I said, «Hello, Gertrude,» just for the hell of it.
She stopped, and the dark-red head came around and the mouth was ready to smile.
«How’d you know my name?»
«I didn’t. But one of the maids is Gertrude. I wanted to talk to her.»
She leaned against the door frame, towels over her arm. Her eyes were lazy. «Yeah?»
«Live up here, or just up here for the summer?» I asked.
Her lip curled. «I should say I don’t live up here. With these mountain screwballs? I should say not.»
«You doing all right?»
She nodded. «And I don’t need any company, mister.» She sounded as if she could be talked out of that.
I looked at her for a minute and said: «Tell about that money somebody hid in a shoe.»
«Who are you?» she asked coolly.
«The name is Evans. I’m a Los Angeles detective.» I grinned at her, very wise.
Her face stiffened a little. The hand holding the towels clutched and her nails made a scratching sound on the cloth. She moved back from the door and sat down in a straight chair against the wall. Trouble dwelt in her eyes.
«A dick,» she breathed. «What goes on?»
«Don’t you know?»
«All I heard was Mrs. Lacey left some money in a shoe she wanted a lift put on the heel, and I took it over to the shoemaker and he didn’t steal the money. And I didn’t, either. She got the money back, didn’t she?»
«Don’t like cops, do you? Seems to me I know your face,» I said.
The face hardened. «Look, copper, I got a job and I work at it. I don’t need any help from any copper. I don’t owe anybody a nickel.»
«Sure,» I said. «When you took those shoes from the room did you go right over to the shoemaker with them?»
She nodded shortly.
«Didn’t stop on the way at all?»
«Why would I?»
«I wasn’t around then. I wouldn’t know.»
«Well, I didn’t. Except to tell Weber I was going out for a guest.»
«Who’s Mr. Weber?»
«He’s the assistant manager. He’s down in the dining room a lot.»
«Tall, pale guy that writes down all the race results?»
She nodded. «That would be him.»
«I see,» I said. I struck a match and lit my cigarette. I stared at her through smoke. «Thanks very much,» I said.
She stood up and opened the door. «I don’t think I remember you,» she said, looking back at me.
«There must be a few of us you didn’t meet,» I said.
She flushed and stood there glaring at me.
«They always change the towels this late in your hotel?» asked her, just to be saying something.
«Smart guy, ain’t you?»
«Well, I try to give that impression,» I said with a modest smirk.
«You don’t put it over,» she said, with a sudden trace of thick accent.
«Anybody handle those shoes except you — after you took them?»
«No. I told you I just stopped to tell Mr. Weber —» She stopped dead and thought a minute. «I went to get him a cup of coffee,» she said. «I left them on his desk by the cash register. How the hell would I know anybody handled them? And what difference does it make if they got their dough back all right?»
«Well, I see you’re anxious to make me feel good about it. Tell me about this guy, Weber. He been here long?»
«Too long,» she said nastily. «A girl don’t want to walk too close to him if you get what I mean. What am I talking about?»
«About Mr. Weber.»
«Well, to hell with Mr. Weber — if you get what I mean.»
«You been having any trouble getting it across?»
She flushed again «And strictly off the record,» she said, «to hell with you.»
«If I get what you mean,» I said.
She opened the door and gave me a quick, half-angry smile and went out.
Her steps made a tapping sound going along the hall. I didn’t hear her stop at any other doors. I looked at my watch. It was after half past nine.
Somebody came along the hall with heavy feet, went into the room next to me and banged the door. The man started hawking and throwing shoes around. A weight flopped on the bed springs and started bounding around. Five minutes of this and he got up again. Two big, unshod feet thudded on the floor, a bottle tinkled against a glass. The man had himself a drink, lay down on the bed again, and began to snore almost at once.
Except for that and the confused racket from downstairs in the dining room and the bar there was the nearest thing you get to silence in a mountain resort. Speedboats stuttered out on the lake, dance music murmured here and there, cars went by blowing horns, the .22’s snapped in the shooting gallery, and kids yelled at each other across the main drag.
It was so quiet that I didn’t hear my door open. It was half open before I noticed it. A man came in quietly, half closed the door, moved a couple of steps farther into the room and stood looking at me. He was tall, thin, pale, quiet, and his eyes had a flat look of menace.
«Okay, sport,» he said. «Let’s see it.»
I rolled around and sat up. I yawned. «See what?»
«The buzzer.»
«What buzzer?»
«Shake it up, half-smart. Let’s see the buzzer that gives you the right to ask questions of the help.»
«Oh, that,» I said, smiling weakly. «I don’t have any buzzer, Mr. Weber.»
«Well, that is very lovely,» Mr. Weber said. He came across the room, his long arms swinging. When he was about three feet from me he leaned forward a little and made a very sudden movement. An open palm slapped the side of my face hard. It rocked my head and made the back of it shoot pain in all directions.
«Just for that,» I said, «you don’t go to the movies tonight.»
He twisted his face into a sneer and cocked his right fist. He telegraphed his punch well ahead. I would almost have had time to run out and buy a catcher’s mask. I came up under the fist and stuck a gun in his stomach. He grunted unpleasantly. I said: «Putting the hands up, please.»
He grunted again and his eyes went out of focus, but he didn’t move his hands. I went around him and backed towards the far side of the room. He turned slowly, eying me. I said: «Just a moment until I close the door. Then we all go into the case of the money in the shoe, otherwise known as the Clue of the Substituted Lettuce.»
«Go to hell,» he said.
«A right snappy comeback,» I said. «And full of originality.» I reached back for the knob of the door, keeping my eyes on him. A board creaked behind me. I swung around, adding a little power to the large, heavy, hard and businesslike hunk of concrete which landed on the side of my jaw. I spun off into the distance, trailing flashes of lightning, and did a nose dive out into space. A couple of thousand years passed. Then I stopped a planet with my back, opened my eyes fuzzily and looked at a pair of feet.
They were sprawled out at a loose angle, and legs came towards me from them. The legs were splayed out on the floor of the room. A hand hung down limp, and a gun lay just out of its reach. I moved one of the feet and was surprised to find it belonged to me. The lax hand twitched and reached automatically for the gun, missed it, reached again and grabbed the smooth grip. I lifted it. Somebody had tied a fifty-pound weight to it, but I lifted it anyway. There was nothing in the room but silence. I looked across and was staring straight at the closed door. I shifted a little and ached all over. My head ached. My jaw ached. I lifted the gun some more and then put it down again. The hell with it. I should be lifting guns around for what. The room was empty. All visitors departed. The droplight from the ceiling burned with an empty glare. I rolled a little and ached some more and got a leg bent and a knee under me. I came up grunting hard, grabbed the gun again and climbed the rest of the way. There was a taste of ashes in my mouth.