Well, the landlord wasn't as sarcastic as I had feared. He defrosted slightly when he saw the fifty. Now we owed him only two hundred. I knew he was probably going to put us out on September the first, but I soothed my hurt feelings by imagining him walking around in his shorts. There is nothing else that will so undignify a man. But before long--in fact, as soon as I could get to the Brain-Finder while Slim wasn't watching--I'd get the facts. * * * * * We watched Mrs. Ellingbery for four straight nights and days. She went visiting; she played bridge; she shopped. She never did give more than a second glance at any man, and she didn't talk to any man over the phone. We could see her only when she looked at herself in the mirror. That was enough. We followed her like two blood-hounds, from the time she ate breakfast until she went to bed at night, but Slim turned the machine off when she sat down to remove her stockings. Slim always was a gentleman. We went back in "time"--fast. Flashes here and there. But Mrs. Ellingbery was like Caesar's wife. On the fifth day Slim called Tom Ellingbery and told him he was dropping the case, that his wife was above suspicion and it wasn't worth while to watch her. I was glad, but Tom Ellingbery swore; anyway, he said he'd send a check for another hundred. Then Slim sat back and looked at me. "Now," he said quietly, "we'll turn this thing where it belongs." I'd been hoping he'd go out for a sandwich, now that we dared to use the passenger elevators, so that I could sneak a preview of the landlord biting his fingernails in seclusion, but no. Slim fixed his deep eyes on me and said, "We'll see what Tom has been doing recently. Do you realize he hasn't been in the picture but once in five days?" Tom was it, all right. We trailed him that night to a big apartment house across town. Yes, it was a blonde, only this one had had considerable help from a bottle of peroxide.... Slim made a deal with Mrs. Ellingbery's lawyers. We were to get five triple-o's if Mrs. Ellingbery won. So Slim spent the week-end trailing Tom for the past three months while I wrote it all down like a chronological history of the war. I was tickled over July the Fourth. On July the Fourth, Tom and the bleached blonde started out with a popcorn picnic and wound up--you guess. Riding the roller coaster! I could just imagine what old Judge Monday would say to that; that little scene would be worth half of the property settlement. We were short on time. Some way or another Tom Ellingbery had rushed the trial, and it was set for August 30. We turned over our notes to Mrs. Ellingbery's lawyers and sat back and waited. Private investigators never go near the courts unless they have to.