2. THE DETECTIVE FROM HAWAII
At six o’clock on the following Thursday evening, Alexander Eden drove to the Stewart Hotel. All day a February rain had spattered over the town, bringing an early dusk. For a moment Eden stood in the doorway of the hotel, staring at the parade of bobbing umbrellas and at the lights along Geary Street, glowing a dim yellow in the dripping mist. In San Francisco age does not matter much, and he felt like a boy again as he rode up in the elevator to Sally Jordan’s suite.
She was waiting for him in the doorway of her sitting-room, lovely as a girl in a soft clinging dinner gown of gray. Caste tells, particularly when one has reached the sixties, Eden thought as he took her hand.
“Ah, Alec,” she smiled. “Come in. You remember Victor.”
Victor stepped forward eag
