She made a little gesture and said, “Because I was a damn fool. I have to make a living. I’ve got a kid.”
I said, “On second thought, I guess the information was worth ten dollars to the agency. Here’s the other five.”
“No kidding, it’s on an expense account?”
“On an expense account — and my boss is a big-hearted egg.”
Her hand joined mine. “Gosh, aren’t you lucky — a boss like that!” The five-dollar bill slipped over into her palm. She walked with me as far as the door. “I like you,” she said. “I wish you really would come back.”
I nodded.
She said, “I tell all the customers that, but this time I happen to mean it.”
I patted her shoulder and went on out. She stood in the door, watching me down the street. I caught a taxi-cab at the corner and drove out to the airport.
It was just the old routine leg work of a complete check-up, but something you can’t overlook if you want to be a good detective.
The passenger lists showed that Emory G. Hale had been a passenger on the 10:30 plane for New York City, that he’d returned on the plane, arriving at 8:30 that morning. I even checked to make sure he’d actually traveled on the plane.