“As I went out I stopped in front of Hoag’s bench and looked at him through the glass. Presently he looked up and stared at me, then looked down again. I’m sure I would have spotted it if he had recognized me. A case of complete skeezo, sheezo . . . how do you pronounce it?”
“Schizophrenia. Completely split personalities. But look, Teddy-”
“Yeah?”
“You did talk with him. I saw you.”
“Now slow down, puss. You may think you did, but you must have been looking at two other guys. How far away were you?”
“Not that far. I was standing in front of Beecham’s Bootery. Then comes Chez Louis, and then the entrance to the Acme Building. You had your back to the newspaper stand at the curb and were practically facing me. Hoag had his back to me, but I couldn’t have been mistaken, as I had him in full profile when the two of you turned and went into the building together.”
Randall looked exasperated. “I didn’t speak with him. And I didn’t go in with him; I followed him in.”
“Edward Randall, don’t give me that! I admit I lost the two of you, but that’s no reason to rub it in by trying to make a fool of me.”
Randall had been married too long and too comfortably not to respect danger signals. He got up, went to her, and put an arm around her. “Look, kid,” he said, seriously and gently, “I’m not pulling your leg. We’ve got our wires crossed somehow, but I’m giving it to you just as straight as I can, the way I remember it.”
She searched his eyes, then kissed him suddenly, and pulled away. “All right. We’re both right and it’s impossible. Come on.”
” ‘Come on’ where?”
“To the scene of the crime. If I don’t get this straightened out I’ll never sleep again.”
The Acme Building was just where they had left it. The Bootery was where it belonged, likewise Chez Louis, and the newsstand. He stood where she had stood and agreed that she could not have been mistaken in her identification unless blind drunk. But he was equally positive as to what he had done.
“You didn’t pick up a snifter or two on the way, did you?” he suggested hopefully.
“Certainly not.”
“What do we do now?”
“I don’t know. Yes, I do, too! We’re finished with Hoag, aren’t we? You’ve traced him down and that’s that.”
“Yes . . . why?”
“Take me up to where he works. I want to ask his daytime personality whether or not he spoke to you getting off the bus.”
He shrugged. “O.K., kid. It’s your party.”
They went inside and entered the first free elevator. The starter clicked his castanets, the operator slammed his doors and said, “Floors, please.”
Six, three, and nine. Randall waited until all those had been served before announcing, “Thirteen.”
The operator looked around. “I can give you twelve and fourteen, buddy, and you can split ’em.”
“Huh?”
“There ain’t no thirteenth floor. If there was, nobody would rent on it.”
“You must be mistaken. I was on it this morning.”
The operator gave him a look of marked restraint. “See for yourself.” He shot the car upward and halted it. “Twelve.” He raised the car slowly, the figure 12 slid out of sight and was quickly replaced by another. “Fourteen. Which way will you have it?”
“I’m sorry,” Randall admitted. “I’ve made a silly mistake. I really was in here this morning and I thought I had noted the floor.”
“Might ha’ been eighteen,” suggested the operator. “Sometimes an eight will look like a three. Who you lookin’ for?”
“Detheridge & Co. They’re manufacturing jewelers.”
The operator shook his head. “Not in this building. No jewelers, and no Detheridge.”
“You’re sure?”
Instead of answering, the operator dropped his car back to the tenth floor. “Try 1001. It’s the office of the building.”
No, they had no Detheridge. No, no jewelers, manufacturing or otherwise. Could it be the Apex Building the gentleman wanted, rather than the Acme? Randall thanked them and left, considerably shaken.
Cynthia had maintained complete silence during the proceedings. Now she said, “Darling-“