Nothing happened. I pushed the bell at the side of the door and heard it ring inside not very far off and waited and nothing happened. I worked on the knocker again. Still nothing. I went back up the walk and along to the garage and lifted the door far enough to see that a car with white side-walled tires was inside. I went back to the front door.
A neat black Cadillac coupe came out of the garage across the way, backed, turned and came along past Lavery’s house, slowed, and a thin man in dark glasses looked at me sharply, as if I hadn’t any business to be there. I gave him my steely glare and he went on his way.
I went down Lavery’s walk again and did some more hammering on his knocker. This time I got results. The Judas window opened and I was looking at a handsome bright-eyed number through the bars of a grill.
“You make a hell of a lot of noise,” a voice said.
“Mr. Lavery?”
He said be was Mr. Lavery and what about it. I poked a card through the grill. A large brown hand took the card. The bright brown eyes came back and the voice said: “So sorry. Not needing any detectives today please.”
“I’m working for Derace Kingsley.”
“The hell with both of you,” he said, and banged the Judas window.
I leaned on the bell beside the door and got a cigarette out with my free hand and had just struck the match on the woodwork beside the door when it was yanked open and a big guy in bathing trunks, beach sandals, and a white terrycloth bathrobe started to come out at me.
I took my thumb off the bell and grinned at him. “What’s the matter?” I asked him. “Scared?”
“Ring that bell again,” he said, “and I’ll throw you clear across the street.”
“Don’t be childish,” I told him. “You know perfectly well I’m going to talk to you and you’re going to talk to me.”
I got the blue and white telegram out of my pocket and held it in front of his bright brown eyes. He read it morosely, chewed his lip and growled: “Oh for Chrissake, come on in then.”
He held the door wide and I went in past him, into a dim pleasant room with an apricot Chinese rug that looked expensive, deep-sided chairs, a number of white drum lamps, a big Capehart in the corner, a long and very wide davenport in pale tan mohair shot with dark brown, and a fireplace with a copper screen and an over mantel in white wood. A fire was laid behind the screen and partly masked by a large spray of manzanita bloom. The bloom was turning yellow in places, but was still pretty. There was a bottle of Vat 69 and glasses on a tray and a copper ice bucket on a low round burl walnut table with a glass top. The room went clear to the back of the house and ended in a flat arch through which showed three narrow windows and the top few feet of the white iron railing of the staircase going down.
Lavery swung the door shut and sat on the davenport. He grabbed a cigarette out of a hammered silver box and lit it and looked at me irritably. I sat down opposite him and looked him over. He had everything in the way of good looks the snapshot had indicated. He had a terrific torso and magnificent thighs. His eyes were chestnut brown and the whites of them slightly gray-white. His hair was rather long and curled a little over his temples. His brown skin showed no signs of dissipation. He was a nice piece of beef, but to me that was all he was. I could understand that women would think he was something to yell for.
“Why not tell us where she is?” I said. “We’ll find out eventually anyway and if you can tell us now, we won’t be bothering you.”
“It would take more than a private dick to bother me,” he said.
“No, it wouldn’t. A private dick can bother anybody. He’s persistent and used to snubs. He’s paid for his time and he would just as soon use it to bother you as any other way.”
“Look,” he said, leaning forward and pointing his cigarette at me. “I know what that wire says, but it’s the bunk. I didn’t go to El Paso with Crystal Kingsley. I haven’t seen her in a long time—long before the date of that wire. I haven’t had any contact with her. I told Kingsley that.”
“He didn’t have to believe you.”
“Why would I lie to him?” He looked surprised.
“Why wouldn’t you?”
“Look,” he said earnestly, “it might seem so to you, but you don’t know her. Kingsley has no strings on her. If he doesn’t like the way she behaves he has a remedy. These proprietary husbands make me sick.”
“If you didn’t go to El Paso with her,” I said, “why did she send this telegram?”
“I haven’t the faintest idea.”
“You can do better than that,” I said. I pointed to the spray of manzanita in the fireplace. “You pick that up at Little Fawn Lake?”
“The hills around here are full of manzanita,” he said contemptuously.
“It doesn’t bloom like that down here.”
He laughed. “I was up there the third week in May. If you have to know. I suppose you can find out. That’s the last time I saw her.”
“You didn’t have any idea of marrying her?”
He blew smoke and said through it: “I’ve thought of it, yes. She has money. Money is always useful. But it would be too tough a way to make it.”
I nodded, but didn’t say anything. He looked at the manzanita spray in the fireplace and leaned back to blow smoke in the air and show me the strong brown line of his throat. After a moment, when I still didn’t say anything, he began to get restless. He glanced down at the card I had given him and said: “So you hire yourself out to dig up dirt? Doing well at it?”
“Nothing to brag about. A dollar here, a dollar there.”
“And all of them pretty slimy,” he said.
“Look, Mr. Lavery, we don’t have to get into a fight. Kingsley thinks you know where his wife is, but won’t tell him. Either out of meanness or motives of delicacy.”
“Which way would he like it?” the handsome brown faced man sneered.
“He doesn’t care, as long as he gets the information. He doesn’t care a great deal what you and she do together or where you go or whether she divorces him or not. He just wants to feel sure that everything is all right and that she isn’t in trouble of any kind.”
Lavery looked interested. “Trouble? What kind of trouble?” He licked the word around on his brown lips, tasting it.
“Maybe you won’t know the kind of trouble he is thinking of.”
“Tell me,” he pleaded sarcastically. “I’d just love to hear about some kind of trouble I didn’t know about.”
“You’re doing fine,” I told him. “No time to talk business, but always time for a wisecrack. If you think we might try to get a hook into you because you crossed a state line with her, forget it.”
“Go climb up your thumb, wise guy. You’d have to prove I paid the freight, or it wouldn’t mean anything.”
“This wire has to mean something,” I said stubbornly. It seemed to me that I had said it before, several times.
“It’s probably just a gag. She’s full of little tricks like that. All of them silly, and some of them vicious.”
“I don’t see any point in this one.”
He flicked cigarette ash carefully at the glass top table. He gave me a quick up from under look and immediately looked away.
“I stood her up,” he said slowly. “It might be her idea of a way to get back at me. I was supposed to run up there one weekend. I didn’t go. I was—sick of her.”
I said: “Uh-huh,” and gave him a long steady stare. “I don’t like that so well. I’d like it better if you did go to El Paso with her and had a fight and split up. Could you tell it that way?”