“I can see the but from here. Really nothing to tell you, Clay, except someone leaned down from an upper window and tossed a pineapple into your private office, blew your expensive modernistic furniture to pieces, and pushed the back of your hidden wall safe right out in the little room behind. Eight dollars fell out. So that’s a find.”
“The furniture — was the insurance paid up?”
“There can be no doubt of that,” Awful’s voice came back. “You don’t own the furniture yet, you know. Or don’t you know?”
“Who did it?” Clay demanded indignantly.
“A little man with a big package and a red beard. Your friend — the big monkey, Lieutenant Nevina — gave me that fool answer.”
“The police are there, eh? Did you notify them?”
A pleasant but facetious little laugh came over the wire. “I’m afraid someone must have let the information leak out. You see the front of your office was blown away.”
“Yeah? Better hire that furnished office across the hall and— Were you hurt, Awful?” And when she didn’t answer right away, “Hell, Princess, you know that was my first thought. I think I’ve got a case here.”
“I can imagine the sort of case! Really, Clay, is there money in it?”
Clay saw the woman in the dining-room through the booth door. She had risen to go, then sat down again. She was trying to signal him!
“Looks like the real thing, Awful! Now, about your being hurt?”
“No, Clay, I wasn’t. Anyway, I carry accident insurance. But the police assured me that this was no accident.”
Clay said, “Damn,” when the phone clicked. He walked out of the booth to the dining-room, and before the captain could lead him to his usual table, he had pulled out a chair and sat down opposite the Woman in White.
“Hello, Helen.” Clay spoke quickly as a waiter arrived. “Imagine after all these years!” And seeing she had finished her lunch: “A small cognac for the lady and a dry martini for me... Imagine saying after all these years to one so young and beautiful! But it does seem a long time.” He stretched a hand across the table — gripped a listless wrist, caressed for a moment the little hand itself and the long, slim fingers. “I don’t like so much jewelry on a woman.”
“I think,” she knocked the ash from the cigarette on the end of her holder, “that you are one of the few men who can afford to dislike jewelry on a woman.” She gave a half nod down the room.
Clay followed that nod. Two men and a woman were sitting almost directly facing him. He said, “I picked the right position at the table then. Don’t let them bother you. I presume you wish to leave and fear that those men will try to prevent you.”
“And you, Mister Clay Holt,” green eyes flashed beneath long lashes, “would prevent them from preventing me.”
“Exactly, Goddess.” He patted her hand, added, “When you want out, you can have out.”
“My name,” she told him, “is neither Helen nor Goddess, though I profess liking the Goddess somewhat. My name is Una — you like that?”
“Sure.” Clay looked at her generous mouth, the finely shaped nose, the life in those green eyes, the long lashes and pencilled brows. He looked, too, at the intelligent forehead. “Sure,” he said again, then: “I’m not much for names. If I don’t like a name it’s simple enough to make up another. Now there’s a girl called Agatha—” Clay stopped. He was thinking of Awful, of course. Awful fitted her well enough, yet there were times — but the woman was talking.
She put her hand under the table and gripped his after the waiter left.
“You say if I want out I can have out. Alone, I mean?” Her warm little hand squeezed tighter. “I mean without those men following me.”
“Lady Una,” Clay said, “I would, if you preferred it, step out with you,” and when she shook her head, “They’re not very tough looking customers. But I’ll promise that neither one of them will leave the table until you have passed through the door and have had a few minutes to make other arrangements.”
“You are a very brave and a very foolish man.” She looked into his eyes for a moment. “And a very confident one; I might even say a conceited one. Here.” She opened her bag. “I will telephone you later. A five hundred dollar retainer now.”
“A thousand is the smallest I—” Clay started as he saw the roll in that bag. Then he saw her eyes. “Una,” he stood up, “the little you request is a pleasure. You may leave when I give you the nod. Under no circumstances are you in the slightest danger. I will talk to them like a stern parent.”
Clay Holt faced the two men. Of course they saw him. He wanted them to see him. Then he walked slowly toward their table.
Of the three people at that table the girl showed the most interest at Clay’s approach. She was slim, sat very erect, her wide blue eyes on him. Somehow Clay thought of her as a spoiled child as he placed his hands on the back of the single unoccupied chair.
A tall man about thirty faced the girl. He wore tightly trimmed little mustaches and his clipped sandy hair bristled. Now his eyes shifted sideways to stare up at Clay.
It was the partially bald man directly across the table to whom Clay gave his entire attention. Tiny lines of veins etched his forehead and were turning a purple blue, like rivers watched from a plane far above the countryside.
The bald man’s bulging eyes rested on Clay’s face, held there. It was some time before he spoke. His puckered lips moved precisely. “Why am I favored by this visit?”
Clay said pleasantly, “I picked you out to do a lady a service. She’s leaving the dining-room, and I promised her you would remain seated until a few minutes after she had gone.” Clay’s smile broadened. “Rather simple, eh? I’ll give her the nod to leave now.”
“No.” The colorless eyes contracted into points of sharp steel. “She will come over and join us here. I have a message for her which will erase from her mind all desire to leave alone. Now take yourself off and inform the charming lady in white that I wish her presence.”
Clay said, “I’m sorry, but I’ve already promised the lady. I’m a plain-spoken man, sir. It’s best that you understand me in the beginning. If you come to your feet or leave this table it will be the greatest mistake of your life.”
The man’s huge lips puckered like a baby’s. “I never make mistakes, Mr. Holt. Yes, I know you. I know that you are going to tell me how tough you are. I know that you jumped into prominence a few months ago by shooting some notorious racketeer dead on a lonely side street at two o’clock in the morning. But fame dies quickly. I did not hear of you again.”
“You hear of me now,” Clay told him. “I am giving the lady her signal. If you get on your feet after that, I’ll bust into fame once more.”
The man with the thin, sharp face spoke for the first time. “I wouldn’t press the point, Major,” he said. “This man, Holt, has a bad name.”
The Major turned his head and looked at his companion. The girl coughed and the Major turned his eyes back to Clay. He was deliberate in his words:
“This is not a lonely street. This is the Walden dining-room at midday. You interest me, Mr. Holt. You have, you say, made the woman a promise. I will be pleased to observe how you work out your problem.” He waved a hand toward the half-filled dining-room. “Give the lady your signal and I will see that she takes the chair — the back of which you now grip so tightly — not in anger, I hope.”
Clay’s shoulders moved up and down. He said, “I’m sorry, Major, that you insist on a demonstration which will not please you.” He turned his head quickly, nodded to Una, then, pushing the chair aside, leaned far over the table. “You will remain seated, Major.”