I had been watching Knurr through the rear window of my cab as he waited for a break in the traffic to dash across the avenue. Now I walked rapidly back to where his cab had stopped.
As I scurried southward, I spotted him on the west side of West End. He was heading for the brightly lighted entrance of a public underground garage in the basement of one of the tall apartment houses bordering the river.
There were large signs in front stating the parking rates by the hour, day, week, and month.
I positioned myself across the street from the garage, standing in the deep shadow of a thick-trunked plane tree.
I watched Knurr walk rapidly into the bright entrance. As he approached the attendant's booth, a woman stepped out of the shadows, and she and the Reverend embraced briefly. Then an attendant appeared. He and Knurr spoke for a moment. The Pastor handed him something. The attendant turned and disappeared. Knurr and the woman remained where they were, close together, conversing, his arm about her shoulders.
She was wearing what I guessed to be a mink coat that 273
came a little lower than calf-length. It was very full and had a hood that now covered her head, shadowing her features.
Finally, a long, heavy car came rolling into the lighted area of the garage entrance. It was a black Mercedes-Benz sedan, gleaming, solid, and very elegant. The garage attendant got out of the driver's side and handed something to Godfrey Knurr. The Reverend then gave something to the attendant.
Knurr opened the door on the passenger's side. He assisted the lady into her seat, then went around to the driver's side, got in, slammed the door — I heard it chunk from where I stood — and slowly, carefully, pulled out into West End Avenue. He turned north. I watched the taillights fade away.
I wasn't thinking about where he might be heading. I couldn't care less. I was too shocked.
For when he had helped the woman into the car, she had flung back the hood of her fur coat. Her features, for a brief moment, were revealed in the bright light. I saw her clearly.
It wasn't Tippi Kipper.
It was Glynis Stonehouse.
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Part III
1
That night I awoke frequently, dozed off as often, and finally lost all ability to determine if I was fully conscious or dreaming. I vividly remember wondering if I had actually seen Glynis Stonehouse and Godfrey Knurr together.
My brain continued churning all night, and things were no better when I arose early Sunday morning, showered, dressed, and poked disconsolately at a bowl of sodden cornflakes. I simply didn't know what to do. It seemed to me I was in over my head and badly in need of wise counsel,
I hated to bother Percy Stilton, but what I had learned was of such moment that I wanted him to know at once. I dialled the only number I had for him and learned that he wouldn't be in the precinct until Monday morning.
'Couldn't you call him at home and ask him to contact me?' I tried to convey the urgency of the situation to the officer on the other end of the phone.
'Can't anyone else help you?' he asked, still reticent.
'No,' I said firmly. 'It's got to be Stilton. It's really very important, honest, to me and to him.'
Silence.
'A case he's on?' he said finally.
'Yes,' I said, lying valiantly. 'Just call and ask him to call Joshua Bigg. As soon as possible.'
A short silence again, then: 'What was that name — Pigg?'
'Bigg. B-i-g-g. Joshua Bigg. Tell him it's a matter of life and death.'
'I'll tell him that,' the officer said.
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I tried to read the Sunday papers. I watched TV for a while, but didn't see it. My phone finally rang shortly before noon.
'Hello?' I said breathlessly.
The voice was low, husky, soothing. 'Mr Bigg?'
'Yes.'
'This is Maybelle Hawks,' she said pleasantly. 'I am Percy Stilton's consenting adult.'
'Yes, ma'am.'
'Mr Bigg, Perce received your message, but he's really in no, ah, condition to speak intelligibly to you at the moment.'
'Is he ill?' I asked anxiously.
'You might say that,' she replied thoughtfully. 'Nothing fatal. I would judge that he will recover, in time. But right now he's somewhat unhinged. It being Sunday morning. I do hope you understand.'
'Yes, ma'am,' I said miserably. 'He's hung over.'
'Oh, Mr Bigg,' she laughed gaily, 'that is the understatement of the year. He's comatose, Mr Bigg.
Com-a-tose. He asked that I return your call and explain why it might be best if you call him at the precinct tomorrow.'
'Miss Hawks,' I said, 'is -'
'Call me Belle,' she said.
'Thank you. Belle, is there no chance of my seeing him today? It really is urgent. I wouldn't be bothering you if it wasn't. Surely Perce, and you too, of course, have to eat sometime today. It would give me great pleasure if you would both join me for dinner some place. Any place.'
'Mr Bigg, you sound to me like a sober, reasonable man.'
'Yes, ma'am,' I said, 'I mean to be.'
'Then you must realize that right now, this second, if I mention food to Percy Stilton, he's likely to give me a shot in the chops.'
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'Oh no, ma'am,' I said hastily. 'Not right this minute.
What I was thinking was that later this evening, say around six o'clock, he might be recovered sufficiently, and the both of you might be hungry enough to join me for dinner.'
'Hmm,' she said. 'You're getting through to me, Mr Bigg. All right, I'll see what I can do with the Incredible Hulk here. Where do you want to eat?'
We settled on Woody's at about 6.00 p.m.
I spent the rest of the afternoon leafing through the Sunday papers and then the Stonehouse file once again. I left my apartment at 5.30 and walked to Woody's. It wasn't dark yet, but still I scanned the street before I left the vestibule, and my head was on a swivel during my rapid walk to 23rd Street.
Nitchy greeted me after I had hung my hat and coat on the front rack.
'No princess tonight, Josh?' she said.
'Not tonight, Nitchy,' I said.
'It'll happen,' she said confidently. 'One of these nights you'll waltz through that door with a princess on your arm. You'll see.'
As usual she was looped with bangles, hoops, and amulets. Her black helmet of hair gleamed wickedly, and the heavy eye shadow and precisely painted lips accented her sorceress look. She gave me a table where I could watch the front door.
They weren't very late — not more than fifteen minutes.
The moment Maybelle Hawks entered the restaurant, and the heads of everyone in the front room began to turn, I realized who she was.
She was one of the most famous high-fashion models in Manhattan. Her classic features had adorned dozens of haute couture magazines, she had posed in the nude for many artists and photographers, and a scholarly art critic had written a much quoted monograph on her 'Nefertiti-279
like beauty' and 'ethereal sensuality.' She towered over Stilton, who lurked behind her. I guessed her to be 6-4 or 6-5. She was wearing a supple black leather trenchcoat, mink-lined. It hung open, revealing a loose chemise-styled shift in soft, plum-coloured wool. There was a fine gold chain about the strong stalk of her neck.
I could see why that art critic had thought of Nefertiti.
Her head seemed elongated, drawn out in back so that it had the shape of a tilted egg. Her hair was a cap of tight black curls. Oriental eyes, Semitic lips, a thin scimitar of a nose. All of her features seemed carved, polished, oiled.
Her teeth were unbelievably white.
They made it to my table and sat down. From close range, Percy wasn't looking so good. He was as elegantly clad as the first time I had seen him, but the eyes were sunk deeply and bagged. The whites were reddish and he blinked frequently. There was a sallow tinge to his cordovan skin.
Nitchy asked if we'd like a drink. Belle saw my glass of white wine and said t
hat's what she'd have. Percy raised his bloodshot eyes to Maybelle Hawks.
'Please, babe,' he croaked piteously.
'Nitchy,' Belle said in tones that were more song than speech, 'please bring this basket case a shot of cognac with about a quart of ice water for a chaser.'
'Coming up,' Nitchy said. She looked sympathetically at Perce. 'Got the whim-whams?' she asked.
'Whim-whams?' Belle said with a scoffing laugh. 'This is the guy who swore he could mix grass, martinis, wine, bourbon, and brandy stingers. "I can handle it," he said.'
'Belle,' Stilton implored. 'Don't shout.'
When our drinks were served, Perce sat there staring at his brandy. He took a deep breath. Then he bent forward so he had to lift the glass only a few inches to his lips. He took half of it in one gulp. Then he closed his eyes and clenched his teeth.
'Jesus!' he said finally. 'Did you hear that hit?'
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He took another deep breath, sat back in his chair, drained off his glass of ice water. Nitchy was there with a pitcher to fill it up again.
'Well now,' Percy Stilton said, looking at us with a weak grin. 'This is what I should have done eight hours ago.'
'I wanted you to suffer,' Maybelle Hawks said.
Stilton finished his cognac and handed the empty glass to Nitchy. 'Another plasma, please, nurse,' he said.
By the time Belle and I had finished our wine, the detective seemed recovered, lighting a cigarette with steady fingers, laughing and joking, surveying his surroundings with interest.
'Nice, comfy place,' he said, nodding. 'How's the food'?'
Nitchy was still hovering, proud at having Maybelle Hawks in her establishment. I had seen her boasting at other tables.
'For you,' she said to Stilton, 'I suggest a rare sirloin, a mixed green salad, and nothing else.'
'Marry me,' he said.
'I'll have the same, please,' Belle said, 'Oil and vinegar on the greens.'
I ordered a hamburger and another round of drinks.
'All right, Josh,' Percy said, 'what's all this about?'
I glanced quickly towards Maybelle Hawks. Stilton caught it. 'She knows everything. She thinks it's interesting.'
'Fascinating,' she said.
'You know all the people involved?' I asked her. 'Tippi Kipper? Godfrey Knurr? Marty Reape?'
She nodded.
'Good,' I said. 'But what I have to say will be new to both of you. I've got a lot to tell.'
'Talk away,' Percy Stilton said. 'We're listening.'
I told them about the Stonehouse case: the arsenic poisoning, how I thought it had been done, the 281
personalities of the people involved, how I was attempting to locate a cabdriver who might have picked up Professor Stonehouse on the night he disappeared. They listened intently.
When I told them about the attempted assault on me the previous evening, Detective Stilton paused, his last forkful of steak halfway to his mouth, and stared at me. Then he devoured the final bite, pushed his plate away, and reached for his cigarette case.
I told them how I had shadowed Godfrey Knurr, how he had travelled up to that West Side garage, met a woman, and how the two of them drove northward in a black Mercedes-Benz.
'But it wasn't Tippi Kipper,' I said. 'It was Glynis Stonehouse.'
I finished my hamburger and looked up. Detective Percy Stilton had lighted his cigarette. He was puffing calmly, looking into the space over my head. Maybelle Hawks had also finished her dinner despite my earthshaking news. She was patting her lips delicately with her napkin.
'Good steak,' was all she said.
Stilton's eyes came down slowly until he was staring at me.
'Roll me over,' he sang softly, 'in the clover. Roll me over, lay me down, and do it again.'
'Coffee?' the waitress asked.
We agreed and added brandy to the order. Nothing was said until the waitress moved away. Then Detective Stilton struck the top of the table with his palm. Cutlery jumped.
'That fucker,' Stilton cried. 'That fucker!'
'Easy, babe,' Maybelle Hawks said. 'Don't get physical.'
'You t h i n k . . . ? ' I said.
'Sheet,' the detective said disgustedly. 'It's him. It's got to be him. I don't know how he managed the Kipper snuff or what he did with Stonehouse, but it's him, it's got to be 282
him. And he thinks he's going to stroll, chuckling.'
'He's doing all right so far,' Belle said dryly.
'Yes,' I said, nodding. 'But it's all guesswork.'
Stilton ground out his cigarette, half-smoked, and immediately lighted another.
'Uh-huh,' he said. 'Guesswork. No hard evidence.
Right. Well, I'll tell you, Josh, sometimes it goes like that.
You got the guy cold but you can't prove.'
'What do you do then?'
He put his head far back, blew smoke at the ceiling.
' W e l l . . . ' he said slowly, 'I know a couple of guys who owe me. Not cops,' he added hurriedly. 'Just friends from my old neighbourhood. They like to go hunting.'
I looked at him, puzzled.
'They could take this Knurr hunting with them,' he said.
'In the forest. Lots of trees upstate. Accidents happen all the time. Hunting accidents.'
'No,' I said.
'Why not?' Stilton demanded harshly.
'Perce,' I said, 'I don't believe in brute force and brute morality. I don't believe they rule the world. I don't believe they're what make history and form the future. I just don't believe that. I can't believe that, Perce. Look at me. I'm a shrimp. If brute force is what it's all about, then I haven't got a chance, I'm dead already. Also, I don't want to believe it. If brute morality is the law of survival, then I want to be dead. I don't want to live in a world like that because it would just be nothing, without hope and without joy.'
Stilton stared at me, his eyes wide.
'You're a pisser,' he said finally.
'That's the way I feel,' I said.
Maybelle Hawks reached across the table and put a hand on my arm.
'I'm with you, babe,' she said softly.
The detective leaned back and lighted another cigarette.
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'And the meek shall inherit the earth,' he said tonelessly.
'I didn't say that,' I told him angrily. 'I want to nail Godfrey Knurr as much as you do. More maybe. He played me for a fool. I'm not meek about it all. I'm not going to let him escape.'
'And just how do you figure to nail him?'
'I've got a good brain — I know I have. Knurr isn't going to stroll away. Right now I can't tell you exactly how I'm going to nail him, but I know I will. Guile and cunning.
That's what I'm going to use against him. Those are the only weapons of a persecuted minority. And that is how I consider myself: a member of the minority of shorts.'
'All right, Josh,' Stilton said. 'We'll play it your way — for the time being. Tomorrow I'll see what the machine's got on the Reverend Godfrey Knurr.'
'And Tippi Kipper,' I reminded him.
'Right. You're going ahead with those posters?'
'First thing tomorrow.'
'Take my advice: don't describe Stonehouse on the posters. If you do, you'll get a million calls from smartasses. Just run his picture and give the address of his apartment house. Then, if you get any calls, you can check how legit they are by asking the caller to describe Stonehouse.'
'That makes sense.'
'Also,' Stilton went on, 'check out those chemical analyses Stonehouse had made. Go to the lab, blow some smoke. Get copies of the analyses. You think the arsenic was in the brandy, and you're probably right. But you need paper. Find that clinic where Glynis does volunteer work. See if they have any arsenic.'
I was scrawling rapid memoranda in my little notebook.
'Anything else?' I asked him.
'If the clinic doesn't work out, try to discover where she worked previously. Maybe they had arsenic.'
; 'I don't even know how long ago she worked there,' I 284
said. 'Maybe a year or two, or longer.'
'So?' Percy Stilton said. 'It's possible.'
'Do you know when Glynis met Godfrey Knurr?'
Maybelle Hawks asked.
'No, I don't,' I confessed. 'I'll try to find out.'
'Uh-huh,' Stilton said. 'And while you're at it, try to get us a recent photograph of Glynis.'
'What for?'
'Oh, I don't rightly know,' he said lazily.
I made a note: Gly foto.
'Anything else?' I asked.
'I don't know how much time you can put in on this thing,' Perce said, 'but it would help if you could keep tabs on Knurr. Just to get some idea of the guy's schedule.
Where he goes, who he sees. Especially where he goes when he and Glynis take off in that black Mercedes from the West Side garage. That's another thing; try to find out if it's his car.'
'It's not. Knurr owns a battered VW,' I said.
'Sure,' Stilton said genially. 'He would. Fits right in with his image of a poor-but-honest man of the cloth. He's probably got a portfolio of blue-chip stocks that would knock your eye out. Well, that's about all I can think of, Josh,' He looked at Maybelle Hawks. 'You think of anything else, babe?'
'Not at the moment,' she said. 'I'd feel a lot surer about this whole thing if we could figure out how Knurr and Tippi put Sol Kipper over that railing. Also the suicide note.'
'You're a wise old fox,' he told her. 'Give it some thought. I'll bet you'll come up with something.'
'I wish I could say the same about you,' she murmured.
'Tonight.'
'Try me,' he said.
'I intend to,' she said. 'Josh, many thanks for the dinner. And you just keep right on. You're going to crash this; I know you are.'
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'Thank you,' I said. 'Perce, would you be willing to give me your home telephone number?'
'Sure,' he said immediately, and did.
I waited with them until they got a cab. Maybelle swooped to kiss my cheek.
'I want to see more of you, Josh,' she said. 'Promise?'
'Of course,' I said.
'You'll come up and have dinner with us? I'm really a very good cook. Right, Perce?'
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