The Washington Hotel had an unsavoury reputation. It was a-room-bythe-hour-and-no-questions-asked joint, sandwiched between an amusement arcade and a beer shop, facing the river. In its basement, hidden away behind a cleverly constructed sliding panel, was a big room where you could enjoy a pipe of opium if you wanted it and if you could pay for it.
On the top floor were a number of well-furnished rooms which were occupied by the hotel’s residents: mostly men just out of prison who were feeling their feet, taking a look around and getting used to their new-found freedom.
The hotel was owned by Sean O’Brien, and Police Captain Motley had taken care that his men didn’t worry the management or the residents. The manager, Seth Cutler, short, thick-set and as hard as granite, was startled when he saw Lieutenant Adams coming across the dimly lit lobby. He leaned his elbows on the desk and waited, his eyes watchful.
“Evening, Lieutenant,” he said, when Adams came to rest opposite him. “Long time no see.”
“Yeah,” Adams said. “Let me take a look at your register.”
Cutler raised his eyebrows, poked his little finger into his right ear, wiggled it about and then withdrew it and examined his nail to see what he had found.
“Snap it up!” Adams barked, his voice suddenly harsh.
Cutler said, “Excuse me, Lieutenant, but haven’t you come to the wrong joint? This is the Washington. We’ve got protection.”
“Give me the book!” Adams said.
Cutler raised his shoulders, produced a well-worn, leather-bound book, blew dust off it and laid it on the desk.
The last entry in the book was dated June 19th, 1941.
“It’s a wonder you keep in business,” Adams said in disgust. He shoved the book back. “I’m looking for Maurice Yarde.”
Cutler shook his head.
“Never heard of him, Lieutenant. Sorry. Help you if I could.”
Adams nodded.
“That’s too bad. Then I’ll have to go from room to room until I find him.”
“I wouldn’t do that, Lieutenant.”
Adams stared steadily at Cutler.
“That’s what I’m going to do unless you tell me where I can find him.”
“The Captain wouldn’t like it.”
“You have your lines snarled up,” Adams said. “The Captain told me to talk to Yarde. This isn’t a pinch. I just want information.”
Cutler hesitated.
“I don’t like my best clients bothered, Lieutenant. I’d rather get it straight from the Captain.”
“Okay, if that’s the way you feel about it,” Adams said, shrugging. “I’ll start in on the ground floor and work up, and I’d like to see you stop me! Don’t blame me if your other clients get annoyed with you.”
“He’s on the top floor, No. 10,” Cutler snarled, his face turning red.
“Thanks.”
Adams wandered over to the ancient elevator, got in, closed the gate and hauled on the rope that raised the evil-smelling cage up the equally evilsmelling shaft.
He was thankful when the elevator creaked to a standstill on the top floor. All the way up he had been expecting the rope to snap or the bottom of the cage to drop out.
Facing him was a long passage with doors every few yards. He walked to room 10, listened outside, then hearing no sound in the room, he rapped on the door. Nothing happened, and he rapped again.
The door opposite abruptly opened.
A girl in a blue-and-red silk wrap, her auburn hair about her shoulders, leaned against the door-post and showed him a long white leg and a wellrounded thigh through the opening in her wrap.
“He’s out,” she said. “If you want to wait, there’s a chair in my room.”
“You’re talking to a police officer,” Adams said mildly.
The girl wrinkled her nose, then lifted her shoulders.
“I can’t afford to be fussy. The offer still stands.”
Adams joined her at the door.
“When did Yarde go out?”
“Last night. Is he in trouble?”
“Not that I know of. What time last night?”
“About eight. Are you coming in or are you just wasting my time?”
“I told you I was a police officer,” Adams said patiently. “You are giving me evidence for an arrest.”
The girl giggled.
“Funny man! Didn’t anyone tell you this joint’s got protection?” She made a face at him and closed the door.
Adams scratched his chin thoughtfully, then moved back to room 10, turned the handle of the door and pushed speculatively. To his surprise the door swung open. He put his hand on the inside wall and groped for the light switch, found it and turned it down.
The disorder that met his eyes made him step quickly into the room and close the door.
The room looked as if it had been hit by a cyclone. Drawers were pulled out and their contents strewn over the floor. The bedding had been ripped: the mattress stuffing and the pillow feathers were all over the room. The two easy chairs had been ripped to pieces. Pictures had been taken down, and now lay on the floor, their backs torn off. The wardrobe door stood open: suits, shoes, shirts and underwear lay in a disordered heap before the wardrobe.
Someone had obviously been searching the room for something pretty important, Adams thought, and the search had been as thorough as it had been destructive.
He walked over to the telephone, lifted the receiver and, when he heard
Cutler’s voice, he said, “I want you. Come up.”
While he waited, he examined the room, but found nothing to interest him.
Cutler came in hurriedly. From the way he was breathing, Adams guessed he had run up the stairs.
When Cutler saw the disorder, he came to an abrupt standstill.
“For crying out loud!” he exclaimed.
“Why didn’t you tell me Yarde was out?” Adams asked acidly.
“I didn’t know he was,” Cutler said. “What the hell’s been going on here?”
“How do I know? I found it like this. Have you another way out beside the main lobby?”
“Yeah. At the end of the passage and down the fire escape.”
“So whoever did this could have come up that way?”
“I guess so.”
Adams grunted.
“There’s a girl in the opposite room. She might have seen something. Bring her here.”
Cutler hesitated, but the cold, hard light in Adams’ eyes warned him this wasn’t the time to be unco-operative.
He crossed the passage, opened the opposite door.
“Hey, Milly, come here a moment.”
The girl appeared, looked across the passage at the disordered room and her eyes lit up.
“Gee I Did someone lose something?”
“Did Yarde go out by the escape last night?” Adams asked.
“Do I answer this copper’s questions?” she asked Cutler.
He nodded.
“Okay, if you say so,” she said, “but I thought this joint had protection.”
“Did Yarde go out by the escape last night?” Adams snapped.
“Yes. Everyone uses the escape.”
“This mess couldn’t have been made without a lot of noise. Didn’t you hear anything?”
“I had the radio on, but I did hear furniture being pushed around. I didn’t think anything of it.”
“What time last night?”
“About half-past ten.”
“You didn’t see any stranger in the passage?”
“If I had I would have called Seth.”
“You said just now that Yarde was out. Didn’t you think it was odd to hear noises in his room after he had gone out?”
“How was I to know it was in his room? I just heard noises. Why should I care?”
“How do you know Yarde went out at eight last night? Did you see him?”
“Yes.”
“Did he say where he was going?”
“He said he was going to raise some money.”
“Did he tell you that?”
“Yes. He had borrowed ten bucks off me and I wanted it. He said he hadn’t got it on him, but he would give it to me when he got back.” She looked around the room. “Doesn’t look as if he is coming back now, does it?”
“Did he say how he was going to raise the money?”
“I didn’t ask him.”
“Okay,” Adams said, waving her to the door. “You can go.”
“Thanks copper for nothing,” she said, and flounced back to her room.
“Got any ideas about this?” Adams asked Cutler.
Cutler shook his head.
“If Yarde shows up tell him I want to talk to him. I want information. He isn’t in trouble, but he will be if he doesn’t get in touch with me.”
“I’ll tell him. Want to go out by the escape?”
“Anything’s better than your elevator.”
They walked along the passage to a door at the far end. Cutler opened it and Adams stepped out on to an iron platform. From where he stood, he had a good view of the waterfront and the surrounding buildings. Immediately below him was a dark alley that ran by the side of the hotel and led out on to the waterfront.
“So long, Lieutenant,” Cutler said.
Adams wasn’t paying attention. He was watching two men standing in the shadows. Facing them was a cop. The taller of the two men suddenly stepped back.
There was something about the cop’s cautious attitude that held Adams’ attention. He saw the taller one move slightly around to the back of the cop. He made a sudden movement and then the quiet night was shattered by the sound of gunfire.
The cop took a step forward and fell on his knees. The man who had fired grabbed his companion by the arm and dragged him down the alley immediately below where Adams was standing.
Adams’ hand slid inside his coat and he jerked out his .38 police special. He took a snap-shot at the taller of the two men and had the satisfaction of seeing him stagger. He raised the gun to fire again, but Culter appeared to slip and cannoned into him, spoiling his aim.
The two men had now disappeared down the alley.
Shoving Cutler aside, Adams raced down the escape, three steps at a time.