Polly turns to Dancer, angrily, exclaiming: “That’s a lie! You had no right to—”
Little Caspar interrupts her, saying: “Take it easy—take it easy. That’s the idea of this police clowning—to get you all at each other’s throats. Just answer any of their questions that you want to and don’t let ’em get under your skin.”
Abrams complains to Nick: “That’s the way it goes. I leave that little shyster stay in here because I got nothin’ to hide and he keeps buttin’ in. If he don’t stop it, I’m going to put them where he’ll need a court order to get to them.”
Caspar smiles and says: “Well, that’s never been much trouble so far.”
Abrams turns to Polly again, asking: “Where is this brother of yours that didn’t kill anybody?”
Polly says: “I don’t know. I haven’t seen him today.”
Abrams asks: “Does he live with you?”
Polly says: “No. He lives in a hotel on Turk Street. I don’t know just where.”
Abrams says: “You don’t know much about anybody, do you?”
Polly says: “I honestly don’t know what hotel. Phil’s always moving.”
Abrams says: “What’s the matter—does he have to move every time he don’t kill somebody? What does he do for a living—besides not killing anybody?”
Polly says: “He’s a chauffeur, but he hasn’t been able to get much work lately.”
Abrams asks if anybody knows Selma Young. Nobody does.
Abrams asks Nick: “What do you think of it now?”
Nick says: “My dear lieutenant, you wouldn’t expect me to question a lady’s word.”
Abrams says: “It’s all right for you to kid. Nobody jumps on your neck if you don’t turn up a murderer every twenty minutes.” He sighs and, indicating Dancer and Lum Kee, asks: “Well, what about them?”
Nick says: “They seem to have disappeared not long after Polly and Landis went out. Then showed up again with their hats on around the time I heard about the murder.”
Abrams asks Dancer: “Well?”
Dancer says: “I went out to get some air. What city ordinance does that break?”
Lum Kee, who has continued to read all through the scene so far, puts down his book and says: “I went with him.”
Dancer tries not to show surprise.
Abrams says: “Yeah? Where’d you go for all this air?”
Lum Kee says, blandly: “Air pretty much same everywhere. We go in my car—ride around. Ask chauffeur.”
Nick says: “There was another little point: I told Dancer Landis had been killed but he seemed to know that he’d been shot.”
Abrams asks Dancer: “How about that?”
Dancer says, disagreeably: “This is the twentieth century—in a big city. How do most people get killed—battle-axes? I just took it for granted, like you would when you don’t know you’re on the witness stand.”
Abrams asks: “Have you got a gun?”
Dancer takes an automatic out of his pocket and gives it to Abrams. From a card case he takes a slip of paper and gives it to Abrams, saying: “Here’s my permit.”
Abrams asks Lum Kee: “You?”
Lum Kee brings Abrams an automatic and a permit.
Caspar says: “If you’re going to take those, Lieutenant, we should like a receipt.”
Abrams complains to Nick: “I can’t stand that shyster.”
Nick: “I was beginning to suspect that.”
Abrams asks Polly: “Have you got a gun?”
Polly shakes her head no.
Abrams: “What’d you do with it?”
Polly: “I never had one.”
Abrams, wearily: “Nobody has anything, nobody knows anything. I don’t see why I don’t give up this racket and go farming.”
Dancer, to Caspar: “Everybody thought he did a long time ago.”
Abrams: “I’m laughing. Did you know this Pedro Dominges?”
Dancer: “No.”
Abrams looks at Lum Kee, who says: “No.”
Abrams stands up wearily, saying: “Come on, we’re going down to the Hall of Justice.”
Caspar: “On what charge?”
Abrams, disgustedly: “Charge, me eye! Witnesses. You ask ’em questions—where were you when you were over there?—and you have a stenographer take it down. You ought to know. Your clients spend nine-tenths of their time doing it.” He looks at his watch, nods at the door through which the sound of music comes, says: “Or maybe for staying open after hours. Didn’t you ever tell ’em about the two o’clock closing law?”
Caspar: “I’m going with ’em.”
Abrams: “And you can bring the wife and kiddies for all I care.”
The door opens and Nora and David come in accompanied by their detective. David and Polly look at each other with startled recognition, but neither says anything. Nora goes quickly over to Nick, who asks: “What are you up to now?”
Nora: “Have they found out who did it? Who did it, Nick?”
Nick: “Sh-h-h, I’m making Abrams guess.”
Abrams looks from David to the detective and asks: “Where’d you find him?”
Detective: “You told me to shadow anybody that left the Landis house. Well, Mrs. Charles did, and went over to his apartment, and I knew you wanted to talk to him, so as soon as I found out who it was I went on up and got him. There’s something about a fellow on the fire-escape, but they can tell you better than I can.”
Abrams looks questioningly at Nora, who says: “Yes, it was—” She looks at Polly, hesitates, says: “It was her brother,” then to Dancer: “The one you threw down the stairs when we came in.”
Everybody looks expectantly at Polly, who seems dumbfounded. After a long moment she exclaims: “I don’t believe it!”
Nick says: “That’s certainly a swell answer.”
Abrams asks Nora: “What was he doing on the fire-escape?”
Nora: “I don’t know. He went away as soon as we saw him and by the time we could get the window open there was no sign of him. You know how foggy it is. And then this man came”—indicating the detective—“and by the time we could persuade him to do anything it was too late.”
The detective, apologetically: “I reckon maybe I wasn’t up on my toes like I ought to’ve been, Lieutenant, but it sounded kind of screwy to me at first.” He addresses Nick: “I didn’t know she was your wife then.”
Nick: “You never can tell where you’re going to find one of my wives.”
The sound of music suddenly stops. Out in the restaurant, the customers, complaining about this unaccustomed early closing, are being shooed out.
Polly flares up, saying angrily: “What are you picking on Phil for? What’s the matter with Robert’s wife killing him? He told me himself she was batty as a pet cuckoo and would blow up and gum the whole thing if she found out that this guy—she points at David—was paying him to go away. Maybe she did find out about the bonds. What’s the matter with that?”
Abrams looks thoughtfully at David and says: “Hmmm, so that’s where the bonds came from?”
Dancer is watching Polly with hard, suspicious eyes. Nick, surprised, asks David: “Bonds?”
David nods slowly.
Abrams says to Polly: “This is no time to stop talking—go on, tell us more about this bond deal.”
Caspar comes forward importantly, saying to Polly: “No, no, I think this is a very good time to stop talking at least until you’ve had some sort of legal advice—”
Polly says: “They know about it. Anyway, he does” (indicating David). “Besides, you’re Dancer’s and Lum’s mouthpiece, not mine. How do I know you won’t leave me holding the bag?”
Abrams looks pleased for the first time since he’s come into the room. He says to Polly: “Now just a minute—that’s fine!” He turns to Caspar and says: “So you aren’t her lawyer? Well, that’ll give us a little rest from your poppin’ off. You and your two clients are going outside and wait until we get through talking to the little lady—”<
br />
Caspar starts to protest, but Abrams nods to his detectives and two of them take Caspar, Lum Kee, and Dancer out. At the door, Dancer turns to warn Polly: “Don’t get yourself in any deeper than you have to.”
When the door is closed behind him, Abrams sits down with a sigh of relief and says: “It’s a lot better in here without them—especially that little shyster. Now maybe we can get somewhere!” He turns and sees that Nick, Nora, and David are huddled together whispering in a far corner of the room. David is telling Nick about Selma and the gun. Abrams says, gloomily: “There it is again. If people got anything to say, why don’t they say it to me?”
The huddle breaks up, Nick saying: “Just a little family gossip.”
Abrams says: “I’d even like to hear that.” He asks Polly: “Did you ever see Mr. Graham before?”
Polly says: “I saw him tonight, when we went to get the bonds.”
Abrams asks: “You and Robert Landis went to get them?”
Polly says: “Yes. He was waiting for us on the corner of _______Street—and he gave them to Robert.”
Abrams asks: “And then what?”
Polly says: “And then nothing. We left him and Robert went home.”
Abrams asks: “And what did you do?”
Polly, after a moment’s hesitation, says: “I went with him.”
Abrams asks: “He took you home with him?”
Polly says: “Well, not in the house. I waited for him a block away—around the corner.”
Abrams asks: “And then what?”
Polly says: “I waited a long time and then I heard a shot—only I thought it might be an automobile backfire—it was foggy and I was too far away to see anything—and I didn’t know what to do—then after a while a policeman went past the doorway where I was standing—and a police car came—then I honestly didn’t know what had happened, but I thought I’d better get out of the neighborhood if I didn’t want to get in trouble—so I came back here—”
Abrams says: “Phooey!” and looks at Nick.
Nick says: “I think somebody ought to ask her where she was too far away from—”
Polly stammers: “From wherever it was it happened. If I hadn’t been too far away, I’d have known where it was, wouldn’t I?”
Nick says: “I give up.”
Abrams: “All right—we’ll come back to that later. So you were waiting for him? What were you going to do if he hadn’t been killed?”
Polly glances uneasily at the door through which Dancer went, then shrugs and says: “We were going away.”
Abrams: “Where to?”
Polly: “New York first, I suppose—then Europe, he said.”
Abrams (looking at her evening gown): “Dressed like that?”
Polly: “We were going to stop at my place for me to change.”
Abrams: “Dancer know you were going?”
Polly: “No.”
Abrams: “Think he found it out, and knocked Landis off?”
Polly, shaking her head quickly from side to side: “No!”
Abrams: “You’re supposed to be Dancer’s gal, aren’t you?”
Polly: “I work for him.”
Abrams: “That’s not what I asked you.”
Polly: “You’ve got it wrong—honest. He knew I was running around with Robert—ask anybody.”
Abrams: “How long?”
Polly: “A month—three weeks anyhow.”
Abrams: “Get much money out of Landis?”
Polly, hesitantly: “He gave me some.”
Abrams: “How much?”
Polly: “I don’t know exactly. I—I can tell you tomorrow, I guess.”
Abrams: “Did you split it with Dancer?”
Polly: “Why, no!”
Abrams: “Maybe you’re lying. Maybe Dancer found out you were going away where you could keep all the sugar to yourself—and he put a stopper to it.”
Polly: “That’s silly!”
Abrams: “Sure. And hanging up in the air with a hunk of rope around your neck is silly, too.”
After a little pause to let that sink in, he says: “Landis hadn’t been home for a couple of days. Was he with you?”
Polly: “Most of the time.”
Abrams: “Drunk?”
Polly: “Yes.”
Abrams: “In your apartment?”
Polly: “There and here.”
Abrams: “Anybody else with you in your apartment?”
Polly: “No.”
Abrams: “Let’s get back to the money. How much did you get out of him—roughly?”
Polly stares at the floor in silence.
Abrams: “As much as a grand or two? Or more?”
Polly, not looking up: “More.”
Abrams: “More than five grand?” (Polly nods.) “All right, kick through—about how much?”
Polly shrugs wearily, opens her bag, takes out a check, and gives it to Abrams, saying: “A couple hundred dollars besides that, I guess.”
Abrams looks at the check, then up at the girl and asks: “What’d he give you this for?”
Polly: “Well, I was chucking up a job and everything to go away with him, and I didn’t want to take chances on being stranded somewhere off in Europe.”
Abrams: “Looks like you didn’t all right.” He beckons to the others, who come to look over his shoulders at the check. It is to the order of Polly Byrnes for $10,000 and is signed by Robert Landis. They look at one another in amazement.
Nick says: “Where do you suppose he got hold of that much?”
Abrams: “Why? Aren’t they rich?”
Nick: “The money is his wife’s, and she found out some time ago that she had to stop giving him too much at a time—just on account of things like this.”
Abrams: “Yeah? How about the signature?”
Nick: “Looks all right to me.”
David: “And to me.”
Abrams (as if thinking aloud): “But he don’t usually have this much money, huh?” He asks Polly: “Sure you didn’t take this to the bank today and find out it was no good?”
Polly: “I did not.”
Abrams: “That’s something we can check up. You know you’re not going to have any easy time collecting this—unless his wife’s as big a sap as he was.”
Polly: “Why? He gave it to me.”
Abrams: “Maybe. But his bank account’s automatically tied up now till the estate’s settled, and then I got an idea you’re going to have to do a fancy piece of suing—taking a drunk for his roll!”
Polly: “I’ll take my chances. Just the same, if his dying makes all that trouble, that shows we didn’t have anything to do with killing him, doesn’t it? Why wouldn’t we wait till after we’d cashed it?”
Abrams: “We, we, we! So Dancer was in on it! How about the Chinaman?”
Polly: “Nobody was in on it. There was nothing to be in on.”
Abrams: “Phooey!” He addresses the remaining detective: “Okay, Butch. Take her and her two playmates down to the hall and let the district attorney’s office know you’ve got ’em there. We’ll be along in a little while.” He turns to Nick: “Or do you want to ask her something?”
Nick: “Yes. Did Robert Landis know Pedro Dominges?”
Polly shakes her head and says: “Not that I—” She remembers something. “Once when Robert and I were going out together we passed him and he said good evening to both of us by name and we couldn’t figure out how he knew Robert’s, and Robert made some joke about nobody being able to hide anything from a landlord.”
Nick: “Thanks.”
Polly and the detective go out.
Abrams: “That mean anything to you?”
Nick: “Not too much.”
Abrams: “Now, Mr. Graham, I’ve got to—” He breaks off to look at Nora and Nick, saying thoughtfully: “I don’t know whether you two ought to be in here while I’m doing this or not.”
Nick, yawning, says: “I know where we ought to be. Come on, darling.”
/>
Abrams: “Maybe you ought to stay. Now, Mr. Graham, I got to ask a lot of questions that you’re not going to like, but I got to ask ’em.”
David: “I understand.”
Abrams: “First off, you’re in love with Mrs. Landis. Right?” David starts to protest, then simply nods. “She in love with you?”
David, trying to speak calmly in spite of the painfulness of this inquiry: “You’ll have to ask her.”
Abrams: “I will. Did she ever say she was?”
David: “Not—not since she was married.”
Abrams: “Before?”
David: “We were once engaged.”
Abrams: “Until Landis came along?”
David, in a very low voice: “Yes.”
Abrams: “Ever ask her to divorce him and marry you?”
David: “She knew how I felt—it wasn’t necessary to—”
Abrams: “But did you ever ask her?”
David: “I may have.”
Abrams: “And what did she say?”
David: “She never said she would.”
Abrams: “But you hoped she would. And you thought with him out of the way she would.”
David looks Abrams in the eye and says: “I didn’t kill Robert.”
Abrams: “I said you did? But you did pay him to go away.”
David: “Yes.”
Abrams: “Did she know about it?”
David: “No, not unless he told her.”
Abrams: “Were you and Landis on good terms?”
David: “Decidedly not.”
Abrams: “On very bad terms?”
David: “Very bad.”
The lights go out. In complete darkness Abrams’s voice is heard saying: “Stay where you are—everybody!”
From the distance come the sounds of doors crashing, of glass breaking, of feet running, of men shouting; then close at hand furniture is knocked over, a door is slammed open, feet pound on the floor, two shots are fired, bodies thud and thrash around on the floor. Presently a cigarette lighter snaps on, held in Nick’s hand. Behind him, in the dim light, Nora’s and David’s faces can be seen. The three of them are looking down at their feet. Abrams lies on the floor on his back. On top of him, mechanically chewing gum, his face serene, is Harold. One of his feet is on Abrams’s throat; both his hands are clamped around one of Abrams’s feet, twisting it inward and upward in the old Gotch toehold.
Return of the Thin Man: Two never-before-published novellas featuring Nick & Nora Charles Page 9
