“That’s what I’m trying to tell you, what I’m trying to find out.”
“Go ahead,” Sellers said, and then turned to Claire Bushnell. “You heard him admit that he was with her just, before she died.”
Claire Bushnell, white-faced, tense, nodded.
I said, “That accounts for Lucille Hollister. She was trailing Minerva Carlton, but on this trip Minerva Carlton wasn’t playing around.”
“I see,” Sellers said sarcastically. “She went in that auto camp with Dover Fulton because he wanted to teach her how to play tiddlywinks, and she took her blouse off so the sleeves wouldn’t get wrinkled.”
I said, “Minerva Carlton was playing a deep game. She came to Claire Bushnell, here, and gave her a cheque for five hundred dollars and instructions as to what Claire was to do. Claire was to get Bertha Cool to find out about a man who was calling on Claire Bushnell’s aunt.”
Sellers glanced at Claire Bushnell.
She nodded.
Sellers, interested now, said, “Go ahead, Lam. What’s the sketch?”
I said, “I got on the job. I shadowed this man to the Westchester Arms Hotel. He was staying there. He was registered under the name of Tom Durham — now why do you suppose Minerva Carlton wanted him shadowed?”