With that incentive, she walked out to stand on the porch. Fred went away from there with a rush. She came back and said, ‘I’m not certain. The number was either 5N1525 or 5M1525.’
I fumbled around until I found a pencil, wrote both numbers down on a piece of paper, and hobbled up the three flights of stairs. She stood looking after me, and said, ‘Don’t forget it, Mr. Lam, I can use that room rent just as soon as you get it.’
‘I won’t,’ I told her. ‘I don’t think I’ll ever forget it.’
Chapter 7
A steady, insistent pounding on my door dragged me from oblivion into stupefied semi-consciousness. I heard the voice of my landlady saying, ‘Mr. Lam — oh, Mr. Lam — Mr. Lam. Get up.’
I reached out for the light. My body felt as though it would break in two. I found the light, switched it on, and limped to the door of the little attic bedroom.
The landlady had on a faded green wrapper which made her look like sacked potatoes. The white fringe of a flannel nightgown burst out from beneath the wrapper. She said in a voice shrill with indignation, ‘I don’t know what this new job of yours is, but I’ve put up with just about enough! I’ve let you get weeks behind with the room rent, and now―’
‘What is it?’ I interrupted, and when I tried to talk my swollen nose and lips made my face feel wooden.
‘It’s a woman on the telephone who says she has to talk with you. She keeps screaming into my ear that it’s a matter of life and death. The phone’s been ringing and ringing and ringing It’s woke up everyone in the house. And I’ve had to climb three flights of stairs and stand here banging on the door until―’
‘I’m much obliged, Mrs. Smith,’ I said.
‘Obliged, eh?’ she sniffed. ‘Great goings on to wake everyone up and―’
I forced my tortured body into action, dove back into the room, grabbed a bathrobe, flung it over my pajamas, and kicked my feet into slippers. It seemed an interminable distance down the hall. Alma was all I could think of. I hoped it was Bertha Cool with some new assignment. I knew she was quite capable of doing that very thing, but— The receiver was dangling from the cord. I grabbed it up, placed it to my ear, said, ‘Hello,’ and heard Alma’s voice. ‘Oh, Donald, I’m so glad I reached you. Something awful’s happened.’
‘What?’
‘I can’t tell you over the phone. You must come.’
‘Where are you?’
‘I’m in the telephone booth in the lobby of Sandra’s apartment house.’
‘Well, where will I meet you?’ I asked.
‘I’ll be right there.’
‘In the apartment, you mean?’
‘No — in the telephone booth. Something awful’s happened. Come quickly.’
I said, ‘Right away,’ hung up the telephone, and went up the stairs as fast as I could force my sore muscles into action. I passed Mrs. Smith wheezing down the steps. She said acidly, ‘There are people in the house, Mr. Lam, who are trying to get back to sleep.’
I got to my room, flung off my robe and pajamas, climbed into my clothes, and was tying my necktie as I dashed down the stairs to the street. I buttoned my vest on the way to the corner. It seemed an age before a late-cruising taxicab came prowling along close to the curb. I signaled him and gave him the address. In the cab, I asked, ‘What time is it, buddy?’
‘Half past two.’
My wrist watch hadn’t been good enough to pawn, but by setting it every day, I could approximate the time. Now it was on the dresser by the head of my bed. I looked through my pockets to make sure I had the certificate of appointment as a private detective which Bertha Cool had given me. I scooped the silver out of my pocket, and held it in the palm of my hand, counting it against the flicking figures which appeared on the illuminated dial of the taximeter. When the driver stopped at the address, there was five cents over. I handed him the whole collection of coins, said, ‘Thanks a lot, buddy,’ and made a dive for the door. I almost broke my arm. It was locked tight. The lobby was lighted, but there was no one at the little desk. I kicked against the door, hoping that Alma would hear me. She did after a while, and came out of the telephone booth and down the corridor.
I stared at her in surprise. She had on sheer silk pajamas, and some sort of filmy gown over them. She opened the door, and I said, ‘Alma, what’s happened?’
‘I’ve shot someone,’ she said, in a hoarse whisper.
‘Who?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Did you kill him?’
‘No.’
‘Have you notified the police?’
‘No.’
‘All right, then,’ I said. ‘We notify the police right away.’
‘But Sandra wouldn’t want me to, and Bleatie says—’
‘To hell with Sandra and Bleatie both,’ I said. ‘Get in there and telephone the police.’
I piloted her back to the telephone booth.
‘Donald, don’t you think I’d better tell you what—’
‘If you’ve shot anyone,’ I said, ‘you get in touch with the police and tell them the whole story.’
She turned to me and said, ‘I’ll have to ask you for a nickel.’ I went through my pockets. There wasn’t a coin on me. I’d given my last cent to the cab driver. I tried the telephone. It simply, positively, wouldn’t work without the coin.
‘How did you telephone me?’ I asked.
She said, ‘A man came in. He was drunk. I told him a story about my husband locking me out, and asked him for a coin so I could telephone. He gave me a nickel.’
‘All right. Let’s go back up to the apartment.’
‘I can’t. I haven’t my keys. There’s a spring lock on the door.’
‘We’ll get the manager. Tell me, what happened?’
‘I went to sleep, and woke up and someone was in the room. He was bending over the bed with his hand right over my nose, ready to shut off my breathing. After that awful experience of last night, I was almost paralyzed with terror. But you’d impressed on my mind what I was to do. You remember you said it didn’t make any difference whether I hit him or not. So I jerked the gun out from under my pillow, and pulled the trigger. I’d slipped the safety catch off when I went to bed. I was never so frightened in my life. That gun made such an awful bang! I thought my eardrums would burst. I dropped the gun and screamed.’
‘Then what?’ I asked.
‘Then I grabbed a robe from the bed — I must have. I don’t remember doing it, but it was over my arm when I got out to the other room.’
‘You ran into the other room?’
‘Yes, and then into the hall.’
I said, ‘Well, he’s probably in there now then, unless he managed to get out through a window. There’s not one chance in ten that you hit him.’
‘Oh, but I did hit him,’ she said. ‘I heard an awful smack like a bullet would make when it hit someone — and he fell down.’
‘How do you know he fell down?’
‘I heard him.’
‘Did you hear him move after that?’ I asked.
‘Yes, I think I did. I heard something. I went completely screwy. I dashed out into the corridor and ran for the elevator just as hard as I could run. The door closed and clicked shut behind me. I stayed in the elevator for a minute, and then realized what a predicament I was in. Look, I haven’t even any slippers on.’
I looked down at her tinted toenails, and said, ‘Well, we’re going to have to get the manager. Don’t be frightened, Alma. It’s probably a burglar, someone who is looking for Morgan Birks’ records, or thought, perhaps, he had some money salted away. Where was Sandra all this time?’
‘She went out.’
‘Where was Bleatie?’
‘I don’t know. In bed, I guess, in the other room.’