It must have been an off night; they weren't doing much business. After I'd been watching ten minutes I saw a policeman stroll in and out again, but I knew he wouldn't have been looking for me. If there'd been a tip-off from Adrian, there'd have been more than one of them. Three or four, probably; Adrian would have told them I was armed.
I was on my third cigarette when I saw Adrian's car drive up and park in front of the restaurant. He seemed to be alone in the car and he got out of it alone and walked to the door. I saw him look in through the glass and hesitate when he didn't see me, but he didn't look around or make any signals. He went inside.
No other car had driven up. I crossed the street and went in. Adrian had taken one of the little tables for two along the side, facing the door. He'd hung up his hat and cape, and--in full dress--he looked as out of place in that little greasy spoon of a restaurant as a peacock in a chicken yard.
He looked up as I came in and called out, "Hi, Harry."
I sat down across from him. I asked, "What's the Harry stuff?"
"Well, I didn't want to call you by your right name. Suppose it's been on a broadcast or--"
"Adrian, the guy behind the counter there knows me by my right name. He's going to wonder."
Adrian stared at me wonderingly. "You mean you actually eat in a place like this?"
"Occasionally. At least as often as I eat at Lindy's. But forget the gastronomics. What's with the cops?"
"Dropped in just after I got home to pick up the sketches." He leaned forward across the table and dropped his voice. "Lola's body was found in the park at a little after midnight. She had identification on her. They went to your place and--"
"Wait," I said. "Here comes Jerry."
The waiter had finished serving his customers at the counter and was going to our table. He said, "Hi, Mr. Dixon. How are things?"
"Swell, Jerry. Two orders of ham and eggs and coffee."
I saw Adrian open his mouth to say something and I glared him into silence until Jerry, whistling, had gone to the grill back of the counter. Then he said petulantly, "Why did you order ham and eggs, Wayne? I can't eat--"
"I'll eat both orders," I told him. "I'm hungry. What about the cops? You said they'd gone to my place and that was as far as you got."
"They went to your place and you weren't there, so they're trying to locate you. They found an address book of yours and they've been checking among your friends."
"Mine?" I asked, "or Lola's?"
He looked at me blankly. "Why do you ask that? Yours, I presume. They had a little brown leather notebook about four by six--"
"Good," I interrupted him. That was my notebook; it had been lying on my desk near the telephone. I knew which names were in it and which weren't.
Adrian went on: "Mostly they were looking for you, through your friends. They asked me first if I'd seen you tonight and I said I hadn't. And then--"
"That's the bad part, Adrian," I told him. "After you left Mike's, Mike got onto me. I had to lock him up in a closet in his back room. He's out by now, and he'll tell the cops fast that I was in his place and that you were with me. They'll know you were lying when they were at your place. I should have told you that over the phone so you could have changed your story. I'm sorry, but you're going to have to do some fast talking the next time they call on you."
He waved that aside. He said, "I can talk fast. And I've got connections. I can't get away with murder, but I can get away with lying to the cops for a couple of hours--if I think up a good story why I lied to them. Can you give me one?"
I shook my head slowly. "Why did you lie to them, Adrian? I don't even know that."
"I'm not too sure myself," he said. "All right, then, don't worry about that. I'll figure an out for myself. What about you?"
I said, "I've got a hundred to one chance. It was a thousand to one when I figured it out--just before I met you. If I've got you on my side --for another hour or so anyway--that cuts it down to a hundred to one."
"Not very good odds."
"No," I admitted. "Not very good. I don't like them at all. But the alternative gives me less of a chance--no chance at all."
"You haven't an alibi?"
"Not a ghost of one. Damn it, Adrian, three people know we left home to take a walk in the park half an hour before I killed her. And a paraffin test will show I fired the gun. Adrian, barring a miracle, I'm strapped into that chair now."
"And what's the miracle?"
"I can't tell you, Adrian. It sounds silly, but--if you want to help, and God knows why you should--you'll just have to string along with me for the next hour or two. If you don't, that's okay. I don't blame you. I don't think I would, if I were in your shoes. If you don't, my chance goes back from one in a hundred to one in a thousand, but I'll carry on."
"What do you want me to do?"
"That's the sad part; I won't even tell you. Because if we're separating now, you'd better go right to the cops and tell 'em how you lied to them the first time. They'll know by now anyway, from Mike. And you're in deep enough; I don't want you to have to do any more lying for me by saying you don't know where I am."
Adrian sighed. "And what makes you think I wouldn't string along a little longer? Want me to write it out and sign it? You're not going to commit another murder, are you?"
"I don't think so."
"All right, then. What are we waiting for? Oh, the ham and eggs." He made a face.
I got up and said, "Forget the ham and eggs. I can eat ham and eggs in jail, maybe. Come on."
I dropped two dollar bills on the counter as I went past Jerry and said, "Forget the grub, Jerry. We just remembered something important." And I got out before he could say anything.
We got in Adrian's car and he started the engine and asked, "Where to?"
I said, "Carry on as though those cops hadn't dropped in on you. Just what we were planning to do before."
"You mean go to Dane Taggert's? What for?"
"What we were talking about in Mike's. You're looking for a Bluebeard for your play. You said I'd have to have Taggert's okay for the part, didn't you?"
Adrian killed the engine. He said, "Don't try to kid me you're interested in a part and a murder rap at the same time, Wayne. It doesn't make sense and the gag is wearing thin."
I said, "That's exactly what you told me a little over an hour ago--only about a different matter. You said then that the gag about my having killed Lola was wearing thin. It's got a little thicker since then. Hasn't it?"
"Yes, but--"
"But you want to know what I really have in mind. Just take my word for it that this gag might get thicker, too. I hope it will. But maybe it won't. If you don't want to play--and I've said already I won't blame you --I'll get out and trot along."
I opened the door of the car. Adrian sighed and said, "All right, all right. But look--how much of a hurry are you in to get there?"
"Only my life depends on it." Then I relented a little. "You didn't ask that; you asked how much of a hurry I'm in. None, as long as we get the role business settled before the cops get me. I can spare half an hour, if that's what you mean."
He started the car again. He drove across Central Park West and took the southeast fork inside the park; he cut east and then north to where there's a wide parking place near the lake. He parked the car and turned to me.
"Let's get one thing straight, Wayne," he said. "There's no gag left about that first gag? You did kill Lola?"
"Yes," I said.
"Then--are you sure you know what you're doing, boy? Let me give you some money, and get away from here before they catch you. I had another three hundred cash at home; I've got five hundred you can take now. Are your fingerprints on file?"
"No," I told him. "But what am I going to do? Get another chance at acting somewhere? I'm no good at anything else. No, Adrian. Thanks for your offer of the money, but I'm going to take my chances here."
"All right, then. I'll help with a lawyer. And it looks like I
'm going to have to do some awfully fast talking--or I'll need one for myself too."
"Adrian," I said, "you're a good guy; that much I know. But why are you doing all this? Being a good guy or even a good friend--and we haven't seen an awful lot of each other recently at that --doesn't include taking chances like you're taking."
"Because--because Lola needed killing if any woman ever did. Because I don't blame you, boy. I--Sometimes I think I knew her better than you did, because you were blinded by being in love with her. I wasn't. I almost hated her, and yet--you don't mind my talking about this now, do you?--there was an attraction, a purely physical attrac--"
I said, "Stop. I'm afraid I do mind you talking about it. Let's skip anything that was, or ever was, between you and Lola. It doesn't matter now."
"All right, we'll speak of her abstractly. Wayne, you don't know, being blinded by loving her and being too close to her, what that woman was capable of, what she was under that beautiful exterior of hers. Or maybe you do at that. Maybe you found out tonight for the first time. Is that right?"
I said, "You're righter than you know, Adrian."
"Then--let's do this. Let's go to the best lawyer I know. Right now. We'll wake him up in the middle of the night. We'll talk it over with him and then you give yourself up, taking his advice on what to say and what not to say. If you're guilty, I doubt if he's going to be able to get you a habeas corpus, but he can--"
"No, Adrian," I said. "Listen, can you make a car backfire?"
"Can I-- Are you crazy?"
"Can you?"
"You'd have to disconnect the muffler or something, wouldn't you?"
"I don't think so, Adrian. Your engine's still running, isn't it? Try turning the ignition off and on and goosing the gas pedal at the same time. I mean it. Go ahead and try it. I want to know, for sure."
He turned and stared at me a moment in the dimness of the car, and then he leaned forward and turned the ignition key. There was a loud backfire.
"Couple more times," I said. "I want to see how close together you can space them, doing it on purpose that way."
"You want to draw the cops here?"
"I'll take a chance on that. You want me to give myself up anyway."
He tried it; the explosions were only about a second apart.
I said, "All right, let's go."
"To Taggert's? You're really going to follow through with that silly business of wanting the role in the Bluebeard play?"
"Yes."
IV
Backfire
Adrian shrugged, and backed out of the parking place. He drove on across the park and over East Seventy-second past Third Avenue. He parked in front of a remodeled brownstone front halfway down the block.
"This it?" I asked.
"Sure. Haven't you been to Taggert's place before?"
"I've seen him around," I said. "I've never been in his home up till now."
Adrian started to get out of the car. Then he said, "Wait a minute, Wayne. I've been thinking while I drove. I think I've got your angle, now. It threw me for a while. You're going to try an insanity plea, aren't you? That's the reason for this build-up of keeping after a Bluebeard role just after you've killed your wife. That's why you locked Mike in his closet. That's why you tried the backfires, or had me do it. That's why you've been telling everyone you killed Lola, but not going to the cops. You--you aren't really crazy, are you?"
I said, "I sometimes think that maybe I am, Adrian."
He clapped me on the shoulder. "That's the boy. If that's your story, stick to it. I'll ride along for a little while yet. Not too much longer, or I'm going to have to cop an insanity plea myself."
I didn't say anything, and we got out of the car. He led the way to the door and pushed a button in the hallway. The latch of the lock clicked almost right away, and we went in and walked up two nights.
Dane Taggert was standing in the doorway of his apartment. He said, "Took you fellows long enough to get here."
Adrian said, "I went home to get those scene sketches to show you, Taggert. How goes the rewrite on the third-act curtain?"
We were inside by then. Taggert said, "Finished, but don't know whether you'll like it or not. Let's have a drink first. Rye and sparkling okay? Sit down; I'll get it."
Adrian sank into a chair, and I wandered over to the radio. It was a big Zenith console, the kind with four wave bands. It wasn't playing but I looked at the setting. It was on short-wave and the dial was turned for police calls. I moved it out from the wall a little and reached in behind. The tubes were warm; it had just been shut off.
Taggert must have heard me move the set; he stepped to the doorway of the kitchen, an open bottle in one hand.
"Nice set you've got," I told him, moving it back. "Is it good on police calls?"
His eyes missed mine and went to the dial. He said, "Very good. I sometimes get story ideas from them. I still do an occasional detective short."
"Tubes are warm," I said. "You must have been listening in before we came."
"For a few minutes. How do you want your highball, Dixon? Strong? Medium?"
"Medium will do, thanks."
I sat down across from Adrian and felt his eyes on me curiously, but I paid no attention until Taggert came in with the drinks on a tray. I took one and sipped it.
Taggert said, "About that third-act curtain, Adrian. What do you think of the idea of--"
"It stinks," I said.
They both turned to stare at me. Their eyes took in the gun--the nickel-plated, .32 revolver--that was in my hand, resting on the arm of my chair with the muzzle pointed between Carr and Taggert. Then their eyes came back to my face. I wouldn't know, being behind it instead of in front, but I think my face was pretty deadpan, and I kept my voice that way too.
I said, "I've got one idea for a third-act curtain. It's corny as hell. Why don't you have your wife-killer shoot the rest of the cast and then himself?"
Adrian cleared his throat. He said, "It's been done, Wayne. Othello. Roderigo, Iago, Othello."
"Not quite the same," I said. "Othello himself doesn't kill either Roderigo or Iago. My plot is different." I saw Taggert start to get up and I said, "Sit down, Taggert. I'm not kidding." I cocked the revolver.
Taggert had sunk back in the chair. He looked sideways at Adrian. He asked, "Is this a bad joke, Adrian, or is he ... crazy?" There was a little sweat, not much, on Taggert's forehead.
Adrian was staring at me intently. He said, "I'm not sure."
I said, "You had the police short-wave on, Taggert. You know there's a pick-up order out for me. Let's take the gloves off. Even this one."
With my free left hand I took a man's right leather glove from my coat pocket and tossed it to the floor in front of me. I asked Taggert, "Ever see it before?"
He shook his head slowly.
I explained, to Adrian rather than to Taggert, "Lola had it in her purse, along with the gun. This gun."
Adrian stared at me, bewildered. I said "You're on the outside of this, Adrian. Taggert knows what I'm talking about, but you don't. I'll straighten you out. Don't move, Taggert.
"Tonight Lola suggested we take a walk in the park. It puzzled me a little, because it's a cool night, not the kind that makes you want to take a walk at eleven in the evening. But Lola wanted to--and she was sober tonight and very nice to me, so we went for the walk.
"There was hardly anyone else in the park at that hour. We were near the lake and suddenly Lola wanted to walk over to the bridle path--through a dark spot. She didn't give a reason; maybe she had one ready if I'd argued but I didn't argue. We were behind a big clump of bushes, concealed from the drive--if there'd been anyone on the drive. Out on Central Park West, a little past the bridle path, a car began to backfire."
I had them both now. They were staring at me and Adrian's eyes were wide.
I said, "It was nice timing. I remembered afterward that Lola had been glancing at her watch fairly often. Lola must have dropped a couple of ste
ps behind me without my knowing it. After the first time the car backfired, she said 'Wayne' and I turned and there--it was just light enough to see her--was Lola with a pistol in her hand aimed right at me. She had a glove--that glove--on the hand that held the pistol. Shall I let that be the second-act curtain, Adrian, while we have another drink?"
Adrian was leaning forward. He said, "Go on. And don't corn it up."
I said, "I did corn it up, then and there. I guess Lola wasn't used to murdering people; she didn't move fast enough. And, for some reason, I did move fast enough. I had my hand on the gun, over hers, before she pulled the trigger.
"And then we were fighting for the gun, and Lola was plenty strong. And she must have been scared and thought she was fighting for her life, because she fought like a demon for that gun. She almost got it aimed at me again once, short as that struggle was. But it was turned back, pointing at her, when it went off.
"And the car, out on the street fifty feet away, backfired once more after the shot. I just stood there, too stunned to move or to know what had really happened. It didn't make sense; Lola couldn't have gone suddenly insane, because the fact that she'd had the glove along--a man's glove, by the way--and the gun proved she'd planned it.
"But first I was mostly worried about having killed her. I suppose I did silly things. I pulled off the glove and rubbed her hands I started to run for help and ran back because I didn't want to leave her there alone. And I touched her again and knew for sure that she was dead."
I looked at Taggert. I said, "One thing I remember out of that frantic first few minutes after I killed her. I heard the sound of footsteps on the cinders of the bridle path and I turned around and said, 'Hurry! Someone's hurt!' But no one came. Whoever had been on the bridle path turned around and went back to the street--when he heard my voice instead of Lola's. He got in the car--the car he'd made backfire a few times--and drove off. But that part of it I figured out afterwards, while I was walking around wondering what to do.
"And I finally figured it, Taggert, and I waylaid Adrian and had him bring me here. I hadn't meant him to know that Lola was really dead; I knew he'd think I was acting. But that didn't matter, since he played along anyway."
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