Margery Allingham - Ellery Queen’s Anthology. 1960

“Of everything I get. As my manager.” She extended a hand. “Shake on it.”

To avoid a contractual shake without offending, I grasped the back of her hand with my left, turning her palm up, and ran the fingers of my right from her wrist to her fingertips. “It’s a darned good idea,” I said appreciatively, “But we’ll have to postpone it. I’m going through bankruptcy just now and it would be illegal for me to make a contract. Later on—”

“I don’t need you later on. I need you right now.”

“Here I am, you’ve got me, but not under contract yet.” I got emphatic: “If you tell reporters I’m your manager, I’ll give you a lump that will make that one seem as flat as a pool table. If they ask why he hit you, don’t say you don’t know; say it’s a mystery. Now—”

“That’s it!” She was delighted.

“Sure. Tell ’em that. Now we’ve got to consider the cops. Stebbins is a cop, and they won’t want it hung on him. They’ve had one cop killed here today already. They’ll try to tie this up with that. They’ll try to make it that somebody here killed Wallen, and he found out that you knew something about it, so he tried to kill you. They may even think they have some kind of evidence — for instance, something you were heard to say. So we have to be prepared. We have to go back over it. Are you listening?”

“Certainly. What do I say when the reporters ask me if I’m going to go on working here? Couldn’t I say I don’t want to desert Mr. Fickler in a time of trouble?”

It took control to stay in that chair. But at home there were the guests locked in the front room, and some time we had to get rid of them.

“That’s the ticket,” I said warmly. “Say you’ve got to be loyal to Mr. Fickler. Have you ever been interviewed before?”

“No, this will be the first, and I want to start right.”

“Good for you. What they like best of all is to get the jump on the police. If you can tell them something the cops don’t know they’ll love you forever. For instance, the fact that Stebbins crowned you doesn’t prove that he’s the only one involved. He must have an accomplice here in the shop, or why did Wallen come here, in the first place? We’ll call the accomplice X. Now listen:

“Some time today, some time or other after Wallen’s body was found, you saw something or heard something, and X knew you did. He knew it, and he knew that if you told about it — if you told me, for example — it would put him and Stebbins on the spot. Naturally, both of them would want to kill you. It could have been X that tried to, but since you say you saw Stebbins reflected in the glass, we’ll let it go at that for now. Here’s the point:

“If you can remember what it was you saw or heard that scared X, and if you tell the reporters before the cops get wise to it, they’ll be your friends for life. Concentrate. Remember everything you saw and heard here today, and everything you did and said, too.”

She was frowning. “I don’t remember anything that would scare anybody.”

“Not right off the bat, who could?” Her hand was right there and I patted it. “I guess we’d better go over it together, right straight through. That’s the way Nero Wolfe would do it. What time did you get to work this morning?”

“When I always do — a quarter to nine. I’m punctual.”

“Were the others already here?”

“Some were and some weren’t.”

“Who was and who wasn’t?”

“My heavens, I don’t know. I didn’t notice.” She was resentful. “When I came to work I was thinking of something else, so how would I notice?”

I had to be patient. “Okay, we’ll start at another point. You remember when Wallen came in and spoke with Fickler, and went to Tina’s booth and talked with her, and when Tina came out Fickler sent Philip in to him. You remember that?”

She nodded. “I guess so.”

“Guesses won’t get us anywhere. Just recall the situation. There’s Philip, coming around the end of the partition after talking with Wallen. Did you hear him say anything? Did you say anything to him?”

“I don’t think Philip was this X,” she declared. “He is married, with children. I think it was Jimmie Kirk. He tried to make passes at me when I first came, and he drinks — you can ask Ed about that — and he thinks he’s superior. A barber being superior!” She looked pleased. “That’s a good idea about Jimmie being X, because I don’t have to say he really tried to kill me. I’ll try to remember something he said. Would it matter exactly when he said it?”

I had had enough, but a man can’t hit a woman when she’s down, so I ended it without violence.

“Not at all,” I told her, “but I’ve got an idea. I’ll go and see if I can get something out of Jimmie. Meanwhile, I’ll send a reporter in to break the ice with you, from the Gazette probably.” I was on my feet. “Just use your common sense and stick to facts. See you later.”

“But Mr. Goodwin! I want—”

I was gone. I strode down the aisle and around the end of the partition. There I halted, and it wasn’t long before I was joined by Cramer and Purley. Their faces were expressive. I didn’t have to ask if they had got it all.

“If you shoot her,” I suggested, “send her brain to Johns Hopkins, if you can find it.”

Cramer grunted. “Did she do it herself?”

“I doubt it. It was a pretty solid blow to raise that lump, and you didn’t find her prints on the bottle. Bothering about prints is beneath her. I had to come up for air, but I left you an in. Better pick a strong character to play the role of reporter from the Gazette.”

“Send for Biatti,” Cramer snapped at Purley.

“Yeah,” I agreed, “he can take it. Now I go home?”

“No. She might insist on seeing her manager again.”

“I wouldn’t pass that around,” I warned them. “How would you like a broadcast of her line on Sergeant Stebbins? I’d like to be home for dinner. We’re having fresh pork tenderloin.”

“We would all like to be home for dinner.” Cramer’s look and tone were both sour. They didn’t change when he shifted to Purley: “Is the Vardas pair still all you want?”

“They’re what I want most,” Purley said doggedly. “In spite of her getting it when they weren’t here, but I guess we’ve got to spread out more. You can finish with them here and go home to dinner, and I suppose we’ve got to take ’em all downtown. I still want to be shown that the Stahl girl couldn’t have used that bottle on herself, and I don’t have to be shown that she could have used the scissors on Wallen if she felt like it. Or if she performed with the bottle to have something to tell reporters about, the Vardases are still what I want most. But I admit the other ‘if’ is the biggest one. If someone here conked her, finding out who and why comes first until we get the Vardases.”

Cramer stayed sour: “You haven’t even started.”

“Maybe that’s a little too strong, Inspector. We were on the Vardases, but we didn’t clear out of here; we kept close. Then, when we found the Stahl girl and brought her to, she shut the valve and had to see Goodwin. Even so, I wouldn’t say we haven’t made a start with the others. Ed Graboff plays the horses and owes a bookie nine hundred dollars, and he had to sell his car. Philip Toracco went off the rails in 1945 and spent a year in a booby hatch. Joel Fickler has been seen in public places with Horny Gallagher, and while that don’t prove—”

Cramer cut in to shoot at me, “Is Fickler a racket boy?”

I shook my head. “Sorry. Blank. I’ve never been anything but a customer.”

“If he is we’ll get it.” Purley was riled and didn’t care who knew it. “Jimmie Kirk apparently only goes back three years, and he has expensive habits for a barber. Tom Yerkes did a turn in 1939 for assault — beat up a guy who took his young daughter for a fast weekend — and he is known for having a quick take-off. So I don’t think you can say we haven’t even started.”