“That is not the evil thing,” Gilroy said indifferently. “It matters nothing to me who gets the money. But you are tampering with our religion. You are mocking at it. And no good can come from that.”
“We are pretending to bring the dead back to life,” Rollo said, waving his hand. “If you claim to be able to do that, you’re a liar. If Weidmann wishes to believe it is possible, he’s a madman. If I wish to make money out of it, I am astute.”
“No good can come of it,” Gilroy repeated. Rollo got to his feet and plodded over to the sideboard. He poured himself out a stiff whisky and then returned to his chair. “You can keep that stuff for weak Willies,” he said. “It doesn’t impress me.”
He glanced uneasily at Gilroy. But could he handle Gilroy? He thought he could. Gilroy was only doing this for his sake. He finished his whisky and put the glass on the desk. As he did so the telephone rang shrilly. He glanced at Gilroy, his shaggy eyebrows lifting and then he picked up the receiver.
“Yes?” he said.
A high-pitched voice grated against his ear. Words tumbled from the receiver in a hysterical torrent.
“What?” Rollo said, holding the receiver away from his ear. “I can’t hear you.” His face showed his alarm. “Who is it? For God’s sake, don’t shout like that! Who is it?” He tried to understand what the babbling voice was saying, but only panic, fear and hysteria were conveyed to him. “It sounds like a madman,” he said to Gilroy. “I don’t know what he wants. Here, you speak to him.”
Gilroy hesitated, then took the telephone from Rollo. “Yes?” he asked in his rich, rolling bass. “Who is it, please?”
Rollo could hear the voice quieten. Gilroy half closed his eyes. He listened for a moment or so and then said, “Hold on Mr. Weidmann, I will speak to Rollo.”
“Weidmann?” Rollo said, heaving himself to the edge of his chair. “What is it? What’s the matter with him?”
“He says his brother’s body has been stolen,” Gilroy said softly. “He doesn’t know what to do.”
Rollo bounded from his chair. “What?” he shouted. “His brother’s body stolen? What’s he talking about? He’s mad! Who the hell does he think would want his brother’s body?”
Gilroy didn’t say anything. He sat looking quietly at Rollo and Rollo suddenly stopped talking and stood glaring down at him. Weidmann’s tiny voice began to speak again, but neither of the men paid any attention.
“Without the body we’re sunk!” Rollo said, sitting down abruptly.
A thin smile appeared on Gilroy’s lips. “What do I tell him?” he said. “He is waiting.”
“Let him wait,” Rollo said savagely. “Who could have done it? Doc? Do you think Doc’s double-crossing us?”
Gilroy lifted his shoulders. “He would not have had the time,” he pointed out.
“Then who? Don’t sit there like a graven image. What am I going to do?”
Weidmann’s voice was shrieking now. “Hello?” the receiver squeaked. “Why don’t you answer? Why don’t you answer? Hello? Hello? Hello?”
Rollo pulled himself together. “Tell him we’ll be right with him. Tell him we are coming now.”
When Gilroy had conveyed the message, he hung up.
“Someone else knows about this,” Rollo said, pacing up and down. “My God! Whoever’s got the body can wring Weidmann dry! What a fool I was not to have thought of it. I could have done without Doc.” He paused as he met Gilroy’s eyes. Then he looked at the desk. The little wooden doll was lying on its side.
“You don’t have to worry about Doc,” Gilroy said.
Rollo took two quick steps forward and thrust his great, red face into Gilroy’s. “Listen, you goddamn nigger!” he said violently. “Cut this stuff out! I’ve had enough of you for tonight. Now shut up!”
Gilroy nodded. “I thought you would want to know,” he said, lifting his shoulders. “I’m sorry.”
“I haven’t time to waste,” Rollo said. “I’ve got to get organized.” He stroked his heavy jowls with a hand that was none too steady. “Tell Tom to get the car. Get hold of Butch. We’ve got to get out to Weidmann’s at once.”
Gilroy silently left the room.
A big Packard waited at the end of the alley. Long Tom was sitting at the wheel, a sullen, bored look on his face.
“Mademoiselle Celie’s apartment,” Rollo said, climbing into the car. Gilroy followed him and as he slammed the door, Tom drove off.
They reached Bruton Place in a few minutes and Rollo pulled out a keychain, selected a key and opened the door of Celie’s flat.
The light was on at the top of the stairs.
“Wait here. If I want you, I’ll call you,” he said to Gilroy and breathing heavily, he heaved himself up the steep stairs.
Celie came out of her bedroom as he was halfway up. Her face was ghastly in the hard electric light.
“What do you want?” she demanded in a quavering voice. “I don’t want to see you. Go away!”
Rollo paused, bewildered to see her like this. Her face was ashen and her great black eyes rolled in terror. Her mouth, a smear of lipstick, worked horribly.
“What’s the matter?” he said. “What’s the matter with you?”
She leaned forward. “Get out!” she screamed at him. “Get out!”
Rollo moved slowly up the stairs. He reached her and his great hands sank into her shoulders. “What’s the matter with you?” he snarled and shook her so that her head snapped back.
“Leave me alone,” she moaned, sinking at the knees.
He had to support her. Picking her up, he walked into her bedroom and dumped her on the bed.
“You’re wasting time,” Gilroy said from the doorway.
Rollo turned. “Did I tell you to come up?” he demanded, his face contorted with fury.
“Weidmann’s waiting,” Gilroy returned. “I thought he would be more important to you.”
Rollo straightened and stepped away from Celie who lay still, her face buried in the pillow.
“Yes,” he said, “you’re right.” He pulled Celie over on her back. “Listen,” he said, glaring down at her. “Get hold of Butch. Tell him to come out to Weidmann’s. I don’t know what game you’re playing, but I’ll see you tomorrow. Do you hear? I’ve more important things to worry about just now. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He pushed past Gilroy and went down the steep stairs.
Gilroy said softly, “Clean up the bathroom, Celie, it smells of death,” and he followed Rollo without a backward glance.
* * *
“A Detective Sergeant!” Cedric Smythe exclaimed. “Really, it’s fantastic. I don’t know how you’ve done it!”
The tall, pleasant-looking young man seated opposite him, grinned shyly and raised his glass of beer. “Well, you must admit I would never have made an actor”,” he said. “Come on, Cedric, be honest.”
Cedric shook his head. “I don’t know so much about that,” he returned, shaking his head.
Cedric sighed. He was happy. For the first time for many months one of his friends had called on him. It was a pity that Jerry Adams had lost touch with the theatre. What a sinful waste of talent, Cedric thought dismally. Fancy becoming a policeman! At one time, Jerry looked a most promising juvenile lead. In fact, Cedric had predicted a big future for him.
Jerry finished his beer. “Well, I’ve got to get back to the station,” he said, getting to his feet. “Now I know where you are I’ll come in again. It’s been grand to hear all the gossip.”
Cedric looked at the time. It was just after eleven. “Must you go?” he said wistfully. “Well, I suppose I mustn’t keep you from work. You’ll come again, won’t you? I’m lonely, Jerry. You wouldn’t believe how lonely I get.”
Jerry smiled. “I’m lonely, too,” he said. “Of course, I’m coming again. I’ve enjoyed every moment of this. Besides, I’m curious to meet this Miss Hedder you keep talking about.”