He lit another cigarette and shoved his hat off his forehead. He wasn’t happy about putting in a night guarding the girl’s room but after what had happened he couldn’t take any more chances. He wished he’d never seen the girl. And he knew he was lying to himself when he thought that. He wanted to see more of her and he didn’t know why. Unless it was just because she set him on fire every time he looked at her.
Time passed slowly. He finished his pack of cigarettes, crumpled it and tossed in a sand-filled vase beside the door. His mouth felt stale and parched and he knew he was smoking too much, but his hands went mechanically through the pockets of his clothes, looking for a stray cigarette. He didn’t find any.
He looked at his watch. It was a quarter of twelve. The hotel was quiet, and the corridor looked so deserted that it was hard for him to imagine that it could look otherwise.
He looked at his watch steadily for a minute or so to make sure the hands were moving. They were. He yawned and pulled his hat down over his eyes.
His hand was still on the brim when the scream sounded.
It wasn’t a loud scream. It was a scream that sounded like a hand had cut it off before it could get loud.
And it came from the girl’s room.
O’Neill wheeled, grabbed the doorknob. The door was locked. He didn’t waste time knocking. He slammed his shoulder into the door twice. The second time the jam splintered.
O'Neill went into the room, half-crouched. There was no light in the apartment, no sound of any kind. He headed for the bedroom, moving quickly.
He felt a draft of cold air on his face at the door. And he saw vaguely the billowing shape of the curtains as the night wind whipped them.
The bedroom window had been opened. And there was just enough light in the room to let him see that the bed was empty.
He cursed and reached for the light switch, but before his hand found it, he heard, or rather sensed, a soft movement behind him.
That was his last conscious thought. There wasn’t time to do anything about it. He heard the movement behind him, and the next instant, so soon that the two seemed simultaneous, something hard and heavy crashed into the back of his skull.
He went down heavily, fighting hard to hang onto the shreds of dimming consciousness. But they slipped from his grasp and left nothing but an immense searing pain that finally dissolved into blackness.
Chapter IV
He came around slowly. There were voices coming through the fog and he could feel light against his eyes. A voice said, “He’s coming to,” and another voice said, “Lucky he didn’t get his head busted wide open.”
He opened his eyes then and saw Logan and two uniformed policemen looking down at him. He was lying on his back. The back of his head felt like an abcessed tooth. He tried to sit up but Logan put a hand on his chest and pushed him back gently.
“Stay where you are,” he said. “That wasn’t catsup that leaked out of your head. You got to rest.”
“So I’ll rest,” O’Neill said.
He looked around, saw that he was in the girl’s bedroom, and then he remembered everything.
“The girl’s gone,” he said. “She started to yell. I barged in and somebody batted me silly. What time is it?”
“A quarter of two,” Logan said. “We got here about twelve, found you lying on the floor. Do you remember anything else that will help?”
O’Neill tried. “The room was dark when I came in. The bed was empty though, I know that.” He frowned and wished his head would stop aching. He put his hand where it was worst and was surprised to feel a bandage like a turban around his head. “The window was open,” he went on. “I saw the curtains blowing.”
“Yeah,” Logan said. “Somebody’s put a foot through it. It opens on the fire escape. A guy could have come from another room down to here and broken in. But it don’t sound right. Too complicated.”
“Have you got Shapiro yet?” O’Neill asked.
Logan shook his head. “But we will. We’re going over the whole town. We’ll find him. But without the girl we haven’t even got enough to arrest him on.” He lit a cigarette bitterly. “Ain’t this hot? I get an air-tight case and they steal my only witness right out of hotel room.”
“While O’Neill, the peerless investigator of the D.A.’s office gives an imitation of not-too-bright moron? That’s the rest of it, isn’t it?”
“I’m not blaming you,” Logan said. “Anybody can get knocked over the head.”
“Sure,” O’Neill said. “But not everyone does it as prettily as I do.”
“The Doc said you should go home,” Logan said, looking embarrassed. “He said you need rest. You sound like you could use a lot.”
O’Neill swung his legs off the bed and set up. He didn’t care whether his head rolled off his shoulders or not. What did he need a head for anyway?
He looked around, found his coat, put it on, then perched his hat tenderly on top of his bandaged head. “The perfect sleuth,” he said. “Witty and fearless to the end.” He waved at Logan and the two coppers and went out.
He went downstairs and got a double Alka-Seltzer from the drug store fountain, then dug a nickel out of his pocket and went into the phone booth.
He dialed a number that rang about a dozen times before the receiver was lifted.
“Benny,” O’Neill said.
There was a short silence, then a husky voice said, “wrong number, Buddy.”
“Cut the clown act. This is O’Neill, Benny.”
After another silence, the voice said, “I can’t help you. I don’t know anything about it.”
“Listen, Benny and listen damn carefully,” O’Neill said. His voice was hard and low. “I want a line on Shapiro. And I want it quick.”
“Are you crazy?” Benny said. “Or don’t you read the papers? So does every cop in town. He’s too hot to even talk about.”
“You’re going to talk,” O’Neill said. “I’m in a bad mood. Somebody played me for a sucker and damn near split my head open. I don’t feel good. I don’t want any more double talk.”
“You ain’t got a heart, O’Neill. Coppers been buzzing around here all day and I didn’t make a peep. Maybe they got the phone tapped now. What’ll happen to me if I talk to you? And I ain’t got no information anyway. Just because I’m in the same business with a guy don’t mean I sleep with him. I haven’t seen him in a week.”
“This phone is okay,” O’Neill said. “There’s nobody else on it. And you know you can talk to me. I’ll take care of you if there’s any trouble. Now give me a line on Shapiro.”
“Okay,” Benny said. His voice was doleful. “He’s been chasing a broad for the last few months. She lives at the Fairmont hotel on Wilson avenue. He’s kept her quiet, so his wife won’t start asking for more alimony. She might know something.”
“What’s her name,” O’Neill said.
“Billie LaRue.”
“Thanks,” O’Neill said.
“O’Neill,” Benny said. “Do me a favor? Forget my telephone number. Pretend we don’t know each other. I don’t want to get mixed up in this thing. Let them hang Shapiro and get it over with. Why should they bother his friends about it?”
O’Neill grinned at the receiver without much humor and dropped it back in place. He went outside the hotel and nailed a cab. He gave the driver the address of the Fairmont hotel and told him to hurry.