'Not if what they are suggesting in the late papers is true.'

'What do you mean?' asked Abel.

'I'd rather you read it for yourself, boss,' the assistant manager replied.

Abel walked over to the news - stand and paid the boy two cents for the latest edition of the Chicago Tribune. The banner headline told it all, RICHMOND HOTEL BLAZE - ARSON SUSPECTED Abel shook his head incredulously and re - read the headline.

:Can anything else happen?'he mutte~ed.

Got yourself a problem?' the newsboy asked.

'A little one,' said Abel and returned to his assistant manager.

'Who?s in charge of the police enquiry?'

'That officer over there leaning on the police car,' said the assistant manager, pointing to a tall, spare man who was going prematurely bald. 'His name is Lieutenant O'Malley!

'It would be,' said Abel. 'Now you get the staff into the annex, and I'll see them all there at ten o'clock tomorrow morning. If anybody wants me before then, I'll be staying at the Stevens until I get this thing sorted out.'

'Will do, boss!

Abel walked over to Lieutenant O'Malley and introduced himself.

The tall, thin policeman stooped slightly to shake hands with Abel.

'Ah, the long lost ex - manager has 'returned to his charred remains!

'I don't find that funny, officer,' said Abel.

'I'm sorry,' he said. 'It isn't funny. It's been a long night. Let's go and have a drink.'

The policeman took Abel by the elbow and guided him across Michigan Avenue to a caf on the corner. Lieutenant O'Malley ordered two milk shakes.

Abel laughed when the white, frothy mixture was put in front of him.

Since he had never had a youth, it was his first milk shake.

'I know. It's funny, everybody in this city breaks the law drinking bourbon and beer,' said the detective, 'so someone has to play the game straight. In any case, Prohibition isn't going to last for ever, and then my troubles will begin, because the gangsters are going to discover I really do like milk shakes.'

Abel laughed for a second time.

'Now to your problems, Mr. Rosnovski. First I have to tell you, I don't think you have a snowball's chance in hell of picking up the insurance on that hotel. The fire experts have been going over the remains of the building with a fine tooth - comb and they found the place was soaked in kerosene. No attempt to even disguise it. There were traces of the stuff all over the basement. One match and the building must have gone up like a Roman candle!

'Do you have any idea who is responsible?' asked Abel.

'Let me ask the questions. Do you have any idea who might bear a grudge against the hotel or you personally?'

Abel grunted. 'About fifty people, Lieutenant, I cleared out a real can of worms when I first arrived here. I can give you a list, if you think it might help.'

'I think it might, but the way people are talking out there, I may not need it,' said the lieutenant. 'But if you pick up any definite information, let me know, Mr. Rosnovski. You let me know, because I warn you, you have enemies out there! He pointed into the milling street.

'What do you me - an?' asked Abel.

'Someone is saying you did it, because you lost everything in the crash and needed the insurance money.'

Abel leaped off his stool.

'Calm down, calm down. I know you were in Boston all day and, more important, you have a reputation in Chicago for building hotels up, not burning them down. But someone did burn the Richmond down, and you can bet your ass I'm going to find out who. So let's leave it at that for the moment.' He swivelled off his own stool. 'The milk shake's on me, Mr.

Rosnovski. I'll expect a favour from you sometime in the future.'

He smiled at the girl at the cash desk, admiring her ankles and cursing the new fashion for long skirts. He handed her fifty cents. 'Keep the change, honey.'

'A big thank you,' the girl replied.

'Nobody appreciates me,' said the lieutenant.

Abel laughed for a third time, which he would not have thought possible an hour before.

'By the way,' the lieutenant continued as they reached the door, 'the insurance people are looking for you. I can't remember the name of the guy, but I guess he'll find you. Don't hit him. If he feels you were involved, who can blame him? Keep in touch, Mr. Rosnovski. I'll be wanting to talk to you again.'

Abel watched the lieutenant vanish into the crowd of spectators and then walked slowly over to the Stevens Hotel and booked himself in for the night. The desk clerk, who had already checked most of the Richmond's guests in, couldn't suppress a smile at the idea of booking the manager in, too. Once in his room, Abel sat down and wrote a formal letter to Mr.