The Dain Curse · Part III · Chapter 16 (2/2)

“That’s rich,” he gurgled. “Him out framing Harve, and Harve getting himself an alibi in his bed. Dick’s face ought to be a picture for Puck when we spring that on him. Let’s find him tonight.”

“Better wait,” I advised. “It won’t hurt to check up his San Francisco trip before we put it to him. All we’ve got on him so far is that he tried to frame Whidden. If he’s the murderer and kidnapper he seems to have gone to a lot of unnecessary foolishness.”

Feeney scowled at me and defended their theory:

“Maybe he was more interested in framing Harve than anything else.”

“Maybe,” I said; “but it won’t hurt to give him a little more rope and see what he does with it.”

Feeney was against that. He wanted to grab the marshal pronto; but Vernon reluctantly backed me up. We dropped Rolly at his house and returned to the hotel.

In my room, I put in a phone-call for the agency in San Francisco. While I was waiting for the connection knuckles tapped my door. I opened it and let in Jack Santos, pajamaed, bathrobed, and slippered.

“Have a nice ride?” he asked, yawning.

“Swell.”

“Anything break?”

“Not for publication, but⁠—under the hat⁠—the new angle is that our marshal is trying to hang the job on his wife’s boyfriend⁠—with homemade evidence. The other big officials think Cotton turned the trick himself.”

“That ought to get them all on the front page.” Santos sat on the foot of my bed and lit a cigarette. “Ever happen to hear that Feeney was Cotton’s rival for the telegraphing hand of the present Mrs. Cotton, until she picked the marshal⁠—the triumph of dimples over mustachios?”

“No,” I admitted. “What of it?”

“How do I know? I just happened to pick it up. A fellow in the garage told me.”

“How long ago?”

“That they were rival suitors? Less than a couple of years.”

I got my San Francisco call, and told Field⁠—the agency night-man⁠—to have somebody check up the marshal’s Noe Street visit. Santos yawned and went out while I was talking. I went to bed when I had finished.