“Go on.”
“Then the manager showed up, and the law. The law was named Lieutenant William Kleinsmidt. They took me up to the office and turned me inside out.”
“Find anything?”
“A bunch of nickels and—”
“You know what I mean. Piano wire, drill, cups, or any of that stuff?”
The girl said, “Pug, I believe he’s on the outside.”
“Don’t be too sure,” Pug said without taking his eyes off of me. “What did they find?”
“They found,” I said, “that I’d hit Las Vegas a couple of hours ago on the plane. They found that I hadn’t been here before for six months, that I’m a private detective, that I’m employed by Bertha Cool, and that Bertha Cool was in the Sal Sagev Hotel waiting for me to make a report.”
Pug looked me over carefully. “Wouldn’t it be a scream,” he said, “if you were telling the truth?”
I said, “Kleinsmidt thought I was telling the truth.”