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I said； 〃That's my story。〃
〃But you don't have to get stuck with it；〃 Breeze said calmly。 〃You can always give us a better one。〃
〃It's good enough；〃 I said。 〃I mean it's good enough in the sense that it's bad enough to be true。〃
He nodded his big slow head。
〃What's your idea of all this？〃 he asked。
〃Have you investigated Phillips' office address？〃
He shook his head； no。
〃My idea is you will find out he was hired because he was simple。 He was hired to take this apartment here under a wrong name； and to do something that turned out to be not what he liked。 He was scared。 He wanted a friend； he wanted help。 The fact that he picked me after so long a time and such little knowledge of me showed he didn't know many people in the detective business。〃
Breeze got his handkerchief out and mopped his head and face again。 〃But it don't begin to show why he had to follow you around like a lost pup instead of walking right up to your office door and in。〃
〃No；〃 I said； 〃it doesn't。〃
〃Can you explain that？〃
〃No。 Not really。〃
〃Well； how would you try to explain it？〃
〃I've already explained it in the only way I know how。 He was undecided whether to speak to me or not。 He was waiting for something to decide him。 I decided by speaking to him。〃
Breeze said： 〃That is a very simple explanation。 It is so simple it stinks。〃
〃You may be right；〃 I said。
〃And as the result of this little hotel lobby conversation this guy； a total stranger to you； asks you to his apartment and hands you his key。 Because he wants to talk to you。〃
I said； 〃Yes。〃
〃Why couldn't he talk to you then？〃
〃I had an appointment；〃 I said。
〃Business？〃
I nodded。
〃I see。 What you working on？〃
I shook my head and didn't answer。
〃This is murder；〃 Breeze said。 〃You're going to have to tell me。〃
I shook my head again。 He flushed a little。
〃Look；〃 he said tightly； 〃you got to。〃
〃I'm sorry； Breeze；〃 I said。 〃But so far as things have gone； I'm not convinced of that。〃
〃Of course you know I can throw you in the can as a material witness；〃 he said casually。
〃On what grounds？〃
〃On the grounds that you are the one who found the body； that you gave a false name to the manager here； and that you don't give a satisfactory acccount of your relations with the dead guy。〃
I said： 〃Are you going to do it？〃
He smiled bleakly。 〃You got a lawyer？〃
〃I know several lawyers。 I don't have a lawyer on a retainer basis。〃
〃How many of the missioners do you know personally？〃
〃None。 That is； I've spoken to three of them； but they might not remember me。〃
〃But you have good contacts； in the mayor's office and so on？〃
〃Tell me about them；〃 I said。 〃I'd like to know。〃
〃Look； buddy；〃 he said earnestly； 〃you must got some friends somewhere。 Surely。〃
〃I've got a good friend in the Sheriff's office； but I'd rather leave him out of it。〃
He lifted his eyebrows。 〃Why？ Maybe you're going to need friends。 A good word from a cop we know to be right might go a long way。〃
〃He's just a personal friend；〃 I said。 〃I don't ride around on his back。 If I get in trouble； it won't do him any good。〃
〃How about the homicide bureau？〃
〃There's Randall；〃 I said。 〃If he's still working out of Central Homicide。 I had a little time with him on a case once。 But he doesn't like me too well。〃
Breeze sighed and moved his feet on the floor； rustling the newspapers he had pushed down out of the chair。
〃Is all this on the levelor are you just being smart？ I mean about all the important guys you don't know？〃
〃It's on the level；〃 I said。 〃But the way I am using it is smart。〃
〃It ain't smart to say so right out。〃
〃I think it is。〃
He put a big freckled hand over the whole lower part of his face and squeezed。 When he took the hand away there were round red marks on his cheeks from the pressure of thumb and fingers。 I watched the marks fade。
〃Why don't you go on home and let a man work？〃 he asked crossly。
I got up and nodded and went towards the door。 Breeze said to my back： 〃Gimme your home address。〃
I gave it to him。 He wrote it down。 〃So long；〃 he said drearily： 〃Don't leave town。 We'll want a statementmaybe tonight。〃
I went out。 There were two uniformed cops outside on the landing。 The door across the way was open and a fingerprint man was still working inside。 Downstairs I met two more cops in the hallway； one at each end of it。 I didn't see the carroty manager。 I went out the front door。 There was an ambulance pulling away from the curb。 A knot of people hung around on both sides of the street； not as many as would accumulate in some neighborhoods。
I pushed along the sidewalk。 A man grabbed me by the arm and said： 〃What's the damage； Jack？〃
I shook his arm off without speaking or looking at his face and went on down the street to where my car was。
12
It was a quarter to seven when I let myself into the office and clicked the light on and picked a piece of paper off the floor。 It was a notice from the Green Feather Messenger Service saying that a package was held awaiting my call and would be delivered upon request at any hour of the day or night。 I put it on the desk； peeled my coat off and opened the windows。 I got a half bottle of Old Taylor out of the deep drawer of the desk and drank a short drink； rolling it around on my tongue。 Then I sat there holding the neck of the cool bottle and wondering how it would feel to be a homicide dick and find bodies lying around and not mind at all； not have to sneak out wiping doorknobs； not have to ponder how much I could tell without hurting a client and how little I could tell without too badly hurting myself。 I decided I wouldn't like it。
I pulled the phone over and looked at the number on the slip and called it。 They said my package could be sent right over。 I said I would wait for it。
It was getting dark outside now。 The rushing sound of the traffic had died a little and the air from the open window； not yet cool from the night； had that tired end…of…the…day smell of dust； automobile exhaust； sunlight rising from hot walls and sidewalks； the remote smell of food in a thousand restaurants； and perhaps； drifting down from the residential hills above Hollywoodif you had a nose like a hunting doga touch of that peculiar tomcat smell that eucalyptus trees give off in warm weather。
I sat there smoking。 Ten minutes later the door was knocked on and I opened it to a boy in a uniform cap who took my signature and gave me a small square package； not more than two and a half inches wide； if that。 I gave the boy a dime and listened to him whistling his way back to the elevators。
The label had my name and address printed on it in ink； in a quite fair imitation of typed letters； larger and thinner than pica。 I cut the string that tied the label to the box and unwound the thin brown paper。 Inside was a thin cheap cardboard box pasted over with brown paper and stamped Made in Japan with a rubber stamp。 It would be the kind of box you would get in a Jap store to hold some small carved animal or a small piece of jade。 The lid fitted down all the way and tightly。 I pulled it off and saw tissue paper and cotton wool。
Separating these I was looking at a gold coin about the size of a half dollar； bright and shining as if it had just e from the mint。
The side facing me showed a spread eagle with a shield for a breast and the initials E。B。 punched into the left wing。 Around these was a circle of beading； between the beading and the smooth unmilled edge of the coin； the legend E PLURIBUS UNUM。 At the bottom was the date 1787。
I turned the coin over on my palm。 It was heavy and cold and my palm felt moist under it。 The other side showed a sun rising or setting behind a sharp peak of mountain； then a double circle of what looked like oak leaves； then more Latin； NOVA EBOBACA COLUMBIA EXCELSIOR。 At the bottom of this side； in smaller capitals； the name BRASHER。
I was looking at the Brasher Doubloon。
There was nothing else in the box or in the paper； nothing on the paper。 The handwritten printing meant nothing to me。 I didn't know anybody who used it。
I filled an empty tobacco pouch half full； wrapped the coin up in tissue paper； snapped a rubber band around it and tucked it into the tobacco in the pouch and put more in on top。 I closed the zipper and put the pouch in my pocket。 I locked the paper and string and box and label up in a filing cabinet； sat down again and dialed Elisha Morningstar's number on the phone。 The bell rang eight times at the other end of the line。 It was not answered。 I hardly expected that。 I hung up again； looked Elisha Morningstar up in the book and saw that he had no listing for a residence phone in Los Angeles or the outlying towns that were in the phone book。
I got a shoulder holster out of the desk and strapped it on and slipped a Colt 。38 automatic into it； put on hat and coat； shut the windows again； put the whiskey away； clicked the lights off and had the office door unlatched when the phone rang。
The ringing bell had a sinister sound； for no reason of itself； but because of the ears to which it rang。 I stood there braced and tense；