“Oh, it's you.” The sensitive-featured lawyer nodded to the woman behind Johnny. “It's all right, Miss McPartland. I'm acquainted with Mr. Killain. He has an impetuous nature.”
“He's no gentleman!” Miss McPartland snapped, but backed reluctantly to the door. It banged shut behind her.
“You sure she hasn't got the room bugged?” Johnny asked. “What you got to do to get 'em to take that kind of an interest in their work?”
The corners of Ernest Faulkner's mouth moved nervously. “I inherited Miss McPartland from my father,” he explained, and with a wave of his hand indicated the massive iron safe and dull-backed, book-lined walls. “Along with these less trying legacies.” He seated himself behind his desk and waved Johnny to a chair alongside. He removed his heavy horn-rimmed glasses and began to polish them carefully. “Sit down. May I be of assistance?”
“It depends,” Johnny told him. He sat down. The sound of the lawyer's high-pitched voice lingered in his ears. Without the heavy glasses to strengthen it, the face was almost feminine in its delicacy. A soft bloom emanating from the skin added to the illusion. And there was something about the slightly stilted walk and the quick movements of the slim hands-this boy could have a little trouble, Johnny decided. Latent, if not overt. Still, the scorecards said he was getting to bat regularly against Gloria Philips. No indication of a hormone deficiency there. “You rate yourself near the top in the lawyerin' business, Ernest?”
A ghost of a smile hovered on the soft-looking mouth. “Am I being offered your business?”
“I thought maybe I should talk to you first before I went up against Palmer again.”
“Considerate of you.” Ernest Faulkner replaced his glasses, leaned back in his chair and studied Johnny. “You'd be surprised at the number of people who don't feel they should talk to me first.”
A sense of humor, Johnny thought. Likewise more bitterness than you'd expect. There was more to Faulkner than met the eye. “I've been takin' a few soundin's of the ice, Ernest, since someone in the crowd took on himself to scratch Arends from the entries.”
“If it's the thickness of the piece you're on that concerns you, I don't blame you.” The lawyer settled the glasses firmly on the bridge of his nose. “Although you didn't strike me as the nervous type.”
“It's bad for business, havin' potential customers bothered like that,” Johnny explained, dead-pan. “It's liable to hustle me along a little faster'n I like to go. What's my chances of gettin' paid if I go back to Palmer ready to do business?”
“Mr. Palmer is a reputable businessman,” the lawyer said smoothly. “For value received-”
“The worst kind of thief,” Johnny interrupted impatiently, “does it legally. I'll make you a proposition. You handle the money end of it for me, an' I'll make a deal with Palmer. I got to be sure I get paid.”
Ernest Faulkner stared at him. “Are you serious, Mr. Killain? Do you for one moment imagine that any lawyer can afford to represent you?”
“I thought I came to the right man,” Johnny said mildly. “You're Dechant's lawyer. You're Palmer's lawyer. You're the Winters woman's lawyer. You get to see the wheels go round. You know Dechant was a thief all his life. You know he an' the Winters woman killed her husband. You know Palmer's playin' footsie with the blonde just like Arends was. You know Tremaine's-”
“Just a minute!” Ernest Faulkner appeared to have trouble with his breathing. He looked horrified. “How can you expect me to sit here and listen to these-these gross insinuations! These monstrous-”
“Insinuations, hell! Act your age, Ernest.”
“Let's not be under any misapprehension,” the lawyer said hurriedly. “I was Claude's attorney, it's true. But I'm not Palmer's, and except in the most highly specialized context I'm not Madeleine's, either.”
“Palmer said he paid you a retainer,” Johnny pointed out. “An' when we found Arends in Madeleine's place the other night, who did she call? You.”
“It was the equivalent of calling a friend,” Faulkner protested. He worried his lower lip with his teeth. “She called me because of my knowledge of certain circumstances.”
“It's your knowledge of certain circumstances I'm tryin' to line up on my side,” Johnny told him. “What's the price?”
“You've heard of ethics, Mr. Killain? Legal ethics?”
“Nobody doin' business with these people has ethics,” Johnny said positively. “What're they payin' you?”
“I think that you had better leave now. Immediately.”
Johnny shook his head at the attempted dignity in the shaken voice. “You know I'm gonna do business with someone, Ernest. Why not with you?” He studied the moist-looking face across the desk. “Use your phone?” he asked abruptly, and without waiting for permission pulled it toward him. He picked up the metal tel-e-list from in front of Faulkner and thumbed the indicator down to the W's. A touch sprang it open.
“Here! What do you think you're doing?” The lawyer came halfway up out of his chair and then sank back into it.
“Callin' a mutual acquaintance,” Johnny said, dialing the number listed for Madeleine Winters. Across from him Faulkner removed a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at the faint sheen visible on his white forehead. “I noticed the other night she had a phone in the living room and another in the bedroom. This the unlisted number?” He shook his head in mock regret at the lack of response from the man behind the desk.
“Harry, darling?” the phone cooed in Johnny's ear.
“You tryin' to make me jealous? This is Killain, from the Duarte.”
“How did you get this number, Killain?” Her tone had hardened up like wet leather in the desert sun, he thought admiringly. This woman really had a cutting edge.
“You know anything that's not for sale if the price is right?” he asked her. “Let's get to somethin' important. I want to see you. How about your place tonight? Around nine?” He could almost hear the gears going around beneath the ash-blonde hair.
“Tonight?” she began doubtfully, and then her voice firmed up. “All right. I'll arrange it.”
“Fine. I'll be there.” Johnny nodded casually to a whey-faced Ernest Faulkner as he replaced the phone.
“Are you trying to get me in trouble?” the lawyer croaked.
“Nothin' like that, Ernest,” Johnny soothed him. He moved the indicator on the tel-e-list again, opened it at the P's, and pointed out Palmer's number to the wide-eyed lawyer. “Don't forget to call Harry. You know how he likes to keep posted.”
On his way through the waiting room Johnny bowed gravely to a ramrod-straight Miss McPartland, who looked right through him.
CHAPTER VI
At three minutes to nine that night Johnny walked up the stairs in Madeleine Winters' apartment building, avoiding the elevator. At the door he pushed the white button in the left jamb. Chimes, he was sure, but he couldn't hear them. The place must be well-insulated. Or soundproofed.
Harry Palmer opened the door. “How you do get around, man,” Johnny said to him, and walked inside. Behind him he heard the solid snick of the lock as the door closed again. At the far end of the huge white-and-gold room, Madeleine Winters stood erect with her hands clasped loosely at her waist. She had on something that looked to Johnny like black lounging pajamas, but he had to forgo a closer look.
A big man, who seemed to overflow in all directions from the armchair in which he sat, lumbered to his feet at Johnny's entrance. He had no neck at all, but a lot of face, hammered flat. “This the guy?” he asked hoarsely. Nobody denied it, and he moved forward. His jacket rested on the back of his chair, and his shirt-sleeves were rolled back to disclose thick, hairy forearms.
Johnny circled slowly, one eye on Madeleine Winters. “No sheets on the pretty furniture to keep the blood from splashin'?” he chided her. “You're-” He broke off as the big man rushed him. Johnny side-stepped and put two hundred thirty-eight pounds into the hardest right-hand kidney smash he had in him as the man went by. The big man sucked in his breath, hard. Before he could turn, Johnny was in behind him and, with a bladed hand, chopped savagely twice at the stubby neck. It should have dropped him; all it did was turn him around. Johnny lowered his shoulder, set himself and sank his left hand out of sight in the ponderously advancing, bulbous stomach. He followed it with a right, and the big man went to his knees with a crash that jiggled the shades on the wall lamps. He looked mildly surprised.