only a few changes of uniform he could have just stepped off the set of Rose Marie, and I half expected him to burst into song. Cut it out, I thought. You’ve had a grouch on so long you hate everybody.
“Redfield?” I asked.
He gave me a negligent shake of the head. “Magruder.”
“I’m glad to see you,” I said. “My name’s Chatham.”
He contained his ecstasy over that with no great difficulty. “I hear you’re real antsy for somebody to look at that room,” he said. “So let’s look at it.”
I nodded towards the open doorway of No. 5. He strode over with the insolent grace of a bullfighter, his thumbs hooked in the gunbelt, and peered in.
“Hmmm,” he said. Then he turned and jerked his head at me. “All right. Get those planks in there.”
I glanced at him, but kept my mouth shut, and tossed the planks in. I felt like Sir Waller Raleigh. While I was standing on the second and dropping the third, which would reach opposite the bathroom door, he stepped inside.
Glancing around at the obscene and senseless ruin, he said casually, “Quite a mess, huh?”
“That was more or less the way it struck me,” I said. He paid no attention. I stepped over to look into the bathroom, and felt the proddings of rage again. He’d got the fixtures, all right. Both the tub and wash-basin had dark slashes across the bottom where he’d gouged the enamel off. I wondered how he’d managed to keep the noise down. Probably used a rubber mallet with the chisel, I thought. He’d also used the same tool to gouge long streaks across the tile on the walls. On the floor were two empty one-gallon glass jugs with the rubber stoppers lying beside them.
Magruder came up alongside me and peered in. He grinned. “That guy was in a real pet, wasn’t he?”
You asked for a cop and they sent you a comic-opera clown like this. I choked down a sarcastic remark that wouldn’t have helped the situation a great deal, and was just about to ask him where he wanted to start when he shrugged and said, “Well, that’s about it, huh?” He turned and went out.
I stared at his back in disbelief, but followed him. I caught up with him on the porch. “What do you mean, that’s it?”
He favored me with an indifferent glance and hitched up his gunbelt again. “I’ve seen it, haven’t I? I’ll make a report on it, but we haven’t got much to go on.”
“How about checking this place for prints?” I asked. “Or don’t you want to? And how about the registration card he made out? And if you thought it wouldn’t bore you too much, I can give you a description of him. And the car. Any of that interest you? And what about those jugs in there?”
“Well, what about the jugs? They had acid in ‘em. So I know that already.”
I was beginning to get it now, though not the reason for it. Even this scenic and posturing hero wasn’t that stupid. He knew what you did with those jugs. You checked them for prints; you found out what kind of acid had been in them; then you found out where they’d been stolen from, and how, and went on from there. It was a deliberate goof-off.
“Then you’re not interested? Is that it?”
“I didn’t say that, did I?”
“How do you get hold of the Sheriff of this County?” I asked. “Is there a password or something? I’ve tried the office twice—”
“Try the Mayo Clinic,” he suggested. Then he added, “It’s in Minnesota.”
“Thanks,” I said. “But maybe somebody’s in charge while he’s gone?”
“Sure,” he said. “Redfield.”
“I see.”
“You remember him; you talked to him on the phone.” He grinned. “He mentioned it.”
“Sure,” I said. I remember him. That’s what puzzles me. He sounded like a cop.”
He turned and stared coldly. “What do you mean by that?”
“Did he tell you how to do this? Or did you figure it out yourself?”
“He did tell me to find out who the hell you are,” he snapped. “Turn around and put your hands against that wall.”
“Cut it out,” I said.
“Turn around!”
I sighed and put my hands against the wall. He shook me down for the gun he knew I didn’t have. Then he caught me by the shoulder and whirled me around facing him. and did it again. He managed to get an elbow under my chin a couple of times, pull my shirt tail out, and step