She smiled. Her teeth were even and as white as the snow on top of the mountain behind the Springs. I bet she used one of the nineteen kinds of toothpaste that are better and newer and larger than all the others.

"You'd better talk to Sergeant Whitestone." She opened a swing gate and nodded me toward a closed door. I knocked and opened it and I was looking at a calm-looking man with red hair and the sort of eyes that every police sergeant gets in time. Eyes that have seen too much nastiness and heard too many liars.

"My name's Marlowe. I'm a private eye. I'm going to open up an office here if I can find one and if you let me." I dumped another card on the desk and opened my wallet to let him look at my license.

"Divorce?"

"Never touch it, Sergeant."

"Good. That helps. I can't say I'm enthusiastic, but we could get along, if you leave police business to the police."

"I'd like to, but I've never been able to find out just where to stop."

He scowled. Then he snapped his fingers. He yelled, "Norman!"

The pretty blonde opened the door. "Who is this character?" the sergeant wailed. "Don't tell me. Let me guess."

"I'm afraid so, Sergeant," she said demurely.

"Hell! It's bad enough to have a private eye mousing around. But a private eye who's backed by a couple or three hundred million bucks-that's inhuman."

"I'm not backed by any two hundred million, Sergeant. I'm on my own and I'm a relatively poor man."

"Yeah? You and me both, but I forgot to marry the boss's daughter. Us cops are stupid."

I sat down and lit a cigarette. The blonde went out and closed the door.

"It's no use, is it?" I said. "I can't convince you that I'm just another guy trying to scratch a living. Do you know somebody named Lapshultz who owns a club?"

"Too well. His place is out in the desert, outside our jurisdiction. Every so often the Riverside D.A. has him raided. They say he permits gambling at his joint. I wouldn't know."