“I wonder,” Hugh Beaton said timidly, “may I go up to my—to our—rooms now?”
He looked so pale and helpless that the sheriff gave him a kindly pat. “You gather up all the stuff you and your sister will need, and—”
“Need—for how long?” Beaton asked.
“How the heck should I know? Jes’ gather up some stuff, an’ meet us here in this lobby—say, at three o’clock. Run along, kid—an’ cheer up.” He turned to Charlie. “Why are you lookin’ at me like that, Inspector?”
Chan smiled. “Ah—I am just thinking. Is that the method of a good detective? Such a one would enter those rooms simultaneously—he would search—he would investigate correspondence.”
Holt shrugged his broad shoulders. “I ain’t no detective, good or otherwise. Thank the lord. I’m only a sheriff.”
The sleek young man at the desk looked
