The Lady in the Lake by Raymond Chandler Page B

tell a woman’s age these days,” he said. “I reckon she was about thirty, or a little more or a little less.”
    I dug in my coat for the snapshot of Crystal and Lavery on the beach and handed it to him.
    He looked at it steadily and held it away from his eyes, then close.
    “You won’t have to swear to it in court,” I said.
    He nodded. “I wouldn’t want to. These small blondes are so much of a pattern that a change of clothes or light or makeup makes them all alike or all different.” He hesitated, staring at the snapshot.
    “What’s worrying you?” I asked.
    “I’m thinking about the gent in this snap. He enter into it at all?”
    “Go on with that,” I said.
    “I think this fellow spoke to her in the lobby, and had dinner with her. A tall good-lookin’ jasper, built like a fast light-heavy. He went in the hack with her too.”
    “Quite sure about that?”
    He looked at the money on the bed.
    “Okay, how much does it cost?” I asked wearily.
    He stiffened, laid the snapshot down and drew the two folded bills from his pocket and tossed them on the bed.
    “I thank you for the drink,” he said, “and to hell with you.” He started for the door.
    “Oh sit down and don’t be so touchy,” I growled.
    He sat down and looked at me stiff-eyed.
    “And don’t be so damn southern,” I said. “I’ve been knee deep in hotel hops for a lot of years. If I’ve met one who wouldn’t pull a gag, that’s fine. But you can’t expect me to expect to meet one that wouldn’t pull a gag.”
    He grinned slowly and nodded quickly. He picked the snapshot up again and looked at me over it.
    “This gent takes a solid photo,” he said. “Much more so than the lady. But there was another little item that made me remember him. I got the impression the lady didn’t quite like him walking up to her so openly in the lobby.”
    I thought that over and decided it didn’t mean anything much. He might have been late or have missed some earlier appointment. I said:
    “There’s a reason for that. Did you notice what jewelry the lady was wearing? Rings, ear-pendants, anything that looked conspicuous or valuable?”
    He hadn’t noticed, he said.
    “Was her hair long or short, straight or waved or curly, natural blond or bleached?”
    He laughed. “Hell, you can’t tell that last point, Mr. Marlowe. Even when it’s natural they want it lighter. As to the rest, my recollection is it was rather long, like they’re wearing it now and turned in a little at the bottom and rather straight. But I could be wrong.” He looked at the snapshot again. “She has it bound back here. You can’t tell a thing.”
    “That’s right,” I said. “And the only reason I asked you was to make sure you didn’t over-observe. The guy that sees too much detail is just as unreliable a witness as the guy that doesn’t see any. He’s nearly always making half of it up. You check just about right, considering the circumstances. Thanks very much.”
    I gave him back his two dollars and a five to keep them company. He thanked me, finished his drink and left softly. I finished mine and washed off again and decided I would rather drive home than sleep in that hole. I put my shirt and coat on again and went downstairs with my bag.
    The redheaded rat of a captain was the only hop in the lobby. I carried my bag over to the desk and he didn’t move to take it off my hands. The eggheaded clerk separated me from two dollars without even looking at me.
    “Two bucks to spend the night in this manhole,” I said, “when for free I could have a nice airy ashcan.”
    The clerk yawned, got a delayed reaction, and said brightly: “It gets quite cool here about three in the morning. From then on until eight, or even nine, it’s quite pleasant.”
    I wiped the back of my neck and staggered out to the car. Even the seat of the car was hot, at midnight.
    I got home about two-forty-five and Hollywood was an icebox. Even Pasadena had felt