Crime Stories

by Dashiell Hammett

  The other two servants turn and eagerly smile at them.

  Ethel: “Happy New Year, ma’am.”

  Nick, in a whisper: “Shush! Don’t spoil their fun. They haven’t surprised us yet.”

  Nora, in a whisper: “How are you, Rose?”

  Then to the maid and butler: “Hello, Ethel . . . Peters.”

  The maid and the butler smile at them and whisper.

  Ethel: “Nice to see you, ma’am.”

  Rose, also in a whisper: “We missed you something fierce.”

  From this time on they all speak in whispers.

  Nora: “We missed you something fierce.”

  Nora sees the sandwiches and picks up one of them. She is about to eat it, when Nick takes it from her.

  Nick: “You can’t have that. It’s for the guests.”

  He puts the whole sandwich into his mouth. Nora gives him a look, and then goes snooping over toward the stove. The butler starts into the dining room with a bucket of ice cubes.

  Nora: “What’re we going to have for dinner, Rose? I’m hungry.”

  Rose: “Your aunt telephoned, Miss Nora. She expects you there.”

  Nora looks at Nick, appalled. This is evidently the last place she wants to go.

  Nora: “My aunt!”

  But she gets no help from Nick. He leans over and kisses her.

  Nick: “Goodbye, darling. See you next year.”

  Rose: “She expects you, too, Mr. Charles.”

  Nick looks around at Rose, unable to believe his ears.

  Nick: “Me?”

  Rose: “Yes, sir.”

  Nick, turning back to Nora: “What have your family got against me?”

  Nora: “It’s that annual family dinner.”

  Nick, picking up another sandwich: “Remind me not to go.”

  There is the sound of a doorbell. Nora: “What excuse’ll I make?”

  Nick: “Tell her I left a collar button in New York, and we have to go back for it.”

  Three pistol reports from the front door are followed by the sound of a door crashing back against a wall, and a man’s hoarse exclamation.

  Nick, followed by Nora, goes to the front door. The man who admitted them to the house—sober now—is standing at the door staring down with horrified face at a dead man huddled on the vestibule floor at his feet. The man at the door turns his frightened face to Nick and gasps: “I opened the door—bang, bang—he said, ‘Mees Selma Young,’ and fell down like that.”

  Nick corrects him mechanically—“Bang, bang, bang”—while kneeling to examine the man on the floor. He rises again almost immediately, saying: “Dead.” By now guests and servants are crowding around them. Nora, craning her neck to look past Nick at the dead man’s face, exclaims: “Nick, it’s Pedro!”

  Nick: “Who is Pedro?”

  Nora: “You remember. Pedro Dominges—used to be Papa’s gardener.”

  Nick says: “Oh, yes,” doubtfully, looking at Pedro again. Pedro is a lanky Portuguese of fifty-five, with a pleasant, swarthy face and gray handlebar mustache. Nick addresses the butler: “Phone the police, Peters.” Then he turns to discover that the man who opened the door has tiptoed past the corpse and is now going down the steps to the street. “Wait a minute,” Nick calls. The man turns around on the bottom step and says very earnestly:

  “Listen, I—I—this kind of thing upsets me. I got to go home and lay down.”

  Nick looks at the man without saying anything and the man reluctantly comes back up the steps, complaining: “All right, brother, but you’re going to have a sick man on your hands.”

  A little man, obviously a crook of some sort, plucks at Nick’s elbow and whines: “You got to let me out, Nick. You know I’m in no spot to be messing with coppers right now.”

  Nick says: “You should have thought of that before you shot him.”

  The little man jumps as if he had been kicked.

  During this scene a crowd has been gradually assembling in the street around the door: first a grocer’s delivery boy, then a taxi driver, pedestrians, etc. Now a policeman pushes his way through the crowd, saying: “What’s going on here?” and comes up the steps. He salutes Nick respectfully, says: “How do you do, Mr. Charles? Glad to see you back,” then sees the dead man and goggles at him.

  Nick says: “We called in.”

  The policeman goes down the steps and begins to push the crowd around, growling: “Get back there! Get back there!” In the distance a police siren can be heard.

  Indoors, a few minutes later, Lieutenant Abrams of the Police Homicide Detail—who looks somewhat like an older version of Arthur Caesar—is saying to Nora: “You’re sure of the identification, Mrs. Charles? He’s the Pedro Dominges that used to be your gardener?”

  Nora: “Absolutely sure.”

  Abrams: “How long ago was that?”

  Nora: “Six years at least. He left a little before my father died.”

  Abrams: “Why’d he leave?”

  Nora: “I don’t know.”

  Abrams: “Ever see him since?”

  Nora: “No.”

  Abrams: “What did he want here?”

  Nora: “I don’t know. I—”

  Abrams: “All right. Thanks.” He speaks to one of his men: “See what you can get.” The man goes to a phone in another room. (In this scene, the impression to be conveyed is that Abrams has already asked his preliminary questions and is now patiently going over the same ground again, checking up, filling in details.)

  Abrams turns to the guests: “And none of you admit you know him, huh?” Several of them shake their heads, the others remain quiet.

  Abrams: “And none of you know a Miss Selma Young?”

  There is the same response.

  Abrams: “All right.” Then, more sharply: “Mullen, have you remembered anything else?”

  The man who had opened the door runs his tongue over his lips and says: “No, sir. It’s just like I told you. I went to the door when it rang, thinking it was maybe some more guests, or maybe them”—nodding at Nick and Nora—“and then there was the shots and he kind of gasped what sounded to me like ‘Mees Selma Young’ and fell down dead like that. I guess there was an automobile passing maybe—I don’t know.”

  Abrams, aside to Nick: “Who is he?”

  Nick: “Search me.”

  Abrams to Mullen: “Who are you? What were you doing here?”

  Mullen, hesitantly: “I come to see about buying a puppy and somebody give me a drink and—” His face lights up and he says with enthusiasm: “It was a swell party. I never—”

  Abrams interrupts him: “What are you doing answering the doorbell if you just chiseled in?”

  Mullen, sheepishly: “Well, I guess I had a few drinks and was kind of entering in the spirit of the thing.”

  Abrams addresses one of his men: “Take good-time Charlie out to where he says he lives and works and find out about him.” The man takes Mullen and goes out.

  In another room, the detective at the phone is saying: “Right, Mack. I got it.” He hangs up. As he reaches the door, the phone rings. He glances around, goes softly back to it.

  In the hallway, the butler answers the phone: “Mr. Charles’s residence . . . Yes, Mrs. Landis . . . Yes, ma’am.” He goes into the room where the others are and speaks aside to Nora: “Mrs. Landis is on the telephone, ma’am.”

  Nora goes to the phone, says: “Hello, Selma. How are you, dear?”

  Selma, in hat and street clothes, her face wild, cries hysterically: “Nora, you and Nick have simply got to come tonight! Something terrible has happened! I don’t know what to—I’ll kill myself if—you’ve got to! If you don’t, I’ll—” She breaks off as she sees Aunt Katherine standing in the doorway looking sternly at her. Aunt Katherine is very old, but still big-boned and powerful, with a grim, iron-jawed face. She, too, is in hat and street clothes and leans on a thick cane. Selma catches her breath in a sob, and says weakly: “Please come.”

  Nora, ala
rmed: “Certainly we’ll come, dear. We’ll do—”

  Selma says hastily: “Thanks,” and hangs up, avoiding Aunt Katherine’s eyes. Aunt Katherine, not taking her eyes from Selma, puts out a hand and rings a bell, saying, when a servant comes in: “A glass of water.” Both women remain as they are in silence until the servant returns with the water. Then Aunt Katherine takes the water from the servant, takes a tablet from a small bottle in her own handbag, and with water in one hand, tablet in the other, goes to Selma and says: “Take this and lie down until time for dinner.”

  Selma objects timidly: “No, Aunt Katherine, please. I’m all right. I’ll be quite all right.”

  Aunt Katherine: “Do as I say—or I shall call Dr. Kammer.”

  Selma slowly takes the tablet and water.

  The detective at Nick’s who has been listening on the extension quickly puts down the phone and, returning to the room where the others are, calls Abrams aside and whispers into his ear, telling him what he overheard. While this is going on, Nora returns and tells Nick: “You’re in for it, my boy. I promised Selma we’d come to Aunt Katherine’s for dinner tonight. I had to. She’s so upset she—”

  Nick says: “That means outside of putting up with the rest of your family, we’ll have to listen to her troubles with Robert. I won’t—”

  Nora says coaxingly: “But you like Selma.”

  Nick: “Not that much.”

  Nora: “Please, Nickie.”

  Nick: “I won’t go sober.”

  Nora pats his cheek, saying: “You’re a darling.”

  Abrams comes back from his whispered conference with the other detective and says: “Mrs. Charles, I’ll have to ask you who you were talking to on the phone.”

  Nora, puzzled: “My cousin, Selma Landis.”

  Abrams: “She married?”

  Nora: “Yes.”

  Abrams: “What was her last name before she was married?”

  Nora: “Forrest, the same as mine.”

  Abrams: “She ever go by the name of Young?”

  Nora: “Why no! Surely you don’t think—” She looks at Nick.

  Abrams: What was she so excited about?”

  Nora, indignantly: “You listened?”

  Abrams, patiently: “We’re policemen, Mrs. Charles, and a man’s been killed here. We got to try to find out what goes on the best way we can. Now is there any connection between what she was saying and what happened here?”

  Nora: “Of course not. It’s probably her husband.”

  Abrams: “You mean this fellow that was killed?”

  Nick: “That’s a thought!” He asks Nora solemnly: “Do you suppose Selma was ever married to Pedro?”

  Nora: “Stop it, Nick.” Then, to Abrams: “No, no—it’s her husband she was talking about.”

  Abrams nods, says: “Maybe that’s right. I can see that. I’m a married man myself.” After a moment’s thought he asks: “Did she know this fellow that was killed?”

  Nora: “I suppose so. She and my husband and her husband were all friends and used to come there before any of us were married.”

  Abrams: “Then her husband might know him, too, huh?”

  Nora: “He might.”

  Abrams turns to Nick: “How come you didn’t recognize him before Mrs. Charles told you?”

  Nick: “Who notices a gardener unless he squirts a hose on you?”

  Abrams: “There’s something in that. I remember once when—well, never mind.” He addresses the detective who phoned: “Find out anything about Dominges?”

  The Detective: “Did a little bootlegging before repeal—bought hisself a apartment house at 346 White Street—lives there and runs it hisself. Not married. No record on him.”

  Abrams asks the assembled company: “346 White Street mean anything to anybody?” Nobody says it does. He asks his men: “Got all their names and addresses?”

  “Yes.”

  Abrams: “All right. You people can clear out. We’ll let you know when we want to see you again.”

  The guests start to leave as if glad to go, especially a little group of men who have been herded into a corner by a couple of policemen, but this group is halted by one of the policemen, who says: “Take it easy, boys. We’ve got a special wagon outside for you. We been hunting for some of you for months.” They are led out between policemen.

  Abrams, alone in the room with Nick and Nora, looks at Nick and says: “Well?”

  Nick says: “Oh, sure,” and begins to mix drinks.

  Abrams: “I didn’t mean that exactly. I mean what do you make all this add up to? He’s killed coming to see you. He knows you two, and Mrs. Charles’s relations, and that’s all we know he does know. What do you make of it?”

  Nick, handing him a drink: “Maybe he was a fellow who didn’t get around much.”

  At the Landis home:

  Aunt Katherine, in the doorway of the drawing room, is surveying the occupants of the room grimly.

  Aunt Katherine: “Good evening all.”

  The men of the family all rise to their feet, some of them with difficulty, to greet Aunt Katherine. The next to Katherine in point of age is Aunt Lucy, Katherine’s cousin, a tottering old lady whose only interest is her accumulating years. Next, there is the General, Katherine’s brother. He is a tall, solidly fat man of eighty, with a bald head, bushy white brows and whiskers, and the shiny appearance of just having been scrubbed. Although Katherine calls him Thomas, the rest speak of him as the General.

  The others, in order of their ages, are:

  Burton Forrest, a gaunt man of seventy-two, who has a tic, which makes him crinkle his nose as if he had suddenly smelled a bad smell.

  Charlotte, Burton’s wife, a short, roly-poly woman of seventy, who is more interested in her dinner than anything else.

  Hattie, a spinster of sixty-something. She is very deaf, and wears an audio phone, with its sounding box conspicuously pinned on the front of her chest, and cords going from it to her ears.

  William, a few years younger than Hattie. A plump man whose clothes are too tight. He has a great deal of difficulty in understanding things, and, even in this family, is considered not quite bright.

  Lucius, a tired man in his late fifties.

  Helen and Emily, colorless women of fifty-three or fifty-four . . . married to William and Lucius. They stick together as if not sure of their places in this family that they have married into.

  As Katherine makes her entrance, they all greet her with deferential murmurs, addressing her as “Katherine” or “Cousin Katherine” or “Aunt Katherine,” according to their ages.

  The women sit stiffly erect; the men stand stiffly erect. The men wear white ties and tails. The women’s gowns range in style from the Victorianism of Katherine’s to the comparatively modern, but none of them is gay. Aunt Lucy, the very old lady, comes tottering up to Katherine.

  Aunt Lucy: “I had a birthday last week, Katherine. I’m eighty-three years old. Eighty-three years old. What do you think of that?”

  Aunt Katherine: “That’s fine, Lucy.”

  Aunt Lucy: “Eighty-three! Next year I’ll be eighty-four.”

  Aunt Katherine dismisses Aunt Lucy with a brief word: “That’s splendid.”

  She turns to the rest. “While we’re alone, I have something important to tell all of you.”

  Aunt Hattie leans forward in her chair, holding her audio phone toward Katherine.

  Aunt Hattie: “What’d she say?”

  Lucius: “Shush!”

  Aunt Katherine, looking at Hattie, irritated: “Isn’t that thing working, Hattie?”

  Aunt Hattie: “This works perfectly. It’s you! You mumble!”

  Lucius, stepping into the breach: “What is it, Katherine?”

  Aunt Katherine: “Nora and her husband are coming tonight.”

  They all look at Katherine, appalled.

  Family: “Her husband!”

  “After the last time . . .”

  “But Katherine . . .”
>
  “Really, Katherine . . .”

  This news has brought on Burton’s tic worse than ever. The General is regarding Katherine with offended dignity.

  The General: “But you said yourself that you wouldn’t have him again.”

  Aunt Katherine: “I know I did. And my opinion of him and what he represents hasn’t changed a particle.”

  Burton: “Then I can’t understand why you asked him.”

  His face twitches violently.

  Aunt Katherine: “I have a very good reason for asking him, which you will know in time.” There is a muffled sound of a bell. “That’s probably they now.”

  She turns to include the others: “Understand now, I want you all to be pleasant to him.”

  She walks toward Hattie and Lucius, near the door. The rest of the family look after her. There are murmurs from them.

  The Family: “Of course, if you say so . . . It’s going to be difficult . . . Poor Nora. My heart bleeds for that child.”

  Hattie is still looking from face to face bewildered. Katherine passes the old butler as he goes slowly through the hall: “If that is Mr. and Mrs. Charles, show them right in.”

  Butler: “Yes, madam.”

  Aunt Hattie: “What is it? What’s happened?”

  Lucius, bending down and talking right into her audio phone: “You’re to be pleasant to Nora’s husband.”

  Aunt Hattie: “Who said so?”

  Aunt Katherine: “I did!”

  Aunt Hattie: “I’ll be just as pleasant as you are . . . no more!”

  Nick and Nora, in evening clothes, are waiting for the butler to open the door. Nick is muttering to himself. Nora looks at him, puzzled.

  Nora: “What are you muttering to yourself?”

  Nick: “I’m getting all the bad words out of my system.”

  Nora: “You’d better pull yourself together.”

  Nick: “Don’t worry. One squint at Aunt Katherine would sober anyone!”

  The door is opened by Henry, the butler.

  Nora: “Good evening, Henry.”

  There is a chill in the massive hallway, with its dim lights. Nick and Nora come in as Henry holds the door open.

  Henry, in a hushed whisper: “Good evening, madam—sir.”