“Good God, No. When you have to be comical three shows a night, seven days a week, you don’t want to even think of some guy who tries to be funny every day in a comic strip. I have to be funny. It’s a business. He has to be funny; it’s his business. I sympathize with him too much. What else do you want to know?”
“Suppose this Lucille hangs around your place? How would I be apt to find her?”
“Just by hanging around the dump. I wouldn’t ask any questions, though, if I were you.”
I said, “Here’s a folder of matches from the Cabanita. Is this the latest type you’re using?”
“That’s right. Never have used any other. Only the one folder.”
I said, “There was something folded on the inside of a cigarette package that went with it.”
I took out the torn slip of cardboard on the back of which were the words, KOZY DELL SLUMBER COURT.
Bob Elgin looked it over.
I said, “Look at the front of the thing now. What do you make of it?”
I pushed the torn scrap of cardboard over to him. I said, “I think this may have come from your place.”