“But you told me you might be able to help me get my money back. I thought...”
“That was when I thought you could spill some dope that was worth money to... the people who’re hiring me.” I was sweating.
She faltered: “It might be easier... the first time... if you didn’t have money.”
“Don’t you know anyone that might be mixed up with the gang who could dish out the inside dope?”
“I... not unless Janet would be willing to tell you.”
“Janet who?”
“She calls herself Mrs. Carhart here. When I knew her at Vassar, her name was Janet Ettinge.”
“Wait a minute. Janet Ettinge! What part does she play?”
“I thought I told you. She’s the one who took me there first. We’re staying at the same hotel on the beach.”
“How deep is she in?”
“She works there, somehow. I don’t know exactly. I’ve seen her there several evenings.”
I said: “This may be the break I’ve been waiting for. If it is... I’ll see that your mother has her operation.” I moved toward the telephone. “Does this Janet happen to hail from Newark?”
“I... believe her folks used to live there.”
“What’s her hotel phone number?” I had my hand on the receiver.
“But I’m afraid she won’t tell you anything. She’s... changed a lot from when I knew her.”
“Leave it to me to get her to talk. What’s the number?”
Kitty told me. I called it and asked for Mrs. Carhart. She was out. I left a message for her to call me as soon as she came in. Then I hung up and turned to Kitty.
“If this turns out the way I hope, you won’t have anything to worry about.”
She sank down in a chair. The glow was fading from her face. “You mean... I won’t have to do the other?”
“That’s what I mean, Kitty Lane.” I moved over and poured myself a drink, going on conversationally: “Though your suggestion about not getting paid was pretty swell.”
She came over and had a drink with me. “I still think it is... a good suggestion.”
I looked down into her eyes and knew I was being a blasted fool. I walked near the dictograph and said loudly:
“There won’t be anything doing until a certain Janet calls me and I persuade her to come here and talk things over. That should mean plenty of fireworks and will be worth waiting for.” I went over to a table and threw the switch that cut out the dictograph.
Then went back to Kitty and quit being a blasted fool.
Chapter 14
My phone rang a couple of hours later. It rang four times before I got to it and lifted the receiver. A feminine voice came over the wire. I didn’t recognize Janet Ettinge’s voice, but Kitty had told me Janet had changed a lot.
I asked if it was Mrs. Carhart, and she said it was. Adding that my number had been left with a message for her to call.
“That’s right. This is Ed Barlow, Janet.”
There was thirty seconds of silence. Then, doubtfully: “Should I know you?”
“Unless you’ve got a lousy memory. From Newark. The Morning Beacon.”
“Oh... that Ed Barlow.”
“Check. Does it add up?”
“I’m sure I don’t know.” She was frosting up on me.
“I do. Better hop over here, Janet, for a little confab.”
“I can’t imagine why I should. If you desire an interview...”
“My business is with Mrs. Carhart,” I told her. “If you want to keep it on that basis... you’d better grab a taxi.”
There was another prolonged silence. Then she said, “Very well. If you insist,” and hung up.
Kitty was getting dressed. I told her to make it snappy if she wanted to get out before Janet saw her. She did, and she hurried. I kissed her and sent her out to the elevator two minutes before Janet breezed up to my open door and looked in doubtfully.
I was in my shirtsleeves, shaking a cocktail. I kept on shaking it and grinned at her. “Come in.”
She came in. She still had the face and figure that had made history in Newark’s night crowd a couple of years before. She knew how to buy clothes and how to wear them. A white fox fur was tossed over her shoulder, and her mouth was a scarlet gash.
“I haven’t the slightest notion,...” she began icily, and I cut in with:
“Kick the door shut and let me give this two more shakes. It’s a Clover Club.”
She stood there looking at me, tapping the toe of her slipper on the floor. Then closed the door and tossed her fur on a chair.
“That’s being sensible,” I applauded. I poured a couple of cocktails and gave her one. I lifted mine:
“I did you a favor in Newark once.”
She nodded slowly. “I was afraid that was it.”
“Never let a newspaper guy do you a favor,” I counseled her. “They always expect something for it one way or another.”
She put her cocktail down the hatch. “You’re off your home grounds, aren’t you?”
“I get around.” I was studying her carefully, working out all the angles in my mind. She was a whole lot different from the debutante I had saved from a nasty jam a couple of years before. There was a hard, abrasive look about her. As though she had gone the limit and kept on going. I got down to brass tacks without wasting time on a subtle approach:
“I know how you’re hooked up here. I don’t know how the hell you ever managed to get in with such a crowd, but you always were one to go beyond your depth. I need the information you’ve got.”
She sat down, twirling her empty glass. “What are you going to do with it?”
“Put the syndicate where it belongs.”
“Turned reformer?” Her lips sneered at me.
“Something like that. It’s a job.”
“Why should I help you?”
I let her have it: “To prevent Mr. and Mrs. Rufus Ettinge from becoming cognizant of the present activities of their adored daughter... and God only knows why you let yourself get hooked in a place where you’ll have to talk or else.”
She made a little gesture with her hand holding the glass. It slipped from her fingers and smashed on the floor. The too-red mouth accentuated the sudden pallor of her face.
“God! what a mess.”
“Don’t expect me to weep about it.”
“You wouldn’t. You’re proud of being a hard guy, aren’t you, Ed Barlow?”
“I don’t go soft about a rich man’s daughter who gets mixed up in the filthiest racket in this country just for a new thrill.”
She began to go to pieces. The hardness was just a veneer. Underneath, she was a scared girl.
“That isn’t true. You don’t understand.”
“I understand that there isn’t a goddamned reason on earth for you to be mixed in this.”
She iced up at that. “There’s no reason why I should remain here to be insulted.” She made a move to get up.
I stood over her. “I gave you a good reason.”
“Your threat to inform my parents?”
“Isn’t that enough?”
Her lips curled back and she began to laugh. It wasn’t nice to see or hear. “What’s the diff between you telling them and their reading it in your rotten scandal sheet?”
“You don’t get it,” I protested. “Anything you tell me will be in strictest confidence. Come clean, and I’ll see that your name’s not mentioned.”
“I know what happens when a reporter learns things in strictest confidence.”
“That,” I told her, “is unfair as hell. Didn’t I kill a good yarn once before to keep you in the clear?”
She said coldly: “You only did it because you thought I’d be grateful enough to give you what you couldn’t get any other way.”
“Let’s leave motives out of it. I killed the story.”