Lentz set the paper down on his desk, widened his blue eyes on my gray ones.
“For a man just out of the Big House—you get around,” he observed in his thin voice.
I smiled a little. “It doesn’t mean anything,” I told him. “Some luck—and some headwork.”
He nodded. “Separate the two—and tell me about the headwork,” he instructed.
I thought that over. Donelly sat stiffly in his chair and kept his eyes on Lentz. The quiet-clothes boss didn’t seem to know Donelly was in the room.
“Ben Garren murdered Dot Ellis,” I stated. “He lied to me—and I tripped him up. He carried a gun, and I don’t—so I had Donelly along. Headwork, maybe—maybe not. The rest was luck.”
Lentz tipped his chair back and nodded.
“Sure,” he agreed. “You were just outside, Ourney—beginner’s luck, eh? You just happened to be in on Donner’s murder—and you just happened to be the last one who chatted with Dot Ellis, up the river.”
I shook my head. “I didn’t chat with Dot. She bawled hell out of me. As for Dot—Donelly listened in on Garren’s confession. The big guys had him both ways. He rubbed her out.”
Lentz nodded again, smiling with narrow lips. He had a trick of rubbing his right eyebrow with right-hand fingers.
“What big guys?” he asked.
I just looked at him. “As for Donner,” I said slowly, “I was just looking for a room—”
Lentz yawned. “All right, all right!” he interrupted. “Look here, Ourney. You’re not a crook. Why don’t you take a trip?”
“Where?” I asked.
He shrugged. “Paris is nice in the spring,” he said. “And you are not a poor man.”
I looked toward the windows. “I’m not a crook, you say. Then why run me out of the city?”
Lentz seemed hurt. He tilted his chair forward.
“A lot of things happen,” he said vaguely. “You’re not a crook yet, Ourney.”
I didn’t like that much. While I was thinking of the right answer Lentz said something that meant something.
“You’re not a crook, Ourney—but you looked up a couple, just as soon as you got out.”
I nodded. “One was a murderer,” I reminded him. “That’s why I looked him up.”
Lentz smiled. “Sure,” he agreed. “Here’s another speech. You’ve gone reformer. You want to protect the little crooks from the big ones. So you start in by dragging in one of my men to shoot down a little crook. Does that make sense?”
I nodded. “Damn good sense,” I replied. “I wanted Donelly to make the pinch. He’s a good dick—and can stand promotion.”
Donelly swore. “Thanks,” he muttered grimly.
Lentz yawned again. “I hate reformers’ guts,” he stated in a thin tone. “We can handle the big guys our way.”
I let that pass. “Dot Ellis was murdered. I did two years for her, Lentz. I owed her that. She came up to give me a coming-out party—and she was rubbed out. I wanted to know why—and I figured Ben Garren might tell me. He didn’t take it that way. I’m no reformer.”
Lentz looked bored. “Why was she put out?” he asked.
I tried to look just as bored, but it wasn’t a success.
“Why was Wirt Donner put out?” I asked.
There was surprise in Lentz’s blue eyes. He smiled.
“Red Salmon had a grudge. He did the trick—and confessed.”
I laughed that off. “One of those things,” I said. “Sure he confessed.”
Lentz was getting annoyed. He cut out the suave stuff and said impatiently: “You’re not the first human to do a stretch up the river, Ourney. And you’re not the first one to come out with the idea that the police are all wrong and the crooks are all right. Did you meet up with any one of ’em who wasn’t inside because he’d been framed?”
“Supposing,” I said slowly, “you tell me just why you sent for me, Lentz?”
He stopped rubbing his eyebrow, leaned back farther in the chair, and smiled.
“I haven’t got anything on you, Ourney,” he stated. “Garren did for the Ellis woman. Red coked up and got a guy he hated—Wirt Donner. Cherulli had it coming and was mobbed out. Donelly here had to let go at Garren. That’s a lot of killing—but it’s all right. None of it was important.”
He stopped. Donelly looked more cheerful. I nodded.
“You got me down here to tell me none of it was important,” I suggested. “All right.”
I got up from my chair. Lentz was smiling a sort of hard smile. His blue eyes were as wide as ever.
“But don’t be so many places when things happen,” he suggested. “Let the police take care of the bad boys, Ourney.”
I nodded again. “In other words, you figure I had an in on these murders—and you’re telling me not to have any more ins.”
Lentz looked at Donelly and spoke to me. “Something like that, yeah.”
Donelly got to his feet. Lentz spoke in a quiet tone. “I’ll see what I can do for you, Donelly. Never mind Cherulli—just routine.”
I moved toward the door—Lentz pressed a button and the gum-chewer came in. She smiled toward me, then toward another door. She spoke to Lentz. “Herb Steiner.”
Lentz smiled. “Hold him a few minutes, Nellie.”
I was near the other door. “Just a few cheap murders, eh, Lentz?” I asked.
He kept right on smiling. “Something like that,” he agreed. “They come in batches—but they don’t mean anything. But the tabs sort of like ’em, I hope we understand each other, Ourney.”
“I’m sure we do,” I returned. “Give my regards to Steiner, will you?”
Lentz looked surprised. He raised his eyebrows.
“Steiner—didn’t know you knew him, Ourney.”
I got a hand on the knob of the door. Donelly was close to me.
“Oh, yes,” I said. “We were inside together. You’ve got his name on your report, remember?”
Lentz acted as though he were just seeing the light. “Sure—sure. That’s right. I’ll tell him you were in to see me, Ourney.”
“Thanks,” I replied, and went out.
Donelly was right behind me. His face wasn’t quite so red as usual. He muttered to himself, but I didn’t get what he muttered. We went down the corridor together.
“A lot of fuss over three cheap murders,” I suggested, “Maybe one of ’em counted.”
Donelly stared at me, “Which one?” he asked.
I passed him a pill—lighted two of them.
“Donelly,” I said slowly, “if you were half as dumb as you acted you’d still be a pretty good dick.”
He kept on looking stupid. We went down to the street. Donelly took me by the right arm and got confidential.
“You don’t think Red Salmon gave Donner that dose,” he said. “Well, I’ll tell you something. We got a tip that Red was going to do that little job—that’s why I was there.”
I groaned. “I believe you, Donelly—I believe you,” I told him. “You got a tip—and a guy was murdered and Red was there, sure enough. And that means that Red did the job.”
Donelly swore softly. “What’s eating you?” he muttered. “We got a confession, didn’t we?”
I laughed out loud. “Donelly,” I said, “you can’t get me worked up over the Donner kill. That isn’t the one that counts.”
The dick looked puzzled, but I had a strong feeling that he wasn’t.
“What’s eating you?” he repeated. “You did a two-spot for a dame that wasn’t worth it. Now you come out and get all excited because a flock of little guys are bumped off.”
“I’m curious,” I told him. “But just the same—I’m running out on you. Going up to Boston to see my grandfather.”
Donelly’s face got redder. He started to get sore, changed his mind.
“Must be old as hell,” he stated.
“A hundred and ten,” I came back. “Want to come along and help me comb out his whiskers?”
&nb
sp; The red-faced dick grunted. “After all,” he said slowly, “Dot was your woman!”
That gave me a little jolt. Donelly was either clever or stabbing around in the dark. One thing was almost as bad as the other.
“Don’t go to the trouble of going in one door somewhere and coming out another,” he said quietly. “I’m not tagging along.”
I grinned at him. “Thanks,” I said. “If I run into anything good I’ll give you a ring.”
He dropped his cigarette butt and stepped on it. He swore.
“If you run into something too good, maybe the morgue’ll give me the ring,” he said grimly.
He went on his way without looking in my direction.
2
When I got back to the hotel the clerk gave me a little slip of paper. A call had come through. It had come from a gentleman by the name of Herb, and he had requested that I stick around until he arrived. I gave the clerk a cigar and handed him back the slip of paper.
“Stick it in the box—with this—” I gave him the key. “When Herb comes along let him see you looking for it—and tell him I went out and haven’t come back yet.”
The clerk nodded. “How are you going to get in the room?” he asked. “I’ve got the key.”
I nodded. “The door isn’t locked,” I told him and went on up.
Upstairs I thought of something else. I called the clerk and told him to give me a ring when Herb arrived, but to keep it quiet. I said that he’d probably go out right away, after he was told I wasn’t in. Then I packed a few things in a bag—and smoked a few. The phone bell rang, and the clerk told me that Herb had come in, had acted disappointed—and had gone out.
I opened both windows and the door—let the cigarette smoke clear up. Then I shut the door, locked it with the snap on the inside. After that I went around behind the door and lay on the floor. Five minutes passed—the snap lock clicked a couple of times—the door opened a half inch. Then another half inch.
Then it swung open—and I was behind it. Someone came in and grabbed some sheets off the bed, took them out near the doorway, and dumped them in the corridor. Someone came back in and took off a coat and vest, tossing them over the foot of the bed. I got a glimpse of Herb Steiner. He whistled as he snapped open my bag and went to work.
It wasn’t a bad gag. With the sheets outside anyone passing would think that the maid was inside—even if they knew I wasn’t. Herb figured I wasn’t, of course. And if a chambermaid came in she’d probably figure Herb was the new guest. He had his coat and vest off.
He kept on whistling—and his whistle was as thin as his voice. He was doing a good job with the bag. I stood up.
“Maybe the stuff isn’t there,” I suggested.
He straightened, his girl face twisted until it almost looked like a man’s. He shrilled out something that sounded like “Christ!” His right-hand dropped.
I shoved the door out of the way—and hit him just as he was tugging at the rod. We both went down, only he was underneath. I gave him a knee in the stomach and a left that was meant for the jaw and landed over the right eye. The knee did the trick.
He groaned, rolled over on his side—flopped on his back. I took the rod away, went over and closed the door. I snapped the lock again. Then I went back and sat on the edge of the bed. Steiner was getting a little air now and then, but it came hard. His face was pretty white.
“A little crude, Steiner,” I said cheerfully. “Though the lock work was not bad.”
There was fear in his eyes—a lot of it. He was breathing heavily—and he touched the spot over his right eye with care.
He got up slowly—staggered around a little. He spoke thickly.
“I’ll call—the clerk—thish ain’t no way—to treat a—guesh—”
It was almost funny. His girly voice didn’t go right—not for the drunk stuff. I swore at him.
“No good, Steiner—grab a chair; sit down. What were you after?”
He looked at me dumbly. I got sore. I got up, went over and hit him a hard one over the left ear. It knocked him to his knees.
“Come through—you dirty little rat!” I snapped. “What were you after?”
He looked helpless. But he went on with the bluff. “I’ll call—the housh—detective—you can’t—”
I tossed the gun on the bed—slashed out with my left. Steiner swung back—stepped in close. I saw the right coming up—it was a nasty punch. It came up through my right arm—and I tried to ride with it. It didn’t work.
My lower jaw clicked up—the end of my tongue caught between my teeth. There was a lot of pain—and as I started to go down, Steiner struck with his left. It landed. My knees hit the floor. There was a stabbing pain along my right side. Steiner’s thin voice got out one, nasty word. Then I was digging my head against the cheap carpet—and forgetting a lot of things.
5
MISS McMURPHY
When I came out of it I got to my feet and looked around. Steiner was gone—and his gun was gone. The room was just about as it had been when he’d battered me down. He had a lot of strength for that kind of face.
I went into the bathroom and washed up. My tongue was in pretty bad shape—my jaw and the right side of my face were swollen. He’d kicked me in the right side. He was a dirty little rat—and he’d come out topside. That made me pretty sore.
I went down to the barbershop, told the man at the second chair that I’d walked into a door—and let the towels soak in for thirty minutes. I got some alcohol and rubbed my side. The bellhop brought me a quart and drank one with me. I downed two more, and in between I told myself what a damned fool I was. Then I packed the bag again. There wasn’t anything missing. But Herb Steiner was out in the open—he’d been looking for something important.
I spent fifteen or twenty minutes holding cold water in my mouth, around my nicked tongue, and spitting it out. And I thought about Steiner while I did that. He wanted something he figured I had with me—and he wanted it pretty bad. I’d had him in a nice place—and then I’d acted dumb. That sort of thing wasn’t going to pay.
“Steiner knew that Dot was rubbed out,” I told myself. “He tried to give me a jolt—maybe he was figuring on coming after me later and, if I didn’t come through, throwing a scare into me. Maybe not. Anyway, he stuck around up the river for three days after he got out. He thinks I’ve got something he wants—or someone else wants. He thinks I got it from Dot—”
I stopped muttering thickly and went out into the room again. I was beginning to feel pretty certain that Dot Ellis had had something important to say to me up the river. And I was beginning to feel pretty sure that one of the three murders hadn’t been cheap.
I put the quart in the bag and went out of the room. My face hurt and my side ached. At the desk I checked out. The clerk stared at me.
“Walked into a door,” I told him. “Just dumb.”
He was sympathetic but suspicious. “That fellow named Herb—I forgot to tell you when I called up—he said he might be back later.”
I took change for a twenty and tried out a grin. It hurt.
“Yeah,” I returned, “he might be.”
I got a cab and told the driver to take his time getting to the corner of Broadway and Fifty-sixth Street. My nerves were still kicking around—and Herb Steiner hadn’t helped things any. I smoked a pill, got off at the right spot, and paid up.
At the boardinghouse where Wirt Donner had been murdered I rang the bell. The fat landlady looked as though she’d had good news. I stuck a foot across the sill for safety and got right to the point.
“A hundred dollars is a lot of money for the answers to a couple of questions,” I told her. “You’ve got the answers—and I’ve got the questions and the hundred bucks.”
She blinked a little. Her eyes were watery, and she looked as though she needed glasses. She smiled at me.
“Come on in,” she said. “My feet is bad—they ain’t been right since—”
“I haven’t got much tim
e,” I cut in. “Let’s make it a private talk.”
She took me into a combination parlor and bedroom, in which everything was faded and odorous. She sat on a sofa and I took a chair that had a lot of gilt on it.
“You may remember me,” I said. “You told Donelly I looked like your sister’s first husband—the night Donner had stomach trouble.”
She rocked a little from side to side on the sofa. She kept on smiling.
“You’re a detective” she announced.
I nodded. “But not a copper,” I told her. “Got an agency of my own—work alone, see?”
She had a hoarse laugh. “Just like Sherlock Holmes,” she stated.
She had me guessing. I couldn’t figure her—a wise lady—or dumb? So I gave her the benefit of the doubt, rated her dumb.
“About the same,” I said. “You know that Red Salmon shot Donner.”
She laughed again. “Like hell he did!” she announced.
I got up from the chair. Things weren’t going so good. There were curtains at one end of the room, and I strolled around, passed the pills, lighted one for her, picked a chair that faced the curtains.
“Wirt Donner was a pretty good guy,” I said. “Maybe Red didn’t get him. I’d sort of like to know.”
The landlady nodded her head. “Red didn’t,” she said, “and I didn’t tell you I knew who did, did I?”
I unscrambled the “dids” and shook my head.
“You told me that the tall lady who lived here had gone to Pittsburgh—to visit her aunt. I think you said the aunt’s name was Munn. You said the tall lady’s name was Bock—Ella Bock. I’ll be frank, Mrs.—”
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