The shoe shine was just about finished. I surprised him by jumping down off the stool, flipping him a quarter, and saving, “That’s all we need for now.”
A taxi rushed me to the hotel. I got my key and went up to the room.
The maid had been in. The rooms were made. Roberta wasn’t there. She had evidently gone shopping, because a very thin peach-colored nightgown lay on the bed, together with two pairs of stockings of about the same shade. There was a paper package on the foot of the bed, and a smart compact traveling-bag on a chair. The traveling-bag was empty. The price tag was still on it. A newspaper lay on the floor.
I went back to my room, picked up the receiver, and said to the girl at the switchboard, “My sister telephoned a friend and went out to meet her. She gave me the telephone number and I’ve lost it. Can you look at the records and tell me the last number that was called from this room?”
“Just a moment.”
I waited for about ten seconds; then she gave it to me: “Helman six — nine-five-four-four.”
I said, “That’s the number. Ring it back, will you, please?”
I waited on the line, heard the connection being made; then a voice said, “Palm View Hotel.”
“You have an Edna Cutler of New Orleans registered?” I asked.
“Just a moment.”