"I guess it'll make dandy reading when you write your memoirs, Donna, but it doesn't prove a thing," I told her.
"I'll find the proof," she said icily. "I'll give the lieutenant proof—if I have to make it myself! You're the only man who ever preferred another woman to Donna Alberta, Danny."
Her voice sank to a whisper. "You and that woman are something very special in my life—^before I'm finished with both of you, you'll wish—"
A door slammed and Donna stopped short and listened to the quick footsteps approaching the room. Then she threw herself across the couch and started to cry noisily with her head buried in her hands, the moment before Helen MiQs walked in.
Helen came to an abrupt halt when she saw the naked magnificence prostrate on the couch, her face turning ashen as the dismal, wailing sound increased in volume. Her fingers plucked nervously at her skirt for an undecided moment, then she lifted her head high and glared at me defiantly.
"What have you done to her?" she asked in a trembling, | high-pitched voice. "You beast!"
"Ah, nuts!" I said disgustedly. "All she needs is a slug of brandy."
Donna lifted her blotched, tear-stained face and gazed tragically at her secretary. "He—^he was like a madman!" she whispered brokenly. "He—no! I can't tell you—" She let out an even louder wail of despair and buried her head in her hands again.
Helen Mills ran across the room to the couch like a homing pigeon and threw herself on it. Her right arm
cradled Donna's head in her lap with possessive ferocity, while her other hand gently caressed the quivering mass of prima donna.
"There, there!" Helen crooned softly. "It's all right now —I'm here to protect you from that wicked man! You're safe now, my darling, nobody will hurt you while I'm here!"
The wailing noise rapidly quieted down to a muted sniffle. I lit a cigarette and figured what I needed was a drink but not here. The only thing that kept me was a doubt about the social niceties involved—I debated the relative merit of "Thank you for having me," against "I've enjoyed every minute of it."
A faint snoring sound made me suddenly realize Donna Alberta was sleeping peacefully, her head still cradled in Helen's lap. I figured the best thing was to just get the hell out, but before I had the chance, Helen MiUs lifted her head and stared at me disdainfully.
"I think you'd better go, Mr. Boyd," she said softly.
Her free hand stiU caressed the sleeping prima donna with a rhythmic touch. Then her prim Uttle mouth relaxed and her lips parted in a contented smile. Her eyes shone with an exultant triumph as she spoke again.
"I don't think we need you, Mr. Boyd—ever!"
Chapter Six
AGAIN, THE NEAREST BAR PROVTOED COGNAC
and a phone. It was a little after five when I called— Fran made a pointed reference to the fact that her quitting time was five sharp and what kind of Simon Legree type boss was I?
"Take it easy, honey," I pleaded. "I'm bushed!"
"That figures—after a couple of hours with the prima donna!" she said coldly. "I hope she left some permanent dents in the profile."
"Did you get to talk to Rex Tybolt?" I growled.
"You have a date for six-thirty," she said. "Take your own towel."
"Huh?"
"It's bath night, Danny-boy," Fran said happily. *The only chance he's got of talking with you is while he takes a steam bath at his club. He'll leave word at the desk so all you have to do is mention your name. It's the Albany—you know it?"
"Yeah," I grated. "A steam bath yet!"
"Do me a favor while you're there, Danny?" Fran said smoothly. "Get a trepanning job done on your skuU and try sweating out your brains a Uttle—maybe you could even get rid of a few of your more primeval urges. That way I wouldn't need to be so nervous around the ofl&ce all the time."
"Talking of primeval urges," I said, hamming the leer into my voice, "I haven't told you yet about this Donna Alberta—" There was a painful clunk in my ear as Fran hung up on me.
I stayed in the bar until six and had a couple more drinks and one extra for the bath. It was around six-thirty when I got to the Albany Club and told my name to the guy on the desk. He led the way downstairs to the locker room, and the attendant there fixed me up with a couple of outsize towels and a locker for my clothes. He waited patiently until I was stripped to a towel, then guided me into the first steam room.
Inside it reminded me of a summer day in England.
In the thick, swirHng mist I could hardly see my hand in front of my face. It was a hell of a good place to stick a shiv into someone's back—if you could locate your victim, that is—and with all this turkish toweling it wouldn't even be messy. I gulped steam and inched my toes across the wet floor.
"That you, Boyd?" A disembodied voice asked.
"Sure," I said. "Where the heU are you?"
"Over here."
I stumbled through the mist, following the direction of the voice and suddenly found him sitting in splendid solitude in one comer of the room.
"Sorry I couldn't make it any other time," Rex Tybolt said in his booming baritone. "But this will do you the world of good—^nothing like a steam bath for toning up the muscles!"
He was naked except for the towel draped around his hips. I looked at the dark pouches under his eyes and the sagging flesh under his jaw, at the barrel chest and bloated waistline where the stomach muscles had long given up trying—and figured he needed more than steam baths.
"Sit down, Boyd," Tybolt said genially. "What's on your mind?"
I sat on the stone slab beside him uncomfortably, feeling the sweat roUing down my body.
"Did you know I was a private detective?"
"Everyone in the theater did after the way Kasplin screamed about you yesterday," he chuckled. "He thought you overestimated the value of your services, I understand."
"He's a small man—maybe he takes a small view of everything and everybody," I said easily. "Margot Lynn
feels the police have her lined up as the number one suspect for Kendall's murder—so she hired me to clear her."
"I can understand the police figuring it that way," Ty-bolt commented. "Where do I fit in?"
"I saw Donna Alberta this afternoon," I told him, "She's got some very definite ideas where you fit in— like as Margot's accomplice—the guy who phoned about the dog, and, the guy who called the cops so they arrived when Margot opened the box and found Kendall's body."
"That's ridiculous!" Tybolt laughed. "What motive could I have?"
"You got mad at her because she flunked you out in the bedroom stakes," I said. "You wanted to even the score—Uke Margot did because Donna took Kendall out of Margot's bedroom into her own."
"Absurd!" He wiped the sweat from his face with one corner of the towel. "You don't take that kind of nonsense seriously, do you, Boyd?'*
"Maybe not," I said. "I saw Earl Harvey this morning —now there's a guy I do take seriously."
"Harvey?" Tybolt's heavy face hardened for a moment. "Don't talk to me about him—the comic-book impresario!"
"I wonder you work for him—^feeling that way about the guy," I said.
"Even a baritone has to consider money," he said. "The salary is very good, you know."
"Sure," I agreed, "I do know. Harvey went to a lot of trouble to make sure I did—he even produced a tame heavy to make me real impressed."
"Oh?" Tybolt didn't sound interested.
"Why don't we stop kidding around?" I suggested, crossing my fingers carefully. "Margot isn't talking about Harvey right now—but if Lieutenant Chase puts the pressure on hard, she will!"
"I really don't know what you're talking about, old man," Tybolt said distantly.
"If you want, I'll spell it out for you," I said tiredly. "My guess is a guy with the kind of reputation Earl Harvey's got would have no chance of persuading people
like yourself, Margot, and Donna Alberta, to work for him unless he had an edge."
"I'm beginning to understand why
KaspHn thought you overrated yourself, Boyd," he snapped. "That's ridiculous!"
"K Margot tells the cops, they'll break the thing wide open," I said coldly. "Your name will be on the front page right along with Margot and Donna Alberta. You got a choice, Tybolt, but you don't have much time to decide—if I handle it maybe I can keep it under cover."
He used the towel again with more vigor than was strictly necessary.
"What do you want to know?" he asked nervously.
"Exactly what Harvey's got on you to make you go along with this opera deal of his."
"If I told you," he squinted at me sideways, "how do I know you'd keep it quiet?"
"You don't," I said. "But it makes sense for me to— Margot Lynn's my client and she's in the same boat as you are. If I talk about you, I'm exposing her to the same embarrassment."
Tybolt thought about it for a while, then nodded. "That makes sense. All right, I met Harvey first a year back—at somebody's party, I forget whose. Then, six months later, I was on vacation in Acapulco and Harvey arrived at the same hotel a couple of days later."
"Sounds Uke a big coincidence," I said.
"I was naive enough to think so," Tybolt sighed deeply. "He was friendly—^very friendly. Three days later he invited me to a party a friend of his was giving in a private house. I went along in aU innocence, Boyd!"
"Now you got me intrigued," I said. "Even in this heat."
"Marijuana—^lots of girls—local talent." Tybolt made a different grimace to go with each word. "It was a ball—I told Harvey after it was all over I never had such a swell time and why didn't he look me up next time he was in New York."
"And he did—and showed you the pictures?" I said tiredly.
The baritone nodded slowly. "He came and talked about his off-Broadway production— Salome —and why didn't I sing the baritone for him. He got the pictures out of his
pocket before I'd even stopped laughing—lay them down on the table like a poker hand. 'Make like you're the editor of the scandal mag that's got the first choice,' he told me. One look was enough for me—then I had a pen in my hand all ready to sign the contract."
"Did he chisel you on the salary?"
"No—I think he's too smart for that," Tybolt said sorrowfully. "He's got the top names in the business—an opera that's always created a furore whenever it's presented. He can't help but make money legitimately out of it!"
"I'll take your word for it," I grunted. "That's all there is, there isn't any more?"
"I wouldn't know about your hot blood, Boyd," he said, toweling his chest vigorously, "but for me it's plenty."
"O.K." I stood up and looked hopelessly at the solid wall of mist in front of me. "You want to show me the way out?"
"I'm going into the hot room," he said smugly.
"Cheez!" I looked at him admiringly. "What do you call this?"
"It's a question of adjustment, that's all," he said. "When you come back in here you'll think it's cold."
"Not me," I said. "I'm feeling like steamed hash already. I guess I can find my own way out, but I don't have any real faith, you understand?"
"Are you going to do something about Earl Harvey?" he asked in a neutral voice.
"To take you off the hook?" I shrugged and nearly lost the damned towel. "I don't know—you aren't my client."
"For those pictures—and the negatives, of course—I could be," he said.
"Anything comes up, I'll be in touch," I said.
"Sure," he said and nodded loosely.
A couple of seconds after I'd plunged into the mist, his voice boomed suddenly loud—"Boyd!"
"Yeah?" I turned around and couldn'" see him.
"You said something about Donna Alberta tagging me with that crazy kidnaping—the dog?"
"That's right, I did," I agreed shortly.
"Whatever gave her the idea I was mixed up in it?" he said in a peevish voice.
"I also told you that answer already," I said. "She gave you the brush-off and you wanted to even the score."
"She must be out of her mmd to think a dreadful thing like that."
"I wouldn't be surprised," I agreed. "See you around, huh?"
"Making wild accusations, I mean," he went on with a nervous edge to his voice, "without any proof."
"I didn't say she hadn't any proof," I corrected him carefully.
"What kind of proof?" he yelled excitedly. "I want to know, Boyd, I've got a right!"
"How could she have any proof if you weren't mixed up in the dog snatch?" I prodded gently.
"Well—sure!" he said in a strangled voice. "But maybe she invented some. I figure Donna Alberta's capable of doing just that—the lousy witch!"
"If she has, it's her secret held tight to that ample bosom," I said shortly. "She didn't let me in on it."
"Sure," he said after a few seconds of silence. "Sorry I got excited, Boyd. You know how it is—a man gets curious."
"And that gets him trouble," I said, "Uke Acapulco."
I waited during the first five seconds that followed, then ploughed through the swirling steam again. I finally got lucky and found the door. A cold shower was so bracing my muscles nearly froze solid—a brisk rubdown with a coarse towel restored the circulation. Then I got dressed and took my sudden ravenous hunger out into the street.
It was around eight-thirty by the time I'd eaten and gotten back to my apartment. The phonebook gave me the number of Harvey's ofi&ce. I dialed and let it ring for a couple of minutes with nobody answering. There was a set of keys in my bureau drawer which I knew from experience to be a real versatile bunch, so I sHpped them into my hip pocket and went out again.
I found a parking place about half a block from the office building, and as I walked slowly toward the entrance, I saw a couple of guys leaving. It was still early enough for the get-ahead characters to be putting in overtime, and I quickened my pace like a guy going places and thumbed the
night bell briskly. When the watchman opened up, I mumbled thanks and shot past him to the lobby cigar counter where, I figured, the night book should be, and there it was. I scribbled a name and number in the book, and made it to the open elevator. As I pressed the button marked four and the doors closed, I turned to see the night watchman sauntering over to the book to see which the hell assistant to which the hell vice president this eager beaver was— but then the night bell buzzed again and he shoved the cigar back in his face and went to open the door to the next eager beaver.
So far it was a breeze. There was nobody in the corridor on the fourth floor, and the third key on the ring opened the door of Harvey's office. Once inside, I closed the door gently and catfooted my way through the darkned, plush reception area and the big room beyond. If Harvey kept any blackmail material on file, I figured the only place it could be was inside his own office, so I kept on going until I reached it.
There was no risk in turning on the lights when I got inside—^with the door shut they wouldn't show. I sat in back of Harvey's desk, lit a cigarette, and opened the first drawer.
Ten mmutes later I got the sour feeling I was wasting my time—I was all out of drawers and there were no filing cabinets in his office anyway. Maybe he had a concealed wall safe or maybe he kept his records home or in the bank. So I'd tried; so I'd goofed; so I might as weU go home and get some sleep. That steambath had drained any energy I had left. I walked across the carpet and reached for the door, but there was no need—someone opened it for me from the other side.
I stepped back, wishing I had maybe a broom so I could make like the janitor or something, as the door opened wide. For maybe five seconds we just looked at each other, then the receptionist with the model's figure and sensitivity about her age smiled slowly.
"Hey, Benny!" she said m a throaty voice. "That punk must have Hked it—he's come back for more."
Benny, the sharp dresser who insisted everybody be real polite, appeared beside her, a smile of welcome on his face.
"Well, now,"—his free hand smoot
hed down the carefully oiled blond hair, while his other hand kept tight hold on a Luger—"I guess you didn't get the message after all, Boyd."
"Right!" I said in a hollow voice.
"O.K.—^back up!" His voice sharpened suddenly. "Over against the wall with your arms out straight—and lean!"
I did like he said because I wasn't about to commit suicide—or maybe I had aheady. Benny frisked me expertly, lifting the keys from my hip pocket.
"You can turn around now," he said. "Marge—^he's not even heeled!"
"I figured him for a weirdo the first time I saw him," the receptionist said harshly. "I guess I should call Earl, huh?"
"Sure, do that," Benny said idly. "Find out just what he wants done with Boyd. Get the detail, Marge—you know how I love my work."
Marge went over to the desk and lifted the phone, while I wondered why the hell I'd bothered to get out of bed that morning in the first place. Her voice spoke rapidly in low tones for a short time, then she hstened for an even shorter time before she hung up.
"Earl says to do nothing," she told Benny. "Just wait— he's coming right over."
Benny's face showed his discontent. "What's the matter with him?" he asked sullenly. "Wants all the fun to himself?"
"I wouldn't worry, junior," Marge said tartly. "My bet is you'll get all the fun you want—you just have to wait awhile, that's all."
"I guess you're right." Benny brightened up a little. "Sit down, Boyd. I want you should be comfortable. Mr. Harvey always takes good care of his guests—right, Marge?"
"Oh, sure!" she said. The harsh planes of her face seemed to tighten as she looked at me. "Most of all the real pretty ones, like him! Don't you figure he's real pretty, Benny, with that profile and all?"
I sank into the armchair and reached slowly for a pack of cigarettes. "You mind if I smoke?" I asked.
"Go right ahead," Benny said nodding approvingly. "You're learning fast, Boyd. Be polite all the time—^you get along a lot better that way." ^
The savage salome Page 6
