‘That’s a hundred and fifty dollars down the drain,’ I said gloomily. ‘I hoped to dig up some dirt on that chauffeur. Well, well, can’t be helped. With any luck, I’ve cracked this case.’
I talked solidly as I rushed the Buick along Orchid Boule-vard, up Beach Road and
Hawthorne Avenue. It was surprising how much there was to tell her since I had last seen her.
Finally, as I swung into Foothill Boulevard I got around to Mrs. Ferris.
‘This is really something,’ I said. ‘Dedrick a reefer smuggler! What do you know? For five hundred she’ll give me a signed statement.’
‘But how do you know she’s telling the truth?’
‘I’ll get the statement and then shanghai her to the police. She’ll get her money all right, but every word she’s signing is going to be checked.’
I slowed down and pulled up outside the filling station. The boy didn’t show up. I got out of the car, followed by Paula.
‘The bungalow’s around the back.’
We walked down the path, past the repair shed. I paused and look in. The boy wasn’t there. I felt a sudden tightness around my chest, and I broke into a run. I was rapping on the door of the bungalow by the time Paula caught me up. No one answered. Nothing happened.