Mrs. Casey made us popovers and a cheese omelette for breakfast. Harley phoned after breakfast to tell me he was staying at the Travis Hotel. He had visited a couple of area bars the day before but had learned only that he should have worn shabbier clothes. I told him I had gone the route of them all before my trip to Los Angeles and learned nothing except that Big Bear had left town. I would come there in half an hour to have a strategy conference. I took Jan to work on the way and parked in a lower Main Street municipal parking lot. I walked to the hotel from there. The desk clerk told me that one of my two informants had managed to avoid the drunk tank this weekend and was in his room. I had never learned his last name; the other residents called him Sarge. The rumor on him was that booze had cost him both his family and a profitable accounting practice. He was a man of about forty who could pass for sixty-five, thin and bony, with bloodshot blue eyes and sparse gray hair. When he opened his door he looked first at Harley and then at me.