It was opened suddenly and Johnny practically fell into the arms of a tall, lean young man of about thirty.
The man grabbed Johnny by the shoulder. “Here, you, what’re you trying to do?”
Sam Cragg crowded in behind Johnny, squeezed past him and knocked the tall man’s hand from Johnny. “Easy does it, chum!”
The man blocking the door called back into the room. “Call the desk!”
“Now, wait a minute,” Johnny said quickly. “Let’s talk this thing over.”
“There’s nothing to talk about!” exclaimed the tall man. “You’re trying to break into this room and—”
“Let them in, Mike,” said Helen Walker.
Mike hesitated then retreated into the room. Johnny and Sam followed — and discovered that there was still another person in the room; a girl about the same age as Helen Walker and just about as pretty although in a more outdoorsy way. She was dark; hair almost black and skin tanned by a thousand suns.
“All right,” said Helen Walker. “Let’s have it — or I will call the manager.”
“First,” said Johnny, “I want to apologize for the joke I perpetrated on you yesterday.” He reached into his pocket and brought out some money. Extracting a dollar and a quarter he extended it to Helen Walker.
Her lips parted. “What’s that for?”
“The joke. You didn’t think I was serious in asking you to pay for changing that tire?”
She said sharply. “Now listen...”
“Ha-ha-ha,” Johnny laughed. “When I saw your New York license I was so tickled to see someone from home I couldn’t resist pulling that corny joke. Then, when I saw that you hadn’t gotten it, I tried to explain but you went off too quickly...”
“Say!” exclaimed the man known as Mike. “Are these those two hoboes you were telling us about?”
“Hoboes!” cried Sam.
“They’re the ones,” said Helen Walker.
Johnny shook his head sadly. “See — that’s what a joke’ll do. A hobo!” He sighed wearily. “Let’s start at the beginning. My name is Johnny Fletcher and this is Sam Cragg.”
Mike glared at Johnny. But the sun-tanned girl suddenly held out her hand. “I’m Laura Henderson and Fm glad to know you, Johnny Fletcher.”
“Likewise,” said Johnny, taking the girl’s hand.
“And Mike is my brother,” Laura went on.
Mike Henderson ignored Johnny’s proffered hand. “All right,” he said, “just for the sake of argument, let’s call it a joke. Now, is there anything else you’ve got to say? Or do I have to throw you both out?”
“Try it,” growled Sam.
“Well,” said Johnny. “I was hoping to talk privately to Miss Walker... about the Silver Tombstone...”
“What do you know about the Silver Tombstone?” gasped Helen Walker.
“I’d like to buy it.”
Helen Walker looked at Mike Henderson. Henderson nodded. “What do you know about the Silver Tombstone?” he demanded.
“I want to buy it.”
“This is too much for me,” Helen Walker said and seated herself suddenly.
“Where’d you hear about the Silver Tombstone?” Henderson asked harshly.
“Do I have to tell that?” Johnny looked innocently at Henderson. “When you go into a grocery store to buy some oranges the man doesn’t ask you where you heard about oranges...”
“This is no time for clowning, Fletcher,” Henderson said, through clenched teeth. “Only about four people know about the Silver Tombstone and I want to know...”
“Who’re the four?”
Henderson made a savage gesture. “We’re not going to get anywhere that way.”
“No,” Johnny admitted. He looked down at Helen Walker. “I am prepared to pay you three thousand dollars for the Silver Tombstone...”
“A hobo,” Laura said suddenly. “A hobo with three thousand dollars. This is getting interesting.”
“I’m not interested in selling — anything,” Helen Walker said evenly.
“That’s final?”
“Definitely.”
Johnny sighed. “Too bad. I’ve always wanted to own a silver mine.... My the way, you didn’t happen to stop the night before last at a motel in San Bernardino — a place called El Toreador?”
Helen Walker sat very still for a moment, then she stood up. “What are you driving at?”
“Nothing, particularly. Only we stopped there ourselves that night and along about one A.M someone screamed in the cabin next to ours — a woman...”
“Get out of here!”
“That’s all,” said Mike Henderson firmly.
“Okay, Buster,” Johnny said, laconically. He signaled to Sam Cragg.
“Buster,” repeated Laura Henderson. “I must remember that.”
Johnny grinned. “I’ll give you a ring sometime, Miss Henderson.”
Sam passed out into the hall. Johnny followed more leisurely, but the slamming door almost hit him.
Chapter Seven
As they walked toward the elevators Sam gave Johnny a withering look. “Got enough?”
“Why should I have?” Johnny retorted. “This is still easier than working — and better paying.”
“Yes, but you live longer if you work.”
The elevator door opened and they stepped in. They rode down in silence. As they stepped out to the lobby, Sam exclaimed.
“Joe Cotter!”
Johnny had already seen him. The Arizonian was coming across the lobby toward them. “What’re you fellows doing here?” he demanded.
Johnny looked around. “Why, this is a hotel, isn’t it?”
“It is — an expensive one. Don’t tell me you’re staying here!”
“No, we’re not, but we dropped in to see a friend-on the fifth floor. Miss Walker.”
Cotter’s eyes narrowed. “Are you kidding?”
“Not at all. Matter of fact I’m trying to buy a mine from her, a silver mine.”
The man from Arizona bared his teeth. “There’s something awfully fishy about you two... I think I’ll check up on you.”
“Could I recommend a good private detective?” Johnny asked.
Joe Cotter reached out and took a handful of Johnny’s coat. Sam Cragg growled and grabbed Cotter’s right wrist. The big man let go of Johnny. His eyes went to Sam.
“All right, you’re asking for it and you’re going to get it.”
Sam sneered. “When?”
“Maybe sooner than you expect. And don’t think I’ve forgotten about that twenty-five you owe me.” Cotter glowered once more at Sam and Johnny, then stepped into a waiting elevator.
“I don’t like that guy,” Sam said to Johnny. “I don’t like him a lot.”
“I’m not exactly in love with him myself.”
They left the hotel, Johnny so absorbed in thought he did not see the line of waiting taxicabs. As a result they walked back to the Fremont.
As they entered the hotel and bore down upon the elevators, Tim O’Hanlon got up from a chair behind a potted palm. There was an ugly look on the house detective’s face. Johnny, seeing it, veered away and went to the desk.
“What room has Charles Ralston got?” he asked the clerk.
The man nodded toward the house phone. “Call his room, please.” Then he recognized Johnny. “Oh, Mr. Fletcher,” he said, respectfully. “Mr. Ralston’s occupying Room 1116. Shall I ring him for you?”
“Don’t bother.” Johnny nodded thanks and headed for the elevators. Passing O’Hanlon he grinned and jerked his head toward the desk. O’Hanlon looked and saw the clerk watching. He muttered under his breath and returned to his seat.
Sam was waiting for Johnny at the elevators. “Eleven,” Johnny said as he stepped in. Sam looked at him inquiringly.