'Then you must realize that right now, this second, if I mention food to Percy Stilton, he's likely to give me a shot in the chops.'
'Oh no, ma'am,' I said hastily. 'Not right this minute.
What I was thinking was that later this evening, say around six o'clock, he might be recovered sufficiently, and the both of you might be hungry enough to join me for dinner.'
'Hmm,' she said. 'You're getting through to me, Mr Bigg. All right, I'll see what I can do with the Incredible Hulk here. Where do you want to eat?'
We settled on Woody's at about 6.00 p.m.
I spent the rest of the afternoon leafing through the Sunday papers and then the Stonehouse file once again. I left my apartment at 5.30 and walked to Woody's. It wasn't dark yet, but still I scanned the street before I left the vestibule, and my head was on a swivel during my rapid walk to 23rd Street.
Nitchy greeted me after I had hung my hat and coat on the front rack.
'No princess tonight, Josh?' she said.
'Not tonight, Nitchy,' I said.
'It'll happen,' she said confidently. 'One of these nights you'll waltz through that door with a princess on your arm. You'll see.'
As usual she was looped with bangles, hoops, and amulets. Her black helmet of hair gleamed wickedly, and the heavy eye shadow and precisely painted lips accented her sorceress look. She gave me a table where I could watch the front door.
They weren't very late — not more than fifteen minutes.
The moment Maybelle Hawks entered the restaurant, and the heads of everyone in the front room began to turn, I realized who she was.
She was one of the most famous high-fashion models in Manhattan. Her classic features had adorned dozens of haute couture magazines, she had posed in the nude for many artists and photographers, and a scholarly art critic had written a much quoted monograph on her 'Nefertiti-279
like beauty' and 'ethereal sensuality.' She towered over Stilton, who lurked behind her. I guessed her to be 6–4 or 6–5. She was wearing a supple black leather trenchcoat, mink-lined. It hung open, revealing a loose chemise-styled shift in soft, plum-coloured wool. There was a fine gold chain about the strong stalk of her neck.
I could see why that art critic had thought of Nefertiti.
Her head seemed elongated, drawn out in back so that it had the shape of a tilted egg. Her hair was a cap of tight black curls. Oriental eyes, Semitic lips, a thin scimitar of a nose. All of her features seemed carved, polished, oiled.
Her teeth were unbelievably white.
They made it to my table and sat down. From close range, Percy wasn't looking so good. He was as elegantly clad as the first time I had seen him, but the eyes were sunk deeply and bagged. The whites were reddish and he blinked frequently. There was a sallow tinge to his cordovan skin.
Nitchy asked if we'd like a drink. Belle saw my glass of white wine and said that's what she'd have. Percy raised his bloodshot eyes to Maybelle Hawks.
'Please, babe,' he croaked piteously.
'Nitchy,' Belle said in tones that were more song than speech, 'please bring this basket case a shot of cognac with about a quart of ice water for a chaser.'
'Coming up,' Nitchy said. She looked sympathetically at Perce. 'Got the whim-whams?' she asked.
'Whim-whams?' Belle said with a scoffing laugh. 'This is the guy who swore he could mix grass, martinis, wine, bourbon, and brandy stingers. "I can handle it," he said.'
'Belle,' Stilton implored. 'Don't shout.'
When our drinks were served, Perce sat there staring at his brandy. He took a deep breath. Then he bent forward so he had to lift the glass only a few inches to his lips. He took half of it in one gulp. Then he closed his eyes and clenched his teeth.
'Jesus!' he said finally. 'Did you hear that hit?'
280
He took another deep breath, sat back in his chair, drained off his glass of ice water. Nitchy was there with a pitcher to fill it up again.
'Well now,' Percy Stilton said, looking at us with a weak grin. 'This is what I should have done eight hours ago.'
'I wanted you to suffer,' Maybelle Hawks said.
Stilton finished his cognac and handed the empty glass to Nitchy. 'Another plasma, please, nurse,' he said.
By the time Belle and I had finished our wine, the detective seemed recovered, lighting a cigarette with steady fingers, laughing and joking, surveying his surroundings with interest.
'Nice, comfy place,' he said, nodding. 'How's the food'?'
Nitchy was still hovering, proud at having Maybelle Hawks in her establishment. I had seen her boasting at other tables.
'For you,' she said to Stilton, 'I suggest a rare sirloin, a mixed green salad, and nothing else.'
'Marry me,' he said.
'I'll have the same, please,' Belle said, 'Oil and vinegar on the greens.'
I ordered a hamburger and another round of drinks.
'All right, Josh,' Percy said, 'what's all this about?'
I glanced quickly towards Maybelle Hawks. Stilton caught it. 'She knows everything. She thinks it's interesting.'
'Fascinating,' she said.
'You know all the people involved?' I asked her. 'Tippi Kipper? Godfrey Knurr? Marty Reape?'
She nodded.
'Good,' I said. 'But what I have to say will be new to both of you. I've got a lot to tell.'
'Talk away,' Percy Stilton said. 'We're listening.'
I told them about the Stonehouse case: the arsenic poisoning, how I thought it had been done, the personalities of the people involved, how I was attempting to locate a cabdriver who might have picked up Professor Stonehouse on the night he disappeared. They listened intently.
When I told them about the attempted assault on me the previous evening, Detective Stilton paused, his last forkful of steak halfway to his mouth, and stared at me. Then he devoured the final bite, pushed his plate away, and reached for his cigarette case.
I told them how I had shadowed Godfrey Knurr, how he had travelled up to that West Side garage, met a woman, and how the two of them drove northward in a black Mercedes-Benz.
'But it wasn't Tippi Kipper,' I said. 'It was Glynis Stonehouse.'
I finished my hamburger and looked up. Detective Percy Stilton had lighted his cigarette. He was puffing calmly, looking into the space over my head. Maybelle Hawks had also finished her dinner despite my earthshaking news. She was patting her lips delicately with her napkin.
'Good steak,' was all she said.
Stilton's eyes came down slowly until he was staring at me.
'Roll me over,' he sang softly, 'in the clover. Roll me over, lay me down, and do it again.'
'Coffee?' the waitress asked.
We agreed and added brandy to the order. Nothing was said until the waitress moved away. Then Detective Stilton struck the top of the table with his palm. Cutlery jumped.
'That fucker,' Stilton cried. 'That fucker!'
'Easy, babe,' Maybelle Hawks said. 'Don't get physical.'
'You t h i n k. .? ' I said.
'Sheet,' the detective said disgustedly. 'It's him. It's got to be him. I don't know how he managed the Kipper snuff or what he did with Stonehouse, but it's him, it's got to be him. And he thinks he's going to stroll, chuckling.'
'He's doing all right so far,' Belle said dryly.
'Yes,' I said, nodding. 'But it's all guesswork.'
Stilton ground out his cigarette, half-smoked, and immediately lighted another.
'Uh-huh,' he said. 'Guesswork. No hard evidence.
Right. Well, I'll tell you, Josh, sometimes it goes like that.
You got the guy cold but you can't prove.'
'What do you do then?'
He put his head far back, blew smoke at the ceiling.
' W e l l. . ' he said slowly, 'I know a couple of guys who owe me. Not cops,' he added hurriedly. 'Just friends from my old neighbourhood. They like to go hunting.'
I looked at him, puzzled.
'They could take this Knurr hunting with them,' he said.