the photograph of his two kids. I began to sweat again.
When I was talking with him, I had noticed a telephone in his living-room.
Getting to my feet, I got the book and found his number. As I began to dial, I looked at my watch.
The time was 23.30. A lot had happened since I had left Searle.
A voice answered the second ring.
"Yeah?" The voice of a coloured man.
"Hank?"
"No. I'm Jerry, Hank's neighbour."
"Can I speak to Hank?"
There was a long pause, then the voice said, "No one's ever going to talk to Hank now. He's dead."
I felt the shock go through me like a punch in the face.
"What are you saying . . . dead?"
"I don't know who you are, mister, and I don't care much. I'm here to look after the kids while Mrs. Smith is at the hospital, talking to the cops, for all thee good that'll do her and the kids."
"What happened?"
"He was hit by some goddamn hit-and-run bastard. He was going to his club, then biffo!"
Slowly, I replaced the receiver. For a long time, I sat staring into space, feeling chills run up my spine. This was turning out to be one hell of a night. Then I pulled myself together. This was something the colonel had to know. Knowing he wouldn't be at the office, I hunted up his home telephone number and dialled.
Mrs. Parnell answered. She said the colonel had just left for Washington and wouldn't be back for at least a week.
"Mrs. Parnell," I said, "I am Dirk Wallace. I'm one of the colonel's operators. It is important I contact him."
"You will have to wait until he returns," Mrs. Parnell said, her voice suddenly snooty. I got the idea she considered the colonel's operators were less than the dust. "The colonel is on State business," and she hung up.
I thought of consulting Chick Barley, but I decided against it. This was my case. I would have been correct to have consulted the colonel, but no one else.
I stripped off, took a shower and went to bed.
I didn't expect to sleep, so I wasn't disappointed.
***
The Jumping Frog was the only hotel in Searle. It looked from the outside as hospitable as a knuckle-duster, but, climbing the ten creaking steps to the entrance lobby, I became slightly more reassured.
There was a pretty girl with corn-coloured hair behind the reception desk. She gave me a bright smile.
"Hello there, Mr. Wallace," she said as I reached her. "Have you come to stay?"
This didn't surprise me. Everyone knew everyone, including strangers, in Searle. Silas Wood must have been talking.
"That's the idea," I said.
"I'm Peggy Wyatt. My dad owns this hotel, but I run it," she told me. "What kind of room do you want, Mr. Wallace, or may I call you Dirk? We're all pally in this town."
I eyed her. She had a nice little body. In fact, she had that thing which told me she wouldn't be hard to drag into bed.
"Sure." I gave her my wide, friendly smile. "Room? Well, what have you got?"
"Between you and me, most of the rooms are pretty crummy, but there's the bridal suite: nice double bed." She gave me an up-from-under look. She had long eyelashes, carefully curled. "A little living-room and a bar refrigerator."
"That sounds like my scene."
She told me the cost and, as I was on an expense account, I said it was fine.
She pushed the register towards me and I signed in, then she came around the desk.
"I'll show you."
She was wearing the inevitable skin-tight jeans and I followed her tight little bottom to the elevator.
We climbed to the first floor. She kept looking at me, smiling. If Searle was supposed to be pally, she certainly was a great advertisement.
Unlocking a door, she showed me the suite. It was comfortable, a little shabby, the small living-room looking onto Main Street. The bedroom had a vast double bed and there was a tiny bathroom leading off.
"This is great," I said, setting down my suitcase. She sat on the bed and bounced.
"The springs don't creak," she said and giggled.
Just as I was thinking this was an open invitation, she got up and walked into the
When I was talking with him, I had noticed a telephone in his living-room.
Getting to my feet, I got the book and found his number. As I began to dial, I looked at my watch.
The time was 23.30. A lot had happened since I had left Searle.
A voice answered the second ring.
"Yeah?" The voice of a coloured man.
"Hank?"
"No. I'm Jerry, Hank's neighbour."
"Can I speak to Hank?"
There was a long pause, then the voice said, "No one's ever going to talk to Hank now. He's dead."
I felt the shock go through me like a punch in the face.
"What are you saying . . . dead?"
"I don't know who you are, mister, and I don't care much. I'm here to look after the kids while Mrs. Smith is at the hospital, talking to the cops, for all thee good that'll do her and the kids."
"What happened?"
"He was hit by some goddamn hit-and-run bastard. He was going to his club, then biffo!"
Slowly, I replaced the receiver. For a long time, I sat staring into space, feeling chills run up my spine. This was turning out to be one hell of a night. Then I pulled myself together. This was something the colonel had to know. Knowing he wouldn't be at the office, I hunted up his home telephone number and dialled.
Mrs. Parnell answered. She said the colonel had just left for Washington and wouldn't be back for at least a week.
"Mrs. Parnell," I said, "I am Dirk Wallace. I'm one of the colonel's operators. It is important I contact him."
"You will have to wait until he returns," Mrs. Parnell said, her voice suddenly snooty. I got the idea she considered the colonel's operators were less than the dust. "The colonel is on State business," and she hung up.
I thought of consulting Chick Barley, but I decided against it. This was my case. I would have been correct to have consulted the colonel, but no one else.
I stripped off, took a shower and went to bed.
I didn't expect to sleep, so I wasn't disappointed.
***
The Jumping Frog was the only hotel in Searle. It looked from the outside as hospitable as a knuckle-duster, but, climbing the ten creaking steps to the entrance lobby, I became slightly more reassured.
There was a pretty girl with corn-coloured hair behind the reception desk. She gave me a bright smile.
"Hello there, Mr. Wallace," she said as I reached her. "Have you come to stay?"
This didn't surprise me. Everyone knew everyone, including strangers, in Searle. Silas Wood must have been talking.
"That's the idea," I said.
"I'm Peggy Wyatt. My dad owns this hotel, but I run it," she told me. "What kind of room do you want, Mr. Wallace, or may I call you Dirk? We're all pally in this town."
I eyed her. She had a nice little body. In fact, she had that thing which told me she wouldn't be hard to drag into bed.
"Sure." I gave her my wide, friendly smile. "Room? Well, what have you got?"
"Between you and me, most of the rooms are pretty crummy, but there's the bridal suite: nice double bed." She gave me an up-from-under look. She had long eyelashes, carefully curled. "A little living-room and a bar refrigerator."
"That sounds like my scene."
She told me the cost and, as I was on an expense account, I said it was fine.
She pushed the register towards me and I signed in, then she came around the desk.
"I'll show you."
She was wearing the inevitable skin-tight jeans and I followed her tight little bottom to the elevator.
We climbed to the first floor. She kept looking at me, smiling. If Searle was supposed to be pally, she certainly was a great advertisement.
Unlocking a door, she showed me the suite. It was comfortable, a little shabby, the small living-room looking onto Main Street. The bedroom had a vast double bed and there was a tiny bathroom leading off.
"This is great," I said, setting down my suitcase. She sat on the bed and bounced.
"The springs don't creak," she said and giggled.
Just as I was thinking this was an open invitation, she got up and walked into the
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