Page 116 of The Furies

“Nope,” he said to Angel, “not bulletproof.”

Wadlin sat down again. They might have been joking, but they might not. Even I didn’t know for certain.

“What do you want?” he said.

“We’re looking for two men. We think they might be staying here.”

“You know I can’t give out that kind of—”

Louis knocked again, this time with the muzzle of his gun.

“What are their names?” said Wadlin.

“Lyle Pantuff and Gilman Veale.”

Wadlin gave every impression of wanting to crawl under his desk.

“It would have to be them,” he said.

“Where are they?”

“You just missed one of them: the younger one, Veale. He left about ten minutes ago. I saw him drive off.”

“What kind of car?”

“A blue Chrysler.”

“And Pantuff is still up there?”

“Far as I know. What did they do?”

“They stole.”

“That hardly makes them unique,” said Wadlin. “Half the people staying here are thieves, and I don’t even want to know what the rest are guilty of.”

“Disregard for hygiene, at the very least,” I said. “What room?”

“Twenty-nine. Fourth floor. To the left, end of the hall.”

“Get the key.”

Wadlin located the key recently surrendered by Gilman Veale and handed it over.

“You’re coming with us,” I said.

“I’m not helping you bust in there.”

“You’re certainly not staying down here.”

“I won’t warn him that you’re coming.”

“You say, but I’m not about to bet a bullet on it.”

Already Angel was locking the main door. He added the sign indicating that the front desk was going to be unattended for a while.

“You know you spelled ‘patience’ wrong?” he said.

Wadlin glared at him.

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