«Well?» he said darkly. «Listen to what?»
The porter reached into a pocket and hauled out a dollar bill. «He gimme this,» he said loosely. His glittering eyes looked past Tony’s shoulder at nothing. They winked rapidly. «Ice and ginger ale.»
«Don’t stall,» Tony growled.
«Guy in Fourteen-B,» the porter said.
«Lemme smell your breath.»
The porter leaned toward him obediently.
«Liquor,» Tony said harshly.
«He gimme a drink.»
Tony looked down at the dollar bill. «Nobody’s in Fourteen-B. Not on my list,» he said.
«Yeah. There is.» The porter licked his lips and his eyes opened and shut several times. «Tall dark guy.»
«All right,» Tony said crossly. «All right. There’s a tall dark guy in Fourteen-B and he gave you a buck and a drink. Then what?»
«Gat under his arm,» Carl said, and blinked.
Tony smiled, but his eyes had taken on the lifeless glitter of thick ice. «You take Miss Cressy up to her room?»
Carl shook his head. «Gomez. I saw her go up.»
«Get away from me,» Tony said between his teeth. «And don’t accept any more drinks from the guests.»
He didn’t move until Carl had gone back into his cubbyhole by the elevators and shut the door. Then he moved silently up the three steps and stood in front of the desk, looking at the veined rose marble, the onyx pen set, the fresh registration card in its leather frame. He lifted a hand and smacked it down hard on the marble. The clerk popped out from behind the glass screen like a chipmunk coming out of its hole.
Tony took a flimsy out of his breast pocket and spread it on the desk. «No Fourteen-B on this,» he said in a bitter voice.
The clerk wisped politely at his mustache. «So sorry. You must have been out to supper when he checked in.»
«Who?»
«Registered as James Watterson, San Diego.» The clerk yawned.
«Ask for anybody?»
The clerk stopped in the middle of the yawn and looked at the top of Tony’s head. «Why yes. He asked for a swing band. Why?»
«Smart, fast and funny,» Tony said. «If you like ’em that way.» He wrote on his flimsy and stuffed it back into his pocket. «I’m going upstairs and palm doorknobs. There’s four tower rooms you ain’t rented yet. Get up on your toes, son. You’re slipping.»
«I made out,» the clerk drawled, and completed his yawn. «Hurry back, pop. I don’t know how I’ll get through the time.»
«You could shave that pink fuzz off your lip,» Tony said, and went across to the elevators.
He opened up a dark one and lit the dome light and shot the car up to fourteen. He darkened it again, stepped out and closed the doors. This lobby was smaller than any other, except the one immediately below it. It had a single blue-paneled door in each of the walls other than the elevator wall. On each door was a gold number and letter with a gold wreath around it. Tony walked over to 14A and put his ear to the panel. He heard nothing. Eve Cressy might be in bed asleep, or in the bathroom, or out on the balcony. Or she might be sitting there in the room, a few feet from the door, looking at the wall. Well, he wouldn’t expect to be able to hear her sit and look at the wall. He went over to 14B and put his ear to that panel. This was different. There was a sound in there. A man coughed. It sounded somehow like a solitary cough. There were no voices. Tony pressed the small nacre button beside the door.
Steps came without hurry. A thickened voice spoke through the panel. Tony made no answer, no sound. The thickened voice repeated the question. Lightly, maliciously, Tony pressed the bell again.
Mr. James Watterson, or San Diego, should now open the door and give forth noise. He didn’t. A silence fell beyond that door that was like the silence of a glacier. Once more Tony put his ear to the wood. Silence utterly.
He got out a master key on a chain and pushed it delicately into the lock of the door. He turned it, pushed the door inward three inches and withdrew the key. Then he waited.
«All right,» the voice said harshly. «Come in and get it.»
Tony pushed the door wide and stood there, framed against the light from the lobby. The man was tall, black-haired, angular and white-faced. He held a gun. He held it as though he knew about guns.
«Step right in,» he drawled.
Tony went in through the door and pushed it shut with his shoulder. He kept his hands a little out from his sides, the clever fingers curled and slack. He smiled his quiet little smile.
«Mr. Watterson?»
«And after that what?»
«I’m the house detective here.»
«It slays me.»
The tall, white-faced, somehow handsome and somehow not handsome man backed slowly into the room. It was a large room with a low balcony around two sides of it. French doors opened out on the little private open-air balcony that each of the tower rooms had. There was a grate set for a log fire behind a paneled screen in front of a cheerful davenport. A tall misted glass stood on a hotel tray beside a deep, cozy chair. The man backed toward this and stood in front of it. The large, glistening gun drooped and pointed at the floor.
«It slays me,» he said. «I’m in the dump an hour and the house copper gives me the bus. Okey, sweetheart, look in the closet and bathroom. But she just left.»
«You didn’t see her yet,» Tony said.
The man’s bleached face filled with unexpected lines. His thickened voice edged toward a snarl. «Yeah? Who didn’t I see yet?»
«A girl named Eve Cressy.»
The man swallowed. He put his gun down on the table beside the tray. He let himself down into the chair backwards, stiffly, like a man with a touch of lumbago. Then he leaned forward and put his hands on his kneecaps and smiled brightly between his teeth. «So she got here, huh? I didn’t ask about her yet. I’m a careful guy. I didn’t ask yet.»
«She’s been here five days,» Tony said. «Waiting for you. She hasn’t left the hotel a minute.»
The man’s mouth worked a little. His smile had a knowing tilt to it. «I got delayed a little up north,» he said smoothly. «You know how it is. Visiting old friends. You seem to know a lot about my business, copper.»
«That’s right, Mr. Rails.»
The man lunged to his feet and his hand snapped at the gun. He stood leaning over, holding it on the table, staring. «Dames talk too much,» he said with a muffled sound in his voice as though he held something soft between his teeth and talked through it.
«Not dames, Mr. Rails.»
«Huh?» The gun slithered on the hard wood of the table. «Talk it up, copper. My mind reader just quit.»
«Not dames, guys. Guys with guns.»
The glacier silence fell between them again. The man straightened his body out slowly. His face was washed clean of expression, but his eyes were haunted. Tony leaned in front of him, a shortish plump man with a quiet, pale, friendly face and eyes as simple as forest water.
«They never run out of gas — those boys,» Johnny Rails said, and licked at his lip. «Early and late, they work. The old firm never sleeps.»
«You know who they are?» Tony said softly.
«I could maybe give nine guesses. And twelve of them would be right.»
«The trouble boys,» Tony said, and smiled a brittle smile.
«Where is she?» Johnny Rails asked harshly.
«Right next door to you.»
The man walked to the wall and left his gun lying on the table. He stood in front of the wall, studying it. He reached up and gripped the grillwork of the balcony railing. When he dropped his hand and turned, his face had lost some of its lines. His eyes had a quieter glint. He moved back to Tony and stood over him.
«I’ve got a stake,» he said. «Eve sent me some dough and I built it up with a touch I made up north. Case dough, what I mean. The trouble boys talk about twenty-five grand.» He smiled crookedly. «Five C’s I can count. I’d have a lot of fun making them believe that, I would.»