I studied her, decided to take a chance.
'Look, don't let's have any misunderstanding. We don't want to kill this guy: we just want to make him talk.'
She gave me a look that sent a prickle up my spine.
'Get him here, and I'll make him talk.'
I stood up.
'Well, come on. Let's go.'
She pulled open a drawer and took out a .25, checked the clip and pushed the gun into her hip pocket. She finished her whisky, glanced at herself in the mirror.
'Jeepers! I look a fright. I'm glad Nick isn't here to see me.'
'He'd be glad to see you however you look,' I reminded her and went to the door.
She turned out the light, and together we walked down the garden path to the Buick.
'Suppose we collect Barratt and make him talk,' she said as she settled herself in the car beside me. Wouldn't that save a little time?'
'I'm not too sold on the idea of forcing a guy to talk,' I said driving towards the water-front. 'It might work with Betillo but not with Barratt. He's too important. He could give us the works, then swear we forced him to confess under torture when he got in the box. That kind of evidence doesn't stand up.'
'If you don't save Nick, I'm going to get Barratt,' she said in a hard, tight voice. 'That's something I've promised myself.'
I parked the car in the shadows, a few yards from Delmonico's Bar.
'Let's concentrate on saving Nick,' I said. 'There'll be plenty of time to take care of Barratt if we can't do it the legal way. Have you ever been in this joint?'
'Of course I have. Nick used to come here practically every night.'
'I want to look at the room in which Nick and Betillo played cards. Can you swing that?'
'I can if no one's using it'
'Let's go in and find out.'
We walked up the five wooden steps that led into the bar. Inside was brightly lit and full of people. A juke-box was churning out the Harry Lime Theme. Big, tough-looking men propped up the bar. At the tables scattered around the room girls in halters and shorts were trying to convince their male companions that there was more fun upstairs than sitting in smoke-laden room, drinking rot-gut whisky. They didn't seem to be getting anywhere.
It was the kind of scene you can see in any Warner Bros movie. All you needed was a tracking shot up to Humphrey Bogart and you'd feel at home.
Myra seemed to know her way around. She walked across sawdust-covered floor up to the bar and crooked a finger at one of the barmen.
I stood behind her, waiting for trouble.
Four or five men, as wide as they were tall, who were up at the bar, stopped talking and looked at her.
They looked over their shoulders at me, sneered, turned their attention to Myra again.
'Hello, girlie,' one of them said softly.
This, of course, I thought, is where trouble starts. I was a fool to have brought her here. Instead of getting evidence, I was going to get into a fight with a bunch of toughs as big as Carnera.
Myra turned slowly, looked the four men over, said four words with unbelievable viciousness that froze them in their tracks, turned back to the bar again.
Silently, as if they had peeped into a room in which something was going on that shocked even their unshockable minds, they drifted away from the bar and sat at one of the tables.
Myra whispered to the barman, who looked at her narrowly, nodded his head and jerked his thumb to the stairs.
'Come on,' she said to me. 'We can go up.'
We pushed our way through the crowd to the stairs.
'You have quite a way with you when you're aroused,' I said as we mounted the stairs.
I can take care of myself. The bigger they are the softer the centre. I haven't kicked around with men all my life for nothing.' There was a cold, brooding look on her face. The barman says Betillo's got a poker game up here in half an hour.'
'Will he tip him?'
She shook her head.
'He's a friend of mine. What do we do? Wait until he shows and grab him?'
'Let's look the territory over first.'
We reached the head of the stairs. Before us stretched a long passage, lined on either side by doors.
'Room 15,' Myra said, walked along the passage, paused outside a door, turned the handle and pushed the door open. She groped for the light switch, turned it on and we went in together.
The room was big. Under green-shaded lights was a round table, equipped with decks of playing cards and two wooden racks containing poker chips. There were about ten chairs grouped round the table; a couple of brass spittoons completed the furnishing.
'Okay,' I said. 'Now where's the back exit which Nick used?'
She turned out the light and we went to the far end of the passage. A door opened on to a veranda, overlooking an alley. A steep flight of wooden steps linked the veranda with the alley.
'Right. We'll wait for him inside. If he shows fight, I'll rap him on the dome, but if we can, we'll try to persuade him to walk. He's no light weight.'
We moved back into the passage again.
'Any of these other rooms empty, do you know?'
'Look and see,' she said, opened the first door she came to and groped for the light switch. There was an angry yell, and a flood of violent language, and she turned off the light hurriedly.
'That one isn't,' she said, moved to the next door.
'Wait a minute,' I said, grabbing her arm. 'We'll have a riot up here if you keep doing that. Let's try the door opposite 15.
We went farther down the passage and paused outside the door opposite 15. I rapped gently. There was a sound of movement and the door opened.
A tall, tired-looking blonde in a none-too-lean wrap peered at me. Her painted face brightened a little, the smudged lips forced a smile.
'Hello, honey, looking for me?'
Then she saw Myra and her face turned to stone.
'What do you want?'
Her face was familiar. My mind groped back into the pa remembered a night when I'd been in trouble, had come through the skylight into this passage and the blonde had saved me.
'Remember me? We had a little fun about two years back,' I said, moving so the light from her room fell on my face. I went out of the window with half the cops in Coral Gables after me.'
She stared, frowned, then her face brightened again.
'Jeepers! I'd forgotten you. I remember. You spoilt one of my best sheets, sliding out of that window. What are you doing here ? More trouble ?'
'Could we come in and talk?'
She looked at Myra.
'She too?'
'Yeah; this is business.'
She must have remembered I hadn't been tight-fisted last time we met, and she stood aside.
'Well, come on in. It's not much of a place for visitors,' she meant Myra.
We went into the room which was small and stuffy and skimpily furnished. A bed, a chest of drawers, a toilet basin and a threadbare rug were the only luxuries it could boast of.
'I never got your name last time,' I said, propping myself up against the wall.
'Lola,' the blonde said and sat on the bed. She wasn't at ease with Myra in the room.
Myra rested her hips against the toilet-basin. She looked around the room with unconcealed curiosity. Lola watched her, waiting for some remark that didn't come.
'I'm after Betillo again,' I said quietly. 'Remember? The last time we met I'd been to see him with a club in my hand.'
'What's he done to you this time?' Lola asked, looking interested. 'I still hate that heel.'
'Nothing to me personally, but to her boy friend.' I said, waving a hand towards Myra. 'Nick Perelli.'
Lola's eyes opened.
'The guy who snatched Dedrick?' she asked. 'Gee! I've been reading about that business.' She looked enviously at Myra. 'Did your honey get away with five hundred grand?'
'Wait a minute,' I said hastily as Myra's pale little face hardened. 'You're on the wrong numb
er. Perelli didn't pull the Dedrick snatch. He was framed for it. He was playing cards with Betillo at the time of the kidnapping, but Betillo has sold him to the cops. That's why I want Betillo.'
'That rat would sell his first-born to the cops,' Lola said in disgust.
I had a sudden idea.
'You didn't see Perelli leave, did you?'
'Leave where? What do you mean?'
'He was playing cards with Betillo in Room 15. He said he left Betillo at ten-thirty. Betillo said it was nine-thirty. The kidnapping took place just before ten.'
Lola closed her eyes in the effort to think.
'I don't remember seeing him,' she said at last. 'But then I see so many men during the evening, honey,'
'He wore a white linen suit,' Myra said. 'A navy blue shirt and a white, hand-painted tie.'
Lola gaped.
'Was that the guy? Why, sure I know him. He told me his name was—' She broke off suddenly and, probably for the first time in twenty years, she blushed.
There was a heavy, electric silence.
Myra said, 'Go ahead: don't mind me. Was he with you ON that night?'
Lola jumped to her feet; her face still red, but her eyes angry and hard.
'Get out, you two! I'm talking too much. Go on, beat it. I've said all I'm going to say.'
'Don't get excited,' I said soothingly. 'This is important Lola. Perelli's in a jam. If you can help him, you've got to do it. If you know he left here at ten-thirty, you can save his life. Was he with you on that night?'
Lola gave Myra a quick, calculating look.
'I'm not talking,' she said curtly. 'Get out; both of you!'
'All right, Myra,' I said, and went to the door, opened it and jerked my thumb. Wait for me in the car. I have a little business deal to settle with Lola. I'll join you in a couple of minutes.'
'How about Betillo?' Myra said. 'He'll be up here any minute now.'
'Never mind Betillo. Wait for me in the car.'
She went out, her back very straight, her face white. I closed the door.
'That was a bit of bad luck,' I said, took out a pack of cigarettes and offered it to her.
She looked at me, grimaced, and took the cigarette.
'Think twice the next time you make up your so-called mind to bring a woman into a hole like this,' she said savagely. 'What kind of spot do you think you've put me in?'
'Yeah; I'm sorry, but I wasn't to know. As it turns out, it may be a lucky break. Don't be coy with me, Lola; was Perelli with you?'
'Of course he was. He played cards with Betillo and then came over to me. I was always seeing him. He's one of my regulars.'
'Remember what time he left you?'
'It would be about half past ten. I don't remember to the minute.'
'That's swell,' I said sarcastically. 'So Betillo was telling the truth and Perelli was lying.'
She didn't say anything.
I guess he didn't want Myra to know what he was up to,' I said, and shook my head. 'He must have gambled on Betillo backing up his story. You may have to be a witness, Lola. He's got to have an alibi.'
'I don't care.' she said, shrugging, 'but she will. I know her type. She thinks once a man falls in love with her he's hers for keeps. It doesn't work out that way.'
I took out a hundred-dollar bill.
I owe you this for spoiling that sheet of yours. Keep your mouth shut about Perelli, Lola. I'll tell you if we want you at the trial.'
She took the bill, folded it and pushed it down the top of her stocking.
'What pigs men are.' she said, and threw the half-smoked cigarette contemptuously into the fireplace.
III
I opened the Buick door, slid under the wheel and trod on the starter.
Myra was smoking, a brooding look on her face.
'So we don't touch Betillo?' she said in a low, flat voice.
'As it happened,' I said, not looking at her, 'he was telling the truth. Nick parted company with him at nine-thirty.'
'And spent an hour with that awful, washed-out blonde,' Myra said. 'Lovely for him. I hope he enjoyed himself.'
I drove with exaggerated care up Monte Verde Avenue.
'He's risking his neck to keep it quiet,' I said. 'There's that in his favour.'
'Oh, shut up!' Myra said, her voice unsteady. 'You don't have to make a case out for him. There wasn't a damn thing I wouldn't have done for him: not a thing. When he was in jail, I waited for him. When he came out, I was right on the doorstep. When he was short of money, and he was always short of money, I kept him going. I've been walking the floor all last night, worrying about him. And he has to cheat with a hustler like that in a sordid little room, and pay for it.'
'You're breaking my heart,' I said. 'Okay, so he cheated on you. So what? You don't have to stand by him now. You're free. There're hundreds of men who'll give you a good time. What are you worrying about?'
She swung round in her seat, catching her breath, her face tight with rage.
I grinned at her.
'Get off your high horse, honey. It doesn't suit your complexion.'
She started at me, bit her lip and managed a wry smile. 'I guess you're right. They're all alike. I wish I didn't love that heel. If he ever gets out of this mess, I'll have something to say to him. He'll be allergic to blondes for the rest of his life by the time I've finished with him!'
I pulled up outside her bungalow.
'Go to bed and get some sleep. I have to do a little more thinking.'
'What's the matter with going to the police and getting them to talk to that blonde? Won't her evidence get Nick out?'
I shook my head.
'Not a hope. They wouldn't believe her, for one thing. A woman like that hasn't any standing in a court of law. There's no other witnesses. Nick realized that.'
'So tonight's been so much waste of time?'
'That's right. I've got to cook up another angle. 'I'll keep in touch.'
I leaned across her and opened the door.
'Don't worry. You may not think it, but we're making progress. We'll have made some more by tomorrow. So long for now.'
She put her hand on my arm.
'Thanks for what you've done so far. Keep trying. I want that heel back.'
I watched her walk up the path to the dark little bungalow, then engaged gear and drove away.
IV
As I drove along the wide track that led through the sand dune to my cabin, the headlights of the Buick picked out a big battle-ship of a car parked outside my front gate.
I slowed down, threw out the clutch, shifted into neutral and cruised to a standstill.
I got out of the Buick and walked over to the car. The tight from the dashboard reflected on Serena Dedrick's pale, set face. She turned her head and we looked at each other through the open window.
'I hope you haven't been waiting long,' I said, startled to find her here outside my cabin.
'It doesn't matter. I want to talk to you.'
'Come in.'
I opened the car door.
She got out, holding a crimson silk wrap closely to her. She made a lovely, impressive figure of beauty in the moonlight. Silently, we walked together up the path that led to the veranda.
'I opened the front door, switched on the light and stood inside, wondering what she wanted.
'She went into the lounge. I followed, closed the door, and turned on the standard lamp by the settee.
'Would you like a drink or coffee?'
'Nothing,' she said curtly, and sat down on the settee. The wrap fell open. She had certainly dressed for the occasion. The white satin dress, the skirt heavy with gold brocade, was fit for a State ball. Diamonds glittered at her throat. A diamond bracelet, four inches wide, imprisoned her left wrist. She seemed determined I shouldn't forget she was the fourth richest woman in the world.
I poured out a stiff whisky, carried the glass to my favourite armchair and sank into it. I felt tired and a little depressed. All the way from Myr
a's bungalow I had been racking my brains to find a way of cracking this case, but it was like hammering my head against a brick wall.
Then, being suspicious by nature, an idea floated into my head. I considered it, decided it was a sound one, got to my feet again, crossed the room and thumbed down an electric switch on the wall. Then I came back to the chair again and sat down.
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