Look, Lily. I'm a good investigator with a lot of experience. But this is the sixth day since Harvey was charged and I have got nowhere. Not a glimmer of a lead. I may be only half as smart as I think I am, but also I'm handicapped. I don't belong here. I'm a dude. I'm all right for things like packing in or fishing or a game of pinochle or even a dance at the hall, but this is murder, and I'm a dude. Hell, I've been out here a lot, and I've known Mel Fox for years, and even he has gone cagey on me. They all have. I'm a goddam dude. There must be private detectives in Helena, and there may be a good one. A native. Dawson would know."

She put her coffee cup down. "You're suggesting that I hire a native to help you."

"Not to help me. If he's any good he wouldn't help me. He would just go to work."

"Oh." Her blue eyes widened and fastened on me. "You're checking out."

"I am not. In the letter I just mailed to Mr Wolfe I said I hoped to be back for the World Series. I'm staying and making motions, but damn it, I'm handicapped. I'm only suggesting that maybe you should ask Dawson."

"Escamillo." Her eyes had relaxed and were smiling. "Now really. Aren't you the second-best detective in the world?"

"Oh, sure. In my world, but this isn't it. Even Dawson, haven't you noticed? You've paid him a ten-grand retainer, but how does he take me? You must have noticed."

She nodded. "It's one of the milder forms of xenophobia. You're a dude, and I'm a dudine."

"You own a ranch. That's different."

"Well." She picked up her coffee cup, looked in it, decided it was too cool, and put it down. "It's too bad Harvey can't be bailed out, but Mel can handle it-for a while. How much time have we got?"

"Until Harvey's tried and convicted, apparently two or three months, from what Jessup says."