“No. He has been with me for a number of years. We met in Europe and his ties in the States were severed long ago.”

“How long?”

“The early thirties. In fact, he used to know a man called Bonetti. I mention the name because you and this Bonetti are in a similar-uh-field.”

Jesso started to pace the room. “Hell, Bonetti’s dead. He died-Wait a minute.”

Jesso had forgotten about Kator and Gluck, about the stupid way this punk job had been thrown at him. He wasn’t thinking of any of this because now he had started to work. Jesso went to the phone and dialed long-distance.

“Give me Las Vegas, the Sagebrush. I want to talk to Mr. P. Carter… Yeah, person to person. And call me back.” He gave his number and hung up. Next he called Murph, who was repairing the carburetor on one of Gluck’s cars. Murph got the call in the basement garage.

“Murph? Jack. Listen. Put out the word I want a guy that’s on the lam. He’s from out of town. His name’s Joseph Snell, might be using his own. Now, this guy’s an outsider, and-Kator, what’s Snell look like?”

Kator had been watching without a word. He gave an involuntary start. “Short, thin black hair. His hands tremble, a condition he has. Eyes blue and somewhat protruding. He-“

“That’s good enough. Murph? Listen,” and Jesso repeated the description. “Call the usual places and let me know when you hear something, Murph… To hell with his carburetor. Let him get a mechanic

… No, right now, and get to it.”

Jesso hung up. He stared right through Kator, and there was a concentrated frown on his face.

“Do you propose to conduct your search from my telephone, Jesso?”

“Why, you short of money?”

“I’m trying to appraise your methods.”

Jesso put his hands in his pockets. “Look, Kator, why’d you come to Gluck for this job if you don’t think we can do it?”

“I didn’t. It was Mr. Gluck that suggested the arrangement.”