Роберт Колби - Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 17, No. 4, April 1972

Assuming that I took her case, which I had no intention of doing, that narrowed the area of search considerably.

“I must ask one obvious question,” I said. “Why don’t you consult the telephone or city directories?”

“I did, but he isn’t listed. He must have changed his name.”

“Why would he do that?”

“He never did really like it. He was always talking about changing it.”

I didn’t buy that at all. “What was his name before he disappeared?”

“Charles Harlan. He’s my mother’s brother.”

“What makes you think he’s here?”

“The last three years his Christmas cards to me and Mother have been postmarked from this city. No return address, just the postmark.”

“How did this all start?”

“It was a family quarrel,” she said. “Father and Uncle Charles just couldn’t get along. Finally, three and a half years ago, there was a blowup and Uncle Charles left. We haven’t heard from him since then, except for the Christmas cards.”

“Do you have one of them with you? Or at least the envelope?”

“I’m afraid not. I’m not really the sentimental type. I throw things like that away after a week or two.”

“There’s been no other communication with your uncle?”

“None. I think he sends the Christmas cards mainly to let us know he’s all right and not to worry.”

My phone rang. It was Mrs. Finley and she was agitated. “Do I have to stay in the motel alone with him all night?”

“Now, Mrs. Finley, it’s perfectly safe. He’s a graduate student of the highest moral caliber. He’ll probably spend the night working on his Ph.D. Or, if you wish, he could bring along some cards?”

“Can’t we just say that I spent the night with him and let it go at that?”

“My dear Mrs. Finley, we must go through the form of the thing to prevent possible perjury later.”

She was silent for a few moments. “Won’t the judge ask specific questions about what happened in the motel?”

“You have absolutely nothing to worry about. Our judges are wise and experienced men who do not probe where probing is superfluous. Everyone will be satisfied with the basic fact that you spent the night with a man other than your husband. What actually did or did not happen is immaterial.”

I hung up and spoke to Ariana Morgan. “The divorce laws in our state are rather strict. Adultery is one of the easier ways out.”

She opened her purse and took out her checkbook. “I’ll pay something in advance. Say five hundred dollars?”

I rubbed the back of my neck as I realized that I didn’t really want to say good-bye to her. “I haven’t said that I’d take the case.”

“But you will, won’t you?”

I sighed and took a blank sheet of paper from my desk drawer. I wrote Ariana Morgan on the top of it. “Your address, please?”

“That won’t be necessary. I’ll keep in touch with you daily.” She opened the checkbook and stared at it thoughtfully, then she quickly closed it. “On second thought, perhaps you would prefer cash?”

“No need to go through that trouble. A check will do nicely.”

“No,” she said firmly. “I’m certain you must prefer cash. I’ll bring the money in later this afternoon.”

I glanced at my watch. “I’d like to ask you a few more questions, but would you please excuse me for a moment? I’ve got to deliver some papers to Mrs. Finley’s lawyer before three o’clock. He has an office just down the corridor.” I took a folder out of a desk drawer. “I shouldn’t be more than ten minutes.”

I left the office, walked down the corridor, and turned a corner. I looked back to see if by some chance Ariana had decided to follow me.

She hadn’t.

I went on to the door marked Morris Willman, Confidential Investigations. Our professional interests are somewhat parallel and I have subcontracted him a number of times.

I found him on the phone and waited until he was through.

“Morris,” I said. “In a little while a girl with honest violet eyes will come out of my office. She says her name is Ariana Morgan, but I don’t quite believe that.”

“Why not?”

“She’s coy about giving me her address. Also, just as she was about to write out a check, she suddenly changed her mind and insisted that she would get me cash instead. I think it was because she suddenly realized that her real name was printed on the personal check and she didn’t want me to know what it is.”

Morris is a thickset man with sandy hair. “I’m supposed to find out what her real name is?”

“Yes. I think she’ll be going from my office direct to a bank to cash a check for me. You know the rest.”

Morris nodded. “And at the bank I fall into line behind her and look over her shoulder or something while she cashes her check?”

“Or something. But get her name.”

He reached into his desk. “I’ll put on my tailing disguise.”

Morris’ disguise consists of black shell-rimmed glasses and a briefcase. Women do not expect to be followed by spectacled men carrying briefcases.

He adjusted the windowpane glasses. “Why would she make her divorce difficult by giving you a phony name?”

I felt a bit uncomfortable. “This isn’t a divorce case. I’m supposed to find a missing person.”

He stared at me. “Oh, come now.”

“It’s a new challenge,” I said firmly. “Besides, the pay is good.”

I returned to my office and smiled at Ariana. “You’ll have to tell me more about your uncle, his age and so forth. And naturally you have a picture of him?”

She reached into the purse again and brought out a snapshot. “Uncle Charley is about fifty.”

I studied the photograph. It showed a smiling broad-shouldered man. Even in black and white, I thought I caught the hint of secret humor about the eyes. I looked up. “You don’t happen to have his Social Security number?”

She blinked. “His Social Security number?”

“Yes. If I had it I could check with the Social Security office and find out if his number is still active and if it is, where its contributions are coming from.”

She shook her head. “I’m sorry, but I don’t know the number.”

“What was your uncle’s line of work?”

She smiled ever so slightly for a moment. “He was a salesman.”

“For what firm?”

“I don’t remember. He traveled most of the time and changed jobs fairly often.”

“Did your uncle have any hobbies?”

“Hobbies?”

“Yes. I’m just trying to round out the picture. It helps to know what kind of a man I’m looking for.”

She thought that over. “Well, he did go in pretty strong for archery. Got rather good at it. As a matter of fact, he had all kinds of cups and trophies. Was even runner-up in the state tournament several times.”

“What state was that?”

Her eyes flickered. “I really don’t remember. As I said, he traveled quite a lot and picked up the cups here and there.” She consulted her watch. “I’d better get that cash before the bank closes. I shouldn’t be long.”

When she was gone, my phone rang. It was Mrs. Finley again. “You said he was a student? Isn’t that kind of young? I mean things will be bad enough without people accusing me of robbing the cradle.”

“He’s about twenty-eight.”

She was silent for a few moments. “That isn’t too bad. I’m nearly that myself.”

According to her husband, she was thirty-six.

“How did a graduate student ever get into this line of work?”

“Money,” I said. “All graduate students need money, and they volunteer for the damnedest things.”

“Won’t this ruin his reputation?”