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I thought of my search of Wanda’s room. I’d done everything but take off the wallpaper. The film hadn’t been there.
“What do you want to do about it?” I asked.
“You made a deal with Riegleman,” he said, “so you got to drop whatever you’re doing about this murder.”
The loss of that can of film certainly had jeopardized the picture. I’d have to stick to my word. What, then, of those two guns on the sand dune? What of my fingerprints on the gun found in Carla’s wagon? What of my lie about having carried ,45’s?
We couldn’t shoot the scene over with me carrying .45’s, for in the earlier sequence I had been shown clearly with pearl-handled guns. It wouldn’t matter to James what I carried in the retake, but it would to the script girl. Peggy Whittier never missed a trick. She would point out the oversight and everybody would remember that the gun found in Carla’s wagon had a pearl handle.
“All right,” I said. “I made my agreement. I’ll stick to it.”
A knock on the door caused me to reflect that somebody was being amazingly polite. I opened it to a messenger.
The telegram read:
“CAN YOU VERIFY WANDA WAITE ARRESTED IMMORAL CONDUCT IN MALE ACTOR’S ROOM? TELEPHONE REVERSE CHARGES.”
It was signed “Smith.” If the situation had been otherwise, I would have grinned. “Smith” was the city editor of a Los Angeles newspaper and his name wasn’t Smith. He happened to be a friend of mine.
I put the telegram into my pocket. “Can we visit Wanda in jail?” I asked.
“She ain’t in jail,” Wallingford said. “I told that sheriff I would see personally to his losing the next election, so he turned her out and offered me a drink.”
“Let’s go see Wanda, then.”
WANDA’S face was scrubbed and shiny. “Hello,” she said, like a little girl. “You should ought to be ashamed,” Wally said sorrowfully, “going to George’s trailer in a nightgown.”
“But a girl would certainly be safe with George,” she said plaintively.
Aside from the veiled insult, she had switched her act completely around. Now she was that fresh young thing known to millions, not the flaming temptress.
I handed her the telegram.
“Who would report such a thing?” she pleaded. “But after all, it’s true. All except the immoral conduct!” She spread her hands.
Wally snatched the telegram.
“Who sent in the story?”
“Believe me,” I said, “I didn’t.”
“Well, I’ll stop it!”
“Can you?” Wanda said, in a little-girl voice.
“Only,” Wally said, “who sent it in?” She spread her hands helplessly. “Somebody doesn’t like me, I guess.”
Wanda was overacting again. And a speculative gleam entered her eyes when Wallingford said he could stop the story.
We left for a public phone in the lobby. While Wallingford called, I loafed outside the booth. Paul and Carla went along the walk outside. I hadn’t known they knew each other.
Sammy came in from the elevator.
“I told you I’d catch hell,” he said. “Riegleman is steaming.”
“I’m devilish sorry,” I said, “but there isn’t anything I can do about it. I may be able to find the film.”
“You were going to trap a murderer last night, too.”
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