“Bob Tindle?” I asked.
“I suppose so, but I don’t know.”
I stood in front of the elevator shaft and pressed the button. “Did Ringold have any home other than that hotel?”
“No,”
“No other place where he lived?”
“Except with me,” she said.
The door of the agency opened. Bertha Cool came barging out. An elevator showed a red light just as an ascending elevator came to a stop. The door opened. Two men got out. One of them started toward the agency office. The other turned to check up on us. He stopped abruptly and said, “Okay, Bill. Here he is.”
The men came walking over. One of them flashed a badge. “Okay, buddy,” he said, “you’re going for a little ride.”
“Who with?” I asked.
“Me.”