“Well, this is a fine time to start finding out.”
“Isn’t it?”
She jerked the car through the gears, drove savagely to the first intersection, watched her opportunity and swung the car in a U turn that wore rubber off the protesting tyres.
“Nice weather we’re having for this time of year,” I said.
“You go to the devil!” she told me.
We drove on in silence.
After a while her curiosity got the upper hand. “Well,” she said, “tell me about it. What is it all about?”
I said, “Let’s go back to the beginning. Do you remember this afternoon when I was working on a shadow job?”
“That’s right,” she said. “Someone wanted us to find out the name and identity of a man who was selling some sort of stock. Have any trouble?”
“Not a bit,” I said. “It was almost a setup. I picked this man up exactly where I was supposed to find him and followed him without the least bit of difficulty. He went directly to the Westchester Arms Hotel, walked up to the desk and got his key. I made discreet enquiries and found out that he was Thomas Durham and that he had been registered in the hotel for the last two days. No one seemed to know exactly what he did.”