by Dell Shannon
"Vaya, vaya," said Mendoza, and sat down in the nearest chair and took off his hat. "Out of commission. Or put that way. All right, Sergeant, that's good, you can carry on here just as you ordinarily would, but whatever you get I want sent downtown to headquarters to my office, O.K.?"
"Yes, sir."
"And I'll have some of my men up now to look around too." He went to the phone and called downtown, asked for a man from Prints and one of his own night staff. He discovered he'd come away without cigarettes, and emptied the box on the coffee table into his pocket, lit one. He dialed Hackett's number and was rewarded by an outraged
voice.
"Don't you ever sleep? I'd think after the day you had— "
"I'm one of those people when I can't sleep I like to wake up everybody else. Now listen." He told him briefly what had happened.
"Pronto, inmediatamente, go and find out where they were— call the tails— "
"Who?"
“¡Pedazo de alcornoque, imbécil! This is the Domokous business— I think— it could be. And damn it, would either of those we know about do it themselves?— hired men— nevertheless, we'll look. The Bouvardier woman and Skyros. Were they at home thirty minutes ago, and if not, where? We'll check where we can, at least."
"You mean I'll check," said Hackett bitterly. “Al1 right, I'm on it. How's Miss Weir?"
"She has survived, I can hear her talking. You don't kill a woman until you kill her tongue. I'm about to hear what she has to say. Get busy, and call me here," he named the number, "when you've got anything." He hung up and went into the bedroom. The doctor, a thin sandy young man, was bending over Alison on the bed; he looked up sharply.
"Who are you? Here, young woman, you lie still, better not sit up just yet."
"Why, Luis," said Alison in a faint voice, sounding pleased, "you came out without a tie."
Mendoza said, "It's this damned bandage, I can't manage a knot."
He sat down on the foot of the bed.
"Both been in the wars, have we? What happened to you?" She propped herself up to look at him.
"A little cut, nothing. I want to hear all about this, now. What— "
"You can't question her much now, Officer," said the doctor. "She's had a severe blow on the head, there's no concussion but she must have sedation and rest, and take things easy for a day or so. I understand you must know a few details, but five minutes is really all I can allow— "
"¡Qué va, qué va! Don't be stupid, she's a big strong healthy girl and not much hurt!" said Mendoza robustly.
Alison sat up straight and glared at him. "Of all the insulting things to — you— you— , ¡Monstruo diabólico! I might have been killed— "
Mendoza grinned at the doctor. "You see? She's half Irish, she can't resist a fight. You ever want to insult a woman, call her healthy."
"I'm not all right, I have a horrible headache— "
"Those tablets should take effect soon, Miss Weir, if you are allowed to rest."
"You haven't been in practice long, have you?" asked Mendoza. "You or me, yes, but she's female— do her much more good to talk about it. A nice hot cup of coffee and a cigarette— "
"No caffeine or tobacco!" said the doctor, looking as if he had suggested cyanide. "If people would only realize, the most dangerous drugs easily available to— I cannot recommend— "
"Coffee sounds fine," said Alison. "If those pills do take effect. You go and make some, Luis. I refuse to answer questions before I comb my hair and get into something decent." Her silk dressing gown had been ripped down the front, one sleeve torn away; she got off the bed unsteadily, clutching the torn edges together.
"Really, I cannot recommend— "
Mendoza took his arm and led him out. "Thank you very much for your services, Doctor." Spluttering, the doctor went away. Mendoza started water heating for coffee, thoughtfully making enough for everybody, and cast around in the refrigerator for something to make a sandwich of; he was hungry. The men from downtown arrived and he set one to printing the door, the other looking around generally here and downstairs.
Twenty minutes later he installed Alison in the biggest armchair with a cup of coffee, passed cups and a plate of sandwiches round to the sergeant, the very young patrolman who was ready with his notebook and pencil, and his own man Williams, who was yawning steadily, and sat down opposite Alison. "Very cozy, ¿no es verdad? Do you want a cigarette now, querida?"
"Yes, please. Doctors!" said Alison. "If you were going to ask, I feel better, thank you. Though there's an awfully tender soft spot— " She fingered the back of her head and winced. She had combed her hair, powdered her nose, and put on lipstick, another house-robe, and looked reasonably herself.
"I should say there is a soft spot! I told you to put the chain up and keep the windows locked, damn it!"
"Well, but, Luis, it just didn't seem possible— Oh, all right, I know it was careless, but I was tired, and after everything else— Coming in to find that note I couldn't make head or tail of, and then that the apartment had been searched-"
"¡Por el amor de Dios! The apartment-and that didn't tell you to take extra care- ¿Para qué, what's the use? Females! And where in hell have you been all day? I— "
"And where were you when I tried to get you then? I called— Well, I wasn't sure, Luis, nobody could be, it was just little things, you know— "
"I don't know, but I'm going to hear every last little thing about it right now— come on, come on, tell!"
The young patrolman looked uneasily astonished at this peremptory manner of examining a witness, so contrary to the regulations in the police mannual, but set down his cup and poised his pencil. "Aren't you feeling tactful tonight!" said Alison. "The cave-man technique."
"Don't be obtuse, I had the hell scared out of me and this is reaction, the way a mother spanks her lost tot she thought was kidnaped. Real redheads, they're not picked up on every street-corner, it might be all of a couple of months before I found another. Let's take this in order, now. Where have you been and what time did you get home?"
"I went to the Vesperian exhibition. It was only on today, he's really quite an impossible autocrat, you know, does things just as he pleases and if it's inconvenient for other people that's just too bad. I had to close the school for the afternoon, I wanted to see it, he had all sorts of things never on view before .... The museum? Certainly not, I'm talking about Vesperian the dealer— gallery out on Santa Monica Boulevard. I picked up Pat about one o'clock and of course we met various other people there, and afterward— about five-thirty it'd have been— some of us went on to the Bradleys', and then just as it was breaking up Tony Lawlor came in wanting to talk about it all over again— really some very interesting things— and the upshot was we all went out to dinner in a crowd, to that Swedish place— "
"Yes, yes, this Bohemian riffraff you associate with, I know the kind of thing. What time— "
“That's a very old-fashioned view," said Alison kindly. "Bohemians are a good thirty years out of date. And we went back to the Mawsons' because Sally wanted us to look at a new thing Andy'd just finished. It was about ten-thirty when Pat and I left, and I dropped her and came straight home. There was some mail, and I brought it up with me and looked at it, and this note-left by hand— I couldn't make out what on earth it was— — "
"Yes, and you've left your prints all over it, I suppose, and maybe some of the sergeant's men have too— where is it?— the bedroom— "
Mendoza went to get it, brought it back delicately balanced on his palm, and laid it on the desk. "We'll have to isolate the extra prints, if possible, that's all. ¿Qué mono, isn't this pretty? Ladylike fancy stationery, a very fine-pointed pen, and a mysterious message. You will tell your Irishman gangster that since he does not come in touch with me to conclude the bargain, all is cancelled, for his dishonorable greed— I do not buy, I pay him nothing! Let him come and ask now for his original price, perhaps I think about it, but if not by tomorrow, I seek the pol
ice and tell them his name."
"Exactly like Agatha Christie," said Alison. "Isn't it? And of course, I thought of that Lydia right away— "
"So do I. Caray, yes, and so we know who Lydia is— and, de paso, I'm vindicated. A lot of names I've been called by a lot of people, but nobody ever accused me of being an Irishman. Yes, well, I want this gone over for prints— oh, hell, Hellenthal's gone with the rest of what he picked up— have you got any wrapping paper?" He went and got it, and covered the note carefully in an improvised folder with its envelope. "All right, go on."
"Well, I couldn't make head or tail of it, but I thought you'd better hear about it, so I called you at home, and you weren't there. So I thought I'd wait until morning, and then I noticed that the top drawer in my dressing table wasn't closed. And that's a sort of complex with me, you know, drawers left open— I never do— I may stuff things away all untidy, to keep it neat on the surface, but I don't like clutter, and I always shut drawers properly. Even if I'd been in a particular hurry when I left— and I wasn't, today. I— Luis, you devil, is this that special Roquefort I had in the— ? It was for a party, I'm having some people in on Sunday— "
"You can get some more, it's good. Yes, go on."
"At a dollar and a quarter— "
"I'll buy it, I'll buy it! Go on!"
"Well! I felt a little uneasy about it, and I looked around— and there were two drawers in the desk not quite shut, and I thought I'd left the closet door closed— I usually do. But I couldn't swear to any of it, it just made me wonder a little. There isn't anything missing, not that there'd be much of real value to take, but the only good pieces of jewelry I have, my grandmother's topaz ring and a few odds and ends like that, weren't touched. I wasn't sure, I just felt-you know— a little queer about it. And you needn't remind me I was wamed, I couldn't leave the chain up when I went out, could I? And I couldn't see that the door had been forced, and those windows onto the fire escape were locked."
"With plenty of time, he could try this and that master key or even take an impression and get a key made. It wasn't forced, no, but it might have been manipulated in some way. We'll take it off and have a look, and you'll have a new one installed anyway. What about that thing, that little coin? Where was it?"
"As a matter of fact I had it with me. I wanted to show it to Vesperian, he knows a little about a lot of things and I thought he might be able to say what it was. But I didn't get a chance to talk to him, as it happened. It's still in with the change in my coin purse, in my bag."
Mendoza went to find it. "This I'll take charge of. Yes, he came when you'd be gone and he could expect enough time to search thoroughly, for such a little thing. All he was after. And he did search, and didn't find it. So he figured you must be carrying it, and he came back to get it after you were home .... What the hell is its importance? But fifty to one, that's the answer."
"Yes, I thought of it, of course. But I wasn't sure, as I say, and it seemed incredible— even after the garage business— and I didn't see any reason to call the local precinct, there wasn't anything missing and I'd feel a fool— you know how they looked at me before! And I was awfully tired, all the talk and confusion in a crowd like that, you know— I thought I'd just call you about it in the morning, there wasn't anything to do at that hour. So I went to bed. That was about midnight. All right, so I was a fool not to think of the chain— but after all, he'd been there, how did I know he was going to come back? I've no idea what time it was when I woke up— "
"The call came through at one-forty, miss," contributed Sergeant Polaski.
"Then I suppose it'd have been ten or fifteen minutes before. I don't know what woke me— some little noise he made, maybe— but all of a sudden, I was awake, and I knew there was somebody in the apartment. I lay there for a minute, telling myself not to be a nervous idiot, you know how one does, and then I did hear something for certain, just a little slurred sort of sound in here— footstep on the carpet, I think. I got up as quiet as I could, and put on my robe— I had some vague idea of waiting until he came into the bedroom, if he did, and then slipping out to reach the phone and yell 'Police!' at least. I was terrified, it's a wonder he didn't hear my heart pounding. I waited for what seemed like ages, and then he did come in— I was over by the window, I just saw a big dark shadow move through the door. He had a pencil-flash— he was awfully quiet— and he just stood there inside the door, as if he was waiting for something. I thought— "
"That sounds," said the sergeant thoughtfully, "like an experienced man. He wanted to be sure you were sleeping sound. He could tell by your breathing."
"At the moment, I sounded to myself like a steam engine. I see. I suppose that was what gave me away— he heard me from the wrong place, not the bed— and maybe I made some noise moving. Anyway, all of a sudden he switched on the flash and swept it around, and saw me— I was almost to the door— and made a lunge for me. I was too frightened to scream, I didn't think I could make a sound to save my life, but I did try— I called 'Help!' or something, that was what the Corders heard— and I managed to pull away from him and ran in here— I thought if I could get to the phone, just to knock the receiver off and yell— and of course he came after me, and he must have knocked me out the first blow, because that's all I remember. When I came to, the Corders were dithering around and the police just getting here."
"He didn't even have time to snatch your bag afterward— he heard the Corders coming, and was afraid he'd be trapped— maybe he lost his head a little, dropping the sap he'd used. Yes, I see."
"Corder," said the sergeant, "he said something about there having been some other trouble lately— garage broken into— and he seemed to think Miss Weir'd want you called, sir— "
"Yes, I told him all about it that morning, you remember," said Alison.
"Well, sir, if this is mixed up with some case you're working, as I gather it is, it's out of our hands," said the sergeant, looking interested. "And if that's all the lady can tell us," he heaved himself up— "we'll be getting back to the station."
"You've been very kind," said Alison, smiling at him. "Thank you so much." The gracious effect was marred by a sudden wide yawn. "Oh, lord, I'm getting sleepy now, those pills— "
"Well, it's our job, miss, glad to oblige," said the sergeant gallantly. "If you'll be O.K. now, alone— "
"Oh, I'll be here," said Mendoza. "It's almost morning anyway— three o'clock— and I told my sergeant to call me here. She'll be O.K., and a new lock can be put on tomorrow."
The sergeant looked rather doubtful, but took himself and the patrolman out. Williams was nearly asleep in his chair; Mendoza shook him awake and sent him back to headquarters with the note to deliver to Prints. "And you are going to bed. With another of the doctor's pills."
He steered her into the bedroom. "You'd better stay home and rest tomorrow."
"Yes, thank heaven it's Saturday," she said through another yawn.
"Were you really worried, Luis?" she added sleepily, untying the sash of her robe.
"Oh, terrified— terrified. But then I scare easy." He kissed the corner of her mouth lightly. "Go to sleep."
She kissed him back drowsily. "Don't forget the Roquefort."
"¡Qué joven, what a woman! Good night, gatita." As he came out to the living room the phone rang. It was Hackett, relaying the information that both Skyros and the Bouvardier woman had been, as far as was humanly ascertainable, virtuously in their own beds at the crucial time.
"Or at least, in their beds. Now can I go back to mine?"
“For what's left of the night. I could wish the bastard— whoever he was— had carried on this little caper tomorrow night, I've had a full day. However! Yes, I'll see you at ten o'clock, that gives you an extra two hours to get the rest a growing boy needs."
Hackett groaned and hung up. Mendoza carried all the dishes out to the kitchen and stacked them neatly, unable to wash them with one hand; struggled out of his jacket, took off his shoes and stret
ched out on the davenport, and thought some more through the last of Alison's cigarettes. Then he switched off the light, hitting his bandaged hand on the stiff parchment shade, and went to sleep.
FOURTEEN
Mr. Andreas Skyros had been a worried man even before he had those two phone calls. He would have said he could hardly have been more worried.
In the first place, there was the County Museum. He had seen Jackie Donovan yesterday evening, and Donovan had let it out to him— in the most casual way, as if it was a bargaining point!— how he had found out about the insurance. These low-class crooks!— one would think that anyone with the intelligence God favored a dog would realize— !
Donovan saying stupidly, "Well, hell, they wanted to buy it before, didn't they? If they'd bid higher'n she would— only sense to go an' ask!" Sense!
The County Museum . . . Mr. Skyros was not acquainted with its director, but he could vividly imagine what reception Donovan had had. And doubtless they had instantly called the police, or at least the insurance firm— God in heaven, yes, of course, that was how the insurance people had got onto it! For all he knew, they might have been quietly working away and found out everything—
No; stop; foolish to be so pessimistic. They could not— could they?— really have discovered anything. The insurance fellow had come to see Lydia Bouvardier, but unless she was lying, the insurance people had not seemed to know that she had actually been approached as yet. A crazy female, but not so crazy as to give that away, or Mr. Skyros' name, or Donovan's. Naturally not. And no one else knew anything about this, except Donovan's brother—
Mr. Skyros had a moment of quite violent regret. If only Jackie Donovan had not got out so soon! Another month in San Quentin, and the whole deal would have been over and done. Denny was another matter entirely than Jackie. An amiable, soft man, and stupid— even more stupid than Jackie— and very easy to handle. Denny, of course, had needed Mr. Skyros to advise him in the business— and it had again pointed the moral to Mr. Skyros of that proverb about casting one's bread on the waters. He was a man who liked to be pleasant and friendly whenever possible, and it had been only a thoughtless polite remark, that day after poor Frank's funeral, when Denny called to thank him for sending the money . . .
