Dinah Brand
At the First National Bank I got hold of an assistant cashier named Albury, a nice-looking blond youngster of twenty-five or so.
“I certified the check for Willsson,” he said after I had explained what I was up to. “It was drawn to the order of Dinah Brand—$5,000.”
“Know who she is?”
“Oh, yes! I know her.”
“Mind telling me what you know about her?”
“Not at all. I’d be glad to, but I’m already eight minutes overdue at a meeting with—”
“Can you have dinner with me this evening and give it to me then?”
“That’ll be fine,” he said.
“Seven o’clock at the Great Western?”
“Righto.”
“I’ll run along and let you get to your meeting, but tell me, has she an account here?”
“Yes, and she deposited the check this morning. The police have it.”
“Yeah? And where does she live?”
“1232 Hurricane Street.”