“Because I telephoned him half an hour ago, and that’s what the desk clerk told me. I want to find out if it’s true, or if Bartlett simply bought the front desk man, and I want you to flash your badge at him so he’ll talk to me.”

The desk clerk stared blankly at the badge. “You’re a police officer? Where? Your badge doesn’t look familiar.”

“He’s from Minneapolis,” Stone said. “I can have a Palm Beach badge here in thirty seconds, if that will refresh your memory.”

“My memory about what?”

“First of all, has Paul Bartlett really checked out?”

“Yes, I saw him go.”

“What forwarding address did he give?”

“I’ll show you his registration card,” the clerk said, riffling through a stack of them. “Here.” He held it up. The space for a forwarding address was blank.

“Did you check him out of the hotel?”

“In a manner of speaking. He didn’t even wait for his bill, said he had to catch a plane and I should mail it to him.”

“To where?”

“To the address on the card.”

Lundquist checked the card. “It’s his Minneapolis address. The guy’s gone home.”

“How much luggage did he have?” Stone asked.

“A lot; three or four bags.”

“And where did the bellman load his car?”

“Down on the street,” the clerk said, pointing at the side door.

“That’s why he got past you,” Stone said to Lundquist. “I’d like to see his room, please.”

The man pressed a few buttons on a machine, and a plastic card was spat out. “It’s suite four-oh-four. Help yourself,” he said.

Stone led the way to the elevator and pressed four. A moment later they were standing outside the suite, and Stone got the door open.

“Easy there,” Lundquist said, pushing past Stone. “I’d better go first.”

“It’s not a crime scene,” Stone said, following him. “Unless there’s a corpse stashed under the bed.”

Lundquist looked under the bed. “Nothing.”

“No kidding?” Stone looked around. The room had already been cleaned that morning, and the bed had not been used since. He went around the room, looking in closets and opening drawers.

“What are you looking for?” Lundquist asked.

“I don’t know,” Stone replied.

“Whatever he can find,” Dino said.

Lundquist started opening drawers, too.

Stone went back into the sitting room and looked around. The place was neat as a pin, the wastebaskets were empty, and there was not so much as a trace of Paul Bartlett, or whoever he was.

“What now?” Lundquist asked.

“The airport,” Stone replied. “He told the clerk he had to catch a plane.”

The three men left the hotel, and Lundquist got into the rear seat of Stone’s convertible.

“I should be wearing sunscreen,” Lundquist said as they pulled out of the parking lot.