The cab took them swiftly back to their motel. The cabbie tried to strike up a conversation but didn't get very far, as Sheila and Mortimer, breathless and nervous, were hardly in a talkative mood.

After the cabbie pulled up in front of the motel and Mortimer paid him, he drove off muttering, "Coupla weirdos."

Back in their room, Mortimer said, "You don't suppose we were followed, do you?"

"I doubt it," Sheila replied. "Although if they have connections they might be able to trace the cab. We probably shouldn't have come straight back. But it really isn't very likely."

"Well, now what?" Mortimer asked. "It's pretty clear that Bob Pace had some kind of involvement with that gambling den that they don't want known. Do you suppose ... "

"Suppose what? That Pace's killing was connected somehow? That's pretty likely. But it's not something we can exactly prove."

"Don't you think we should tell the police?"

Sheila frowned. "No. Well, ordinarily, yes. But they sure didn't want us involved, and instead of believing us they're more likely to give us a hard time for interfering with their investigation. And if those gunshots were heard and reported, they won't be happy with us at all and might even blame us."

"Then we need something, don't we. For proof."

"Sure, but what? And how do we get it?"

"We need their betting records. We need to go through them and see what sort of betting Bob Pace was doing. See if he was in deep or anything."

"Sure, but ... "

"We need to go back there when they're closed and, I don't know, break in or something."

"A gambling den? When does it ever close?"

"In the morning. Look, I happened to see the sign at the Sweet Corn Cafe. They don't open until 11, and I'll bet the den doesn't open until even later. Probably play stops around daylight. So we go at say, 7 AM, and we have a good two hours to get in and out."

"Break into the place in broad daylight? Besides there will be alarms, not to mention those thick doors with electronic locks."

Mortimer smiled. "Not a problem for me. As you well know."

It was Sheila's turn to smile. "Sure, you took those locksmithing classes. And you're a genius with electronics. But come on, you know it's not safe."

Mortimer gave her a wry look. "You know you want to."

Sheila, who had been standing, sat down on the edge of the bed and grinned. "Of course I do."

Mortimer and Sheila slept fitfully, knowing they would have to be up early, and at least slightly worried that the goons from the gambling den might find them. But there weren't any difficulties and they were up just before sunrise. They didn't have much in the way of tools for breaking into anything by brute force, so they would have to rely on Mortimer's lockpicking skills.

They decided on a cab rather than a ride share--- that way there would be no credit card records. They had the cab pick them up a couple of blocks from their motel and drop them off a few blocks from the Sweet Corn Cafe. They arrived at just after 7 AM as planned.

"What's the next move?" Sheila asked when they were finally across the street from the Cafe. "You going to pick the lock on the front door and then on that big oak door?"

"Nope," Mortimer said. "A frontal assault won't do the job. That electronic lock on the door to the basewent is likely too tough to defeat. And it's probably been set into alarm mode. But there's always a back door."

"A back door? Mortimer, why would there be a back door?"

"Aw, come on honey, we watch movies together, there's always a back door for the crooks to go in by or make their escape out of when the G-men are after them."

"The G-men. Like in those cheesy FBI movies that I keep telling you have nothing to do with how the FBI really works."

"Yeah, yeah, those. But look, there has to be an escape hatch. A place where they can go in without being noticed and get out in case of trouble.'

"I suppose ... "

"So let's just mosey on down the nearest alley. Those doors are always in the alley, right?"

"Mort, I don't know as how this is going to go well," Sheila said, but by then Mortimer was already hopping and skipping across the street.

There was indeed a back alley running alongside the Sweet Corn Cafe, and it dead-ended at a high wall at the far end of the building. There was a slanted wooden door, something like a storm door, attached to the brick wall of the building. The door had an L-shaped handle attatched at one end. Pulling on the handle did nothing.

"I think maybe it's that escape hatch you talked about," Sheila said, 'but going out only. Not that secret mobster entrance.'

"Has to be," Mortimer replied as he carefully ran his hands over every inch of the door and handle. Then he wet a finger and poked one of the ends of the handle.

"Well I'll be," he said, "look at this."

Sheila leaned over and sure enough, Mortimer's probing finger had released a spring-held cover which popped back to reveal a tiny keyhole.

"That's great," Sheila said, "but what's with wetting your finger?"

"They do that in the detective movies, especially the old British ones,' Mortimer said.

"Okay." Sheila shrugged her shoulders as Mortimer went to work with his lock picking tools.

"A hidden lock won't be too tough and it won't be alarmed," he said confidently, but Sheila didn't look all that convinced.

It barely took Mortimer two minutes to get the lock cylinder to turn and free the door handle. Mortimer gave the handle a half turn and heard the door release. It swung open on creaky hinges.

"Shine your cell phone flash down here," Mortimer said. Sheila did so and there was an iron-runged ladder, bolted to the inner wall, leading down.

"Come on," Mortimer said, swinging his legs through the door hatch, and then slipping and yelling as he fell with a crunch.

"Mort? Are you hurt?" Sheila clambered nimbly down the ladder. Her light revealed Mortimer rubbing his elbow and saying words that he normally didn't say in anyone's company, let alone Sheila's.

"I'm okay," he said. "Guess I'm just a little clumsy, huh?"

Sheila, recalling some of their other escapades, didn't reply.

"No alarm, that's good," Mortimer said, standing up. "Now let's just find the lights ... "

"Mortimer, there could be a silent ... "

But Mortimer was already shining his own cellphone light around the room.

" ... alarm," Sheila concluded.

Sheila was the one to find the light switch and it turned out, quite luckily, that the outer door led straight into the gambling den's office at the back of the basement. There were stacks of journals everywhere, and something else.

"Look at this," Sheila said, "cans of gasoline. If they got raided they must have planned to pour the gas on everything and toss in a match on their way out the escape hatch, to destroy their records. Kind of dumb. An FBI team would always think to cover potential exits."

"Yes," Mortimer replied, "but the local cops arent quite as astute, as you may have noticed. Now, let's get started. We're looking for information on Bob Pace, and we haven't got much time."

Sheila waved her arms as if to say, "Okay, sure, whatever." But Mortimer was already too busy looking through stacks of files.

"How are we ever going to find anything?" Sheila asked. "And won't the gang realize that someone has been through their stuff?"

"Only if we leave neat piles," Mortimer said with a smile.

It took them a good hour, maybe a little longer, but they did uncover quite a few betting records having to do with Bob Pace. It looked like he was a heavy gambler, betting not only on his own matches but on those of other players, and not just in Des Moines, but around the country. They didn't find evidence that Bob was heavily in debt, however.

Finally, Sheila said, "I can understand a hit, maybe even a very public hit to make an example of someone who didn't pay their debts. But that would be risky and not how most sharks do things. It's usually progressive, like a few broken fingers or a shattered kneecap or something. And anyhow, Pace didn't seem to owe anything. It just doesn't fit."

"There has to be more," Mortimer said. "We have maybe another 15 minutes, and we'll go back out the way we came in, so that might give us a little more time. Let's keep looking." Mortimer, wisely, failed to disclose that in the midst of one of the piles he had found an issue of All Checkers Digest and had surreptitiously torn out a page and put it in his pocket.

Perhaps ten minutes had passed when Mortimer exclaimed "Will you look at this! It's the answer!"

But just at that moment the door to the office burst open and in came Dale and Slug, automatics in their hands and pointed directly at Sheila and Mortimer.

To be concluded.

---

Hopefully no armed mobsters like Dale and Slug will interrupt your enjoyment of the problem above, as it's quite a nice one. Take a "shot" at it and then shoot your mouse over to Read More to see the solution. And don't forget to tune in next month to read the conclusion of our story!

Solution

Our problem today is called OK? and is by Jim Loy via Bill Salot from May 2015. It has never before been published and comes from online play on the It's Your Turn site. The game was played on August 7, 2013 between "Julio Cesar" and "Peppaman" (real identities unknown). We give the full game below.

1.	11-15	22-17
2.	7-11	...

This is equivalent to the ballot 10-15 22-17 7-10.

2.	...	17-14
3.	10-17	21-14
4.	9-18	23-14
5.	12-16	24-19
6.	16-23	26-10
7.	6-15	28-24
8.	2-7	25-21
9.	8-12	21-17
10.	1-6	27-23
11.	11-16	24-20
12.	16-19	23-16
13.	12-19	29-25
14.	4-8	25-21
15.	15-18	30-25
16.	8-11	17-13
17.	7-10	14-7
18.	3-10	21-17
19.	18-23	25-21
20.	5-9	...

Forms diagram.

20.	...	*20-16!---A
21.	11-20	*31-27
22.	23-26	*27-23
23.	19-24	*23-18

Drawn. White regains the piece. Note that here 26-30 or 26-31 for Black both lose, for instance 26-30 17-14 10-17 21-5 6-10 5-1 30-26 1-6 26-23 6-15 23-14 15-19 24-28 19-23 and the Black men on 20 and 28 are a fatal liability.

A---Corrects Peppaman s 31-27 *10-15 Black Wins.

Bill Salot notes: "This is a brilliant escape from near certain defeat!" We hope you enjoyed this problem along with our ongoing story.