Dell opened his mouth to speak and Benedict said hurriedly, “I have a little money. I’ll be glad to pay you a retainer, Breen.” He gazed at Buck Arnold affectionately and went on, “I knew the old boy before he went to the Pacific. We were friends in the old days. The least I can do is help him now.”
Dell said gruffly, “I’ll take a look at the layout. If it can be cracked I’ll crack it. Don’t you worry about what it will cost, Miss Arnold. I’m no Shylock. If I turn up the stuff, whatever it is, we’ll talk about pay.”
Laura Arnold’s dark eyes made Dell feel very comfortable inside as they glowed on him. He made his voice gruffer because of it as he went on, “You go along home now and look after your old man. I’ll be around and see you later.”
Laura Arnold scribbled an address on a slip of paper and handed it to Dell. “I’ll expect you soon,” she said. She took her father’s arm and said gently, “Come on now, Daddy. Time to go home.”
Buck Arnold picked up the map and handed it to Dell. His deep-set eyes were full of agonized bewilderment. “That’s Waiki,” he said, as though he were trying very hard to impress a point “That’s where I was when Black Bill came after me. You find out what it was I took from Black Dill when I killed the hellion.”
“You leave it to me, Mr. Arnold,” Dell said. “I’ll find out about it for you.”
He leaned against the bar and watched them go out, the girl on one side, the chubby little Benedict on the other, his straw hat coming only to Duck Arnold’s bony shoulder.
Behind him, Andy said, “There’s a guy, Mr. Breen, who’s been through the mill, I’ll bet Geeze, if that guy could tell you things that’s happened to him, it would make a swell yarn, I’ll bet.”
Dell shook his head and pushed the Panama hat farther back on his head. He took a step away from the bar toward the door when Andy said, “Here’s that second Tom Collins you asked for, Mr. Breen. You’ll feel better out in that heat if you take it before you go.”
“There’s something in what you say,” Dell said. “I can’t go wrong on that advice.”
II
Stepping out into the streets again was like stepping into an oven. The heat that had simmered in the streets all day was getting more oppressive and stale as the afternoon melted into early evening. Dell sighed and headed for the office in long swinging strides.
Trina Crane was tidying her desk when Dell stamped in. He stopped, looked at her impressively. “Well, I got a case,” he said brusquely, then added enigmatically, “I got the prize case of the year.”
Trina smiled with artificial brightness as she said with edged sweetness, “Do tell me about it. I suppose the crown prince of Yakoo has lost his jewels and you’re going to turn them up and bust the great international spy ring in the process.”
“If it was only as simple as that,” Dell sighed. “Trina, did you ever hear of a blind man that was in a dark cellar, looking for a black cat that wasn’t there?”
“I never did,” Trina answered promptly. “But it sounds just like you on your usual sort of case.”
“Don’t plague me, precious,” Dell said absently. “I’ve got just that kind of case. I’ve gotta find something and nobody knows what it is. It’s hidden somewhere and nobody knows where by a guy who forgets what it was and where he hid it.”
“And I suppose,” Trina said practically, “that you get your fee when and if. What’s in this for the office, anyway?”
Dell shook his head, “Honey child, I don’t know. If I turn the thing up I get a cut of whatever it happens to be worth. That is,” he went on ironically, “if I can prove that what I turn up is it and it’s worth anything.”
“I can see where this is going to be a perfect Breen case,” Trina said caustically. “Why don’t you let me handle the business end of these deals for you?” Her eyes looked stormy as she chanted, “I hope you turn up at least a couple of dozen doughnuts and a can of coffee. A split on that would at least keep us eating.”
“Now, listen, Trina,” Dell said patiently, “we’re not as bad off as all that. Of course we could use a nice fee. But we’re not starving yet.”
“Have we got to wait till the wolves are howling outside the door before we start to worry?” Trina snapped.
“You gals, you’re all alike,” Dell grumbled. “Always looking for more and more and more. Money ain’t everything, Trina. There are times when a guy has got to go to bat for real people.”
“It’s a woman,” Trina snapped. “I know, Dell Breen, you don’t have to tell me. Some baby-eyed blonde has got hold of you and given you a hard luck story. I know the signs. You make me sick.”
“You give me a pain yourself, if you want to know,” Dell said harshly. He began to talk himself into a rage. Finally he said, “And she ain’t a blonde. And she ain’t a red-headed, grasping, nickel-pincher either.”
He threw the last over his shoulder as he stomped into his office and slammed the door behind him. He picked up the paper from the corner where he had thrown it and slumped into his chair grumbling. “Money, money, money! That’s all these gals think about.”
He could hear Trina’s high heels clicking angrily in the outer office. When she jerked the door open she had on a yellow hat that was cocked at a belligerent angle over one eye. She swung her purse and said, “I’d just like to see what would happen to this office, Dell Breen, if I didn’t take a little interest in things. I’d just like to see.”
“All right, all right, you’d just like to see,” Dell grumbled. “Now where does that get you?”
He grinned and heaved himself to his feet. “I’m hungry, chicken. What say we step around the corner and see if Henri can still cook a steak?”
“You’ll put your coat on if you do, you big oaf,” Trina said. “I’m not going out with you carrying your coat on your arm like a longshoreman.”
Dell grumbled as he hauled on the coat. He pulled the Panama down, caught Trina’s arm and headed for the elevator.
In Henri’s he snapped an order to the waiter while he opened the paper and ran his eyes down a column.
“A swell escort you turned out to be,” Trina said hitterly. “You take me out to dinner and embarrass me with your attention. Why don’t you just sit at another table and talk to Henri? That would be just as good as shoving your nose in a paper.”
Dell slapped the paper down on the table and said, “Wait a minute, Trina,” in an altered voice. He read aloud. “ ‘Due today at Pier Six, the Pacific Queen. Hardesty, Master, with a miscellaneous cargo from Pacific ports.’ ”
“Is this a proposition, Mr. Breen,” Trina asked snappily. “Maybe you want me to sail away to a tropical isle and live on cocoanuts. Well, I’ll tell you now, nothing doing. We stay here and gather local cocoanuts.”
“Just a minute, Trina,” Dell said patiently. “This ship is tied up with this ease I got. There’s a connection here.”
“I wondered when you were going to get around to that case,” Trina said resignedly. “Suppose you break down and tell me all about it.”
As she listened Trina’s eyes began to narrow. “You may have something there, at that,” she admitted. “They don’t send guys to the hospital and tear up hotel rooms for marbles. Go on from there.”
Dell shook his head. “That’s as far as I’ve gotten, baby. But I begin to see a lead. I’ll bet those bozos on this Pacific Queen know plenty.”
Dell wolfed his dinner and then wedged himself into a telephone booth while Trina finished. It was as hot as a Turkish bath in the booth. Perspiration rolled down his face as he talked and listened. In between mopping his face he made notes on a slip of paper.