CHAPTER ONE

THE BOYS, WHO had come to see Vessi die, were lined up before the bar. They were putting up a good front, but they were all scared sick.

I came into the bar just when the liquor was hitting them. When they saw me, they let out a groan.

“For Gawd’s sake, look who’s here,” Barry shouted. “The nine days’ sensation himself.”

Barry Hughson was a good guy, but he’d got plenty of gristle mixed with his brains. I just called for a rye and gave them a grin. “H’yah, boys,” I said, waving my hand. “I bet some of you’re goin’ to change your tune mighty soon.”

They didn’t like that crack, and gathered round looking tough. Hughson poked me in the chest with his forefinger. That’s a thing I love. Some guy poking me in the chest. Barry was tight, so I let it slide.

“Listen, Bud,” he said, screwing up his eyes to get my face in focus, “this little business is by invitation only. You don’t stand a chance. Be a nice lad an’ scram.”

I belted the rye and showed him my card. “You boys ain’t the only guys,” I said. “I’m with you all the way.”

Hackenschmidt of the Globe pushed his hat to the back of his head, “How d’you pull these quick ones?” he asked, his fat face looking like a startled Dutch cheese. “You ain’t got any standin’ around here, but you’re always in on the right things.”

I nodded. “I know,” I said, “it’s tough, but there it is… better to be early than late, as the airline hostess said to the passenger.”

Hughson filled his glass. He looked at the clock. “Deadline 12.1,” he said.

Hackenschmidt grabbed a handful of drinking-straws and broke them in two; discarded one lot and carefully counted the rest. I watched him thoughtfully. “You’ve left me out,” I said, after he was through.

The guy lifted his thick lip. It was his idea of a sneer. “Yeah?” he said. “I guess you ain’t in this.”

I leant forward and picked up a straw. “Put it in the bundle and don’t be a punk,” I said, offering it to him.

He looked at me, and I looked at him. Then he took the straw. Some of these flabby guys think they’re tough. Hackenschmidt was just punk, right through.

One of the straws was a lot shorter than the others. The guy who drew the short one got Vessi’s last words. I wanted the job bad.

Hughson pulled the first straw, but he didn’t get the short one. I let three more have a go, then I shoved a little, and the other guys gave way. I knew the short one, so I got it.

The others stood round, glaring at me.

“You gotta play ball,” Hughson said. “Don’t start anythin’ that ain’t on the level.”

I tossed the straw away. “You’ll get it all,” I said. “Don’t you worry.”

The time was 11.20. Just time for a couple more drinks. Those guys belted their rye like they expected to die themselves.

Outside, we crowded into three cars that were waiting to take us to the prison. Hughson, Hackenschmidt and I, with two other guys, got in the first car. Hughson drove and I sat beside him.

When he’d got the car moving, he said: “Why the interest, Nick?”

I grinned in the darkness. Hughson was a cagy bird, but he wasn’t getting anything from me. “Why not?” I asked him. “Vessi made a big noise, didn’t he? I thought I’d see him go. Anyway, this gas stunt’s a new one on me.”

Hughson swung the car past an overloaded truck.

“Not much you miss, is there?”

I shrugged. “I get by.”

“Think Vessi did it?”

I grinned again. “Don’t you?”

Hughson swore softly: “Listen, you bum, if there’s anything behind this, let me have it. I’ve done things for you, an’ I guess—”

“Skip it,” I said shortly. “How the hell do I know whether he did it or not? The jury pinned it on him, didn’t they?”

“I ain’t interested in what the jury thought. I’m askin’ what you think.”

“I never think, brother,” I said hastily. “I just wait until somethin’ happens.”

Hughson snorted. “Okay, smart guy,” he said. “Wait until you want somethin’.”

We reached the prison at 11.40. There were some other witnesses waiting outside the gates as we drove up. They all looked uneasy in the dim light, and moved a little way away as we came tumbling out of the cars. We stood there in a bunch, pretending we didn’t know what we were there for, until the gates were opened at 11.45.

A couple of bulls inspected our cards and gave us a quick frisk. Since the Snyder execution the authorities were scared sick that another guy would smuggle in a camera. The boys knew it was pretty useless to try, and the cops knew they knew it, so the frisk was really just a matter of form. When they got through, we started through a maze of gates, each of which was locked behind Us before we could pass through the next.

We marched single file, and I guess we looked a fine bunch of professional mourners. We went past the big cell buildings, our footsteps resounding on the walk. It was dark and silent in the cells. The death house was over in the far corner of the immense prison yard.

We walked round the hearse, parked in front of the death house, and a number of us just took one quick look at that wagon and tucked in our tails.

The death house had two entrances. One led to a narrow passage between the death chamber and wall of the death house. The other led to the little cell where Vessi was—a few feet from the entrance.

There was no other building near the death house. It stood alone in a corner of the yard, where the convicts played their ball game. As we shuffled across the yard the dust got on to our shoes and we took it into the death house with us.

The guard stopped at the entrance. “Who’s the guy for the last words?”

I stepped out of the file and jerked my thumb.

“Okay,” he said. “You wait here.”

The rest of the guys trooped down the passage and grouped themselves before the glass windows of the gas chamber. Hughson was the last one to take up a position. He said to me, as he passed: “Watch yourself, Bud.”

I was surprised that a grin didn’t come easy. This business was getting me a little nervy.

The gas chamber was octagonal in shape and made of steel, with windows on all sides. The narrow passage where the other boys had gone was built to allow four feet of space between the wall of the death house and the chamber. There was a very high steel chimney from the chamber up through the death house, to carry off the fumes once the execution was over.

I had a little more space on my side. I looked into the chamber. It was about five feet wide, and empty except for a steel chair, equipped with straps, standing in the centre. The cyanide ‘eggs’ were suspended from the bottom of the chair. I didn’t like the look of this spot. It gave me the heebies just to imagine myself sitting in there.

From where I stood, I could look through the window of the chamber and see the boys on the opposite side, looking through their window at me. They waved at me and I gave them the two-digit high sip. Those guys certainly looked a bunch of monkeys massed up behind the glass.

I had come to see Vessi, so I thought I might as well have a look at him. He was sitting in his cell, smoking a cigarette. He was naked but for a pair of underwear shorts.

I looked at the guard. “What’s the idea—him like that?”

The guard glanced in at the cell. “We always strip ’em down as far as we can. The gas sticks to clothes and it makes it difficult for us to get ’em out.”

“There’s goin’ to be a mighty rush for tickets when they put a dame in there,” I said.

The guard made a grimace. I guess he wasn’t feeling too good. “Yeah,” he said, “but they’ll keep you bums outta here.”

Vessi was a big guy, with a sullen, heavy face. Considering what was coming to him, I thought he was taking it pretty well. There was a glassy look in his eyes, and he was looking glum, but he wasn’t in a panic.

The chaplain, a short, fat, worried-looking guy, sat on a chair, his head lowered, intoning a prayer. Vessi looked at him every now and then and licked his lips. I could see he wished the chaplain would stop the intoning.

I felt a sudden shiver run through me, as if it had turned cold. But it hadn’t. I was sweating. The warden came down the passage quickly. There was a greenish pallor on his face, and he didn’t look at me.

He just said “Okay” to the guard.

They unlocked the door to the little cell. Vessi’s skin tightened, and he looked beyond the guards at me. I didn’t like meeting that guy’s eye, but I thought maybe I’d better give him a little encouragement. I winked at him. It was a hell of a thing to do, but I just had to tell him I was feeling for him.

The guard tapped him on the shoulder, and he stood up. He was steadier on his feet than I was.

The chaplain droned on. I could guess how Vessi felt about it. I had to hold myself in. Those prayers didn’t seem to be getting us anywhere.

Vessi came out of the cell. He was handcuffed, and he kept twisting his wrists, fidgeting with the bracelets.

The warden read the death-warrant in a sombre, get-it-over sort of voice. I could see a trickle of sweat running down behind his ear. When he was through he said: “Any last words?”

This was what I’d been waiting for. I moved forward so that I was close to Vessi. Out of the corner of my eye I could see the other guys pressed against the glass window, taking it all in, and watching me closely. Vessi looked right at me. “You got the wrong guy,” he said, his voice not quite steady. “I didn’t do it.”

The guards closed round him, but Vessi suddenly stiffened. He continued to look at me. “Break it open, Mason,” he said in a low mumble. “Lu Spencer pulled it. You gotta get him—it was Lu— do you hear—?”

The guards bustled him and he was shoved into the chamber. I made a note to please the boys, but I left the last angle out.

They put Vessi in the steel chair with the pellets under it. The straps were tightened. While this was going on—it took under forty-five seconds—he kept his eyes on my face. I nodded to him, trying to tell him I was going to do something about it. He saw he’d got my attention and relaxed in the chair.

A guard brought a crock of sulphuric acid and put it under the chair—directly under the pellets. Then he took it on the lam quick. The warden inspected the straps—one around Vessi’s chest, two on each arm, and one on each leg. He put his hand on Vessi’s shoulder. “You’ll go quick, boy,” he said. “Take a deep breath—you won’t know anythin’ about it.” Then he walked out of the chamber.

Vessi was in there alone.

The guard swung the heavy steel door shut, and shoved home the bolts. I and the warden stood looking into the chamber through the little window by the door. Ten seconds to wait, and those ten seconds seemed like ten years. I felt my heart bumping.

Vessi turned his head slowly, looking at the faces watching him. He was beginning to realise what was coming to him.

The warden had his eye on his watch. He reached out and put his hand on the lever which dropped the pellets into the acid. I could see him screwing up his will to pull that lever, and I was glad he had to do it and not me. I couldn’t look at Vessi any more. I found my eyes on the warden’s hand. I could see his muscles gradually tightening. Then with a little sigh, that came through his clenched teeth in a hiss, he jerked the lever down. The pellets dropped into the crock with a distinct flop. Vessi heard it and stiffened in his chair. A white gas began to drift from the acid. I could see the muscles of his arms suddenly bulge as he strained on the straps.

The gas rose rapidly. I thought I could taste bitter almonds— but I knew that was cock-eyed. My imagination was getting the better of me.

Vessi smelt the gas. He tossed his head back, twisting to escape the fumes. The steel chair held him. I could see him holding his breath. This guy was making it bad for himself. Finally he couldn’t hold it any longer, and he gasped. He got a big dose of the gas that time. He screamed suddenly: “No! No!” The sound of his yell rattled round the chamber. It came to us muffled and eerie.

I found myself gripping on to the steel bolt of the door. This was getting me in the guts.

Vessi choked, gasped and writhed against his bonds. I wanted to take a gun out and finish him quick.

The doctor at my elbow kept one eye on a stop-watch. Thirty seconds—thirty-five—Vessi still choked. Forty-five seconds and his head dropped back. The doctor scribbled the time opposite a blank on the sheet before him. Vessi seemed unconscious.

His head was back, and he had stopped coughing. The fumes filled the chamber. Slowly, very slowly, his head came forward. Gradually it dropped between his shoulders,, his long, black hair fell across his eyes. I could see his stomach muscles were still contracting. Three minutes had gone past. With a little shake his head came up a bit.

The doctor said, in a low, bored voice: “He’s dead.”

I stepped away from the window. Hughson came rushing round from the other side of the chamber, followed by the mob. They all looked pop-eyed and slightly sick. I felt that way myself. It took Vessi four minutes and a bit to die.

“What did he say?” Hughson demanded.

I shrugged. “He said, ‘You got the wrong guy, I didn’t do it’.”

“Yeah?” Hackenschmidt sneered. “That’s been his yap right through the trial.”

Hughson was looking at me suspiciously. “Did he say anythin’ else?”

I shook my head. “No… just that.”

They made a dive to get out. There was an immediate scramble for ’phones and the telegraph office. I let the rush get on ahead, then I turned to follow.

The warden touched my arm. He was trying to look casual. “I shouldn’t pin much to the Spencer angle,” he said.

I paused and looked at him, but he was wearing a dead pan.

“You don’t think so?” I said hopefully.

He shook his head. “I should forget all about it.”

I pushed my hat a little over my eyes. “Did you hear the one about the guy with a wooden leg, playin’ ping-pong…?”

The warden nodded his head. “Yeah,” he said, “it’s got round to me.”

I edged towards the exit. “I guessed maybe it had,” I said, and left him.

CHAPTER TWO

I WENT OVER to the Press room at Police Headquarters. There was one guy I wanted to talk to, and I was hoping he’d be there. He was.

I pushed open the door and looked around the smoke-laden room. Four of the usual mob were playing cards round a small table in the centre of the room. I just gave them a quick glance and looked further. Over in the corner, on a battered couch, Ackie was sleeping.

Ackie was the ugliest guy I’d ever seen. He was a little runt, with coarse hair growing out of his ears, his nose and out of his collar. His face must have given the midwife a series of nightmares when he was born, but I knew he was about the smartest Press man on the beat.

I wandered over to him and pulled up a chair. Then I shook him awake.

When he saw me, he sat up and glared. “You’re a sweet pal,” he said. “Can’t you let me snatch some sleep?”

“Aw, forget it, Mo,” I said. “Sit down, I wantta talk to you.”

Ackie rubbed his face hard with his hand, pushing his rubbery nose to the most extraordinary angles.

I took out a packet of Camels, gave him one and lit up myself. “What is it, you bum?” he demanded. “I bet you want to pick my brains again.”

I shook my head. “You ain’t got brains,” I said. “You just think you have.”

Ackie shut his eyes. “They fixed Vessi to-night,” he said.

“Yeah,” I said, surprised.

“What made you turn up?” he asked, without opening his eyes.

“How the hell did you know I turned up?” I demanded.

When Ackie smiled he looked horrible. I shifted my eyes. “Not much I don’t hear,” he said. “What made you turn up?”

“Listen, Mo,” I said patiently; “I came here to ask you somethin’, not you to ask me.”

He lifted one hooded lid and squinted at me. “Why the interest, brother? Somethin’ hangin’ to it?”

These news-hawks were all the same. I dragged down some smoke and held it for a second, then let it drift down my nostrils. “I don’t think Vessi did it,” I said, keeping my voice low.

Ackie groaned and shut his eye. “He’s dead now, ain’t he?

“This guy Richmond,” I said, selecting my words, “I guess he had more enemies than Vessi?”

“Yeah, he’d more enemies than most guys. Richmond was a heel. He had it comin’ to him.”

“There was a woman hangin’ to the killin’, wasn’t there? They never turned her up.”

Ackie lifted his shoulders. “There were hundreds of women,” he said indifferently. “That guy had women in his hair all day long.”

“Who was she?” I asked softly.

Ackie raised his head. “Nothin’ doin’,” he said. “Richmond’s dead an’ Vessi’s dead; both those guys were rats. It’s washed up… forget it.”

“Why the hell should everyone want to play this business down?”

Ackie grinned a little. “Do they?” he said.

“Now listen, Mo,” I said. “There’s somethin’ you know an’ somethin’ I know. Suppose we go round to my place an’ talk about it?”

Ackie shook his head. “Just as soon as you get out of here I’m goin’ to sleep,” he said firmly.

I shrugged. “There’s a whole bottle of rye waiting,” I told him.

Ackie got to his feet hastily. “Why not say so before?” he demanded. “Where the hell’s my hat?”

On the way down to my apartment Ackie talked ball games. He didn’t know much about the game, but he liked to air his views. I let him talk. I’d got things to think about.

Once I got him in an armchair with a big rye and ginger in his hand, I got down to things.

“This ain’t to go further, Mo,” I began, putting my feet on the table, “but it looks to me like I’ve gotta put the cards down before you’ll give me a hand. I want help, Mo, and I want it from you.”

Ackie grunted, but he didn’t say anything.

“I stand to pick up ten grand if I start a row about Vessi’s execution,” I said.

Ackie looked up sharply. “Who’s slippin’ you the dough?”

I shook my head. “That’s under my lid,” I said. “Ten grand’s nice money, and from what I’ve picked up already there’s something mighty phoney about Vessi’s case. It begins to look as if it was a frame-up from the very start.”

Ackie looked worried. “You’d better lay off this, Nick,” he said seriously. “You might run into a lotta grief.”

“Come on,” I said shortly, “let’s have it. What’s it all about?”

I could see him making up his mind. In a minute or so I could see I was going to get it all right.

“Larry Richmond was the President of the Mackenzie Fabric Corporation,” he said slowly, fixing his eyes on a spot just above my head. “A great many guys are stockholders in this business. These guys are the big shots of commerce and industry. People who hold public office.”

I leant forward and took the glass out of his hand and refilled it. He took it from me with a little grimace. “Shouldn’t touch the stuff,” he said. “It rusts my guts or somethin’.”

“Keep going,” I said.

“Maybe you think there ain’t anythin’ odd about this, but there is. Richmond privately negotiated all the stock to these people. It was never thrown on to the open market. You know how Richmond stood in society. He’d only have to go around and drop a hint or two, and the lot was over-subscribed.” He paused to take a long pull at his glass. “If anything turns up now to reopen an investigation into Richmond’s death there’s goin’ to be a lot of trouble for those stockholders.”

I didn’t hurry him. This was news to me, and I wasn’t sure where it was getting me. “How come?” I said.

Ackie turned his eyes on me. “Even my boss has got stock in the business,” he said. “He’s told us boys to lay off. We don’t know, but we’ve got a good idea that the Mackenzie Fabric Corporation is a blind, and another racket is goin’ on behind the scenes that pays the big divs. The guys who’ve got their dough in there don’t want to know anythin’—they’re scared sick that some smart monkey like you’ll come along an’ blow the lid off.”

I got to my feet. “What’s the racket?”

Ackie shrugged. “Gawd knows. Could be anythin’. The point is that so many of the big shots have got their dough in the business that it’s mighty dangerous to start anything.”

“Vessi was the mug?”

Ackie nodded. “Sure Vessi was the mug. Some guy didn’t like his rake-off, so he plugs Richmond. This guy was connected with the firm. They couldn’t prosecute him without blowin’ the gaff, so they find a fall-guy. Vessi gets the killin’ pushed on to him. That’s the story, Bud—now forget it, will you?”

I said: “Who’s Lu Spencer?”

Ackie shot me a quick look. “Spencer was Richmond’s right hand. He’s the guy who’s taken over now Richmond’s dead.”

“Lu Spencer was the guy who killed Richmond, huh?”

Ackie’s face went blank. “I wouldn’t know that,” he said, a sudden caution in his voice.

“Okay, Mo,” I said, “you’ve given me the dope. Thanks a lot.”

Ackie got to his feet. “You ain’t goin’ to start any trouble?” he asked. There was a glint in his eye that told me he was hoping I would.

“Suppose we don’t go into that?” I returned. “Whatever happens, I’ll play this carefully. Didn’t they say that Richmond was playing around with Vessi’s girl, and that’s why Vessi knocked him off?”

Ackie nodded. “Yeah,” he said, “that was the angle.”

“Who was she, Mo?”

Ackie frowned. “She was a French moll,” he said slowly. “They kept her covered up at the trial. Andree somethin’ or other… they call her Blondie on her beat.”

I scratched my head. “She a professional dame?” I asked, surprised.

“Vessi liked them to keep themselves, you know.”

“I guess I want to meet this dame,’ I said, I might get an angle….”

“I don’t know where she hangs out, but she goes into the Hotcha Bar most nights.”

I patted him on the back. “Here, Bud, take the rye, I said, turning back to the table. “I guess you’ve earned it.”

Ackie sneered. “Come to, bum,” he said, “I got that already. An’ say, who’s the guy that’s putting up ten grand for this story to be blown up?”

I pushed him to the door. “It’s my big Aunty Belle,” I said, shoving him into the dark corridor.

“Yeah?” he said. “You mean your big Aunt Fanny, don’tcher?”

I shut the door behind him.

When I was sure that he had gone, I went to the cupboard and took out another bottle of rye, stripped off the tissue paper and pulled the cork. I took the bottle into the other room and sat on the bed. I undressed slowly, giving my mind some exercise. When I was ready, I fetched a glass and some ginger seltzer and got into bed.

This all wanted thinking about. It seemed to me that I’d got a job on. That didn’t worry me, but I liked to see where I was heading.

Right now, I wasn’t doing too badly. I was selling articles where and when I liked. Editors liked my stuff and paid fancy rates for it. I’d got a nice little apartment, and enough booze to keep me oiled for twenty-four hours a day.

I leant forward and took a poke at the rye.

Suppose I did start something, and there was an investigation? If the Mackenzie-whatever-they-called-it turned out a ramp, then there was going to be a bad smell around, and I would be the cause of it. Maybe the newspapers would warn me off… maybe I’d lose everything I’d got… just for ten grand. Looked at from that angle, it wasn’t even interesting.

I put the glass back on the little table by my bed and lit a cigarette. When I got into bed with a load of grief like this, I always thought it would be swell to have some hot-looking dame right beside me to listen to my beef and give me an angle to work on.

A woman can be a lot of comfort, and the more I thought about it, the lower I got. I was just getting in a pretty bad shape when the telephone snapped me out of my pipe-dream.

As I reached for the ’phone, I looked over at the clock. It was just after two.

“Yeah?” I said, wondering who the hell it was.

“Is that Nick Mason?”

As soon as I heard that hard, metallic voice I sat up. My arm jogged the glass of rye, which went over with a crash. Even the spilling of good liquor didn’t take my mind off that voice.

Four days ago she had rung me up. Without saying who she was, she told me that I’d get a pass to attend Vessi’s execution and I was to try and get a word with him. If I thought I could expose a frame-up, she’d pay me ten thousand dollars. She had hung up before I could say a word.

Boy! Was I intrigued! I could handle that sort of mystery stuff from dawn to dawn. Not only was the incentive there in the way of cash, but the story angle got me excited.

And here she was again.. The voice was unmistakable. It was clear, bell-like and hard.

I sank back on my pillow, holding the ’phone tight.

“You got it right, sister,” I said.

“Did you go?”

“Yeah.”

“What happened?”

“He’s dead. I got word with him. He said Lu Spencer had pulled it.”

I heard her catch her breath. “He said that?” she asked eagerly.

“Yeah… now listen, what’s the big idea? What’s all this to you?”

“I’m goin’ to send you five thousand dollars so that you can go on with this. When you’ve found out the truth and have written it all up you’ll get the other five.”

I was scared that she was going to cut off. I said quickly, “I ain’t interested… I’ve looked into this an’ there’s too much to it.”

There was a long silence on the line.

J said anxiously, “You there?”

She said, “Yes… I thought you’d be glad to do it. I see I’ve made a mistake.”

“Suppose we get together an’ talk this over?” I said. “This is a big set-up, baby. All the big shots are in on this… it wants talkin’ over.”

She said, “I think you’ll do it all right,” and before I could shout she had hung up.

I lay there, calling her some fancy names. It didn’t get me anywhere. She was right about me doing it. I liked to push my nose into something that might scorch it. This business had a lot of angles that might prove interesting. I put the ’phone down and turned off the light. I could think a lot better in the dark.

I went through the business carefully. I’d got a few leads to follow up. First, I’d look into the stockholders of the Mackenzie Fabric Corporation. Then I might take a look at the firm and have a sniff round there. Lu Spencer wanted hunting up. Ackie was an all-right guy, and I guessed he was willing to help me if I didn’t pull him into it. Then there was Blondie. Maybe I’d get a little fun with Blondie. I had a weakness for blondes, anyway. It looked on the face of it an attractive programme.

I let it go at that and went to sleep.

CHAPTER THREE

SOMEONE WOKE me up by punching the front-door bell. I love that. Some guy always wakes me up just when I’m getting friendly with my dream blonde. That dame certainly is a nice little twitchet.

I dragged myself out of bed and padded across the two rooms to the front door.

A special messenger was leaning up against the door, humming Cole Porter. He looked at me, then at the envelope he was holding.

“Nick Mason?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I said. “Let’s have it, you mother’s nightmare.”

He gave me the envelope and I signed. Then he stood there waiting to pick up something. He’d got a hope. If he thought I was giving him anything he was crazy. I only hoped he’d fall downstairs on his way out and break his neck. I started to shut the door.

“You won’t get any place in that sleepin’-suit,” he said, and made a dash down the corridor. Maybe he thought I’d give him a poke in his puss.

I went back to the bedroom and took a look in the long glass. The kid was right. That sleeping-suit was terrible. I sat on the bed and ripped open the envelope. Five crisp thousand-dollar bills spilt on my knees. No letter—just the dough. I sat and looked at them for a few minutes. That’s one thing I can always do—sit around, looking at money. Then I put the money back in the envelope and put the envelope on the table.

There was a catch in this, of course. I’d got to start right now and earn that dough. I wandered into the bathroom and took off the sleeping-suit. The cold prickle of the shower made me feel good. Once I got through with the wet part of getting up, I always tried my hand at singing. Maybe I wasn’t so good, but I’d got a lot of power. I wrapped the towel round my waist and shaved, then I wandered back into the bedroom with the idea of having a drink to help me on the final task of dressing.

Two things struck me as soon as I entered the bedroom. There was a heavy smell of scent hanging around that certainly hadn’t been there when I left the room, and the envelope had gone.

I moved quickly. Dropping the towel, I grabbed my dressing-gown and struggled into it, running into the sitting-room as I did so. The front door was ajar. I raced to the window and threw it up. The street was deserted. I thought I caught a glimpse of a yellow taxi flashing round the corner, but I wasn’t sure. If it was a taxi, it was moving like hell.

I went back to the bedroom and stood sniffing. I’m not one of those guys who can classify a smell quickly, but I knew this stuff all right. It was the kind of scent hot mammas used to get the boys running in circles.

Right then, I was running in circles. I was as mad as a blind man at a strip tease. I went over to the telephone with the idea of getting the cops, then a thought struck me and I sat down to think about it.

Those dollar notes had looked mighty nice, and now some dame had nicked them. I was feeling mighty sore.

After a few quick drags from the rye I felt better, and I got myself dressed. All the time I wondered what the devil I was going to do. The sooner I started in on this the better. I locked up the apartment and went downstairs for my breakfast.

I ordered two lightly boiled eggs, toast and coffee. I was just getting down to serious eating when the guy who rented the apartment opposite walked in. This guy gave me a pain. There are some guys who just can’t help giving anyone a pain. You don’t know why… they try like hell to put themselves across, but they stick.

I tried to hide behind my newspaper, but I was too late. He came across with an odd expression on his face and sat down.

He said, trying to look shocked, “You didn’t ought to have girls in your place, Mason; it gives the building a bad name.”

I said, “You’re kiddin’ yourself. The place had a bad name long before I moved in. Besides, I don’t know what you’re talking about. What’s all this about dames?”

The waitress came up just then and took his order for tomato-juice and toast. When she had gone, he spread himself over the table. “I saw her when I was getting the paper,” he said. “She came out fast, just like she had been chased out.”

I thought: if I’d seen her, she’d come out faster than that.

“You’re nuts,” I said. “Soon as I saw you, I thought your liver had been shot to hell.”

A look of doubt crossed his face, then he came back again. “You can’t kid me,” he said, with an attempt to leer. “She was some baby… a real hot mamma.”

I finished my coffee and lit a cigarette. “Do you often get like this?” I said anxiously. “I bet you’ll even be able to describe her to me.”

“Sure I can,” he said. “She was tall, blonde, with a make-up that just knocked me. She wore black, and had a large black felt hat, and a gold something or other round her neck. She was moving fast, but I’d know her any time.”

I got to my feet, pushing the chair away with the back of my legs. I looked down at him in concern. “You gotta do something about this,” I said. “You go an’ see a croaker… you’ve been seeing things.”

I walked out of the restaurant, leaving him snorting. Once I was on the street I walked slowly, picking my way through the crowds milling to work.

So she was blonde, tall and dressed in black. A sweet job to look for a dame with that description. Still, she’d got my five grand, and I was going to find her or bust.

Maybe Ackie would know where she fitted in. I turned into a drug-store and rang the Press room, but he wasn’t there. They thought he was over at Hank’s pool-room having a game, but they weren’t sure.

I took a taxi down to Hank’s, but he wasn’t there either. They thought he’d show up, so I spent a little time practising shots on one of the tables.

I never managed to get the knack of the game, but it interested me, and whenever I got near a table I just had to push the balls around. I got so interested in-a cannon-shot that seemed to be going just right that I lost count of the time. After I had broken my combination up, I thought I’d better give Ackie a miss and get on to the street again. As I was moving, a long, thin dope, dressed like a mock member of the upper crust, wandered in and stood watching me.

He said suddenly, “What about a little game with a dollar or so on for interest?”

I’ve met these dopes before. They look so damn dumb, you think it’s a shame to take their dough, but once they’ve raised the ante to twenty-five bucks they make the ball do everything but eat a four-course lunch.

I put the cue on the table and shook my head. “I’m through,” I said. “You go an’ get some practice.”

He picked up the cue and began potting the red. I expected him to make a hell of a mess of it, but he just went ahead and gave one of the finest exhibitions of shooting I’d ever seen. He slammed the balls into the pockets from every angle, and I just dug them out and rolled them back to him. He got a spin working that made the ball float round the table, and then he finished up with a real snorter that sunk the three balls with one shot.

“I see you’ve been a beginner some time,” I said, thinking I was lucky not to have played this guy.

He leant over the table to dig out a ball, and his coat shifted up over his hip. I saw the handle of a gun sticking out of his hip-pocket. “Me? I’m punk,” he said. “I just like pushin’ the balls around.”

I took a close look at this guy. He still looked a dope, but when you examined him closely, his eyes gave him away. This guy was tough. He’d got a hanging lip that gave him the soft look, but his eyes were suspicious and hard.

He was quick to see my interest, and he leant against the table and began to clean his nails with a pocket-knife. “Ain’t seen you around before?” he said, his voice rising a little, making it a question.

I shook my head. “Just looked in for a pal,” I told him. I wondered who he was, so I thought a little harmless talk wouldn’t waste my time.

“I guess I’ve seen your face before,” he said, without looking up.

“Yeah? Maybe you have.”

“You wouldn’t be Mason, the news writer?” He overdid it. He knew who I was.

“Sure,” I said. “Maybe you’ve seen my photo somewhere.”

“Yeah.” He folded the knife and put it in his vest-pocket. “Yeah, maybe I have.” He gave me a long, hard look, then, tossing the cue on to the table, he walked out.

I watched him go thoughtfully. I couldn’t quite get the angle. I went over to the bar. Hank was polishing glasses. He was a big guy with red, curly hair and tremendous hands and arms.

“Who’s the dope?” I said, jerking my head towards the door.

Hank shrugged. “Search me,” he said. “What’ll you have?”

“Ain’t you seen him before?”

“I don’t remember.”

Just then Ackie came in. When he saw me he grinned.

“What the hell are you doin’ here?” he said, crowding up to the bar. “Two ryes and ginger,” he said to Hank.

“I wanted to see you,” I said, “so I looked in on the off-chance.”

Hank put the rye in front of us. He beamed at Ackie. “You all right, mister?” he asked.

Ackie leant forward and patted Hank’s arm. “Me? I feel fine, couldn’t be better.”

It looked like these two knew each other, so I tried again.

“That guy who was play in on the table over there… who was he?”

Hank stopped laughing. His little eyes shifted like quicksilver. “I tell you I don’t know him,” he said.

Ackie looked at me, then he looked at Hank. Ackie was a smart guy. He saw the set-up without being told. “Spill it, Hank… this guy’s a pal of mine,” he said.

“I tell you I don’t know.” Hank was getting angry. “I can’t waste all my time with you gents… I gotta get on with my work.” He walked to the far end of the bar and began polishing glasses down there.

Ackie looked after him thoughtfully and poured himself another rye. “What’s it all about?” he asked.

I shrugged. “Maybe it’s nothing. I was pushing some balls around an’ some guy offers to play me. I turned him down, an’ while he was showin’ off I spotted a gun in his pocket. Then he asked if my name was Mason, took a hard gander at me and beat it. I was just wondering who he was. This bar bozo knows who he was, but won’t say.”

Ackie frowned. “What’s this fella like?”

“A tall, thin bird, with a hanging lip and cold, hard eyes. He looked a dope, but I guess he was tough all right.”

Ackie’s eyes narrowed. “.This guy know how to handle a cue?”

“Sure, he’s the hottest thing I’ve seen.”

“That’s Earl Katz,” Ackie said. “Well! Well!”

I shook my head. “That’s a new one on me.”

“Yeah, you wouldn’t know him. He’s a bad guy all right. One of Lu Spencer’s gunmen.”

I put my glass on the bar with a sharp little click. “Lu Spencer?” I said.

Ackie nodded. “Yeah… looks to me like they’re watchin’ you already.”

“What makes Hank get the jitters about a dope like that?” I asked.

“Katz a dope?” Ackie wagged his bullet head. “You’re crazy. That guy’s as deadly as a rattlesnake. Don’t go gettin’ ideas about him. Why, Hank and the rest of us are scared sick of him.”

I took another poke at the rye. “Well, I don’t mind telling you,” I said quietly, “that guy ain’t goin’ to make me nervous.”

Ackie shrugged. “You wait till you know him,” he said.

I glanced round the room, but the place was still empty except for Hank, who was keeping away from us. I lowered my voice. “I had a little adventure last night. A dame dropped in and pinched some dough off me.”

Ackie looked interested. “You mean she came in and took your roll or somethin’?”

“I was havin’ a shower and she got in, knocked off a nice slice of my rent and skipped without me seein’ her. A guy who lives opposite me saw her go. I’m tyin’ her up to this business, an’ I wondered if you might know who she was.”

Ackie looked incredulous. “Why the hell should I know?”

“Can you fit in a dame that’s blonde and dresses in black? Wears a big felt hat and looks like a real hot mamma?”

Ackie shook his head. “Why should you tie her up to the Vessi business?” he asked.

I wasn’t going to tell him that, but just as I was getting set to air off my imagination he got it. Ackie had a lot of brain under his hat. “Jeeze! That’s a howl,” he said, smacking his thigh and giving one of his grunting laughs. “You got paid, huh? They slipped you the ten grand already, an’ someone pinches it.” He leant against the counter and hooted.

When he’d got through with his fun, he mopped his eyes with his sleeve and grinned at me maliciously. “Gee! That’s tough,” he said. “So a blonde hotcha got away with your dough.”

I said “Yeah,” and gave myself another drink. “Suppose you cut out the sympathy and bend your brains on this. Can’t you give me a lead on the blonde?”

Ackie shook his head. “What do you take me for? Think I know all the blondes in town?”

I said slowly, “It wouldn’t be Vessi’s moll, would it?”

Ackie looked suddenly uncomfortable. “Listen, Nick,” he said, “I like you, but I’ve got to keep out of this… do you understand? You go ahead if you want a funeral on your hands, but you’ve gotta keep me out of it.”

“All right, all right,” I said, “Forget it. I’ll look into this on my own.”

Ackie nodded. “You’re the sorta guy who might crack this without gettin’ hurt.”

A nice line in comfort this guy had got, I thought. I looked at my watch. It was getting on for lunchtime. “Okay, Mo,” I said, “I’ll be seeing you.” I left him giving himself another rye.

I stood on the kerb thinking. It was a theory of mine to take the fight always to the other guy. I was not quite sure if I was going to be right this time. Maybe I’d start something that I couldn’t finish. I didn’t know. Then I thought I might as well go ahead and see what happened, so I signalled a taxi and told the driver to take me to the Hoffman Building quick.

CHAPTER FOUR

THE TAXI TURNED me loose outside the Hoffman Building, and I took the elevator to the tenth floor.

The Mackenzie Fabric Corporation was some joint. The entrance was the finest exhibition for chromium wear I’d seen all in one spot, and, once inside, I nearly sank up to my knees in the pile of the carpet. The big reception lobby was as busy as a main-line railway station. At the far end I could make out the reception-desk, that was pretty near swamped by a crowd of shouting men, yelling to see Mr. Someone or other.

I stood inside the door, taking a look around. Every now and then a dame would come out of a room and flounce across the lobby. They were all hand-picked, and I began to think I wouldn’t mind having a job of work here myself.

I wandered over to the desk. The mob was still struggling for attention. I stood watching them for a moment, then I took a match, struck it on the sole of my shoe and set fire to a newspaper one of the kikes had under his arm. I stood back and waited.

There was almost a riot when the paper flared up. While they were all trying to put the fire out, I got in front and asked the girl to put me through to Spencer’s secretary.

She was also a smart jane. “Have you an appointment?” she asked, watching with half an eye the commotion going on amongst the kikes.

I was getting sick of this. “Listen, sister,” I said; “ring and tell whoever looks after Mr. Spencer’s business that Nick Mason’s outside, an’ if I’m kept waiting much longer I’m going to get annoyed.”

She looked at me thoughtfully, making up her mind whether or not I was bluffing, then she decided I wasn’t and rang through. I stood over her while she gave the message. She pulled the plug out. “Room 26, on your right,” she said briefly.

“Thank you, baby… I hope your dreams include me to-night.”

I went over to Room 26, knocked on the door and went in. It was a small room, obviously an outer office. A flat-top desk took up most of the space. The carpet was like grass, and there was one good painting of a nude on the wall. The nude held my attention for a second. It was the first thing you saw when you came into the room. I thought, after I’d taken a quick look, that if they were built that way these days the cushion trade would be shot to hell.

I got my eyes down to the desk. Sitting there was a dizzy-looking brunette. Now don’t get me wrong about this girl. She wasn’t Ritzy—she was the kind of girl you’d take home to your ma and not be nervous of starting a riot. She’d got a lot of soft brown hair and her eyes were large and brown. Her mouth was large and generous and her nose was small and cute.

“You’ll pardon me,” I said. “That dame up there got me startled. I didn’t see you.”

She smiled. “Mr. Mason?”