WHEN SAM OPENED the door and saw them, his eyes popped.
Duffy came into the room, pushing past Sam. Olga hesitated, then followed Duffy. Sam shut the door and stood there scratching his head. He was in green pyjamas and a yellow bathrobe.
Duffy said, “Don’t mind him. He ain’t so sissy as he looks.”
Olga gave Sam a scared glance, but said nothing.
Sam said, “Introduce me, you drunken rat.”
“Miss Shann, this is Sam McGuire.”
She still said nothing.
Alice came out of the bedroom, her dressing-gown wrapped tightly round her. Duffy went over to her. “This is Olga Shann,” he said. “She’s in a spot of trouble, so I brought her along.”
“Why, of course.” Alice put her hand on Olga’s arm. “Bill can sleep on the couch, you can have his room.”
Olga said, “But don’t you—?”
Duffy put the apple-jack on the table. “Wait a minute,” he interrupted. “A nice sleep is what you want, but I’ve got just a little question to ask you before you go.”
She turned to face him.
“Who was that guy that tried to get tough with you?”
“Max Weidmer. He and Cattley used to work together.”
Duffy nodded. “Okay; put her to bed, Alice, and be nice to her.”
As Alice led her from the room, Olga said, “But his face? How did he get so knocked about?”
Sam jerked his head. “She was talking about you.”
“Know where this Weidmer hangs out?”
Sam frowned. “Now what?” he asked.
“Come on.” Duffy’s face was set.
Sam went to the telephone and spun the dial. While he ’phoned Duffy went into the bathroom and washed his face and hands. Sam came in a moment later. “He’s got a room at the Lexingham Hotel.”
Duffy said, “Thanks,” then he walked into the sitting-room again.
Sam came in looking lost. “What’s breaking now?”
Duffy said, “Lend me your rod.”
“Hey! You ain’t going to mess around with a heater, for God’s sake.”
“Don’t talk; I’m getting action. Come on, give me the gun. I want to get going.”
Sam sighed and began taking off his dressing-gown. “Okay,” he said, “but I’m coming with you.”
Duffy touched his arm. “You ain’t,” he said. “Things might happen round this burg. You gotta stay and keep an eye on things.”
Sam screwed up his eyes. “What is this?” he demanded.
“Weidmer tried to twist that dame’s neck. He thinks she knows too much. I fancy he might try and get at her here. That’s why you stay put.”
Sam’s eyes grew big. “You want to take my gun?” he said. “What about me?”
“Get going,” Duffy said impatiently, “give me the gun before Alice starts on me. If you drink enough of that panther’s breath, you won’t need any gun.”
Sam went over to the hall table and came back with a .38 automatic. Duffy took it, looked at the magazine, then stuck it down the waist-band of his trousers. He adjusted the points of his vest to hide the butt.
“I may be late,” he said.
Alice came out just as he stepped into the hall. She just caught a glimpse of him. “Where’s that crazy coon going now?” she asked.
Sam put down the apple-jack hastily. “He’s going to get another dame,” he said wildly. “He’s going to fill the whole goddam house with ’em.”
Alice took his arm. “You come along,” she said. “What you need is a good night’s sleep.”
She didn’t see the worried look in his eyes, as he followed her into the bedroom.
Outside in the street, Duffy flagged a taxi. He gave the driver instructions and then got in the cab. He thought he was spending his life in taxis.
The drive was a long one, and it was just after twelve o’clock when the driver pulled up outside a shabby building.
Duffy paid him off and walked up the steps. The place looked more like a boarding-house than a hotel. He saw a row of letter-boxes and he examined them carefully. Weidmer’s name was on the fourth one. Duffy rang the bell at the top of the row, furthest away from Weidmer’s. A moment later he heard the catch being pulled on the front door and he walked in. The hall was lighted by a small gas-burner, and he had just enough light to grope his way upstairs.
On the second floor, he found Weidmer’s rooms. He put his hand on the butt of the gun, and then turned the handle. He was surprised to feel the door give. He looked carefully over his shoulder to right and left,, then drawing the gun, he stepped quietly into the dark room. He stood in the darkness, listening. There was no sound, except the ticking of a clock somewhere in the room. He just stood, holding his breath, listening. Then, when he was satisfied that the room was empty, he struck a match and lit the gas-burner.
It was a large room, full of shabby furniture. Across the far end stood a bed. Duffy jerked up his gun. There was someone lying face downward across the sheets; it was Weidmer. Duffy moved across the room, his gun steady. But Weidmer was dead. Duffy guessed that before he touched him. He turned him over, and then caught his breath; a big, gaping wound showed in Weidmer’s throat. Someone had certainly made a job of it, Duffy thought. He released Weidmer, and let him slump back on the bed.
For several minutes, he stood there thinking furiously. Then he began a systematic search of the room. He guessed it would be useless, but he made his search just the same. He couldn’t find the camera anywhere. He found one thing that made him blink his eyes. At the bottom of a drawer, he dug out a large glossy photograph. At first glance he thought it was some movie star, then he recognized Annabel English.
“Well, by God,” he said.
Across the photo, scrawled in large sprawling writing, was: “To dear Max, from Annabel.”
Duffy folded the photo and stuffed it in his pocket. Then he slipped the gun once more down the front of his trousers, and quietly let himself out of the room.
Once more out in the street, he again flagged a taxi and gave Annabel’s address. Lying back against the hard seat of the cab, his eyes closed a little wearily, but his mouth was hard and set. He was going to bust the business right on the chin, he told himself.
With the key Morgan had given him, he entered the door leading to the organ loft, and quietly walked up the spiral staircase. When he reached the loft, he found the sitting-room was brightly lit, although no one was visible. He swung his leg over the balcony and lowered himself quietly to the floor.
From across the room he could hear the sound of running water. He thought maybe she was taking a bath. Quietly he began to circulate round the room, opening and shutting drawers. When he came to the wine cupboard he had to kneel down to examine inside. At the back of the cupboard, behind a row of sherry bottles, he found his camera. He took it out and examined it carefully. The first thing he noticed was that the film had been removed. He put the camera in his pocket and shut the cupboard doors carefully.
The bath water had ceased to run, and there was a heavy silence in the apartment. Walking across to the door, he put his hand on the knob and gently turned it, then he walked in.
Annabel was lying in the bath, her eyes closed, smoking a cigarette. Duffy thought she looked swell. He shut the door very gently, and put his back against the panels.
She opened her eyes and looked at him. The only surprise she showed was the way the cigarette slipped out of her mouth. It fell into the water with an angry hiss, then floated down the bath until it rested on her knee. It lay on her knee, looking like some peculiar birthmark. Duffy eyed it with interest.
She shifted one of her feet, causing the water to ripple. “This calls for a foam bath, don’t it?” Duffy said. He went over and sat on the bath stool, that was quite close to the bath. From there he could see the small bruise where he had hit her.
“Get out of here,” she whispered.
He said, “We’re going to have a little talk.” He took from his pocket the camera and showed it to her. Then he produced the photo and showed that to her as well. She lay quite still, her eyes black with hate.
“I know who killed Cattley now,” he said. “Whoever had the camera rubbed Cattley, I knew that. I had only to find the camera to burst this open. You played your hand very badly, didn’t you?”
She said, “Get out of here, you sonofabitch.”
Duffy’s mouth set in a hard grin. “When I do,” he said, “the cops are moving in.”
She sat up suddenly in the bath, slopping the water, over the edge with her violence. “You can’t pin this on me,” she said; her breathless voice was shrill. “Find Cattley and see.”
Duffy raised his eyebrows. “So you shifted him, have you?” he said.
He watched her hand moving slowly over to a transparent bottle, standing on a shelf just above her. He saw it contained ammonia. He took the gun from his waist and showed it to her. “I’d like to give you another navel,” he said softly. “Make a move like that and you’ll be able to play the penny whistle on yourself.”
Her hand dropped into the water again. He stood up. “Come out of that,” he said. “There’s lots we got to talk about.”
She climbed out of the bath and grabbed a bath-robe, which she hastily wrapped round herself. Her eyes were like pinpoints Duffy said, “I’ll give you five minutes to fix yourself up, then come out quietly. Don’t start anything I’m leaving the door open.”
He stepped out of the bathroom backwards. A new voice said, “Drop that gun.”
Duffy stood quite still. The voice said, “Go on, put the gun on the floor Don’t turn round vet until you’ve got rid of the gun.”
Duffy put the gun down carefully on the floor at his feet and turned his head. Murray Gleason was standing quite close to him. His hard grey face was cold. He held a Luger in his hand.
Annabel said, “He knows too much.”
Gleason nodded. “So it seems,” then he said, “hurry up and come out. I want you to help me with this bird.”
Duffy stood there, his hands half raised, cursing himself for being so careless. The little note-book burnt in his pocket. It looked as if he were getting into a mighty tight jam.
Gleason said, “Come away from that gun.”
Duffy turned slowly. “You don’t mind if I sit down?” he said, moving over to an arm-chair. “Something tells me that I’m going to need a little rest.”
Gleason watched him. “Don’t pull anything,” he said.
Duffy took a cigarette from the box on the table and thumbed the table lighter. He sat down, keeping his hands on the chair arms. He thought Gleason was a trifle jumpy. There was a little twitch going on at the corner of his mouth.
“You’ve pointed a gun at me before,” he said.
“That was unfortunate. We were interrupted.” Gleason sat on the corner of the table, swinging a long thin foot.
Annabel came out of the bathroom. She stood near Gleason. Her face was very hard, and her eyes were frightened.
Duffy looked at her, then he said, “What now?”
Gleason said, “I want that note-book.”
Duffy nodded. “Sure, I can understand that. I told you before, it’s in the mail.”
Annabel said breathlessly, “He’s lying.”
Duffy shrugged. “You think so? Ask yourself, what would you do? I guessed it was important, so I put it in an envelope and posted it to an address in Canada. When I want it, I just write for it.”
Gleason’s eyes narrowed. “Maybe we could persuade you to write for it.”
Duffy mashed the cigarette into the tray. “Meaning what?”
“We’ve got ways….”
“Be your age. You can’t scare me. Do you think anything you can do to me would pry me loose from something I want? If you want to have that book, talk terms.”
Gleason let the barrel of the Luger fall a shade. It pointed at Duffy’s waistcoat.
“How much?” he said.
Annabel said. “You mad?”
Gleason frowned at her. “Let me handle this.”
Duffy studied his finger-nails. “What’s it worth to you?” he said at last.
Gleason showed his teeth in a little grin. “I’d pay five hundred dollars for it,” he said casually.
Duffy got to his feet slowly. “Okay,” he said, “if that’s all you rate it, why bother?”
Gleason jerked up the gun. “Sit down,” he said, his voice suddenly harsh.
Duffy just looked at him. “Wake up, louse,” he said evenly. “You’ve got nothing on me. That heater don’t mean anything now.”
Annabel said with a little hiss, “Shoot him low down.”
Duffy glanced at her. “Hell,” he said. “At one time I got a kick out of looking at you, you murderous little bitch.”
Gleason got to his feet and stood hesitating. His face was almost bewildered. Duffy said to him, “I’m on my way. When you want that note-book back, give me a ring. I’m in the book.”
Gleason said, “Wait.”
Duffy shook his head. He wandered to the door. “You won’t get anywhere by letting the gun off. You’ll never find the book without me being around.”
Gleason’s arm dropped to his side. “Well, five grand,” he said with an effort.
Duffy shook his head, he opened the door. “Don’t rush it,” he said, “take your time. Think about it. I’ll wait.” He pulled the door behind him and walked to the elevator. He suddenly felt very tired and his brain refused to think. He slid the grille and stepped into the elevator and pressed the ground-floor button.
Outside, he beckoned to a yellow cab, and in a short time he was again climbing the stairs to McGuire’s apartment. He opened the door with his key and went in. The clock on the mantelpiece stood at 1.45. He tossed his hat on the sofa and wandered over to the apple-jack, that was still standing on the table. The bottle was light; it was nearly empty. He made a little face. Then he drained the bottle and put it down on the table again. He held his breath for a moment, then gently puffed out his cheeks. The stuff was good.
He stood perfectly still and listened. The apartment was very silent, except for a faint rumbling of Sam’s snores. He lit a cigarette and tossed the match into the fireplace, then remembering Alice, he went over and picked it up, putting it carefully in the ash-tray.
With legs that felt rubbery with fatigue, he walked to the spare room and gently opened the door. The room was in darkness. He could hear Olga breathing softly.
He felt his way cautiously to the bed and flipped on the small reading-lamp, then he sat down on the bed gently.
Olga started up, her fists clenched and her lips formed into an “O”. Duffy put his hand gently on her mouth. “Okay,” he said softly. “Take it easy.”
She looked at him and then lay back. “You scared me silly,” she said.
“Quiet,” he said, “I don’t want the others to wake.”
She looked from him to the clock and then back at him again. “It’s so late… what is it?”
“Things are happening,” he said. “I gotta talk to you. You know the spot you’re in, don’t you? Max has been knocked off. Someone paid him a visit and slit his throat for him.”
The pupils of her eyes became very big. “You mean—?”
“I’m going to start from the beginning. Then you gotta fill in the gaps.” He lay back a little, resting on his elbow. His battered face was drawn with fatigue. She suddenly felt a little pang of compassion for him.
“Take off your shoes and lie here beside me.”
He shook his head. “I’d go to sleep,” he said. “Now listen. There’s a redhead called Annabel English, she’s the daughter of Edwin English, the politician. She’s wild and bad. One of her boy friends is this guy Weidmer. She has dealings with Cattley. This punk called on her and she tossed him down the elevator shaft. Right, before we go any further, you gotta tell me all you know about Cattley.”
She said in a low voice, “Cattley was mixed up in a big dope traffic. He started off in a small way, peddling the stuff and taking a rake-off. That was when I knew him. Then he got big and began to make money. Weidmer was his boss. Gleason was the big shot. Cattley got tired of taking orders and he stole the list of customers——”
“Stop!” Duffy’s voice sounded like the snap of a steel trap. He took the little note-book from his pocket and put it on the coverlet before her. “Is this the list?”
Her startled face told him. “So that’s it,” he said. He thumbed the book through. “Why, these guys can’t operate without this list… the dope buyers must be hopping mad.” He shut his eyes and tried to think.
“How… how did you get that?” she asked.
He opened his eyes. “I got it from Cattley’s joint. Annabel came down to look for it, and I took it off her. This makes things pretty clear. Hell! They certainly operated in a big way. Look at those names, for God’s sake.”
She put her hand on his arm. “They’ll get it away from you,” she said, fear coming into her eyes. “It means millions to them.”
Duffy turned on his elbow and looked at her. His tired eyes searched her face. “You know,” he said, speaking slowly, “years ago, I used to think of being in a spot like this. To have the chance of grabbing a million dollars from a bunch of toughs. Well, I’ve got my chance. I’m going to play the ends against the middle.”
“What do you mean?”
“If they find you’ve squawked, you’re going to be washed up. I like you, honey. Will you come in on this with me?”
Her eyes became shrewd again. “How?”
“This guy Morgan,” Duffy said, “you ain’t heard about him. I can’t quite see how he fits, except he’s looking for easy dough.”
She looked blank. “Morgan?”
Quickly and with economy, he told her about Morgan and the three toughs. “They thought they’d blackmail Annabel. It’d be good enough to publish a photo of Cattley and Annabel to upset old man English. I thought it was deeper than that. Gee! I gave her the benefit and thought they killed Cattley to pin it on her. All the time she had killed Cattley herself, and I was sucker enough to help her shift the body. Anyway, that’s her funeral now. I’m selling the book to the highest bidder.”
Olga said, “Why should Morgan want to buy it?”
Duffy grinned. “Use your head,” he said. “This crowd here,” he tapped the note-book, “is lousy with dough. They’d pay anything to hush up scandal. How’d it look if it got round that they traded in dope?”
She leant back in the bed and brooded. Then she said, “I believe you’ve got something.”
Duffy put the note-book away. “You bet I’ve got something,” he said. “Why not? Why the hell shouldn’t I make a little dough out of these punks? Why shouldn’t you?”
“How much will it be?” she asked.
“Fifty grand, hundred grand, anything.”
She lay back flat, and ran her fingers through her thick hair. Duffy thought she was a very nice broad indeed. “We could do a lot with that money, couldn’t we?” she said, her voice thrilling.
Duffy patted her hand. “Yeah,” he said, “we could do a lot.” He glanced at the clock and got stiffly to his feet. “I’m going to have a little sleep. There’s action coming.”
She put her hand on his arm. “You look so tired,” she said.
He dug up a grin. “You’re dead right, sister.”
She lay there, her eyes very bright, and he could see the sudden rising and falling of her breasts under the sheet. She said, looking into his eyes, “I could make you better. Won’t you come?”
He sat down on the bed again. “You’re swell,” he said. “Not tonight. Tomorrow we’ll get out of here.” He paused, then he nodded his head to the next room. “They’re nice people. It wouldn’t be fair on them. Tomorrow.”
He put his hand against her face. “Didn’t you think Alice was swell?” He stepped away from the bed. “They mustn’t know about this. This is between you and me.”
She watched him go from the room, then turned out the light. She lay in the dark a long time, before she fell asleep.