A new Hillman-Minx was parked in the driveway alongside of a veranda. Somebody was polishing the fenders with a rag.
I pulled up behind the car and let the motor die. Then I climbed out. The car-polisher glanced up, then walked around to meet me.
“Who you looking for?” he asked.
I stared, then stiffened. “You,” I said. Then I took two steps forward and my right came up. There was a dull sound, a grunt, and another sound as he flopped at my feet.
I stood there, gazing down at the face of the little man who had come after me with Fritz.
My knuckles hurt. I started to rub them, then looked up as I heard a sound. A man appeared in the doorway of the house, a chunky man with a bald head. “What’s the big idea?” he murmured.
“Just squaring a debt,” I said. “I’ve owed this guy a punch on the jaw ever since he roughed me up the other night.”
“You’re Clayburn, aren’t you?”
I nodded.
“I’m Abe Kolmar.”
“I know. I was coming to see you.”
“Is that any reason for assaulting one of my employees?”
“Told you why I hit him. He’s one of the two guys who tried to kill me.”
The man in the doorway shook his head. “Better take another look,” he said. “This man couldn’t have attacked you. I happen to know where he was at the time you were abducted. And so do the police, because that’s where he was—at headquarters.”
I stared down. The man at my feet began to mumble and stir. I eyed his features closely. “Wait a minute,” I said. “Maybe I did make a mistake—”
“This is Joe Dean,” said Kolmar. “My chauffeur. You made a mistake all right.”
“I’m sorry, I could have sworn—”
Kolmar nodded. “A big mistake,” he said. “Suppose you come inside now and let me straighten you out.”
“Well—”
“Come inside.” Kolmar made an impatient gesture with his hand.
I looked at it. He was holding a revolver.
“This way,” he said.
I went this way.
Kolmar kept the muzzle trained on my waist. “You all right?” he called.
The little man was sitting up now. He held the side of his jaw and grunted.
“You got him, huh? This the bastard who slugged me? Put your gun down, A.J. I want a chance at him myself.”
“Come in,” Kolmar told him. “We’re going to settle this inside.”
Dean got to his feet and charged up the porch steps. “I’ll settle him,” he panted. “Hit a guy without warning, huh? I’ll rip his heart out, the sonof—”
“Shut up!”
Dean shut up. We walked into the parlor. Kolmar jerked the gun toward me. “Over there,” he said.
Dean began to move after me.
“You stay where you are,” Kolmar ordered.
“But I only want to give him a—”
“Never mind.”
I turned and nodded. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I apologize. I thought you were somebody else, one of the men who tried to kill me last night. You look just like him. It was a natural mistake.”
“The hell it was. You come right up and socked me one. If A. J. don’t let me have a chance at you, I’ll—”
“It’s the truth,” I said. “You look enough like this man to be his brother.” I paused. “Do you have a brother, Dean?”
“No.”
Kolmar grunted at him. “Get out,” he said.
“Now wait a minute, A.J.”
“Get out.”
“All right.” Dean moved toward the door. “But I’m not forgetting. You got something coming to you, brother.”
He went out.
“Are you sure he hasn’t got a brother?” I asked.
Kolmar grunted again. “I wouldn’t know, Clayburn. I wouldn’t know.” The gun kept watching me out of its one eye. We made a good pair, but I didn’t appreciate it right now.
“Suppose I ask the questions for a change,” Kolmar suggested.
“Go ahead,” I told him. “But why don’t you put that thing away? You’re not going to shoot me.”
“Don’t be too sure.”
“Tell you the truth, I’m not.” It was hard to grin, but I made it. And he put the gun down on the desk. Not too far away, though.
“What’s your interest in this business, Clayburn?”
“Looking for a story. Didn’t Trent tell you?”
“Why should he tell me anything?”
“That’s one of the things I wanted to find out. Trent worked for you. Polly Foster worked for you. Dick Ryan worked for you. And they’re all dead now.”
“So?”
“It could be a coincidence. But I don’t think so.”
He almost reached for the gun again. Instead his hand went to his pocket and came out with a handkerchief. He mopped his forehead. There was plenty to mop. It went all the way back.
“What are you suggesting, Clayburn? That I killed them? That’s impossible. The police have my alibis.”
“I’m not saying you pulled the trigger, no. But you have people working for you.”
“Killers?”
“This Joe Dean wanted to do a job on me just now.”
“You hit him. Naturally, he got sore.”
“Naturally.”
“But that doesn’t mean he’d kill you. It doesn’t mean he’d kill anybody.”
“He has a record in Detroit.”
“I wouldn’t know about that. He’s just my chauffeur.”
“And he used to work for Dick Ryan.”
“That’s right.” Kolmar put the handkerchief down. “He used to work for Dick Ryan and Ryan was murdered. You know what that cost me, to have that boy die on me in the middle of production? And everything he ever did went sour when the news hit the papers. Reefers, yet, they had to drag reefers into the case!”
“I know.”
“You know something else?” Kolmar sighed. “Polly Foster cost me another fortune: seven reels in the can, and three to go. Now she’s dead. I ask you!”
“Tough.”
“Tough, he says? And Trent. We were getting ready to do something with Trent. Had a new script lined up, going to make him over into a sympathetic character. Gotten ourselves a new hero type, maybe. So what happens? Bang.”
“I’m aware of that.”
“Well be aware of this, then, Clayburn. You think I’d go to work and commit suicide by knocking off my own contract players? You think I’d toss a million dollars out the window like that? It don’t make sense.”
“Nothing makes sense,” I answered. “Nothing. That’s why I’m grabbing at anything that looks as if it formed even part of a pattern. Like the fact that all these people worked for you.”
“You think I haven’t wondered about that? Maybe it’s one of my lousy competitors, some of those guys would murder their own mothers. Take a fella like Sam Hague, now.”
I shook my head. “That’s nonsense, and you know it.”
“So what else can a guy figure? Like you say, it’s all meshuggah.”
“There’s one other possible link,” I said slowly. “And that’s what I came out here to see about.”
“What’s that?”
“Reefers.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh yes you do. They found evidence in Ryan’s trailer, didn’t they? I think that forms part of the pattern, too. Did Polly Foster smoke weed? What about Tom Trent?”
“You’re meshuggah yourself, Clayburn. My people are clean, I wouldn’t have anybody around unless I was sure of that.”
“You’ve got Dean. He has a record.”
“So maybe I’ll fire him. Clayburn, take it from me, that reefer talk don’t mean a thing.”
“I think it does. I think it’s the key to the whole mess. And I was hoping you’d be able to furnish some information which might help me. If not, I’ll just have to keep on looking.”