She waited long enough to thumb through some records, then said, “No, he isn’t here.”
“That’s funny. Are you certain?”
“Yes.”
“Do you have any Durhams at all?” I asked.
“Not at present,” she said. “There was a Thomas B. Durham staying here for a couple of days, but he checked out about an hour ago.”
“Thank you,” I said. “That’s all I wanted to know,” and hung up.
I started a quiet investigation with the bell-boys and the doorman. Durham had checked out. He had a bag, a briefcase and a suitcase that had two little brass padlocks on it.
The bellboy had taken the baggage to the doorman. The doorman remembered it being there. He’d been busy getting some people loaded into taxicabs, and the three pieces of baggage had vanished by the time he’d turned around to see if their owner wanted a cab.
The doorman was certain Durham hadn’t taken a cab. I asked if a private car could have picked him up. The doorman thought not. I asked where Durham could have gone and the doorman merely grinned and scratched his head.
The entrance to the cocktail lounge was within a few feet of the hotel entrance, but I hardly thought the manager would appreciate being questioned.