““Eldred Karswell,” Fanshawe repeated. That’s some name. “So he’s the man who booked my room before I arrived?” “Yeah. That was definitely the same suit he was wearing last time I saw him. Don’t see many brown suits nowadays, do you?” “No, I guess not.” “Don’t know anything about the guy ’cept that he had money and seemed like a nice fella. A bit stiff, but…nice.” “How old do you think he was?” “Sixty, sixty-five, he looked. Always dressed good too, kind of like you.” Fanshawe didn’t like the po...rtent of being compared to a dead man. “Retired?” Baxter looked up. “Didn’t say, but he struck me as a history buff. Asked to look at some old books at the inn.” Well, Fanshawe thought. The history buff is now history himself. But Baxter seemed agitated, as though he’d done something wrong. “Damn, I guess I should’ve notified the cops when Karswell never came back to the hotel that night, but, hell…” “You couldn’t have known. He was a guest, that’s all.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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