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a little exasperated as he came into the office. We all knew him and he was aware that he was among friends.
    “You never set ’em up without elaborate curlicues,” he said to Chambrun. “This one would make a good movie—spies, dames, a mysterious dead man. Why don’t you have a nice, clean Stanford White shooting in the lobby sometime?”
    “Nice to see you, Hardy,” Chambrun said.
    “I’d like it better if you’d buy me a drink off duty someday,” Hardy said. He took a small notebook out of his pocket. “You told me you vouch for Lovelace. All this jazz about the CIA? You know they won’t acknowledge it. An agent for them is on his own when he gets in trouble.”
    “I vouch for him,” Chambrun said.
    “And Smith means nothing to you?”
    “Nothing. But Atterbury tells me he had a note from Senator Maxim which is how he happened to get a room. We’re full up.”
    “The Senator’s office never heard of him,” Hardy said, “and the Senator is—”
    “—somewhere between here and Honolulu.”
    “How do you know the note was really from the Senator?” Hardy asked.
    “His stationery. His signature is familiar,” Atterbury said. “Of course I suppose it could be forged, but—”
    “We’ve sent his fingerprints to the FBI,” Hardy said. “We’ve done a ballistics test on his gun. It may match up with some unfinished business somewhere. Likewise Lovelace’s gun—which he wants back! You planning to turn this place into a shooting gallery?”
    “I don’t plan to turn him out onto the street,” Chambrun said. “He’s a friend.”
    Hardy nodded. “Well, I’ve got a nice little chore for someone. I understand you’ve got about a thousand guests in the hotel. I want Lovelace to go over the entire list and check off anyone or everyone he knows or has ever heard of. There must be a few people we can write off as probable killers. I remember a few permanents from other days that must be on the safe list.”
    Chambrun glanced at Atterbury who went silently across the thick rug and out of the office.
    “What are you going to do for Lovelace?” Chambrun asked.
    Hardy made a wry mouth. “I’ve got a man outside Haskell’s apartment. Lovelace isn’t to leave those rooms till I say so.”
    “But tomorrow—and the next day and the next day?”
    “There are things we don’t know yet,” Hardy said. “The medical examiner hasn’t pried the bullet out of Smith’s skull. We have to make sure this friend you vouch for didn’t shoot Smith, clean his gun, and walk away from the crime with his fancy story. Oh—I know. He’s an old buddy-buddy. But we check out bullet against gun before we let him loose.”
    Chambrun’s smile was thin. “I approve of anything that keeps him protected. But after you know that isn’t the answer?”
    “Then I have a murder to solve, and when I solve it he may be safe. Let’s not borrow trouble and assume there are half a dozen killers running around loose. But I must admit I don’t have one single damn lead at the moment. No gun, if it isn’t Lovelace’s; no witness who saw anyone come or go; no motive until I know who the hell Smith really is. We just wait and hope to God we come up with an identification quick.”
    “And Lovelace?”
    “Knowing you, I know you have ideas,” Hardy said.
    “Complete surveillance by my staff,” Chambrun said. “We monitor his phone. We grab any messenger who delivers a letter or a package for him. We let him circulate and hope somebody makes a misstep.”
    Hardy nodded slowly. “I see your point,” he said. “Open protection and the killer just waits. I’d like to add a couple guests to your list. The Commissioner wouldn’t like it if I left the entire protection job to you.”
    “Can do,” Chambrun said. “Only your men will have to be pointed out to my staff or they might get a water bottle over the back of the head if they seem too interested in Lovelace.”
    “We got a couple of guys who know how to wear