“Right.”
“Now Philip is young, hotheaded, and impulsive. He’s in love and worried sick over the disappearance of the young woman he was going to marry. You can appreciate the state of his nerves. Temporarily, he’s estranged from me. We had an argument. I don’t think he’s apt to come around holding out an olive branch. I don’t think the authorities here will let him leave Las Vegas. If they do, he’ll come to you. I’m relying on you to keep him in line.”
Endicott nodded.
“Under no circumstances is he to talk with the newspaper reporters. I think you can leave that to his good sense, but if you find him slipping, check him up. If you need anything, get in touch with me by telephone.”
“How long do you expect to be here?”
“I don’t know, perhaps for some time.”
“But surely, you’ll be in the office within two or three days. The investigation won’t take—”
“I may be in jail,” Whitewell said shortly.
Endicott puckered his lips and gave a faint whistle. “I think you’d better get started,” Whitewell said. “There’s a bare possibility your departure might be delayed.”
“Not mine,” Endicott said. “The time being stamped on those tickets and the drawing puts me in the clear. But it’s all foolishness to suspect everyone who hasn’t an alibi or who was anywhere in the neighborhood. That’s a goofy way of going at the thing. Why don’t they establish a motive and then start checking the time element.”