«Better not go out on the street in those clothes,» I said.
«Why, how dare you —»
The elevator clanked and started down again. I didn’t know what she was going to say. Her voice lacked the edgy twang of a beer-parlor frill. It had a soft light sound, like spring rain.
«It’s not a make,» I said. «You’re in trouble. If they come to this floor in the elevator, you have just that much time to get off the hall. First take off the hat and jacket — and snap it up!»
She didn’t move. Her face seemed to whiten a little behind the not-too-heavy make-up.
«Cops,» I said, «are looking for you. In those clothes. Give me the chance and I’ll tell you why.»
She turned her head swiftly and looked back along the corridor. With her looks I didn’t blame her for trying one more bluff.
«You’re impertinent, whoever you are. I’m Mrs. Leroy in Apartment Thirty-one. I can assure —»
«That you’re on the wrong floor,» I said. «This is the fourth.» The elevator had stopped down below. The sound of doors being wrenched open came up the shaft.
«Off!» I rapped. «Now!»
She switched her hat off and slipped out of the bolero jacket, fast. I grabbed them and wadded them into a mess under my arm. I took her elbow and turned her and we were going down the hall.
«I live in Forty-two. The front one across from yours, just a floor up. Take your choice. Once again — I’m not on the make.»
She smoothed her hair with that quick gesture, like a bird preening itself. Ten thousand years of practice behind it.
«Mine,» she said, and tucked her bag under her arm and strode down the hall fast. The elevator stopped at the floor below. She stopped when it stopped. She turned and faced me.
«The stairs are back by the elevator shaft,» I said gently.
«I don’t have an apartment,» she said.
«I didn’t think you had.»
«Are they searching for me?»
«Yes, but they won’t start gouging the block stone by stone before tomorrow. And then only if they don’t make Waldo.»
She stared at me. «Waldo?»
«Oh, you don’t know Waldo,» I said.
She shook her head slowly. The elevator started down in the shaft again. Panic flicked in her blue eyes like a ripple on water.
«No,» she said breathlessly, «but take me out of this hall.»
We were almost at my door. I jammed the key in and shook the lock around and heaved the door inward. I reached in far enough to switch lights on. She went in past me like a wave. Sandalwood floated on the air, very faint.
I shut the door, threw my hat into a chair and watched her stroll over to a card table on which I had a chess problem set out that I couldn’t solve. Once inside, with the door locked, her panic had left her.
«So you’re a chess player,» she said, in that guarded tone, as if she had come to look at my etchings. I wished she had.
We both stood still then and listened to the distant clang of elevator doors and then steps — going the other way.
I grinned, but with strain, not pleasure, went out into the kitchenette and started to fumble with a couple of glasses and then realized I still had her hat and bolero jacket under my arm. I went into the dressing room behind the wall bed and stuffed them into a drawer, went back out to the kitchenette, dug out some extra-fine Scotch and made a couple of highballs.
When I went in with the drinks she had a gun in her hand. It was a small automatic with a pearl grip. It jumped up at me and her eyes were full of horror.
I stopped, with a glass in each hand, and said: «Maybe this hot wind has got you crazy too. I’m a private detective. I’ll prove it if you let me.»
She nodded slightly and her face was white. I went over slowly and put a glass down beside her, and went back and set mine down and got a card out that had no bent corners. She was sitting down, smoothing one blue knee with her left hand, and holding the gun on the other. I put the card down beside her drink and sat with mine.
«Never let a guy get that close to you,» I said. «Not if you mean business. And your safety catch is on.»
She flashed her eyes down, shivered, and put the gun back in her bag. She drank half the drink without stopping, put the glass down hard and picked the card up.
«I don’t give many people that liquor,» I said. «I can’t afford to.»
Her lips curled. «I supposed you would want money.»
«Huh?»
She didn’t say anything. Her hand was close to her bag again.
«Don’t forget the safety catch,» I said. Her hand stopped. I went on: «This fellow I called Waldo is quite tall, say fiveeleven, slim, dark, brown eyes with a lot of glitter. Nose and mouth too thin. Dark suit, white handkerchief showing, and in a hurry to find you. Am I getting anywhere?»
She took her glass again. «So that’s Waldo,» she said. «Well, what about him?» Her voice seemed to have a slight liquor edge now.
«Well, a funny thing. There’s a cocktail bar across the street… Say, where have you been all evening?»
«Sitting in my car,» she said coldly, «most of the time.»
«Didn’t you see a fuss across the street up the block?»
Her eyes tried to say no and missed. Her lips said: «I knew there was some kind of disturbance. I saw policemen and red searchlights. I supposed someone had been hurt.»
«Someone was. And this Waldo was looking for you before that. In the cocktail bar. He described you and your clothes.»
Her eyes were set like rivets now and had the same amount of expression. Her mouth began to tremble and kept on trembling.
«I was in there,» I said, «talking to the kid that runs it. There was nobody in there but a drunk on a stool and the kid and myself. The drunk wasn’t paying any attention to anything. Then Waldo came in and asked about you and we said no, we hadn’t seen you and he started to leave.»
I sipped my drink. I like an effect as well as the next fellow. Her eyes ate me.
«Just started to leave. Then this drunk that wasn’t paying any attention to anyone called him Waldo and took a gun out. He shot him twice — I snapped my fingers twice — ’ ’like that. Dead.»
She fooled me. She laughed in my face. «So my husband hired you to spy on me,» she said. «I might have known the whole thing was an act. You and your Waldo.»
I gawked at her.
«I never thought of him as jealous,» she snapped. «Not of a man who had been our chauffeur anyhow. A little about Stan, of course — that’s natural. But Joseph Coates —»
I made motions in the air. «Lady, one of us has this book open at the wrong page,» I grunted. «I don’t know anybody named Stan or Joseph Coates. So help me, I didn’t even know you had a chauffeur. People around here don’t run to them. As for husbands — yeah, we do have a husband once in a while. Not often enough.»
She shook her head slowly and her hand stayed near her bag and her blue eyes had glitters in them.
«Not good enough, Mr. Marlowe. No, not nearly good enough. I know you private detectives. You’re all rotten. You tricked me into your apartment, if it is your apartment. More likely it’s the apartment of some horrible man who will swear anything for a few dollars. Now you’re trying to scare me. So you can blackmail me — as well as get money from my husband. All right,» she said breathlessly, «how much do I have to pay?»
I put my empty glass aside and leaned back. «Pardon me if I light a cigarette,» I said. «My nerves are frayed.»
I lit it while she watched me without enough fear for any real guilt to be under it. «So Joseph Coates is his name,» I said. «The guy that killed him in the cocktail bar called him Waldo.»
She smiled a bit disgustedly, but almost tolerantly. «Don’t stall. How much?»