"But--"
The policeman looked puzzled. "What is the meaning of all this? If I'm
to witness any statements like these, I'll have to know what for."
Walton looked at me. I couldn't afford not to answer. Wearily I said,
"Last night I came in here with a woman companion and we registered in
separate rooms. She went into 913 and I waited until she was installed
and then went to my own room on the Twelfth. This morning there is no
trace of her."
I went on to tell him a few more details, but the more I told him the
more he lifted his eyebrows.
"Done any drinking?" he asked me curtly.
"No."
"Certain?"
"Absolutely."
Walton looked at his crew. They burst into a chorus of, "Well, he _was_
steady on his feet," and "He didn't _seem_ under the influence," and a
lot of other statements, all generally indicating that for all they knew
I could have been gassed to the ears, but one of those rare guys who
don't show it.
The policeman smiled thinly. "Just why was this registered nurse
travelling with you?"
I gave them the excuse-type statement; the one about the accident and
that I felt that I was still a bit on the rocky side and so forth. About
all I did for that was to convince the policeman that I was not a stable
character. His attitude seemed to indicate that any man travelling with
a nurse must either be physically sick or maybe mentally out of tune.
Then with a sudden thought, I whirled on Johnny Olson. "Will you get my
car?" I asked him. He nodded after a nod from Walton. I said, "There's
plenty of evidence in my car. In the meantime, let's face one thing,
officer. I've been accused of spinning a yarn. I'd hardly be demanding
witnesses if I weren't telling the truth. I was standing beside Miss
Farrow when she signed the register, complete with the R.N. title. It's
too bad that hotels have taken to using card files instead of the old
registration book. Cards are so easy to misplace--"
Walton cut in angrily. "If that's an accusation, I'm inclined to see
that you make it in a court of law."
The policeman looked calm. "I'd take it easy, Mr. Cornell. Your story is
not corroborated. But the employees of the hotel bear one another out.
And from the record, it would appear that you were under the eyes of at
least two of them from the moment your car slowed down in front of the
main entrance up to the time that you were escorted to your room."
"I object to being accused of complicity in a kidnapping," put in the
assistant manager.
"I object to being accused of mental incompetence," I snapped. "Why do
we stand around accusing people back and forth when there's evidence if
you'll only uncover it."
We stood there glaring at one another. The air grew tense. The only ones
in the place who did not have chips on their shoulders were the
policeman and the certified stenographer, who was clicking her silent
keys in lightning manner, taking down every comment as it was uttered.
Eventually Olson returned, to put an end to the thick silence. "Y'car's
outside," he told me angrily.
"Fine," I said. "Now we'll go outside and take a look. You'll find
plenty of traces of Miss Farrow's having been there. Officer--are you
telepath or perceptive?"
"Perceptive," he said. "But not in here."
"How far out does this damned dead area extend?" I asked Walton.
"About half way across the sidewalk."
"Okay. So let's all go."
We traipsed out to the curb. Miss Mason brought her little silent along,
slipping the stand high up so that she could type from an erect
position. We lined up along the curb and I looked into my car with a
triumphant feeling.
And then that cold chill congealed my spine again. My car was clean and
shining. It had been washed and buffed and polished until it looked as
new as the day I picked it out on the salesroom floor.