In David’s apartment, he is distractedly walking up and down. He looks at his watch, goes to the telephone, but puts it down without calling a number. He lights a cigarette, puts it out immediately, goes to the window; then repeats his performance with watch and telephone. He is wiping his face with a handkerchief when the phone rings. He picks it up quickly. Nora, on the other end of the wire, says: “David, this is Nora. I’m downstairs. I want to—”
David: “Come up! Come up!” He goes to the door and waits impatiently for her.
As soon as Nora appears, David asks: “Have you come from her?”
Nora: “Yes. She—”
David, excitedly: “Where’s Nick? What’ll I do, Nora? It’s my fault. I’m all to blame. If I hadn’t given Robert those bonds, he wouldn’t have been going away, and she wouldn’t have”—his voice breaks and he almost whispers the last words—“shot him.”
Nora: “But she didn’t, David!”
David: “What? She told me.”
Nora: “She told you what?”
David: “That she took the gun and ran out after him to try to keep him from going away and—”
Nora: “But she didn’t shoot him. She hadn’t turned the corner when she heard the shot, and when she got there he was already dead. She told me herself, and she was perfectly calm when she told me.”
David sinks back into a chair, his eyes wide and horrified. He tries to speak twice before the words will come out, and when they do his voice is hoarse with anguish. “I’ve killed her, Nora! I’ve sent her to the gallows! I thought she shot him. I took the gun and threw it in the bay. I’m a fool and I’ve killed her.”
Nora, frightened, but trying to soothe him: “Perhaps it’s not that bad, David. We’ll see what Nick says. He’ll know how to—”
David: “But, don’t you see? If I hadn’t thrown the gun away, the fact that it hadn’t been fired—and the police could’ve fired a bullet from it and seen that it didn’t match the one he was killed with—don’t you see?—it would have been absolute proof that she didn’t do it. But now—” He breaks off and grabs one of Nora’s hands, asking: “How is she? Do the police—do they think she—” He seems unable to finish the question.
Nora: “Selma’s all right. She’s lying down. The police haven’t talked to her yet. Dr. Kammer wouldn’t let them.”
David, a little sharply: “Kammer! Is he there?” Nora nods. David, frowning: “I wish he’d stay away from her.” He shrugs off his thoughts about Kammer and asks: “Do the police suspect her?”
Nora: “I’m afraid they suspect everybody.”
David: “But her especially—do they?”
Nora, hesitantly: “I’m afraid they do—a little.” Then, more cheerfully: “But they didn’t know about the Li-Chee Club and those people then. We were there tonight and saw Robert, and Nick found out a lot of things about Robert’s running around with a girl who lives in the same house as Pedro Dominges, oh! a lot of things, and I’m sure by this time he knows who killed Robert—so there’s nothing to worry about.”
David, not sharing her cheerfulness: “I hope so. I’ll kill myself if—”
Nora, sharply: “Don’t talk like that, David. They’ll find out who killed Robert—Nick’ll find out.”
David: “Tell me the truth, Nora, does Nick think she, Selma, killed him?”
Nora: “Oh, he knows she didn’t. He knows—” She breaks off, staring with frightened face past David and pointing at the window. David turns, in time to catch a glimpse of Phil’s face outside the window. He rushes to the window, but has some trouble with the fastening, so that by the time he gets it open, the fire-escape is empty. As he turns back to Nora, she says in a surprised voice: “Why, that was—”
There is a sharp, triple knock on the door. David goes to the door and opens it. The man who shadowed Nora from Selma’s house is there. He asks: “Mr. Graham?”
The man takes a badge in a leather case from his left pants pocket and shows it to him briefly, saying: “Police—”
Nora says: “There was a man on the fire-escape! The brother of that girl at the Li-Chee.”
The policeman says: “Yeah?” as if not believing her. He goes to the window and looks out for a moment, then turns back and says: “He’s gone.” Then he scowls at Nora and asks: “What girl at the Li-Chee?”
Nora says: “Polly Byrnes—the girl Robert Landis went out with just before he was killed.”
The policeman says: “Say, you know a lot, don’t you, sister? What does all this make you out to be?”
Nora says, with great dignity: “I’m Mrs. Nick Charles!”
The policeman says, apologetically: “I didn’t know. I guess then maybe there was somebody on the fire-escape.”
Nora asks, indignantly: “Well, what are you going to do—stand here and wait for them to come back?”
The policeman says: “No, I reckon not.” He goes to the phone.
David takes Nora out of the policeman’s hearing and asks, in a low voice: “Should I tell him about the gun—about Selma?”
Nora says: “No, don’t tell anybody until we see Nick.”
Dancer’s apartment—at the Li-Chee. Nick is lying on the sofa, as before. Lum Kee is sitting in the corner, reading a book. In another chair, Polly is sitting, manicuring her fingernails. Dancer is sitting astride a chair, chewing a toothpick, and looking angrily at Nick. Nick is in the middle of an apparently long and pointless anecdote.
Dancer spits toothpick out on the floor and says, angrily: “Listen, we’re putting up with you, but do we have to put with all this talk?”
Nick sits up and looks at him in surprise, saying: “But I thought I was entertaining you.”
A Chinese waiter opens the door and says: “Mr. Caspar here—”
Caspar comes in. He is a little man, almost a dwarf, sloppily dressed, with bushy hair, and is addicted to Napoleonic poses. He comes into the room bowing and smiling to everyone and saying: “Well, well—what is it?”
Dancer, grouchily: “Do I know? So a guy comes in and buys a drink. He goes out and somebody kills him. What are we supposed to do, give the customers insurance policies with the drinks?”
Nick says: “Wouldn’t be a bad idea—with the kind of stuff you’re serving.”
Caspar advances toward Nick with his hand out, saying: “I didn’t recognize you for a moment, Mr. Charles. You remember me—Floyd Caspar?”
Nick says: “Oh, yes,” and pats his pockets as if to make sure he hasn’t lost anything.
Caspar goes on: “A man killed! Surely you don’t think these people—” he looks at the three others in the room as if they were saints “—would have anything to do with a thing like that!” He puts a hand on Dancer’s shoulder and says: “Why, I’ve known this boy since he was—”
Dancer pushes the hand off roughly and says: “Save it for the district attorney. What’re you wasting your voice on this gum-heel for?”
Through the closed door comes the sound of men arguing. Then the door is swung open by Lieutenant Abrams, pushing a Chinese waiter against it. Two other detectives are with Abrams. He looks very tired and very dissatisfied with all the people in the room. When he sees Caspar, he groans and says: “I knew it would be like this. I knew there would be some shyster around to slow things up.”
Caspar draws himself up to his full five feet and begins, pompously: “Lieutenant Abrams, I must ask you—”
Abrams pays no attention to him, walks over and sits down on the sofa by Nick, asking, not very hopefully: “Is it right you know something about what’s been happening?”
Nick says: “A little.”
Abrams says: “It can’t be any littler than anybody else seems to know. Do you want to say it in front of them—or do we go off in a corner?”
Nick says: “This suits me.”
Abrams asks: “Is this the dame Mrs. Charles was telling me about—that lives in Dominges’s apartment and was with Landis tonight?”
Nick says: “Yes.
She sings here, but she took time off to see that he got home all right.”
Abrams says, gloomily: “She certainly did a swell job.” Then asks Polly: “And what did you do after he got home?”
Polly says: “I came back here. I work here.”
Abrams says: “When did you find out he was killed?”
Polly says: “After I came back—maybe half an hour. Dancer told me. I guess Mr. Charles told him.”
Abrams says: “Never mind guessing . . . I guess you know your landlord was killed this afternoon?”
Polly exclaims: “What!”
Nick says: “I told her earlier tonight, but she seemed to think it had to do with some fellow named Peter Dufinger, or Duflicker, or something.”
Polly says, earnestly, to Nick: “I honestly didn’t know, Mr. Charles. I never knew what his name was, except Pedro.”
Abrams asks: “What did you know about him besides that?”
Polly says: “Nothing. I’ve only lived there a couple of months and I never even seen him more than half a dozen times—”
Abrams asks Nick: “You believe her?”
Nick says: “I believe everybody. I’m a sucker.”
Abrams asks Polly: “Who do you think would kill Landis?”
She says: “I haven’t the faintest idea. Honest I haven’t.”
Nick says: “Miss Byrnes has a brother who carries a gun. Dancer was chucking him out when I came in. I hear he hung around for a while outside . . . perhaps until just about the time that Polly and Landis left.”
When Nick says, “Dancer was chucking him out,” Polly looks sharply at Dancer, but when Nick finishes his speech, Polly jumps up and comes over to him, saying earnestly: “Phil didn’t have anything to do with it, Mr. Charles. He wouldn’t have any reason.”
Nick says: “I’m not accusing anybody. I’m just talking.” Then he tells Abrams: “Dancer says he threw him out because he was bothering Polly for money.”
Polly turns to Dancer, angrily, exclaiming: “That’s a lie! You had no right to—”
Little Caspar interrupts her, saying: “Take it easy—take it easy. That’s the idea of this police clowning—to get you all at each other’s throats. Just answer any of their questions that you want to and don’t let ’em get under your skin.”
Abrams complains to Nick: “That’s the way it goes. I leave that little shyster stay in here because I got nothin’ to hide and he keeps buttin’ in. If he don’t stop it, I’m going to put them where he’ll need a court order to get to them.”
Caspar smiles and says: “Well, that’s never been much trouble so far.”
Abrams turns to Polly again, asking: “Where is this brother of yours that didn’t kill anybody?”
Polly says: “I don’t know. I haven’t seen him today.”
Abrams asks: “Does he live with you?”
Polly says: “No. He lives in a hotel on Turk Street. I don’t know just where.”
Abrams says: “You don’t know much about anybody, do you?”
Polly says: “I honestly don’t know what hotel. Phil’s always moving.”
Abrams says: “What’s the matter—does he have to move every time he don’t kill somebody? What does he do for a living—besides not killing anybody?”
Polly says: “He’s a chauffeur, but he hasn’t been able to get much work lately.”
Abrams asks if anybody knows Selma Young. Nobody does.
Abrams asks Nick: “What do you think of it now?”
Nick says: “My dear lieutenant, you wouldn’t expect me to question a lady’s word.”
Abrams says: “It’s all right for you to kid. Nobody jumps on your neck if you don’t turn up a murderer every twenty minutes.” He sighs and, indicating Dancer and Lum Kee, asks: “Well, what about them?”
Nick says: “They seem to have disappeared not long after Polly and Landis went out. Then showed up again with their hats on around the time I heard about the murder.”
Abrams asks Dancer: “Well?”
Dancer says: “I went out to get some air. What city ordinance does that break?”
Lum Kee, who has continued to read all through the scene so far, puts down his book and says: “I went with him.”
Dancer tries not to show surprise.
Abrams says: “Yeah? Where’d you go for all this air?”
Lum Kee says, blandly: “Air pretty much same everywhere. We go in my car—ride around. Ask chauffeur.”
Nick says: “There was another little point: I told Dancer Landis had been killed but he seemed to know that he’d been shot.”
Abrams asks Dancer: “How about that?”
Dancer says, disagreeably: “This is the twentieth century—in a big city. How do most people get killed—battle-axes? I just took it for granted, like you would when you don’t know you’re on the witness stand.”
Abrams asks: “Have you got a gun?”
Dancer takes an automatic out of his pocket and gives it to Abrams. From a card case he takes a slip of paper and gives it to Abrams, saying: “Here’s my permit.”
Abrams asks Lum Kee: “You?”
Lum Kee brings Abrams an automatic and a permit.
Caspar says: “If you’re going to take those, Lieutenant, we should like a receipt.”
Abrams complains to Nick: “I can’t stand that shyster.”
Nick: “I was beginning to suspect that.”
Abrams asks Polly: “Have you got a gun?”
Polly shakes her head no.
Abrams: “What’d you do with it?”
Polly: “I never had one.”
Abrams, wearily: “Nobody has anything, nobody knows anything. I don’t see why I don’t give up this racket and go farming.”
Dancer, to Caspar: “Everybody thought he did a long time ago.”
Abrams: “I’m laughing. Did you know this Pedro Dominges?”
Dancer: “No.”
Abrams looks at Lum Kee, who says: “No.”
Abrams stands up wearily, saying: “Come on, we’re going down to the Hall of Justice.”
Caspar: “On what charge?”
Abrams, disgustedly: “Charge, me eye! Witnesses. You ask ’em questions—where were you when you were over there?—and you have a stenographer take it down. You ought to know. Your clients spend nine-tenths of their time doing it.” He looks at his watch, nods at the door through which the sound of music comes, says: “Or maybe for staying open after hours. Didn’t you ever tell ’em about the two o’clock closing law?”
Caspar: “I’m going with ’em.”
Abrams: “And you can bring the wife and kiddies for all I care.”
The door opens and Nora and David come in accompanied by their detective. David and Polly look at each other with startled recognition, but neither says anything. Nora goes quickly over to Nick, who asks: “What are you up to now?”
Nora: “Have they found out who did it? Who did it, Nick?”
Nick: “Sh-h-h, I’m making Abrams guess.”
Abrams looks from David to the detective and asks: “Where’d you find him?”
Detective: “You told me to shadow anybody that left the Landis house. Well, Mrs. Charles did, and went over to his apartment, and I knew you wanted to talk to him, so as soon as I found out who it was I went on up and got him. There’s something about a fellow on the fire-escape, but they can tell you better than I can.”
Abrams looks questioningly at Nora, who says: “Yes, it was—” She looks at Polly, hesitates, says: “It was her brother,” then to Dancer: “The one you threw down the stairs when we came in.”
Everybody looks expectantly at Polly, who seems dumbfounded. After a long moment she exclaims: “I don’t believe it!”
Nick says: “That’s certainly a swell answer.”
Abrams asks Nora: “What was he doing on the fire-escape?”
Nora: “I don’t know. He went away as soon as we saw him and by the time we could get the window open there was no sign of him. You know how fogg
y it is. And then this man came”—indicating the detective—“and by the time we could persuade him to do anything it was too late.”
The detective, apologetically: “I reckon maybe I wasn’t up on my toes like I ought to’ve been, Lieutenant, but it sounded kind of screwy to me at first.” He addresses Nick: “I didn’t know she was your wife then.”
Nick: “You never can tell where you’re going to find one of my wives.”
The sound of music suddenly stops. Out in the restaurant, the customers, complaining about this unaccustomed early closing, are being shooed out.
Polly flares up, saying angrily: “What are you picking on Phil for? What’s the matter with Robert’s wife killing him? He told me himself she was batty as a pet cuckoo and would blow up and gum the whole thing if she found out that this guy—she points at David—was paying him to go away. Maybe she did find out about the bonds. What’s the matter with that?”
Abrams looks thoughtfully at David and says: “Hmmm, so that’s where the bonds came from?”
Dancer is watching Polly with hard, suspicious eyes. Nick, surprised, asks David: “Bonds?”
David nods slowly.
Abrams says to Polly: “This is no time to stop talking—go on, tell us more about this bond deal.”
Caspar comes forward importantly, saying to Polly: “No, no, I think this is a very good time to stop talking at least until you’ve had some sort of legal advice—”
Polly says: “They know about it. Anyway, he does” (indicating David). “Besides, you’re Dancer’s and Lum’s mouthpiece, not mine. How do I know you won’t leave me holding the bag?”
Abrams looks pleased for the first time since he’s come into the room. He says to Polly: “Now just a minute—that’s fine!” He turns to Caspar and says: “So you aren’t her lawyer? Well, that’ll give us a little rest from your poppin’ off. You and your two clients are going outside and wait until we get through talking to the little lady—”
Caspar starts to protest, but Abrams nods to his detectives and two of them take Caspar, Lum Kee, and Dancer out. At the door, Dancer turns to warn Polly: “Don’t get yourself in any deeper than you have to.”
Crime Stories Page 111