He blindfolded me, and he on one side, the chief on the other, led me back through the hallway, down the stairs, and into the car. A garage door went up and I shot out into the night. The fresh air felt good on my face. After we’d been riding about five minutes, Bill took off the blindfold and said, “Just settle right back against the cushions, Lam. I’ll drive slow.”

He was a skillful driver, and he threaded the car through traffic until he came to my rooming house. I saw him looking it over. He parked the car, opened the door, and helped me up the steps. Mrs. Smith opened the door, and looked at me. Her look was eloquent. A roomer who hadn’t been able to pay rent for five weeks being brought home drunk.

Fred said, “Now don’t look like that, madam. The boy’s all right. He’s been shaken up in an automobile accident, that’s all. He’ll want to go up to his room and lie down.”

She came closer and sniffed my breath. “That certainly was an automobile accident,” she said. “He must have run into a truckload of whisky.”

“Brandy, ma’am,” Fred said. “The very choicest seventy-five-year-old brandy. That was a shot of the chief’s private stock given to him to brace him up.”

“I got a job today,” I told her.

I saw her eyes lighten. “How about the rent?” she asked.

“Next week,” I said, “when I get paid.”

She sniffed and said, “A job. I suppose you’re celebrating.”

I fumbled around in my pocket and produced the certificate of appointment as a private investigator which Bertha Cool had given me. She looked it over, said, “A private detective, huh?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I wouldn’t think much of you as a detective.”

Fred said, “Now don’t be too sure, ma’am. He’s got nerve, that boy has. He’ll make a success in anything. He has plenty of what it takes. Well, good night, Lam. I’ll be seeing you again one of these days.”

He turned and went down the stairs. I said to Mrs. Smith, “Quick, get the license number on that automobile,” and as she hesitated, added, “He owes me some money. I can pay the room rent if I get it.”

With that incentive she walked out to stand on the porch. Fred went away from there with a rush. She came back and said, “I’m not certain. The number was either 5N1525 or 5M1525.”

I fumbled around until I found a pencil, wrote both numbers down on a piece of paper, and hobbled up the three flights of stairs. She stood looking after me and said, “Don’t forget it, Mr. Lam, I can use that room-rent just as soon as you get it.”

“I won’t,” I told her. “I don’t think I’ll ever forget it.”

Chapter Seven

CHAPTER SEVEN