Psycho by Robert Bloch Page A

nodded. "I'm here on business, Mr. --"
    "Norman Bates."
    "Mr. Bates. My company wants me to locate this girl, and I'd appreciate your co-operation. Of course, if you refuse to let me inspect your register, I can always get in touch with the local authorities. I guess you know that."
    Norman didn't know, but he was sure of one thing. There mustn't be any local authorities to come snooping around. He hesitated, his hand still covering the ledger. "What's this all about?" he asked. "What did this girl do?"
    "Stolen car," Mr. Arbogast told him.
    "Oh." Norman was a little more relieved. For a moment he'd been afraid it was something serious, that the girl was missing or wanted for some major offense, In that case, there'd be a real investigation. But a missing car, particularly an old beat-up heap like that one --
    "All right," he said. "Help yourself. I just wanted to make sure you had a legitimate reason." He removed his hand.
    "It's legitimate, all right." But Mr. Arbogast didn't reach for the register right away. First he took an envelope out of his pocket and laid it down on the counter, Then he grabbed the ledger, turned it around, and thumbed down the list of signatures.
    Norman watched his blunt thumb move, saw it stop suddenly and decisively.
    "I thought you said something about not having any customers last Saturday or Sunday?"
    "Well, I don't recall anyone. I mean, we might have had one or two, but there was no big business."
    "How about this one? This Jane Wilson, from San Antonio? She signed in on Saturday night."
    "Oh--come to think of it, you're right." The pounding had started up in Norman's chest again, and he knew he'd made a mistake when he pretended not to recognize the description, but it was too late now. How could he possibly explain in such a way so that the detective wouldn't be suspicious? What was he going to say?
    Right now the detective wasn't saying anything. He had picked up the envelope and laid it alongside the ledger page, comparing the handwriting. That's why he'd brought the envelop out, it was in _her_ handwriting! Now he'd know. He _did_ know!
    Norman could tell it when the detective raised his head and stared at him. Here, close up, he could see beneath the shadow cast by the hat brim. He could see the cold eyes, the eyes that _knew_.
    "It's the girl, all right. This handwriting is identical."
    "It is? Are you sure?"
    "Sure enough that I'm going to get a photostat made, even if it takes a court order. And that isn't all I can do, if you won't start talking and tell me the truth. Why did you lie about not seeing the girl?"
    "I didn't lie. I just forgot --"
    "You said you had a good memory."
    "Well, yes, generally I do. Only --"
    "Prove it." Mr. Arbogast lit a cigarette. "In case you don't know, car theft is a federal offense. You wouldn't want to be involved as an accessory, would you?"
    "Involved? How could I be involved? A girl drives in here, she takes a room, spends the night, and drives away again. How can I possibly be involved?"
    "By withholding information." Mr. Arbogast inhaled deeply. "Come on, now, let's have it. You saw the girl. What did she look like?"
    "Just as you described her, I guess. It was raining hard when she came in. I was busy. I didn't really take a second look. I let her sign in, gave her a key, and that was that."
    "Did she say anything? What did you talk about?"
    "The weather, I suppose. I don't remember."
    "Did she seem ill at ease in any way? Was there anything about her that made you suspicious?
    "No. Nothing at all. She seemed like just another tourist to me."
    "Good enough." Mr. Arbogast ground his cigarette butt into the ash tray. "Didn't impress you one way or the other, eh? On one hand, there was nothing to cause you to suspect anything was wrong with her. Arid on the other, she didn't particularly arouse your sympathies, either. I mean, you felt no emotion toward this girl at all."
    "Certainly not."
    Mr. Arbogast leaned forward, casually. "Then why did you