Davidian Report by Dorothy B. Hughes Page B

all about that. Get on with it.”
    “Well, I showed it to Lyn and Portia and we were all excited about it. Or interested,” she defended. “When Mr. Grasse returned from the bank, naturally I showed to him.” She let her bright eyes blame Steve; this was the part he’d spoiled. “At first he was interested too, and then he looked at it more closely and said it was counterfeit.”
    She could get back to normal now, it was again her story. “He got terribly excited, I mean for Mr. Grasse, because he was always quiet, you know, and wanted to know all about who gave it to me and had me describe the man. He even went out and looked in all the shops around here although I told him the man had been gone, oh, for at least forty-five minutes.”
    Steve didn’t need to ask if Davidian had left any clue as to where he might be found. He hadn’t. Through some listening post he’d learned that Albion was seeking him. This had been his thumb to the nose. And Albie had so recognized it; Albion had known that Davidian had waited until the coast was clear before leaving his card. But Albion had come closer than this before sending for Steve.
    “The man didn’t return?”
    Llewellyn said, “We’ve watched very closely, sir. Mr. Grasse asked us.”
    “Going home and coming to work. And on the street. Mr. Grasse thought he must be living in Hollywood.” Pam said passionately, “I’d know him anywhere. But I haven’t seen him.”
    You won’t, Steve said to himself. But this placed Davidian in Hollywood even more surely. His listening post was definitely here; not only had he learned of Oriole’s station but also that Frederick Grasse was Albion. It came to Steve, one small check that could be made. He asked, “How many bookshops have we?”
    Llewellyn began the tally. “North Hollywood, Santa Monica, one on Jefferson Boulevard—”
    Steve said, “Call them. See if this ruble-tipper has been around any of the other shops.”
    “Now?”
    “Now.” To the girl, Steve said, “I’d like to see the ruble.”
    “But I gave it to Mr. Grasse.” He should have taken that for granted. “He said he’d give it back.” She turned her eyes to the hopeless desk.
    Steve ordered, “See if you can find it.”
    Llewellyn was efficient. He’d completed one call. “He hasn’t been in North Hollywood.”
    “Shove your chair to one side,” Steve said. “Pam is going through the desk papers.” There could be a message on the bill, one for Steve alone to recognize. More Davidian tricks. “Or anything connected with the man,” he told her. “See if Mr. Grasse made any notes.” He had an errand of his own. “I’ll be back in an hour. I’ll tell your girl out front to hold the wheel steady.”
    The last thing he expected was the complication of Haig Armour out front. There was no way to pass unnoticed. Haig had the effrontery to put on a surprised act. “Why hello, Steve.” He gave it the best fancy-meeting-you-here intonation.
    Steve didn’t play it big. “Interested in books now?”
    “Why not? Nice little shop Grasse had.”
    He tried walking out on that but Haig stopped him.
    “I’ve been looking for you.”
    “In bookstores?”
    “I figured you’d turn up here.” Nothing about having the place under surveillance. “Let’s go have a drink.”
    He couldn’t say he had a more important assignment. He didn’t want Haig’s men following. They’d know the Oriole address but he wouldn’t lead them there. Schmidt was too suspicious a bastard and too quick on the trigger with his suspicions. Steve didn’t intend to finish this job on a lonely beach with a bad heart.
    He said ungraciously, “If you insist.”
    Haig was amused. “We can make it later if you’re busy.”
    “One time’s as good as another.”
    They walked out side by side. Steve couldn’t manage a word of warning for the blond to pass on to the others.
    Together they returned to the boulevard. “Any choice?” Haig inquired.
    “That’s a