“How did you spot Cunweather?”

“That was easy. Cunweather had a tip-off there was going to be action in the Perkins Hotel. He had a man planted there. That man knew everything I did. The bell captain knew everything I did. Therefore, the bell captain must have been Cunweather’s man. They played me for a sucker. They slipped me a hot gun, and then Cunweather had Fred work me over. I told them I was going to get even with them. By God, I did. I could have accused them until I was black in the face, and never got anywhere. It took a confession to get action.”

She grinned, and said, “Yes, Donald, my love, you got action. If you’d been in California and seen that action you’d have been satisfied. After you confessed they certainly went to work on Cunweather. I heard they worked him over with a rubber hose. He wilted like a hot lettuce leaf. If he beats the rap on the Morgan Birks murder they’re going after him on the Kansas City kill. It’s a damn nice case. Donald, run down and get me a flask of whisky.”

“I’ll need some expense money,” I said.

“What did you do with all the cash Sandra Birks gave you?”

“I salted it away.”

“How much was it?”

“I can’t tell you offhand,” I said.

“About how much, Donald?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Was it ten grand?”

“I’m sure I can’t say.”

“Where do you have it hidden, Donald, darling?”

“In a safe place.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Remember, Donald, my lamb, that you’re working for me.”

I said, “Yes. So far as finances are concerned, I believe I’m indebted to you, am I not—for taxicab fare?”

“That’s right,” she said without batting an eyelash. “Ninety-five cents. It comes out of your first pay check. Don’t worry about it, Donald, because I’m not. It’s all duly entered as a debit on your salary account.”

“By the way,” I asked, “who was Dr. Holoman? Was he really Sandra’s sweetie?”

“Yes. They had Morgan Birks lashed to the mast. As Sandra’s brother, Morgan had to sit by and watch her flirt with this chap who was masquerading as Dr. Holoman. If he’d asserted his rights as a husband, Cunweather would have rubbed him out, after squeezing the last dime of the hold-out money out of him.”

“Sandra,” I said, “seems to be an opportunist.”

“She is. How about that whisky, Donald?”

“How about the money?”

She reached for her purse.

“You flew down alone?” I asked as she fumbled through some loose bills.