“Just asking what his motive was,” Gramps said.
“I don’t know... He didn’t have any, of course.”
Gramps said musingly: “Kinda funny the district attorney would bring him all the way up here from Los Angeles. If it was routine information he’d wanted, he’d have got it through the Los Angeles police.”
“Well, he’s bringing me all the way up here from Los Angeles,” Eva Raymond said.
Gramps looked at her as though seeing her for the first time. “Doggoned if he ain’t,” he said.
There was silence for a moment; then Eva Raymond asked, “What sort of a man is he? Is he the sort that browbeats you and shouts at you?”
“Not Frank,” Gramps said positively. “He’s the smooth, slick kind. He’ll apologize all over the office for getting you up here from Los Angeles. He’ll ask you some innocent questions, and make you think you’re just about finished, and then he’ll slip over a fast one, and the first thing you know you’ll be floundering around trying to explain what you said and getting in deeper all the time.”
“You’re wrong there,” she said. “Nothing like that is going to happen to me, because I have nothing to conceal.”
“Oh, sure,” Gramps admitted, just a little too readily to be convincing.
She looked at her wristwatch, said: “I wonder what he’s asking Harvey about... And I wonder why he can’t ask Harvey and me questions together.”
Gramps said: “Perhaps he wants separate answers. Did you know George Karper?”
She didn’t move her head, nor did she change expression; but her blue eyes slowly slid around to appraise Gramp Wiggins. “Why do you ask that?”
“I was just wondering if maybe that’s what Frank was askin’ Stanwood about.”
“What’s Karper got to do with it?”
“That’s what I was wondering,” Gramps said.
“Karper,” she told him, “is in the cattle ranching and subdividing business. I don’t think he and Mr. Pressman had anything in common.”
“You know him?”
“I know him when I see him.”
“Ever talked with him?”
She hesitated for a moment, then said definitely: “No.”
“Harvey Stanwood know him?”
“I believe he does. He’s told me something about him.”
“Harvey talk over business with you occasionally?”
“Nothing of a confidential nature.”
“But things generally?”
“Naturally. Our futures depended upon what Harvey could do.”
“How come he ain’t in the Army?”
“They rejected him the first time on account of some minor physical ailment. I understand they may call him back and re-examine him.”
“When were you two going to get married?”
“You want to know a lot, don’t you?”
Gramps grinned at her and said: “Uh huh.”
“Well, suppose you try minding your own business for a while? It’ll be quite a change for you.”
“Okay,” Gramps said, and promptly walked over to the table which held the magazines, started pawing around through them, mumbling under his breath. He finally came back with one of the popular weeklies, sat down in his chair, said: “This is a hell of a district attorney’s office. Ain’t a detective magazine in the place.”
Eva Raymond maintained an aloof silence and Gramps started reading.
After three or four minutes’ cogitation Eva began to squirm. “How did you know anything about Karper?” she asked abruptly.
“I don’t know anything about him,” Gramps said.
“But you knew his name?”
“Yes.”
“How did you know that? You must have learned that from the district attorney.”
The only answer Gramps gave was an inarticulate grunt which might have meant anything. He devoted his attention once more to the magazine.
“Did Mr. Duryea say anything about George Karper?” she demanded abruptly.
“Thought you didn’t want to talk with me.”
“Well, I want to know the answer to that.”
“Why?”
“Because I... It means a lot.”
“Nothin’ else I asked you made very much impression on you,” Gramps observed shrewdly. “But I start talkin’ about Karper, an’ right away you get all excited. What’s the angle?”
She said indignantly: “There isn’t any.” She looked toward the door of Duryea’s private office, opened her purse, took out a compact, and put finishing touches on her face.
Gramps said casually: “Looks like a new compact.”
She said absently: “Just a cheap thing. I picked it up this afternoon in a drugstore.”
“Too bad the other one got broken,” Gramps observed.
She looked at him then, lowering the compact, her eyes staring into his with cold hatred. “I suppose you’re trying to make something out of the initials that were on that other compact the police— Well, it’s a lie.”
“What is?” Gramps asked.
“What you’re insinuating.”
“What was I...?”
The door of Duryea’s private office opened very abruptly. The district attorney bowed Harvey Stanwood out into the outer office, said: “Thank you very much, Mr. Stanwood. I—”
There was no mistaking the surprise on Stanwood’s face as he saw Eva Raymond sitting there. “Why, hello, Eva! Did you come up to get me?”
“Hello — dear. No. The district attorney sent for me.”
Duryea explained suavely: “Just a few routine questions I wanted to ask her, Mr. Stanwood.”
“Why,” Stanwood exclaimed, “this is a surprise! I didn’t know she was out here. I— Well, I’ll go on in with you, Eva, and then we’ll go back down to Los Angeles together.”
“I’d prefer that you waited out here,” Duryea said politely, but with crisp authority in his voice.
Stanwood frowned, started to say something, then thought better of it. His eyes turned to Gramps, dismissed him, then flashed back to give him the puzzled scrutiny of someone who is trying to place a face he has seen before.
“Evenin’,” Gramps said cordially.
Duryea said: “Just come right in, Miss Raymond.”
Eva said: “Can’t Harvey—”
Duryea bustled her on into the office as her words died away. The door clicked shut.
Stanwood walked over to the table which contained the periodicals, made a pretence of a selection, but kept looking at Gramp Wiggins, studying him furtively, quite evidently trying to place him.
Gramps beat him to it. “I seen you some place before,” he said, “not very long ago. Where’d I meet you?”
Harvey Stanwood laughed nervously. “I was just trying to place you,” he admitted.
Gramps got up and pushed out a gnarled hand. “Wiggins is my name,” he said.
“I’m Harvey Stanwood.”
They shook hands.
“Hell of an assortment of magazines,” Gramps grumbled. “Ain’t a detective story in the outfit.”
Stanwood said: “I was looking for a financial journal or some serious reading. This is just popular fiction.”
“That’s right. Personally, I like detective stories or horse racing.”
“Horse racing,” Stanwood said with a laugh, “is a little outside my line. I—” His voice suddenly dried up in his throat. His eyes contained startled recognition.
“Looks like you’ve placed me,” Gramps said.
“Weren’t you in Los Angeles this morning?”
“Yep.”
“In a saloon on Grand Avenue figuring out some dope on the ponies from a newspaper?”
“By gum,” Gramps exclaimed. “That’s right! You was sittin’ over there in a booth right across from me. I remember now, seein’ you and the fellow with you.”
Harvey abruptly lost interest in the magazines. “By George,” he said, “one thing I forgot to mention to the district attorney.”