the reward.”
“Ten percent,” Bingo said automatically, and before he’d had time to think it through.
“Now, now, now,” Chester Baxter said. “I will have done all the work. And I will have taken all the chances.”
Bingo remembered again that the man they were seeking had, in all probability, killed Pearl Durzy, and said, “Twenty-five percent, and that’s final.”
“Oh, all right,” the small man said. He smiled and said, “I probably would have settled for ten.”
“Only,” Handsome said, “look. What’s to stop you from going right to the police when you find him, and collecting all the reward yourself? If there is a reward?”
It was another of the times Bingo wished Handsome would have kept his good-looking but big mouth shut.
Again Chester Baxter wore a pained look. “My dear young man,” he said, “I don’t want to be mentioned in connection with this, in any way. I will give you the information. You can give it to the police, or follow it up yourselves. If there is any money coming, I will drop around and collect.”
There would be no doubt of that, Bingo told himself.
“However,” Chester Baxter said, “think how it would look in my profession if it became known that I had, so to speak, put the finger on this guy? I have a reputation to maintain.”
“I would never, never damage anyone’s professional reputation,” Bingo said very solemnly. “Your name will never be mentioned.”