He sat without moving or speaking for a little while, staring out the window at the brightness of the sun. Then he got up and went back to the table and took up the phone and asked the operator to get him the Sante Fe ticket office.
When the connection had been made, he said: “I want to make reservations on the Chief, tomorrow evening — a drawing room — two...”
Granquist had turned. She said: “Tonight, Gerry.”
Kells smiled at her a little. He shook his head and said: “Yes... Kells, Miramar Apartments in Hollywood — send them out.”
Then he hung up and reached across the table for the bottle and glasses, poured drinks. He raised his glass.
“Here’s to Crime — and the Chief tomorrow night.”
There was a knock at the outer door and Granquist went into the bedroom; Borg got up and let Woodward in.
Woodward was very nervous. He put two neat sheafs of thousand- and five-hundred-dollar notes on the table, said: “There you are, sir.”
Kells tossed one of the forged confessions across the table and slid one of the thousand-dollar notes out of the sheaf, examined it carefully.
Woodward said: “And the other things — the pictures and things?...”