by George Baxt
“Apple sauce,” said Mrs. Parker.
“He’s not apple sauce either,” said Hellman.
Hammett retrieved the spotlight. “I repeat, Nick Charles is not the thin man. In my book as in the first movie of the series, the thin man is the elongated shadow on the wall of the murder victim. The building janitor tells Nick he saw a thin man, meaning that shadow on the wall. There. You have it from the horse’s mouth which is as dry as hay and in desperate need of sustenance. The liquid variety.”
Hellman shouted for a waiter and then waved at Bogart who was headed for the bar. He signaled he'd join them as soon as he got himself a drink.
Mrs. Parker asked Hellman, “Any news about the wife?”
“She’s no wife, she’s a bad habit. As far as I know she’s still up north with Mama. For Bogie’s sake and sanity let’s hope she decides to stay there.”
Alan Campbell said, “She won’t let go of him. Not now. Not while his career is swinging into high gear.”
“Why beloved,” said Mrs. Parker, “is that why you won’t let go of me?”
“Just say the word,” said Campbell, “and you’re a free woman.”
“Balls.”
“That’s not the word.”
Bogart joined them and sat next to Hellman. “Well, you character assassins, been having a field day?”
“As a matter of fact,” said Hellman, “we’ve been discussing another assassin, the one who did in Josh Trent and your housekeeper. Well don’t sit there as though you’re waiting to audition for something. What have you guys been doing? What did you find out? Was useless Goldwyn of any use?”
Bogart lead them to Sam Goldwyn and from Sam Goldwyn to Angelica Harper and her castle that had Benchley fascinated and wondered if she’d be a fit subject for the two-reelers he wrote and starred in at M-G-M. Bogart said probably and then went on to Mrs. Charles Brabin, relishing the looks on their faces when he identified the lady as the old silent screen vamp Theda Bara.
Hammett said dreamily, “She used to give me an erection.”
“Did she charge much?” asked Hellman.
“This Kito,” asked Greenstreet, gratified to finally put an oar in, “was there anything suspicious about him?”
“He grinned. Very big grin. Very big teeth. Why suspicious, Sidney? You think he might be a spy?”
Mrs. Parker contributed, “Possibly a rear admiral on a secret mission.”
“He didn’t have much of a rear,” said Bogart. “And stop interrupting.” He moved onward to Karen Barrett and her sad state of affairs, sidestepping his contribution to her of a hundred dollars.
“There’s an awful lot of that going on in this town. Even Louis B. Mayer has some of them under stock contract. May McAvoy, Barbara Bedford, Aileen Pringle.” Benchley shook his head and sipped his drink.
“In her day Pringle made him millions,” said Greenstreet.
“Her day’s passed,” said Bogart, “so why don’t I get on with it?”
“There’s more?” asked Mrs. Parker, who was showing signs of fatigue.
“There’s a Turkish delight,” Bogart told her. He launched into the incident with Leo Bulgari with relish and a side order of venom, describing his girth, the earring, the fez, and the worthless cornucopia.
“It wouldn’t be worthless if it had contained the jewels,” said Hellman.
“Your Bulgari sounds like someone Eric Ambler might have created. He was very big with Turkish scoundrels,” said Greenstreet.
Hellman was on a trail all her own. “Maybe it did contain the jewels and he’s got them stashed away some place.”
“I do wish somebody wants another drink,” said Mrs. Parker, “it's too early to think about breakfast.”
“You haven’t had dinner,” said her husband.
“Oh. I hadn’t noticed.”
Hellman said to Bogart, “If you haven’t got any dinner plans, join us. We’re thinking about Musso and Frank’s.”
“Sure. But listen. Are you in a rush about dinner?”
“Hell, no,” said Hellman, “I’d rather hang in here for a few more drinks and wait for Dotty to drop something quotable.” Mrs. Parker behaved as though she hadn’t heard her. She hadn’t dropped anything suitably quotable in a long time. In time it would be discovered that bitchery was more her forte then wit.
Bogart said, “Why don’t I meet you back here in a couple of hours. I want to go over to the house to see if the Warner crew’s got it anywhere near back in shape.”
Somebody might have heard him but he doubted it. They were heavy into a discussion of Theda Bara and her Japanese servant and, wondered Mrs. Parker, do you suppose they might be having an affair right under Mr. Brabin’s nose?
In the lobby, Bogart stopped at the desk to see if he had any messages. There was one from the studio to remind him of the rehearsal the next morning and Bogart told the clerk he'd be back in a few hours. He hurried out of the lobby and into the parking lot and was soon on his way to Brentwood.
There was a lot crowding his mind as he drove into Laurel Canyon Road. There were victims and an attempted suicide and an unknown assassin and the Goddamned cornucopia and Villon and Mallory and Hazel Dickson and a silent screen vamp and her Japanese houseman and a ditsy artist and a lady very far down on her luck. He stopped for gas at his usual station near his home and soon he was driving into his street and wishing he hadn’t left the Garden of Allah.
There was a blue coupe parked in front of his house and inside the house he saw a light in the foyer. He wondered if the coupe and light connected to one of the Warner crew. He left his car and went up the walk to the front door. He put his key in the lock. It was unlocked. He entered and crossed from the foyer into the living room.
There wasn’t a sign of the crime. The Warner’s crew had done a superb job. No one ever would have suspected that a murder had taken place. All the place lacked was the little woman to welcome him home with his pipe and slippers in place. He went into the kitchen and then traveled to the den. He went upstairs. His and Mayo’s room was immaculate. Also the guest room. At the end of the hall was an unused room, presumably for a live-in servant but Hannah Darrow had used it as a work room for herself and where she kept a few things such as a smock, an extra dress, and extra shoes. It hadn’t even been examined to see if it had been ransacked. Bogart saw a light coming from under the door. That was very curious.
Bogart slowly walked down the hall to the door. When he reached it, he listened for a sound from within. He heard nothing. Abruptly, he pushed the door open. “What are you doing here?” he asked.
Lucy Darrow looked startled.
SIXTEEN
SHE WAS SITTING AT WHAT looked like a small desk, but when opened it was a sewing machine. On the desk was a shopping bag into which Lucy was folding garments. “Oh! You frightened me. I phoned you here and at the hotel to tell you I’d like to collect my mother’s things, but I couldn't find you.” She indicated the shopping bag. “Her smock, her aprons, her slippers …” her voice faded away.
“How did you get in?”
“The men from Warner Brothers were just leaving. They let me in. Actually, my mother kept a spare key in the apartment that I was going to return to you, I intended to use it.” She folded and packed as she talked.
Bogart leaned against the door with his arms folded. “You find the dress for your mother?”
“Finally. It’s in the car. I’m taking it to the funeral parlor. They’re delivering Mother tomorrow morning.”
“Why did you and Heep leave Canter's without having your lunch?”
“Oh, that. I wasn’t hungry. Sidney wanted to get back to Venice. I wanted to get back to finding mother’s dress. Is that man a really good detective?”
“Herb Villon? He’s aces. You finished here? I’ve got a dinner date.”
“Yes, this is it.”
“You could have borrowed a suitcase.”
“This shopping bag’s fine. Thanks just the same.” He held the d
oor open for her. She walked past him and he switched off the light. He followed her to the foyer downstairs. She talked as they walked. “I haven’t chosen the time for the services. Probably the day after tomorrow at noon. I need time to notify her friends.”
“Why don’t you run a notice in the Times?”
“That’s an idea. Except it’s too late to place it today. Mother didn’t have that many friends and as to relatives, there’s only my aunt and she has no family. I’m an only child. I never knew my father. He died before I was born.”
“Sorry about that.”
“Oh,” she said airily, “you don’t miss what you never knew.” In the foyer, she rummaged in her handbag for her car keys. “And oh, here’s the house key.” He pocketed it. “Is Mr. Villon close to finding the killer?”
“He needs the lucky break.”
“The lucky break? What’s that?”
“What every detective prays for. A phone call with some information that leads to the killer. Or the killer to make a slip and do something suspicious or say something suspicious. Detectives never know where it's going to come from. But sooner or later, it comes.”
“And the cornucopia?”
Bogart said, “I wish I’d never heard of the damn thing.” She said dreamily, “I wish I had a cornucopia. I wish I could find it.”
“Why not? Everybody has a right to their dreams. I’m curious, Lucy. Do you mind if I get a little nosy?”
“Not at all.”
“Are you and Sidney Heep what they call an item?”
“Mother only introduced us a short while ago. I like him, but I really don’t know him all that well. Did we look that intimate at the restaurant?”
Bogart shrugged. “There’s intimate and there’s intimate. Now I hate to hurry you on your way …”
“Of course. Your dinner date. I’ll let you know about the service.” She grasped the shopping bag and hurried out of the house. Bogart stood in the doorway watching her. Something bothered him. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but something bothered him. As he shut the door, the phone rang. He went to the living room, sat in the chair next to the phone and picked up the receiver. “Hello?” It was Mayo. “The house is in tip-top shape. How’d you guess I was here?”
“The clerk at the hotel told me. Are you staying in the house tonight?”
“If I'm in shape to get back.”
“Meaning?”
“I'm having dinner with Lily and Dash at Musso’s. I’m picking them up at the Allah.”
“Why aren’t you meeting them at Musso’s?”
He looked at the ceiling in exasperation. “Because it's easier to round them up at the Allah. When I left them, they were drinking with a gang of professional drinkers and you know what that can lead to. I spent the day playing detective with Herb Villon. Lily and Dash joined us for a while but then left us when we had to go see Sam Goldwyn.”
“What the hell does he have to do with the case?”
“I’ll start at the beginning.” He recapped the day’s activity ending with the unpleasantness at Leo Bulgari’s.
“Well,” said Mayo, “all that and Theda Bara, too. Listen, my mother wants to tell you something. That’s really why I’m calling.”
“Aw. I thought it was because you missed me.”
“Only when I take aim,” she retorted.
He snapped his fingers. “I knew there was something wrong in this room.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m sitting here talking on the phone and nothing’s gone whistling past my head.”
“You big sap. Here's Mother.”
Bogart heard some fumbling noises as the phone was passed from daughter to mother and then winced as her sharp voice sliced into his ear. “Hello Humphrey.”
“Hello Evelyn. How are you?”
“Much better now that Mayo is here with me.” Hypocrite, thought Bogart. I can still picture your sigh of relief complete with sound effects as you saw your daughter off to New York that landmark day so many years ago. “Humphrey…” The way she pronounced his name it was like having an ice pick plunged into him. “Mayo and I have been talking about the ransackings, of course. Frankly it’s all we can think about. My apartment is still a bit of a mess though Mayo’s been a dear helping me straighten out.”
He heard Mayo say with irritation, “Oh for crying out loud, Mother, get on with it.”
“Don’t be so impatient, Mayo!” bristled Evelyn.
Bogart thought, throw something, Mayo. Hit her with a pillow.
“Now Humphrey,” said Evelyn. “In all this horror and confusion I forgot something that might be helpful to the police.”
“The Portland police or the L.A. police?”
“If it was the Portland police we wouldn’t be phoning you, would we?”
“You’ve got a point there,” he said, and thought, and hold on to it especially if it’s very sharp.
“That large carton of my husband’s in your basement.”
“I know where it is. You don’t have to worry about it. It wasn’t broken into.”
“Yes, Mayo told me. Humphrey, I think that’s the carton with the false bottom.”
He sat up. “You kidding me?”
“You know I never kid. I suppose it’s safe to tell you now, he’s been dead long enough.”
Bogart refrained from telling her that some people are never dead long enough as he was afraid she’d take it personally.
“How shall I put it without making it sound too illegal? Oh well, in for a penny, in for a pound.” Haven’t heard that one in a long while, thought Bogart. “Jack kept an apartment in Shanghai. For his long stayovers.” The devil, thought Bogart, grinning. “He would pack his belongings into that carton and of course have it delivered to his apartment.”
Bogart asked, “And what did he pack into the false bottom?”
She said briskly, “He smuggled, to and fro. Don’t ask me what kind of contraband he dealt in because what I have expressed is a suspicion, it’s not a statement of fact.” She paused for a moment. “He did bring me the occasional vial of perfume, frivolities like that.”
“I think that was very thoughtful of him.”
“Yes, I suppose it was. Anyway, Humphrey. It’s worth a go. I don't know how it opens but if it’s the right carton, then I suspect the cornucopia might be there.”
Mayo pulled the phone from her mother’s grip. “Bogie, you get right out of that house!”
“Why? I own it.”
“The ransackers aren’t stupid. It might occur to them the carton might have a false bottom.”
“But they never touched it in the first place.”
“Please, Bogie,” she pleaded. He was touched by her concern.
“You might be right. There’ve been a lot of people in and out of here the past twenty-four hours. After the police left a crew came in from Warner’s and set the place to rights. And Oh yeah, when I got home tonight, I found Lucy Darrow in that spare room Hannah used to work in.”
“What was she doing there?” asked Mayo with a soupçon of suspicion.
Bogart recognized the suspicion. It was a constant with Mayo. “She tried to rape me.” Mayo shrieked. “Calm down, kiddo, calm down. I’m only kidding.”
“I wouldn’t put it past her, what with her record.”
“What record?”
“I never told you before?”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“She’s been hospitalized.” She paused. “Mental problems.”
“You mean she’s nuts?”
“Relax. She’s been out a few years now.”
“Now you listen to me, when they’re nuts they’re nuts and they stay nuts. Come to think of it, this morning she gave me Hannah’s keys to the house.”
Suspicion again. “When this morning? Where?”
“Come on, kid. You know she was coming to the Garden of Allah to pick up her mother’s handbag. That’s when I got back Hannah’s keys. When
I found her here she said the crew let her in on their way out. But she could have used Hannah’s spare key.”
“What spare key?”
“The one Hannah kept in their apartment in case of an emergency.”
“What emergency?”
“I don’t know. Make one up. Listen, I’ve got to track down Herb Villon. I’m hanging up.”
“Wait!”
“What?”
“I love you.” She slammed the phone down. He smiled. He searched in his pocket address book, found Villon’s number and dialed it. Jim Mallory answered the phone. Mallory said, “Detective Villon.”
“Come off it, Jim, I know it’s you.”
“Bogie! I’ve been ringing you. Your line’s been busy. And we’re just on our way out.”
“Hold your horses, I’ve got to talk to Herb. It’s important. It’s a lead.”
Villon snapped his fingers and Mallory handed him the phone. “Bogie. We’ve got an emergency. You can meet us at Bulgari’s.”
“Why there, for Chrissakes!”
“Because, old buddy, he's been found in his apartment in back of the store with a stab wound in his chest.”
“Is he dead?”
“Very.”
“Well that’s a relief. I’ll be right over.”
“Don’t rush. Drive carefully. He’s not going anywhere.” A few seconds later, Bogart was going through the house bolting windows and doors. In the kitchen, he locked the door leading to the basement and pocketed the key. He hurried to the front door, pulled it shut after him and double- locked it. In the street, twilight now descending, he looked for the blue coupe. There was no sign of it. He got into his car, and was soon on his way to the pawn shop at Santa Monica and La Brea.
Humfairy Bogart.
Bulgaria it serves you right.
Dash and Lily. Dinner. Damn. He saw a drugstore with phone booths and pulled over. He got through to the bar but there was a delay getting Hammett or Hellman. Bogart nervously jingled coins in his pocket. He could hear laughter and the sound of the cash register and then finally Lillian Hellman asked, “Hello?”
“It's Bogie, Lily. Listen, something important’s come up. I can’t make dinner.”
