"Do you know that the shooting this afternoon was not an unsuccessful attempt on the life of the Vice-President, but a successful attempt on the life of Walter March, Junior?"

"No."

"Do you know who killed Walter March, Junior?"

"No. But I can find out. Why are you telling me all this?"

"You can't find out in time to scoop everyone else and get a job with Jack Saunders on the Boston Star." Star."

"If you know all this, why don't you use it? You haven't got a job either."

"I'm working on a book, Crystal. In Italy. On Edgar Arthur Tharp, Junior."

"Oh, yeah.? She fiddled around the room, continuing to look unwell. "You don't have to give me anything."

"Crystal, I have to get on a plane in a couple of hours. I can't afford to miss it. I can't do the follow-ups on this story. Now will you sit down?"

"Is all this true?" she asked. "What you just said? Did Lydia March kill herself?"

"Cross my heart and hope to die in a cellarful of Walter March's private detectives. Will you listen, please?"

She sat in a light chair.

At first, clearly, part of her mind was still on the terrace, kneeling over Walter March's son, trying to breathe life into him; clearly, another part of her mind was still wondering why Fletch was insisting on giving her the biggest story of the year, of her career....

"You're not listening," Fletch said. "Please. You've got to be able to phone this story in pretty soon."

Gradually, as her attention focused on what he was saying, her eyes widened, color came back to her cheeks, her back straightened.

Then she began saying, "Fletch, you can't know this."

"I'm giving you much more background than you need, just so you'll believe me."

"But there is no way you could know all this. It's not humanly possible."

"Not all my methods are human," he said.

And she would say, "Fletch, are you sure?"

And she would repeat, "Fletch, how do you know all this?"

"I have a marvelous machine."

Finally, as the pieces fitted together, she became convinced.

"h.e.l.l of a story!" she said.

Despite her initial resistance and inattention, Fletch saw there was no reason to repeat any part of the story to Crystal.

She said, "Wow!"

Fletch picked up the telephone and put the call through.

"Who's calling?" a grumpy male voice finally asked.

"I. M. Fletcher."

"Who?"

"Just tell Jack Saunders a guy named Fletcher wants to talk to him."

Immediately, Jack Saunders' voice came on the line.

"I was hoping you'd call," he said.

"How do, Jack. Remember telling me you'd give a job to anyone who scooped the Walter March story?"

"Did I say that?"

"You did."

"Fletch, I said...."

"Remember Crystal Faoni? She used to work with us in Chicago."

"I remember she's even fatter than my wife. h.e.l.l of a lot brighter, though."

"Jack, she has the story."

"What story?"

"The Walter March story. The whole thing. Tied in a neat, big bundle."

"Last time we talked, you listed her as a suspect in the Walter March murder."

"I just wanted to bring up her name. Jog your memory. Let you know she's here, at the convention."

"Crystal has the Walter March story?"

"Crystal has the job?"

There was only the slightest hesitation.

"Crystal has the job."

Fletch said, "Crystal has the Walter March story."

"Let me talk to her a minute," Jack Saunders said, "before I ask her to dictate into the recorder."

"Sure, Jack, sure."

Crystal came to the phone.

"h.e.l.lo, Jack? How's Daphne?"

Crystal listened a moment while doubtlessly Jack Saunders said something imaginative and rotten about his wife and she laughed and shook her head at Fletch.

"Say, Jack? You'd better slip me on the payroll pretty quick. My savings are about gone. This has been an expensive convention. Too much to eat around here."

Fletch put the air conditioner dial back on MEDIUM.

Crystal would be on the phone a long time, and it would be hot work.

"Sure, Jack," Crystal said. "I'm ready to dictate. Switch me over to the recorder. I'll see you in Boston Monday."

Fletch opened the door.

"Oh, boy!" Crystal, waiting for the Star Star to straighten out its electronics, cupped her hand over the telephone receiver. "Scoopin? Freddie." to straighten out its electronics, cupped her hand over the telephone receiver. "Scoopin? Freddie."

Absently, Fletch said, "What?"

"Scoopin' this story will put me right up there in the big league with Freddie Arbuthnot."

"Who?"

"Freddie Arbuthnot," Crystal said conversationally. "Don't you read her stuff? She's terrific."

"What?"

"Didn't you read her on the Pecuchet trial? In Arizona? Real award-winning stuff. She's the greatest Oh, yeah. You were in Italy."

"You mean, Freddie...."

Crystal, round-eyed, looked at him from the telephone.

Fletch said, "You mean, Freddie is...."

"What's the matter, Fletch?"

"You mean, Freddie Arbuthnot is...."

"What?"

"You mean, Freddie Arbuthnot is... Freddie Arbuthnot?"

"Who did you think she is," Crystal asked, "Paul McCartney?"

"Oh, my G.o.d." Verily, Fletch did smite his forehead. "I never looked her up!"

As he began to stagger through the door, Crystal said, "Hey, Fletch."

He looked at her dumbly.

Crystal said, "Thanks. Friend."

Thirty-seven.

"Nice of you to drop by."

Having spent a moment banging on Freddie Arbuthnot's door, Fletch scarcely noticed the door to his own room was open.

Freddie must have left for the airport.

Robert Englehardt and Don Gibbs were in Fletch's room.

Gibbs was looking into Fletch's closet.

Englehardt had opened the marvelous machine on the luggage rack and was examining it.

"I don't have much time to visit," Fletch said. "Got to pack and get to the airport."

"Pretty cla.s.sy machine," Englehardt said. "Did you use it well?"

"All depends on what you mean by 'well.'"

"Where are the tapes?"

"Oh, They're gone."

Englehardt turned to him.

"Gone?"

"Don, as long as you're in the closet, will you drag my suitcases out?"

"Gone?" Englehardt said.

"Yeah. Gonezo."

Fletch took the two suitcases from Gibbs and opened them on the bed.

"Hand me that suit from the closet, will you, Don?"