“Yes, sir. It looks like it was going to rain all night.”
Kells said: “I wouldn’t be surprised.”
The night clerk came out of the telephone operator’s compartment.
Kells leaned on the desk. “Your Mister Dillon is in ten-six-teen. He had an accident. There’s another man in there whom Fenner will file charges against. Have the house dick hold him till Fenner gets back.”
He started to go, paused, said over his shoulder: “Maybe you’ll find another one trying to get in or out of the court. Probably not.”
He went out and walked up Ivar to Yucca, west on Yucca the short block to Cahuenga. The rain had become a gentle mist for the moment; it was warm, and occasional thunder drummed over the hills to the north. He went into an apartment house on the corner and asked the night man if Mister Beery was in.
“He went out about ten minutes ago.” The night man thought he might be in the drugstore across the street.
Beery was crouched over a cup of coffee at the soda fountain. Kells sat down beside him and ordered a glass of water, washed down two aspirin tablets. He said: “If you want to come along with me, you might get some more material for your memoirs.”
Beery put a dime on the counter and they went out, over to Wilcox. They went into the Wilcox entrance of the Lido, upstairs to the fourth floor and around through a long corridor to number four thirty-two.
Granquist opened the door. Her face was so drained of color that her mouth looked dark and bloody in contrast to her skin. Her mouth was slightly open and her eyes were wide, burning. She held her arms stiffly at her sides.