Undercurrent (The Nameless Detective) Read Online Free PDF Page B

came out again, he paced back and forth in front of the office, worrying his hands. Cottage Number 9 seemed to have a magnetic pull on his eyes. I sat on the topmost of the three steps that led up to the office entrance, and smoked my last cigarette.
    I said to him, "Is this the first time Paige has stayed here? Or have you seen him before?"
    "What? Oh—no, he's been quite a regular weekend guest."
    "For how long?"
    "For the past month or so."
    "Do you know what business he had in Cypress Bay?"
    "Of course not. How would I know?"
    "I thought he might have mentioned something to you."
    "No, he didn't. No."
    "Did he have any visitors that you know about?"
    "I really don't recall."
    "Did you ever see him with a woman?"
    "Here? At the Beachwood?"
    "Or anywhere else."
    "A respectable family motel . . . no, no, certainly not."
    "How about a bald guy, forty or so, heavy-featured?"
    "No."
    "Do you know of any local acquaintances he might have had?"
    "I do not," Orchard said. "See here, why are you asking all these questions? Did you know Mr. Paige?"
    Before I could give him any kind of answer, two black-and-white police cruisers turned off Ocean Boulevard to enter the motel grounds; they used no sirens. A third cruiser remained at the entrance to screen admittance. The first two pulled up to where Orchard and I were standing, and a couple of uniformed cops got out of one and two guys in business suits got out of the other.
    One of the latter—wearing a dark-brown gabardine— was six and a half feet tall, with iron-gray hair and a long, sad, intelligent face; he was maybe fifty-five, and he walked with long, shambling strides, as if he had never quite learned the art of bodily coordination. His eyes were dark and deep-set, the lids canted sharply, so that when he blinked he had a vaguely Oriental appearance. His name was Ned Quartermain, and he was the Chief of Police of Cypress Bay. The other plainclothesman was a Lieutenant Favor; thin of body, he had unruly brown hair and a thick, incongruous mustache; he reminded me of a silent-movie comedian. But his eyes, like Quartermain's, were shrewd, and you knew immediately there was nothing of the Chaplinesque buffoon about him. He was outfitted with a police camera, a fingerprint kit, and another small technician's kit: a walking crime lab.
    Orchard fluttered a little, like a frightened gull, and Quartermain told him to relax; then he said to me, "You're the one who discovered the body?" His voice was soft and faintly sepulchral, but in a way that was not displeasing.
    I answered, "Yes."
    "Can I see some identification?"
    I got my wallet and gave it to him and watched him open it up and find the photostat of my investigator's license. He read it very carefully, and then looked up at me again. "Private detective," he said with no inflection.
    "Yes."
    "Here on a case?"
    "Yes."
    "This Walter Paige a part of it?"
    "He was all of it."
    "You want to give me the details?"
    I nodded. "Now—or after you've looked at the body?"
    "After. I'll call you down when I want you."
    "Whatever you say."
    "Number nine, is that right?"
    "Yes."
    "Door unlocked?"
    "Yes."
    He made a thoughtful motion with his head and turned and went down there with Favor and one of the uniformed cops at his heels; the other cop, a very young one, stayed with Orchard and me. I watched Quartermain open the door to Paige's cottage, pause, enter with Favor, and shut the door again. A couple of other guests had seen the arrival of the police cars, and were out of their cottages and walking around the way they do, rubber-necking. The second uniform went over to keep them out of the way and available for future questioning.
    Some time passed, and none of us said anything. Orchard was pacing up and down again, working on his face with the handkerchief, muttering softly to himself. I tried to keep my mind inactive, but thoughts of Judith Paige kept intruding on the blankness. It would be very bad for her for a while, because death is