The car stopped, at length, in front of a building which apparently housed a speakeasy. The young woman left the car, walked across the kerb with rapid, nervous steps, rang a bell and stood perfectly still while a panel slid back in the door and a face regarded her.
A moment later, the door opened, and the young woman vanished.
The coupé left the kerb, and, as it sped away, the driver turned for one last look at the door where the young woman had been admitted.
Paul Pry started nervously as he saw the face pressed against the glass in the rear window of the coupé. It was the face of the young woman he had met previously in the apartment which Charles B Darwin had maintained so secretly, the young woman who had been trying on clothes in front of the mirror. However, it was too late then to do anything about it. The coupé continued on its way, and Paul Pry began to put into operation a certain very definite plan he had in mind.
5. Cross-Stitch Killer
There was a drug store across the street, and Paul Pry stepped across to it, purchased a woman’s purse, a lipstick, compact, handkerchief, a package of chewing gum. He paid for the purchases with one of the hundred-dollar bills he had received, and thrust the change into the purse. He also folded two more of the hundred-dollar bills and pushed them into the purse. The drug clerk watched him curiously, but said nothing.
Paul Pry walked back across the street to the speakeasy. He rang the bell and a panel slid back.
“About four or five minutes ago,” said Paul Pry, “there was a young woman, a brunette, wearing a blue skirt and a small, tight-fitting, blue hat. She got out of a coupé and came in here.”
“What about it?” said the frosty voice of the man who regarded Paul Pry with hostile eyes through the wicket in the doorway.
“I’ve got to see her,” said Paul Pry.
“You got a card?”
“No. But I’ve got to see that young woman.”
“You can’t see her.”
Paul Pry fidgeted. “You see,” he said, “she dropped her purse. I picked it up and intended to return it to her. Then I looked inside of it and saw what was in it, and the temptation was too much for me. I started to run away with it. You see, I’ve got a wife and a couple of kiddies who haven’t had anything much to eat for two or three days now. I’ve been out of work and my savings are completely used up. I had to do anything I could to get by. When I saw the money in this purse, I decided I wouldn’t return the purse. Then, after I’d walked half a block, I realized I couldn’t steal, so I had to bring it to her.”
“All right,” said the man, “give me the purse and I’ll take it to her.”
Paul Pry opened the purse. “Look,” he said, “there’s almost three hundred dollars in it.”
“I’ll take it to her,” said the man in the doorway.
“Like hell you will,” said Paul Pry. “She’ll probably give me a five spot, or perhaps a ten, or she might even get generous and give me a twenty. That would mean a lot to me. I couldn’t take the purse, but I sure as hell could take a reward.”
“If she wants to give you a reward, I’ll bring it to you,” said the man.
Paul Pry’s laugh was mocking and scornful.
The man on the other side of the door seemed undecided.
“You either let me in and I take it to her personally,” said Paul Pry, “or she doesn’t get it. If you want to keep a customer from getting her purse back, it’s all right by me; I’ve done my duty in trying to return it. If you won’t let her have it, I’ll put an ad in the paper telling the whole circumstances.”
“Look here,” said the man who glowered through the opening in the doorway, “this is a high-class restaurant. We put on a floor show, and the young woman who just came in is one of the girls who works in the floor show. Now you’ve got that purse and it belongs to her. If you try to take it away, I’ll call a cop and have you arrested.”
Paul Pry sneered. “A fat chance you’ve got of calling a cop,” he said. “I’d raise a commotion and tell the whole cock-eyed world that this place was a speakeasy; that I was trying to get in to return the purse and you wouldn’t let me in, but started calling a cop. If you’re a respectable restaurant why the hell don’t you open your door so the public can patronize you?”
The bolts slipped back in the door.
“Oh hell,” said the man, “come on in and get it over with. You’re just one of those damn pests that show up every so often.”
“Where do I find her?” asked Paul Pry.
“The name is Ellen Tracy. She’s in one of the dressing-rooms up on the second floor. I’ll have one of the waiters take you up.”
“And want to chisel in on the reward,” said Paul Pry. “Not much you don’t. I’m on my way right now.”
He pushed past the man and ran up the stairs.
There was a telephone at the man’s elbow. As Paul Pry was halfway up the stairs he heard the telephone ring, heard the man answer it and then lower his voice to a mere confidential mumble.
Paul Pry would have given much to have heard that conversation, but he had no time to wait. With his sword cane grasped firmly in his hand, he took the stairs two at a time. He walked rapidly across a dance floor, pushed his way through a curtained doorway, walked up a flight of steps. He saw a row of doors, one with the name “Ellen Tracy” painted on it. He tapped with his knuckles.
“Who is it?” called a woman’s voice.
“A package for you,” said Paul Pry.
The door opened a few inches. A woman’s hand and bare arm protruded. “Give it to me,” she said.
Paul Pry pushed the door open.
She fell back with a little scream.
She had slipped out of her dress and was attired in underwear, shoes and stockings. There was a costume on a stool beside a dressing table and a kimono draped carelessly over a chair. The young woman made no attempt to pick up the kimono, but stood staring at Paul Pry, apparently entirely unconscious of her apparel.
“Well,” she said, “what’s the big idea?”
“Listen,” said Paul Pry, “I came from him — the man who got you to get that cheque from the post office. You know what I mean.”
Her face was suddenly drained of colour, her eyes dark with alarm. “Yes,” she said in a low, half-choked voice.
“What did they tell you at the bank?” said Paul Pry. “It’s important as hell.”
“Mr. Hammond,” she said, “said that he would make the cheque right. He wanted the bank to cash it, but they wouldn’t cash a forged cheque. He said that he’d make the cheque good. I telephoned a few minutes ago and explained the whole thing. You should have known.”
“There’s some question about that,” Paul Pry said. “You telephoned to the wrong number. Somebody else seems to have got the information. Are you sure you telephoned to the right number?”
There was a puzzled frown on her forehead. She nodded slowly.
“What was the number?” asked Paul Pry.
She fell back from him suddenly, as though he had struck her. Her face was deathly white. She seemed to shrink within herself. “Who... who... who are you?” she asked in a voice which was shrill with panic.
“I told you who I am,” Paul Pry said.
She shook her head slowly. Her eyes were wide and dark. “Get out of here!” she said in a half whisper. “For God’s sake get out of here while there’s still time!”
Paul Pry took a step toward her. “Listen,” he said, “you either know what you’re mixed up in or you don’t. In any event...”
A woman’s scream, shrill and high-pitched, interrupted his sentence. The scream seemed to come from one of the adjoining dressing-rooms.