SLEEP NO MORE
"Are you Mr. Miller, David Miller?"
"Yes. Why?"
211
"Do
you know where I can find Miss Caruso, Mary Caruso?"
"She moved out last week. She used to live on the ground
floor."
"Where is she now?"
"I don't know. I think she moved to California."
"Is Miss Caruso her real name?"
"So
far as I know," I answered hesitantly.
I was staggered by the boldness of the question, and by its fabu–
lous and thrilling implications. At the same time, I was somewhat
relieved to discover that it was not I for whom he had been looking.
I must confess, too, that I was excited by the prospect of being
drawn into a hunt for a mysterious woman--<ln the side of the
hunters.
But how could I be sure of my own position? Why was I singled
out as a collaborator in
this
effort to track down Miss Caruso? It
suddenly occurred to me that this man, who looked like a fugitive
from some football team, had not given me any legitimate reason for
putting himself on the trail of Miss Caruso, nor had he established
his
right to interrogate me.
It
so happens that I never liked Miss
Caruso. She flaunted herself as a writer, and she struck me as a
literary poseur who made up for her lack of talent by cultivating an
eccentric and obnoxious personality. But the city is full of such people,
and that could hardly be a reason for
~nvestigating
her movements.
I decided, therefore, that she must have moved out without paying
some of her bills, and that the man before me was a bill collector.
Even this conclusion, however, placed me in a dilemma, for while I
did not especially admire people who skipped out on their bills,
neither could I unequivocally place myself on the side of the bill col–
lector.
Both of us had remained fixed on either side of the doorway,
like two wrestlers waiting for an opening. Unable to bear the tension,
I made the first move.
"Who are you," I snapped at him. "I cannot answer any ques–
tions unless I know who you are."
"Army Intelligence," he replied casually.
I could hardly conceal my awe and fascination. The magic
