Рекс Стаут - Death of a Doxy

Formal, yet. She could have made it Archie. “I think you’re wasting your time,” I said. “I think I ought to call Inspector Cramer and tell him to come and get him. I suggest Cramer because he handles homicide and he may be interested.” I rose and went to the stand where the phone was and lifted the receiver and started to dial.

Fleming’s voice came, not a yell, but loud. “No!”

I turned. “No?”

“I’ll give you the money.” From that angle the light was bouncing off his cheekbones. “I couldn’t get it today, the bank’s closed. I’ll bring it Monday.”

I cradled the phone. Julie said, “All of it. Five thousand.”

“Yes. Of course.” His eyes went with me back to the couch, and then to her. “What you said — I don’t think Isabel would want you to tell my wife, now that she — I’m sure she wouldn’t. Promise me you won’t. I’m going to give you the money.”

Julie shook her head. “I’m not promising anything.”

“Promise me you won’t tell her before Monday. We can talk about it Monday. I can tell you why — we can talk about it.”

I spoke because I considered it absolutely essential for him to know he had some time to play with. “I’m here too,” I said. “I can’t speak for Miss Jaquette, but I can for me. I promise positively to say nothing to your wife until after you return the five grand, provided it’s Monday. Then we’ll see.”

“All right,” she said. “Archie’s promise is no good without mine. I promise too.”

He put his hat on. If he had known he was putting it on, in a lady’s room with the lady present, he would have been shocked. He wanted to say something more, but didn’t know what, and he turned, slow and stiff, and headed for the door. Then he forgot his manners again. When he shut the door he left it open a crack. Julie went and pushed it shut and then came to me and asked, “How was I?”

“Terrible. You called me Mr. Goodwin and then Archie. He’ll think you don’t know your own mind.”

“I think you don’t know yours. I thought the idea was to fox him into killing me.”

“Into trying to. It sounds better, now that I’ve got acquainted with you.”

“All right, you’ve hashed it. I knew damn well you should have stayed in the other room. Now he knows he’d have to kill you too.”

“He does not. Didn’t I explain that? Sit down.” I patted the couch, and she sat. “It’s simple. He thinks they can’t get him for the murder without you because you’re the only one who can supply the motive. Of course you wouldn’t go on the stand and swear that Isabel told you she was going to tell him that she was going to tell Stella about the blackmail, but he thinks you would. He also thinks you will tell Stella, not before Monday, but soon after, and apparently that bites him even deeper, I don’t know why; he must see more in her than I do. So you’re a double-breasted danger, but I’m not. I’m only hearsay. As he sees it, I can only tell what you told me, but you can tell what Isabel told you herself. That’s equally true for the witness stand and for Stella. She would probably believe you, but not me. We haven’t got a single item of evidence to connect him with either the blackmail or the murder, but if he hands you five thousand bucks’ worth of currency, that would be evidence. He never will. So you’ll have to be removed, but I’m just a nuisance. Sorry.”

“Huh. You have dealt me in.”

“Up to your neck. I apologize for one thing. I should have made it clear that once you were in you couldn’t get out. I apologize.”

“I don’t want out. I think he killed her.”

“Certainly he did.”

“What do we do now?”

“Whatever you had on your program, if there’s room for company. It’s three o’clock Saturday afternoon. If you go out, Saul Panzer is downstairs and we’ll escort you. If you stay in, I’ll be in the hall.”

“Do you play gin?”

I said I did, and that took care of the afternoon, after I went down and told Saul he was done for the day, provided he would call Fred and tell him to be at the Maidstone entrance or in the lobby at five minutes to seven, prepared to spend the night in the ninth-floor hall after our return from the Ten Little Indians. The three hours of gin cost me $8.75. She wasn’t so good and I’m not so bad, but since she was going to drop ten bucks to Saul on their bet I thought it only fair not to bear down. She was a neater shuffler than anyone I know except Lon Cohen. We knocked off at six o’clock for a bite to eat, sandwiches and coffee from room service, and for her to change.

I had seen quite a few of the Manhattan spots, mostly with Lily Rowan, but had never been inside the Ten Little Indians, on Monarch Street. I spent that evening not only inside, but partly way inside, in Julie’s dressing room, which was about six by eight, par for a headliner in a place with a four-dollar cover charge. When she was on I went out to the battlefield and stood in the rear at one side. Fred was at the center, near the door. Julie earned her pay, probably about a grand a week, maybe more. This is not a scout report on an artiste, so I’ll let it go at that; she earned her pay. The Saturday-night mob certainly thought so; they loved her. For that matter, so did I, but on different grounds. One of them loved her so much that around midnight he somehow made it to her dressing room, so boiled that I had to be careful not to tip him over.

There was no taxi problem when the three of us made our exit into the windy winter night, because Julie had a standing arrangement with a hackie for a quarter past one. During the ride uptown she and Fred resumed a discussion they had started on the ride downtown; they had agreed it would be a good idea for her to rent one of his four children for the summer and were considering which one and the price. Knowing him, I hoped she didn’t think he meant it, and knowing her, I hoped he didn’t think she did.

When we stopped at the curb at the Maidstone, the doorman was right there to open the door, and we piled out and the cab rolled on. I wasn’t going in; I was to relieve Fred up in the hall at ten o’clock and should have been in bed two hours ago. We were grouped on the sidewalk, Julie in the middle, when the first shot was fired. I reacted to the sound, a loud, sharp crack, and Fred reacted to the bullet, though I didn’t know that immediately. He went down. I’m not certain whether the second shot was fired before, or after, or while, I was flattening Julie. If you think it would have been better manners just to cover her, I agree, but to do that properly you have to know which direction the bullets are coming from. I did cover her when I had her down. I twisted around to look up, and the damn fool doorman was standing there with his mouth open, staring across the street. No more shots. I ordered Julie, “Stay flat, don’t move,” and got to my feet, and as I did so Fred said, “The bastard hit me.” He was on one knee, with his other leg stretched out, propping himself with a hand. I asked him where, and he said his leg. The doorman said, “Over there by the wall, I saw it.” Julie said nothing. Good for her. I looked around. A bellboy was coming out of the hotel. A man and woman had stopped at the corner and were gawking. In the other direction, uptown, a bull was coming on the trot. I told Julie again to stay flat, and hopped. He just might be crazy enough to stick, thinking she might get up and he could try again. I had to scramble to see over the wall. There was practically no light behind it, but there was enough snow to spot anything as big as a man, and he wasn’t there. When I got back across, the cop was bending over Fred and telling the bellboy to phone for an ambulance. Julie hadn’t moved. I helped her up, told Fred I would be back, and started for the entrance with her. The cop said wait, he wanted names, and I told him he had heard me say I would be back, and went on. The desk clerk and the elevator man were there, and the clerk went and got the key and the elevator man came and took us up. Julie was trying not to tremble, and succeeding, and I decided she didn’t want my hand on her arm as she walked from the elevator to her door.