It was half-past seven when I got back to the Washoe. The doorman’s hand was not half-way to the handle when I had the door open. “Pay him, please,” I said, realizing I had no money with me.
I dashed through the door, and stopped abruptly just inside it. Sergeant Buck, in his circus outfit, was there in front of me, methodically putting quarters into one of the slot machines in the hotel lobby.
“Stop dashing about like a chicken with its head off!” I said to myself sharply, catching a startling glimpse of my face in the mirrored pillar behind the palms. It was just in time, for Buck turned around and gave me a fishily indifferent glance. Then he gathered a large handful of quarters from the trough at the bottom and moved on to the next machine.
“Has Mrs. Bonner come back?” I asked the c
