Free The Long Ride by James McKimmey Page A

Brander strode into the bathroom.
    “Now,” Mr. Brander called in his hurt voice, “what is it here that’s gone wrong?”
    “Mr. Brander,” John said, “come back, will you?”
    Mr. Brander came back into the room, staring at John haughtily. “This is most peculiar, Mr. Benson. I—”
    “Just a moment, Mr. Brander.” John stepped to the suitcase rack and opened one of his bags. Carefully he pulled the lining open at one side. He removed a card and handed it to Mr. Brander. Mr. Brander examined it, then looked up blinking. “FBI.”
    “That’s right,” John said, and replaced the card, shutting the bag.
    “Well,” Mr. Brander said nervously. “We wouldn’t want the plumbing defective for anyone, Mr. Benson. Especially for the FBI. If you’ll just tell me—”
    “The plumbing’s fine, Mr. Brander.”
    “It is?” Mr. Brander said, blinking. “Well, but—”
    “I wanted to talk to you, Mr. Brander. Sit down, won’t you?”
    “Oh,” Mr. Brander said. He stood there for a moment, nodding, then suddenly sat down. “Oh, I see.” He nodded again. “I see it all now! My goodness! What’s gone wrong, Mr. Benson?”
    “How long have you been managing this hotel, Mr. Brander?”
    “Twenty-two years, Mr. Benson. That is an absolute accurate statement. It was twenty-two years day before yesterday.”
    “This looks like quite a new hotel.”
    “We moved in here five years ago. Before that we were two blocks down. But it was always the Hotel Plateau. And I’ve managed it without serious trouble for twenty-two years. I just hope nothing’s gone wrong now to destroy the reputation I’ve worked so hard to build up. This hotel is owned by Mr. Emil Crabbe, one of Wyoming’s principal cattle men. I’ve always been able to look Mr. Crabbe straight in the eye because I’ve run the hotel as conscientiously as I know how. I’m married, Mr. Benson, to a wonderful girl I met in nineteen thirty-five right here in Cheyenne, and she’s given me two fine boys, one of whom is now a doctor in Phoenix, Arizona, the other of whom is a lawyer in Pasadena, California. I am the grandfather of seven boys and girls. I take pride in my life, Mr. Benson. I just hope nothing has gone seriously wrong.”
    John examined him closely, then smiled. “I’m sure it hasn’t as far as you’re concerned, Mr. Brander. All I want is your co-operation.”
    “By golly, you’ll get that, Mr. Benson.”
    “Good. Now, who runs your PBX board?”
    “Alice Begley. Same fine woman who’s run it for the past fifteen years.”
    “You recommend her character, Mr. Brander?”
    “I’d put my life on it.”
    “And your desk clerks?”
    “Joe Curry, Albert Thompson. I’ve known them both as long as I’ve lived in Cheyenne, which is all of my life.”
    “The rest of your employees?”
    “There isn’t anyone in this hotel who has less than ten years of service, Mr. Benson. Except Albert Thompson’s son. He’s sixteen and only works for us summers.”
    “All right. Fine.”
    “What is it, Mr. Benson? What is it all about?”
    “Just a routine check, Mr. Brander. That’s all I can tell you. This is, of course, a private conversation.”
    “Yes, sir. I understand that. How about my wife? Can I tell my wife?”
    “If you make sure it’s just going that far.”
    “I promise.”
    “All right. Now all I’d like, Mr. Brander, is that you tell me anything that goes on that might seem unusual concerning any of the people I’m riding with. Again—this has got to be kept just between you and me. You came up here to check the plumbing, nothing more. If you discover anything—and you are positive you can trust your PBX operator or whoever’s on the switchboard—then call me when I’m in my room. Your Miss Begley doesn’t work around the clock, does she?”
    “No, sir. Daytimes is all. Albert takes over both the desk and the board after eight o’clock. But you can trust everybody in this hotel, including Albert—I guarantee