Donald Hamilton - The Betrayers

"No, Mr. Helm," she said tartly, as if I had spoken. "I did not fall down drunk and bump my head. Look at my room!"

I looked at her room. It had been pretty well torn apart. Dresser drawers and closed doors gaped open, and feminine stuff was all over the place. At my feet, in a crumpled heap, was the black dress she'd worn at the cocktail party. This was what I'd stumbled on in the dark. It seemed to have picked up some dust and blood since I'd last seen it. Her purse lay beside it. Farther on in the direction of the bathroom lay her discarded underwear, shoes, and stockings.

I couldn't help thinking that women were having a lot of trouble staying in their clothes in Honolulu tonight, judging by one man's experience. Well, this was a good climate for it-not staying in your clothes, I mean. The risk of pneumonia was negligible.

I turned back to the bed and Isobel McLain, and held up the sunglasses I'd found. "You dropped these outside. They seem to be okay." I laid them on a table nearby. "What happened here, Mrs. McLain?"

"There were two men," she said. "One must have been waiting out there in the bushes, watching for me. He must have hit me as I approached the door, while I was busy rummaging in my purse for my key. I say 'must have' because I don't really know what happened. Suddenly I was down on hands and knees and my head was full of pain and there was something wet running down my neck. Foolishly enough, all I could think of was that I was wrecking my nylons on the concrete walk-I could feel them going-and that I must look very ridiculous and undignified. Is that a normal reaction, Mr. Helm?"

I shrugged. "It's been a long time since I wore a pair of nylons, ma'am. Or worried about my dignity."

She laughed softly, and winced. "Don't be funny. It hurts my head. Well, after a moment or two I sort of felt the man standing over me, and I was terrified that he'd hit me again, so I pretended to collapse into total unconsciousness. He dragged me in here, and I heard him telling the other man to finish up in a hurry and never mind putting anything back. After a little, the other man said it was no use, the bitch was too smart, there was nothing here to connect her with Helm, even though she'd been seen to make contact with him at the party, earlier. That's what he said, that we'd made contact. Did we make contact, Mr. Helm?"

"I wasn't aware of it," I said. "Not in an official sense of the word. But I guess it could have looked like a contact to somebody watching."

She said, "One day you'll have to explain to me all about contacts, when I don't have such a headache. Anyway, the two men left. When I was sure they weren't coming back, I struggled out of my clothes and into a pretty nightie and called you." She managed a smile. "After all, one can't entertain a gentleman in a dirty dress and laddered stockings, can one?"

I grinned. "Maybe not, but one seems to be able to think pretty fast, even with a bad crack on the head. Why me? Why not the police?"

"What could the police do except make trouble for everybody, including me? I came to Honolulu to rest, Mr. Helm, and to enjoy myself a little if possible, not to answer a policeman's silly, suspicious questions. It's not as if I'd been robbed. I've lost nothing that the police can get back for me, have I? But there is a certain amount of damage. I called you because your name was mentioned. I thought it might be worth something to you not to have me tell this to the authorities."

I regarded her for a moment. It was the first time I'd seen her without the sunglasses. Her eyes were gray. They had a glint of humor in them. She didn't look like the type to say what she'd just said, even with a bloody towel against her head.

I said in a tentative way, "Blackmail, Mrs. McLain?" Her smile was a little stronger this time. "Of course, Mr. Helm. What did you expect?"

"What do you want?"

She laughed her soft laugh. "Why, my dear man. 1 want you to clean up this mess, since you seem to be, indirectly at least, responsible for it. I want you to take a look at this bump on my head and tell me if I need a doctor. And if I do, I want you to get me one who'll keep his mouth shut."

"Why?"

"I didn't come clear to Hawaii to have my name plastered all over the newspapers. My loving husband would laugh himself sick. He'd say that's what I got for going off alone."

It wasn't the strongest argument in the world, but I didn't challenge it. Instead I said, "What makes you think I can find you a silent-type doctor?"

She glanced at the gun I still held. "Don't be silly. A man who carries one of those things usually knows his way around, doesn't he?"

"And that's all you want?" I put the revolver away.

She smiled again. "I'm afraid you've been associating with the wrong kind of people. Did you think I was going to hold you up for money?"

"It's been tried. For money, and for other valuable considerations."

"And I'm sure you gave the extortioner a very rough time in every instance. You look like a man who would. But I feel that my demands are quite reasonable, don't you? I mean, it does seem to be because of you that I was honored by this visit, or should I say visitation?" She frowned. "I'm going to try not to pry into your business, at least not yet. I have a certain amount of discretion, and it warns me not to question a man carrying a large pistol, presumably loaded. But maybe you'll condescend to tell me: does every lady you encounter for a moment at a cocktail party receive this kind of attention? If so, I should think it would soon put a blight on your social life."

"I'm afraid we just happened to meet at the wrong moment," I said. "Apparently it caused the wrong people to jump to the wrong conclusions."

"I see." She hesitated. "Do you know an individual named Rath, Mr. Helm? Lawrence Rath?"

"Not under that name," I said. "Why?"

"I said there were two men involved. Now I think of it, I believe there were three. There was also a man who'd just struck up an acquaintance with me in the cocktail lounge or whatever you call it-that pavilion place-and insisted on buying me drinks. At the time, of course, I thought he was just plying me with liquor for the usual reasons; that's why I walked out on him. I decided he was too obvious to be entertaining. Now I wonder if he wasn't just trying to keep me from my room long enough for the other two to finish searching it." She glanced at me sharply. "You don't know him? A rather intriguing-looking man, with the shoulders of an ape and the face of a fallen angel."

Well, it was about time the Monk showed his face locally, as well as his voice. I grinned at Isobel McLain. "That's great poetry, ma'am," I said, "but it doesn't constitute much of a description. I'm afraid my acquaintance doesn't boast many angels, fallen or otherwise. Apes, now that's a different matter."

She was watching me shrewdly. "You use a lot of words, Mr. Helm, but none of them say no. I think you do know the man I mean." After a moment she shrugged. "Well, all right. Just fix up this place so I can sleep in it and the maid won't have hysterics in the morning."

I moved toward the bed. "If you don't mind, I'd like to see about that bump on your head first. Did you get a look at either of the two men in here?"

"You over-estimate my courage. I kept my eyes tightly closed and acted just as dead as I could… Ouch!"

"Sorry," I said, leaning over to part the hair above her ear. Whether or not she was genuine-a question I hadn't answered to my own satisfaction-her blood certainly was. "Well, you have a small scalp nick, about a quarter of an inch long," I reported after a brief examination.

"Is that all? From the way it's been bleeding, I thought I'd been slashed to the bone."

"Head wounds often bleed a lot," I said. "I don't think you need a doctor for that. It's too small to require stitching. However, there's no telling what's under it. I mean, you could have a concussion, or even a fracture."