I shook my head. “Bledsoe was up in the Soo and his plane was down in Chicago. Not only that, someone sent his plane back down here in such a way as to implicate him for a different murder.”

I wondered what the waiters would do if I curled up on the plush cushion and went to sleep. I yawned. “The trouble is, if I can’t convince you, when you believe the financial evidence, I know I’ll never convince the cops enough to swear out a search warrant. It’s a big step, going to look at a rich man’s yacht. They have to be real convinced before they do something like that.”

I leaned back in the seat and closed my eyes, still holding the wineglass. “He can’t get away with it,” I muttered to myself. But it looked as though he might. Even with blowing up the Lucella, because nobody knew where the depth charges came from. If only I had evidence, someone who’d see Grafalk and Phillips at his boat Sunday morning—or some bloodstains on the foredeck of Grafalk’s yacht.

I opened my eyes at Ferrant. “I need to get some proof. And the cards are not going to be stacked all his way. They just can’t be. Even if he is as rich as Rockefeller.”

On this dramatic statement I got up from the table and walked with careful dignity to the front door. The maître d’hôtel also gave me a scornful glance. Not only can women not appreciate the great vintages, they swill them disgustingly and get revoltingly drunk.

“Thank you, my good man,” I said as he held the door open for me. “Your contempt for women will bring you more pleasure than any paltry tip I could give you. Good night.”

In the lobby of the hotel was a pay phone. I walked over to it, carefully avoiding the Greek columns haphazardly dotting the floor, and tried to call the Great Lakes Naval Training Station. The operator and I went a few rounds before I got my meaning across and she found a number for me. The phone rang twenty times or so, but nobody answered. A grandfather clock by the front door showed that it was close to midnight.

Ferrant was standing nearby holding my handbag, which I’d left at the table.

“Who’s defending the country at midnight?” I demanded as I took my bag from him. “If nobody answers the phone, how will they ever know the Russians are attacking?”

Ferrant took my arm. “You know, Vic, I think you should wait till morning to get your proof.”

“If I wait until morning he’ll get away with it,” I protested stubbornly. “Get me a cab!” I yelled at the doorman.

“Where are you going?” Ferrant demanded.

“Back to my car. Then out to Grafalk’s boat. I’m going to get proof.”