“Yes, Mayhew,” were the detective’s words. “Keep a close watch tonight. The apartment is important, but so is the hotel. See who mails letters — in the chute. Get me? Right.”
Fritz was moving away. Once again his amazingly alert eyes had observed something. On the end of each envelope were two tiny marks. These were details which Joe Cardona had not noticed.
The light was gone from Fritz’s eyes as he took his bucket and mop to the other side of the room.
Ten minutes went by; then came another call. Cardona’s voice showed keen interest.
“Great!” he exclaimed. “St. Louis had the right hunch, eh? Tell their man I’ll be up to see him… In less than half an hour.”
Cardona pressed the hook; then dialed the phone number of Professor Roger Biscayne. He told the psychologist the news that he had just received.
“The dead man is Max Parker,” he said. “You know, the man who was killed up at Harshaw’s… Yes… The St. Louis detective is here and he identified the body at the morgue…
“They don’t know much about Parker… He’s a yegg whom they suspected out there. The town got too hot for him.”
Finishing his conversation, Cardona gathered up the articles on the desk. Fritz had finished his mopping.
Seeing the detective preparing to leave, Fritz hobbled from the room.