“Sure. Ever since that last copper was here I been keepin’ it just like he told me I had to do.”
Through the wooden slats of the cage, the woman thrust a grimy notebook which had been ruled off to provide spaces for names, addresses and date of registry.
Rapidly Jerry scanned the entries for several days back. No one by the name of Rhett had registered, but neither he nor Penny had expected the banker would be stupid enough to use his real name, if indeed he had come to such a place.
As Penny glanced about the dingy, smoke-stained room, it seemed impossible to her that Mr. Rhett, a man of culture and wealth, would voluntarily seek such quarters.
“The man we’re looking for is middle-aged,” Penny explained. “He wore glasses and may have been well dressed. We were told he was seen here earlier tonight.”
“They all look alike to me,” the woman said wearily. “Most of my rooms are empty now. We don’t fill up until the coppers start runnin’ loiterers off Cherry Street around ten o’clock. It’s still warm enough outside so’s a lot o’ the cheap skates can sleep out on the river bank.”
“Isn’t anyone here?” inquired Jerry.
“Maybe one or two men. A fella name of Ben Smith came in about an hour or two ago. He signed up for one of the flops. Come to think of it, maybe he’s the one you’re after. He acted nervous like and I figured maybe he was dodgin’ the police. Another thing, he acted like he was used to havin’ money.”
“Did he have much on him?”
“I couldn’t see, but he paid me with a five dollar bill. And why would a fella with even that much dough sleep in a flop if he wasn’t tryin’ to dodge the cops?”