He was staring at me, silently now. Then he said slowly, “I think you’re nuts, but we’ll follow it up — we’re following everything up in this case, just on the off chance that we’ll find the faintest lead.” His voice went a degree softer. “You’ve taken a working over on this, Knight, but if it works out — ” He rubbed the back of his neck with slow care.
“I know; you’ll see I get my license back,” I sneered. “And what good would it do me? My reputation wasn’t bad enough before, I have to wind up with my latest client being the killer in the most sensational murder case this town’s seen in years. Some chance, after that, I’d have of getting clients.”
I turned from them and entered the elevator cage. The operator had been standing there, watching us, wide-eyed.
Mike Quinn opened his mouth to say something.
I snarled, “And if you call me Buster just once more I’ll bust you in the trap!”
He blinked his eyes and his mouth snapped shut.
“Lobby,” I growled to the operator.
I walked out to the street and located a cab to take me back to the office. I felt washed out.
There was a solitary letter under the door of the offices of Lee and Knight, Private Investigations. The envelope was an official one, from the commissioner of police. I didn’t bother to open it.
I looked up at the calendar. It told me I had two more days’ rent paid. This whole thing hadn’t really made any difference, anyway. I’d been figuring on giving it all up that day when the three of them had first entered.
I got an empty cardboard carton out of the closet and placed it on top of the desk. I opened the top drawer and began pulling out papers, old letters, office supplies and the odds and ends that had accumulated in the past months. From the top of the desk I took my ashtray, emptied it into the wastebasket, then tossed it after the rest into the carton. Two pencils and the small green desk blotter followed. I didn’t know what in Mars I wanted that for, but in it went.
I opened the second drawer and began cleaning it out. I found the pocket knife I’d lost two weeks ago.
The phone rang stridently.
I looked at it for a minute, then picked it up. “Jeb Knight,” I grunted.
“Jeb? This is Julie.” There was excitement in her voice.
“Hello, Julie,” I said emotionlessly.
“Have you heard the news?”
“Maybe. I don’t know. What news?”
“James Maddigan has committed suicide. He left a note — ”
“Yeah,” I muttered, “so he found his Ultimate Destiny, uh?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Nothing;” I told her. “The name of a story Harry Shulman wrote. Did Maddigan confess to the two killings?”
There was surprise now. “That’s right. How did you know?”
I said softly, “I talked him into it. They wouldn’t have been able to hang it on him; not in a hundred years.”
She was saying something else that I didn’t get. I was thinking of Harry Shulman’s mother, standing there at the screen door watching after me as I left.
Then I caught her words again. There was warmth in her voice and she was saying, “What about that date you were talking about, Jeb? A girl can’t just sit by her telephone night after night waiting for you to call, you know.” There was laughter in her voice, but something else, too.
I said flatly, “Maybe some other time, Julie. Maybe I’ll give you a ring.”
She didn’t say anything. I put the receiver back on the crossbar of the telephone cradle.
I said out loud, “What darn good would a guy like me be for Julie? No job, no money, no future — no ambition. She’s a damn sight better off with Ross Maddigan.”
I looked down at my packing and growled, “I can do this tomorrow.”
I put my hat on the back of my head, stuck my hands in my pockets and started off for Sam’s, not bothering to close the door behind me.
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Text Copyright © 1951 by Phoenix Press
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Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organizations, events, or locales in this novel are either the product of the author’s imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. The resemblance of any character to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.
ISBN 10: 1-4405-6312-8
ISBN 13: 978-1-4405-6312-6
eISBN 10: 1-4405-6311-X
eISBN 13: 978-1-4405-6311-9
The Case of the Little Green Men Page 18
