“Bill Crane. I used to know him in Denver.”
He came over and looked. “That’s not Bill Crane,” he said. “That’s John Harbet. He’s on Vice.”
I said, “Oh, He looks just like a chap I used to know.”
When the officer went in to see Captain Wilbur, I drifted out of the door, climbed in the agency car, and drove out of town.
Bertha Cool was just going out for lunch. Her face lit up when she saw me. “Why, hel -lo, Donald,” she said. “You’re just in time to go to lunch with me.”
“No, thanks. I had breakfast a couple of hours ago.”
“But, lover, this is on the house.”
“Sorry. I can’t do justice to it.”
“Oh, come along anyway. We have to talk, and I want you to try and find Smith. I tried to get in touch with him after I had his letter and found he isn’t at the address he gave me. He gets mail there, but that’s all, and they don’t know anything about him or won’t tell me if they do.”
“That’s nice,” I said.