The little man wore a straw hat with a vivid red and orange band. He had restless, inquisitive eyes, and a beaked nose. He said, “I’m Mark Raton from Telluride. Editor of the Chronicle.”
Shayne pumped his hand enthusiastically. “You made a fast trip. I didn’t expect you for a couple of hours.” He drew him aside to a row of straight chairs lining the wall of the lobby.
“I drove straight through without stopping except for gas.” The editor smiled grimly. “You got me curious — talking about murders and Pete Dalcor.”
Shayne said, “It was absolutely imperative that we get hold of someone who knew Dalcor in Telluride.” He got the Prince Albert tobacco can from his pocket and opened it.
“I’m your man,” Mark Raton told him. “I knew him better than most, and I reckon I was the only man in Telluride that wasn’t really surprised when he took French leave and didn’t send back a forwarding address.”
Shayne selected the old clipping from Raton’s newspaper and showed it to the editor. “Is this a good likeness?”
Raton nodded. “I recollect printing that. Just the way he looked then.”
“You say you weren’t surprised when he went A.W.O.L. Why?”
“He had plenty of reason to. Mrs. Dalcor was a hellcat. Nagging all the time till it’s a wonder she didn’t drive Pete crazy. Giving him the devil because he was unlucky and none of his prospects panned out rich. She was a pushing woman. Ambitious and proud. Didn’t surprise any of us when Nora turned out a successful actress. After Pete left home she nagged at Nora until the girl had to amount to something.”
Shayne picked put the recent clipping from the Central City newspaper and passed it over to Mark Raton. “Take a good look at this one. Could one of those men be Peter Dalcor after ten years?”