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“March fourth, nineteen-thirty.”

“Fifty-three,” Elshawe said, musingly. “Older than he looks. O.K.; go on.”

“He retired in ’77 and came to L.A. to live. He–“

“Retired at the age of forty-seven?” Elshawe asked incredulously.

“That’s right. Not on a teacher’s pension, though. He’s got some kind of annuity from a New York life insurance company. Pays pretty good, too. He gets a check for two thousand dollars on the third of every month. I checked with his bank on that. Nice, huh?”

“Very nice. Go on.”

“He lives comfortably. No police record. Quiet type. One servant, a Chinese, lives with him. Sort of combination of valet and secretary.

“As far as we can tell, he has made four trips in the past three years. One in June of ’79, one in June of ’80, one in June of ’81, and this year he made the fourth one. In ’79, he went to Silver City, New Mexico. In ’80 and ’81, he went to Hawaii. This year, he went to Silver City again. Mean anything to you?”

“Not yet,” Elshawe said. “Are you paying for this call, or is the City of Los Angeles footing the bill?”

“Neither. You are.”

“Then shut up and let me think for a minute.” After less than a minute, he said: “Martin, I want some more data on that guy. I’m willing to pay for it. Should I hire a private detective?”

“That’s up to you. I can’t take any money for it, naturally–but I’m willing to nose around a little more for you if I can. On the other hand, I can’t put full time in on it. There’s a reliable detective agency here in L.A.– Drake’s the guy’s name. Want me to get in touch with him?”

“I’d appreciate it. Don’t tell him who wants the information or that it has any connection with Porter. Get–“

“Hold it, Terry … just a second. You know that if I uncover any indication of a crime, all bets are off. The information goes to my superiors, not to you.”

“I know. But I don’t think there’s any crime involved. You work it from your end and send me the bills. O.K.?”

“Fair enough. What more do you want?”

Elshawe told him.

When the phone call had been completed, Elshawe sat back and made clouds of pipe smoke, which he stared at contemplatively. Then he made two calls to New York–one to his boss and another to a private detective agency he knew he could trust.

* * * * *

The Malcom Porter case quickly became a cause celebre. Somebody goofed. Handled properly, the whole affair might have been hushed up; the Government would have gotten what it wanted, Porter would have gotten what he wanted, and everyone would have saved face. But some bureaucrat couldn’t see beyond the outer surface of his spectacle lenses, and some other bureaucrat failed to stop the thing in time.

“Gall, gall, and bitter, bitter wormwood,” said Oler Winstein, perching himself on the edge of Terry Elshawe’s desk.

“You don’t Gallic, bitter, wormy, or wooden. What’s up?”

“Got a call from Senator Tallifero. He wants to know if you’ll consent to appear before the Joint Congressional Committee for Investigating Military Affairs. I get the feeling that if you say ‘no,’ they’ll send a formal invitation–something on the order of a subpoena.”

Elshawe sighed. “Oh, well. It’s news, anyway. When do they want me to be in Washington?”

“Tomorrow. Meanwhile, Porter, of course, is under arrest and in close confinement. Confusion six ways from Sunday.” He shook his head. “I don’t understand why they just didn’t pat him on the back, say they’d been working on this thing all along, and cover it up fast.”

“Too many people involved,” Elshawe said, putting his cold pipe in the huge ashtray on his desk. “The Civil Aeronautics crowd must have had a spotter up in those mountains; they had a warrant out for his arrest within an hour after we took off. They also notified the parole board, who put out an all-points bulletin immediately. The Army and the Air Force were furious because he’d evaded their radar net. Porter stepped on so many toes so hard that it was inevitable that one or more would yell before they realized it would be better to keep their mouths shut.”