Murder by the Book

My watch said 11:10 as the plane taxied to a stop on the concrete of the Los Angeles airport, and I set it back to ten past eight before I arose and filed out to the gangway and off. It was warm and muggy, with no sign of the sun. By the time I got my suitcase and found a taxi I had to use a handkerchief on my face and neck. Then the breeze through the open window came at me, and, not wanting to get pneumonia in a foreign country, I shut the window. The people didn't look as foreign as some of the architecture and most of the vegetation. Before we got to the hotel it started to rain.

I had a regulation breakfast and then went up and had a regulation bath. My room-it was the Riviera-had too many colors scattered around but was okay. It smelled swampy,

but I couldn't open a window on account of the rain. When I was through bathing and shaving and dressing and unpacking it was after eleven, and I got at the phone and asked Information for the number of Clarence O. Potter, 2819 Whitecrest Avenue, Glendale.

I called the number, and after three whirs a female voice told my ear hello.

I was friendly but not sugary. "May I speak to Mrs. Clarence Potter, please?"

"This is Mrs. Potter." Her voice was high but not squeaky.

"Mrs. Potter, my name is Thompson, George Thompson. I'm from New York, and you never heard of me. I'm here on a business trip, and I would like to see you to discuss an important matter. Any time that will suit you will suit me, but the sooner the better. I'm talking from the Riviera Hotel and I can come out now if that will be convenient."

"Did you say Thompson?"

"That's right, George Thompson."

"But why do you-what's it about?"

"It's a personal matter. I'm not selling anything. It's something I need to know about your deceased brother, Leonard Dykes, and it will be to your advantage if it affects you at all. I'd appreciate it if I could see you today."

"What do you want to know about my brother?"

"It's a little too complicated for the telephone. Why not let me come and tell you about it?"

"Well, I suppose-all right. I'll be home until three o'clock."

"Fine. I'll leave right away."

I did so. All I had to do was grab my hat and raincoat and go. But down in the lobby I was delayed. As I was heading for the front a voice called Mr. Thompson, and with my mind on my errand I nearly muffed it. Then I reined and turned and saw the clerk handing a bellboy a yellow envelope.

"Telegram for you, Mr. Thompson."