Smitty says: “Yeh, but I don’t want to get into any trouble with people thinking I’m rattling on them either.”
Guild says: “Oh, it’s nothing like that. We’ll keep your nose clean both ways.”
Smitty says hesitantly: “Oh, all right then,” and puts up the telephone as Church, in his shirt sleeves, comes in from the adjoining room, holding ice wrapped in a towel to his black eye.
Church asks: “Oke?”
Smitty says: “Oke. But I’m afraid of these fancy rackets. There are too many things can go wrong.”
Church laughs at her fears. “It’s airtight—we can’t miss.”
She smiles ruefully. “If that don’t sound like Tip. I guess I’m just a sucker for men who are too slick for their own good and mine. Seven years I’ve been married to him, and he’s so slick that he ain’t been out of the can long enough to finish our honeymoon.”
Church says: “You like that guy, don’t you?”
Smitty says: “No foolin’.”
Church says thoughtfully: “So do I.” Then he asks: “Going back to him when he gets out?”
Smitty says: “Yep! I like you a lot, Sam, but Tip’s my boy.” She laughs reminiscently. “Living with him you never know what kind of a jam you’re going to get into from one minute to the next. Did I ever tell you about the time I had my operation and he gave the hospital a rubber check that bounced back before they got me on the table? Was I burned up! Another time in Boston he was fooling around on the side with a little hatcheck girl . . .” She breaks off saying, “But you don’t want to listen to all this.”
Church kisses her lightly and says: “I like to hear you talk about Tip.”
She says: “But on the level, I don’t like these schemes where a lot of pieces have to fit in together.” She dovetails her fingers. “If I was a man and wanted to steal, I’d rather take my chances just socking somebody with a hunk of pipe.”
Church says good-naturedly: “You’d miss a lot of fun.”
Smitty says: “Fun? It’s no fun to me. Anyway, if we’ve got to go in for all this razzle-dazzle, why don’t you do something about pulling that Nick Charles away from there? I don’t trust him. He looks like a guy with insomnia to me”—she smiles at Church’s eye—“and a fast punch.”
Church: “I don’t want him around, but I don’t see how he can gum our game. It was airtight without him, and it’ll be airtight with him.” He touches his black eye. “Don’t let this goog bother you. A lot of winners have had them.”
Smitty: “All right, if you say so, but maybe I ought to know more about the ins and outs of what you’re doing.”
Church: “Losing confidence in me since I stopped that punch?”
Smitty: “No, I still haven’t got that much sense.”
The doorbell rings. Smitty looks at Church.
Church wriggles a thumb at Dum-Dum, who gets up swiftly and carries his ice-cream dish into the next room, putting it on a table, and flattening himself against one side of a connecting doorway. Dum-Dum’s hand pushes his coat aside a little to rest a handle of the knife in his waistband.
Church nods his head and Smitty goes to the door.
Diamond-Back Vogel, the man Nick saw watching Church’s cottage from the hilltop that morning, is there.
Vogel says in his hoarse voice: “Hello, Smitty! Busy?”
She says: “Never too busy to see a friend. Come on in. What do you know?”
Vogel says: “Nothing much.” He follows her into the living room. He says: “Hello, Church” without much warmth.
Church says casually: “How are you, Diamond-Back?”
Smitty says: “Sit down.”
Vogel sits down, says: “No, I’ve only got a minute. A guy came in from up the river this morning with a line from Tip.”
Smitty asks: “What is it? What does he say?”
Vogel stares at Church.
Smitty says: “Go ahead—Sam’s all right. What did Tip say?”
Vogel says: “For you he’s all right maybe, but I don’t know if he’s all right for Tip. Come on out in the kitchen.”
Smitty says to Church: “You don’t mind, do you?”
Church says: “No.”
Smitty and Vogel go into the kitchen.
“What did Tip say?” Smitty asks. “Is he all right?”
Vogel growls: “He’s okay, but he’s been thinking again. He sent down a lot of forms, orders for material and stuff, with the warden’s signature forged on them, and he wants you to get hold of somebody that can pass himself off as the warden’s go-between and collect a rake-off for placing these phony orders with business houses. He says make a fifty-fifty deal with whoever you get.”
Half-laughing, half-angry, Smitty exclaims: “Nothing can stop that boy!” She holds out her hand. “Have you got the stuff he sent?”
He takes some papers from his pocket and gives them to her. She tears them up.
Vogel nods approvingly, asks: “You spend a lot of time with Church, don’t you?”
Smitty says: “Don’t start that again. He’s just a good friend like I told you.”
Vogel growls: “And a guy can get to be too good a friend, too, like I told you. Be seeing you.”
He goes out. Smitty returns to the living room.
Church says: “I’m going to skin a knuckle on that four-eyed gent some day.”
Smitty laughs and says: “Take big sister’s advice and—A, don’t try it; and B, if you think you have to, try to catch him without the cheaters on, because I’ve heard experts say he’s plenty good as long as he can see.”
Church says: “But he can’t see very well without—?” He holds thumbs and forefingers up in circles to indicate glasses.
Smitty says: “So they tell me.”
Church says: “Maybe that’s something to remember.” He looks at his watch and calls: “Dum-Dum.”
The Negro comes in.
Church says: “It’s time to get going, son.” He holds out his hand. “Good luck.”
Dum-Dum, smiling broadly, shakes Church’s hand and says: “Thank you, sir,” pulls a wadded cap from his pocket, says: “Adios” to Church and Smitty, and goes out.
AT MACFAY’S
Lois and Horn are sitting on the shore of a lake, looking out over the water. His arm is around her; she is leaning back against his shoulder.
Horn: “Happy, darling?”
Lois: “M-m-m!”
Horn: “It’s not too chilly?”
Lois: “I’d never be chilly this way.”
In the living room, Freddie is fooling with the dial of a radio. After a moment, he turns the radio off impatiently and goes to a window, where he stands looking out, biting a fingernail.
In a linen closet, Mrs. Bellam, the housekeeper, is placidly counting sheets.
In Nora’s bedroom, she is lying in bed reading, with Nick Jr. sleeping beside her. She turns her head once to smile in the direction of MacFay’s office, then goes back to her reading.
In the office, Nick’s collar is open and he has taken off his coat. A tray on a table near the desk holds the remains of their dinners. The desk is piled high with papers now.
MacFay is saying: “. . . showing a consolidation net profit of thirty-one thousand, eight hundred sixty-four dollars and twenty-two cents after all charges and normal federal income taxes, but before provision for surtax, equal, after preferred dividend requirements, to fifty-eight cents a share on the combined class A and B common stock.
Nick, trying to prop his eyes open: “I wouldn’t’ve believed it.”
MacFay: “But, production in August showed a substantial decline, though part of the sharp July increase was retained, and the average for the two months is well above that for the second quarter.”
&
nbsp; Nick: “Wait till Nora hears that!”
STREET IN HARLEM, NIGHT
Dum-Dum walks briskly up the street, looks around, then goes into the dark entrance of a building. He takes a pint bottle from one of his pockets, drinks from it, and sits down comfortably on the vestibule floor, legs sprawled, back against the wall, chin down on his chest, cap down over his eyes. After a little while, a man comes out of the building, glances timidly at him as he passes, goes on, then returns cautiously to fumble at Dum-Dum’s pockets.
Dum-Dum remains motionless except to raise one foot and kick the man in the face. The man tumbles out of the doorway, jumps up, and hurries off. Dum-Dum takes another drink from his bottle, then slumps there as before.
AT MACFAY’S
Nick is lying in bed with his eyes shut, his back to Nora’s bed.
Nora: “Aw, stop sulking.”
Nick: “You’ve no loyalty. There isn’t another wife in the world who would have left her husband in there to be seasonally adjusted like that.”
Nora: “What do you suppose ‘seasonally adjusted’ means?”
Nick: “I wouldn’t tell you. But if you’d stuck around a little longer you would have met ‘adverse long-run consequences’ and ‘major cyclical downswing.’ There’s a sweetheart!” He repeats, softly and fondly: “Major Cyclical Downswing. Can’t you see him? A little threadbare and shiny at the elbows, but still hale and hearty, with a booming, if somewhat whiskey-roughened, voice, and a contemptuous snort for those bounders who want to know what army he was ever in. Dear old fellow!”
He tries to go to sleep again.
Nora: “It’s too early to go to sleep, Nick.”
Nick: “What time is it?”
Nora, looking at the clock beside the bed: “One o’clock.”
Nick: “Sh-h-h! Colonel Both-Inclusive MacFay will hear you. No numbers are that simple. It must be one point three one six two at least.”
Fingers tap lightly on the door.
Nora: “Come in.”
Lois enters. She is wearing nightgown, robe, and slippers.
Lois: “I saw your light and wondered if you couldn’t sleep, too.”
Nick: “Some of us could and some of us couldn’t.” He gets out of bed saying: “Old Major Cyclical Downswing Charles has just the thing for you.” He pours her a drink.
Nora says: “I don’t think there’s anything to worry about now, dear. They—”
Lois says: “Oh, it’s not that. I’m not worried. I—” She laughs. “I guess I’m too happy to sleep.” She goes to the window and looks out. “It’s lovely out. Dudley and I took a long walk over by the lake, and then I couldn’t get to sleep for thinking about—” She goes over to Nora’s bed, sits down, and hugs her. “I guess you think it’s silly to be this happy about getting married, but Dudley really, really is so marvelous.”
Nick, starting to offer Lois her drink, quickly gulps it down himself.
Nora pats the girl’s shoulder and asks: “When are you getting married?”
Lois says: “The first of the month.”
There is the sound of a shot and the lights go out. There are distant sounds of doors slamming, of a man’s voice calling out in alarm, of a piece of furniture being upset, and of a body falling.
Nick strikes a match and lights candles on a dressing table. Nora is sitting up in bed clutching Nick Jr., who does not wake.
Lois gasps: “Papa! See if he’s all right.”
Nick says: “Stay here.”
He goes out into the hallway carrying one candle. From the other end of the hall, Horn, barefooted, in pajamas, is approaching with a flashlight. Freddie, dressed, comes out of his room with a candle. There are sounds of people moving in other parts of the house. The three men come together at MacFay’s bedroom door.
The door is ajar. Horn pushes it open and throws the beam of his flashlight on the bed. MacFay’s bare legs protrude from a wadded pile of blankets that cover the rest of him, except his right arm, which, grotesquely bent, dangles down to the floor.
Nick goes to the bed, lifts enough of the covers to look at MacFay’s face. Freddie and Horn look over his shoulder. They stare at the dead man in horror for a moment; then Nick puts the covers back gently over his face. He touches the dangling hand to feel its temperature and straightens up as the housekeeper comes into the room.
Mrs. Bellam is fully dressed and carries a small Bible with one finger marking her place in it. Her face and manner are placid as ever.
Freddie says: “I’m going to be sick,” and goes out of the room hurriedly.
The housekeeper says with no sign of excitement: “I heard the noise.”
Horn says hoarsely: “MacFay’s been murdered.”
Mrs. Bellam says quietly, as if to herself: “‘The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away.’ Do you want me to phone the sheriff?”
Nick says: “Yes.”
She goes out as Lois comes in.
Just inside of the doorway, Lois halts and stands trembling with fear and grief. She says: “Dudley, is he—” She breaks off and tries again: “Is he—” but still cannot finish the sentence.
He goes to her, puts his arm around her, keeping his body between Lois and the bed. He says gently: “Yes, he’s dead.”
She tries to go past him to the bed, but he holds her, saying: “Not now, darling. You can’t look at him now.”
Horn leads Lois out.
Nick, left alone in the room, tries the light-switch beside the door, and the wall-lights go on as Freddie returns.
Both windows are open. The bedside lamp is lying on the floor with the wire torn out of it. Neither of its light bulbs is broken. On the bedside table a glass has been upset, spilling water on the table and on the crumpled newspaper, telephone, cigarette box, matches, etc. on the floor below. In one corner of the room an old-style Frontier model .44-caliber revolver lies on the floor. There is a bullet hole high in one wall.
Nick asks: “Ever see the gun before?”
Freddie says: “Yes, it’s Colonel MacFay’s.” He points to an open drawer at the bedside table. “He kept it there.”
By this time there are three or four partially dressed servants crowded in the doorway, looking into the room with excited faces.
One of the servants says: “He went out the front door.”
Nick asks: “Who?”
The servant says: “I didn’t see nobody. I just seen the front door was open when I went down to fix the fuse.”
Nick: “What fuse?”
The servant: “The one that was blowed out.”
Nick: “How did you know it was blowed out?”
Servant: “I didn’t know nothing. I was just doing what Mrs. Bellam told me. When she come out of here she told me to see if any fuses was blowed out and I went down and there was and I put in a new one and that’s when I seen the front door was open.”
Freddie: “Here’s Mrs. Bellam now.”
The housekeeper comes in carrying a tray with two cups of coffee and some toast on it. She says: “I don’t suppose you’ll be getting back to sleep again tonight, so maybe you’ll feel better for this.” She puts the tray down, looks at the bed, shakes her head, and says mildly: “Poor soul—seems he always expected to be murdered like this.”
She goes out, driving the servants away from the door as she goes.
Horn comes in.
Freddie asks: “How’s Lois?”
Horn says: “She’ll be all right. I left her with Mrs. Charles.” He looks at the bed. “That’s a mean way to die.”
Nick asks: “Know any good ways?”
The sound of cars and motorcycles arriving comes through the open windows.
The arriving party consists of the assistant district attorney, the examining physician, t
hree deputy sheriffs, a photographer, a fingerprint expert, and three state troopers on motorcycles. From time to time more troopers, deputies, etc., come until there are altogether some fifteen or twenty of them. These are well-trained men who go to work immediately with a minimum of noises and confusion. Floodlights are turned on the grounds around the house and men afoot and on motorcycles set off to examine every part of the estate. Servants and outer guards are rounded up for questioning.
The assistant district attorney, followed by a deputy sheriff, photographer, medical examiner, and fingerprint man go up to MacFay’s room.
VanSlack, the assistant district attorney, is a tall, stooped, colorless young man with a vague face; the same vagueness characterizes his words and manner.
He looks uncertainly around the room and says: “I am Assistant District Attorney VanSlack.”
Horn says: “How do you do. This is Nick Charles, Freddie Coleman, and I’m Dudley Horn, and here is—” He finishes the sentence by motioning with his hand toward the bed.
The photographer, setting up his camera, says to the medical examiner: “You can have it in a minute, Doc.” He asks Horn: “Anything been moved?”
Horn looks at Nick, who says: “Only this doesn’t belong here.” He takes up the tray with the cups of coffee and toast on it.
VanSlack says: “If you gentlemen will, eh—” and steps back out of the room.
The others follow him out into the corridor. Nick puts the tray on the floor.
VanSlack asks: “Do you know who found him?”
Nick says: “The three of us. We met at the door.”
VanSlack, clearing his throat again, says: “I don’t suppose you saw anything.”
Nick says: “Just what you see in there now.”
VanSlack asks: “Was there any special reason for you three meeting here? I mean had you heard anything—perhaps—”
Nick answers: “A shot.”
VanSlack says: “Oh—there was a shot? Did it—do you mind telling me where you were when you heard it?”
Nick says: “I was in my bedroom at the other end of the hall with my wife and MacFay’s daughter.”
Return of the Thin Man Page 18
