Carolyn Banks - The New Black Mask (№6)

Abrams. “Maybe I do and maybe I don’t. It’s what the district attorney thinks.”

Nick. “Does he think she killed Pedro Dominges?”

Abrams. “That’s not funny, Mr. Charles. Her alibi covering that time is just no good at all. She claims a compact had been mailed to her from the Li-Chee and she sent it back saying it wasn’t hers; but she thinks it belongs to some woman who was there with Robert, so that afternoon, when she’s kind of nuts over him not being home for a couple of days, she goes down there to see if she can find out about him. Of course that joint don’t open till evening and so she didn’t see anybody that could tell us she was there. She says she went back home again and that just about covers the time that Dominges was being killed. On the level, Mr. Charles, we had nobody else but her that we could hold.”

Nick. “Found your Selma Young yet?”

Abrams. “No.”

Nick. “How about Phil?”

Abrams. “Sure, maybe, if we can find him.”

Nick takes out the note that was thrown through the window, gives it to Abrams.

Abrams reads it carefully, then asks, “And where did this come from?”

Nick. “Somebody wrapped it around a dornick and heaved it through my window.”

Abrams asks, “Where’s the rest of it?”

Nick. “Somewhere in my dog’s intestines.”

Abrams reads slowly, “—lives at the Mil—”

Nick pushes the telephone book over to him and says, “Maybe that won’t be so tough. Polly said he lived in a hotel on Turk Street.”

Abrams. “That’s right.” He opens the telephone book to the “hotel” classification and runs his finger down the “Mi” entries, finally coming to the Miltern Hotel, — Turk Street.

Abrams. “That could be it — want to give it a try with me?”

Nick. “Right!” They get up. As they go toward the door, Nick says, “You noticed that whoever wrote the note misspelled easy words like my name and ‘years,’ but did all right with ‘alias’ and ‘married’?”

Abrams. “Yeah, I noticed.”

Exterior of Miltern Hotel — a small, shabby, dirty joint with a door between two stores, and stairs leading up to an office on the second floor. Abrams, Nick, and two other detectives get out of a car which draws up with no sound of sirens. One of the men remains at the outer door. Nick, Abrams, and the other detective start up the stairs. They go up to a small and dark office. Nobody is there. Abrams knocks on the battered counter. After a little while, a man in dirty shirt-sleeves appears. Abrams asks him, “Is Mr. Phil Byrnes in?”

The man says, “We ain’t got no Mr. Byrnes — not even a Mrs. Byrnes.”

Abrams. “Have you got a Ralph West?”

The man. “Yep.”

Abrams. “Is he in?”

The man. “I don’t know — room 212 — next floor.”

Abrams says to the detective with him, “Get on the back stairs.”

Abrams and Nick walk up the front stairs and down a dark hall until they find room 212. Abrams knocks on the door — there is no answer. He knocks again, saying in what he tries to make a youthful voice “Telegram for Mr. West.” There is still no answer. He looks at Nick. Nick reaches past him and turns the knob, pushing the door open.

Nick. “After you, my dear Lieutenant.”

Sprawled on his back across the bed, very obviously dead, is Phil, fully dressed as when we last saw him.

Nick points to something on the floor between them and the bed. It is a pair of spectacles, the frame bent, the glass ground almost to a powder. Abrams nods and comes into the room, stepping over the glasses, and leans over Phil.

Abrams. “Dead, all right — strangled, and he was beaten up some before the strangling set in.” He looks down at one of Phil’s hands, then picks it up and takes half a dozen hairs from it. Turning to show them to Nick, he says, “Somebody’s hair in his hand.”

Nick looks at the hairs, then at the broken glasses on the floor. He says nothing. It is obvious he is trying to figure something out.

Abrams goes out saying “Wait a minute — I’ll have one of the boys phone and then we’ll give the room a good casing.”

Nick moves around the room looking at things, opening and shutting drawers and looking into a closet, but apparently not finding anything of interest until he sees an automatic on the floor under one corner of the bed. He bends down to look at it but doesn’t touch it.

While Nick is looking at the gun, Abrams returns to the room.

Nick. “Here’s another .38 for your experts to match up.”

Abrams. “Hmm, what do you think?”

Nick. “I don’t think — I used to be a detective myself.”

Abrams. “Nobody downstairs seems to know about any visitors, but I guess the kind he had wouldn’t have gone to the trouble of knocking on the counter like we did.”

He leans over Phil and begins to go through his pockets. Then he straightens up and says, “I guess the heater’s his. He’s wearing an empty shoulder holster.” He holds up a flat key and adds, “And I guess this is the key to the Byrnes gal’s apartment. It’s got her number stamped on it.”

Nick. “Another good guess would be that Selma Landis didn’t do this.”

Abrams: “Fair enough, but he wasn’t killed the way the other ones were, either.”

Policemen enter, some in plain clothes, some in uniform, and Abrams starts to give them instructions about searching the room, looking for fingerprints, questioning the occupants of adjoining rooms, et cetera, et cetera.

Nick. “And I think you ought to have your laboratory look at that hair and the cheaters,” indicating the broken glasses.

Abrams. “Okay.” He looks curiously at Nick.

Nick. “And the sooner, the better.”

Abrams, again. “Okay.” He addresses one of the men standing and listening to them. “Do it.” He hands him the hair. Then turning back to Nick, he says, “Anything particular on your mind?”

Nick. “Ought to be on yours, with three murders tied together in just about twenty-four hours. Now that we’ve been told he’s her husband and he’s dead, don’t you think we ought to see Polly as soon as possible?”

Abrams says, “There’s something in that” and tells one of his men, “Don’t let these lugs dog it while I’m gone.” He and Nick go downstairs. In the office he uses the telephone. When he’s through, he grumbles, “They haven’t picked her up yet.” He scratches his chin, then says, “I’ve got a man waiting up in her apartment. Want to take a run up there? I told you there’s something funny about the place that I’d like you to see.”

Nick. “All right. Don’t you think now we’ve got something more to talk about to Dancer?”

Abrams says in a hurt tone, “I think of things sometimes. I told them to pick up him and the Chinaman both.”

They go downstairs to the street.

At Aunt Katherine’s, all the Forrests except Selma are assembled. They are very excited and keep moving around so that Asta, who obviously doesn’t like any of them, has a great deal of difficulty keeping out of their way. Nora and Dr. Kammer are also there.

The general is standing, glaring down at Nora, and asking indignantly, “Do you mean to say that this — ah — husband of yours actually advised David to tell the police about Selma and the pistol?”

Nora says defiantly, “Yes.”

The general starts to walk up and down the floor, sending Asta into hiding again, and rumpling his whiskers and growling. “Why, the fellow’s a scoundrel — an out-and-out scoundrel.”

Nora. “Nick’s not — he knows what he’s doing.”

The general snorts and says angrily, “Nonsense — nobody knows what they’re doing. The whole country is full of incompetents and scoundrels nowadays.”