Talk of The Town by Charles Williams

dose, as directed.”
    “That bad?” I asked.
    “No. Probably not. But why take chances?”
    “Had I better round up a nurse?”
    He glanced at Josie. “Do you stay here nights?”
    “No, suh,” she replied. “I ain’t been, but I could.”
    “Fine. There should be somebody around. For the next few nights, anyway.”
    “You do that,” I told her. “Let the rest of the place go and just take care of her. I’m going to close it for the time being, anyway.”
    Dr. Graham gathered up his bag. “Call me when she wakes up. I won’t come out unless it’s necessary, but you can tell when you talk to her.”
    “Sure,” I said. “Thanks a lot.”
    He drove off. Just as he was going out onto the highway, Jake turned in. I set the case of bicarbonate on the porch, took the change, paid him, and gave him a large tip. He departed towards town, shaking his head.
    I found a long garden hose that would reach up to No. 5, and coupled it to the tap outside the office. But I couldn’t touch a thing until they’d been over it. I glanced up the highway; there was no Sheriff’s car in sight. I looked at my watch, threw the hose savagely onto the gravel, strode into the office, and picked up the phone.
    The same Deputy answered. “Sheriff’s office. Redfield.”
    “This is Chatham, at the Magnolia Lodge motel—”
    “Yes, yes,” he cut me off brusquely. “What do you want now?”
    “I want to know when you’re going to send somebody out here.”
    “Don’t heave your weight around. We’re sending a man.”
    “When?” I asked. “Try to make it this week, will you? I want to neutralize that acid and wash the place out before it eats it down to the foundations.”
    “Well, wash it out. You’ve got our permission.”
    “Look, don’t you want pictures for evidence? And how about checking the hardware for prints?”
    “Get off my back, will you? For Christ’s sake, if he was working with acid, he had on rubber gloves. Prints!”
    There was a lot of logic in that, of course. But it wasn’t infallible, by any means, and as an assumption it was slipshod police work. And I had an odd feeling he knew it. He was being a little too hard, a little too vehement
    “And another thing,” he went on, “about this pipe dream that he was using your plates. I don’t like gags like that not even a little. I just called the garage, and both plates are right there on your car.”
    I frowned. Had she seen them or merely taken he word for it? Then I remembered. She’d said they were California tags, but all he’d put down on the card had been the number. She’d seen them herself.
    “So he put them back,” I said. “Don’t ask me why.”
    “I won’t. I’d be goofy enough if I even believed he’d taken them.”
    “Did they report the garage had been entered?”
    “No. Of course not.”
    “All right, listen. It’s very easy to settle. But why not get off your fat and go do it yourself instead of telephoning? If you’ll check that garage, you’ll find it’s been broken into somewhere. And you’ll also find those plates have been taken off, and then put back. There’s no strain. California didn’t issue a new plate in ‘fifty-seven, just a sticker tab. So they’ve been bolted on there for eighteen months. If the bolts are still frozen, the drinks are on me. But how about dusting them for prints first? Not that I think you’ll find any: the joker is too smart for that.”
    “Do you think I’m nuts? Why the hell would anybody go to all that trouble to get a license plate?”
    “If you ever get out here,” I said, “I’ll tell you about it.”
    “Stick around. There’s going to be somebody. You’re beginning to interest me.”
    “Well, that’s something,” I said, but he’d already hung up.
    I put down the instrument, and was just going out the door when it rang. I went back. “Hello. Magnolia Lodge motel.”
    There was no answer, only the faint hiss of background noise and what might have been