There was a telephone booth next to the newsstand. From it he could see the elevators. He looked up the number of the Decker Detective Agency, then stepped into the booth and dialed the number.
Wilting’s secretary answered, “Decker Detective Agency.”
“This is Frank Sargent. Is Wilting there?”
“Yes, he’s been trying to get you at your office for the past half hour. Just a moment.”
Wilting came on. “Report,” he said.
“The hell with that now!” Sargent snapped. “I’m in a spot. I’ve got to get an address and it’s held by one of these mail address outfits. Do you know how to get an address from them?”
“Cinch.”
“Then hustle over here to the Potter Building on Wabash, near Adams. Come arunning. I’ll be waiting in the lobby.”
He slammed the receiver on the hook, then stepped out of the booth and bought a morning paper. He opened it and leaned against the wall where he could watch the elevators over the top of the papers.
It was exactly six minutes before Wilting came into the lobby, which was good time for a man of his easygoing habits. He nodded to Sargent. “Want your reports first or this address?”
“The address, come on. It’s on the sixth floor.”
They stepped into the elevator and did not speak again until they had got out on the sixth floor, when Sargent said, “The name is Ruth Reese.”
“Reese?” said Wilting. “Then I don’t have to flash my badge and pretend I’m a regular cop. I know where she lives.”
Sargent cried out in consternation, “Why didn’t you tell me? I wouldn’t have had to go through all this rigmarole.”
“I didn’t find out till last night.” He pulled four cards from his pocket and shuffled them. “Yeah, here it is: 1299 N. State. Lew Thayer went to see her after he left Chapman’s.”
“Thayer? I don’t believe it.”
Wilting pushed the elevator button. “I followed Thayer and he went straight from Chapman’s to this Reese dame — without even stopping at any saloon on the way. He was inside for almost an hour.”
Sargent snatched the cards from Wilting’s hand just as the elevator opened. As the elevator was going down he read the first card:
5:00 took up post outside Barney’s Tavern.
8:55 subject came out.
8:59 subject went into Jake’s Place on Halsted.
9:14 subject came out of Jake’s Place.
9:29 subject went into Golden Glow Cafe on Webster and Cleveland.
9:52 subject came out of Golden Glow Cafe.
10:09 subject entered apartment house on Clark Street.
11:10 subject came out of apartment house.
11:33 subject entered apartment at 1299 N. State. Name Ruth Reese on mailbox.
12:20 subject came out of apartment on State.
12:40 subject entered Barney’s Tavern. Apparently went to bed.
Sargent had to stop reading as they left the lobby of the Potter Building, but outside he hailed a cab and piling in, gestured to Wilting. Wilting followed and said to the driver, “Twelve-ninety-nine North State and step on it!”
Sargent looked at the second card:
5:00 subject left office and went to Ajax Hotel, North Ave., near Halsted.
5:25 subject met man coming in and they went to restaurant on Halsted. Had Weiner Schnitzel for supper.
6:15 subject came out of restaurant with other man.
6:35 subject entered Plaza Theatre with other man.
10:02 subject came out of Plaza Theatre, separated from other party.
10:12 subject went into rooming house at Dearborn and Division. Did not come out again.
“This is Robertson,” said Sargent, tapping the card. “I was the other man with him. Now which of these remaining cards is which?”
“The one with the little ‘B’ in the corner is Grosvenor Black, the one with the ‘L’ is Andrew Lawrence.”
Sargent read the “L” card first. It said:
3:50 subject left office of Business Journals and went to the McVickers Theatre, emerging at 5:55, then had dinner at Harding’s Restaurant on Madison, after which he went to the Oriental Theatre. Came out of O.T. at 9:50, after which he had a banana split at Walgreen’s on State and Randolph and went to his hotel, the Barkridge, at 22nd and Michigan. Did not come out again.
So, Lawrence spent a simple enough evening. Sargent looked at Grosvenor Black’s card and exclaimed softly. For the card read:
4:08 subject came tearing out of Dockery Building and ran full speed to Wells and Jackson, where he entered Foyle’s Pool Room. Acted extremely wild, but this was explained when Foyle gave subject $616—
“Whipsaw!” cried Sargent. “He won! That’s my money!”
“You were on Whipsaw?” grunted Wilting. “I’ll be damned. Why didn’t you tell me? I was on Snaggletooth in the same race. He came in seventh and there were only seven horses in the race.”
“I gave Grosvenor fifty dollars to put on Whipsaw. Let’s see...” He looked at the card again:
Subject set them up for everyone in the house and received no change from $20 bill. Subject then left Foyle’s after making a telephone call, and took taxi straight to Green Feather Cafe on Lawrence & Broadway. There met beautiful blonde. Had dinner, drinks in private room. Emerged after two hours, went into back room. Lost $210 in crap game—
“He’s got into my money!” Sargent cried.
“He ought to have some left,” Wilting said. “Read on.”
Sargent did. After losing the money in the crap game. Grosvenor made another telephone call and picked up another blonde at the Jameson Hotel. He stayed with her until eleven-thirty, after which he took a taxicab to Madison and Green, going into a building, into which the detective-shadow could not obtain ingress. Black remained inside until 2:45 in the morning, after which he took a taxicab to the Browning Apartments on South Drexel, where he had an apartment.
Sargent put down the cards. “If he spent all my money, I’ll skin him alive.”
“There’s our address, right ahead,” said Wilting.
It was ten minutes to ten.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Number 1299 was an ancient three-story brick building, jammed in between two taller apartments. There was a tiny vestibule, off which a staircase ran to the second and third floors and a short hall led to the entrance of the first-floor apartment.
Wilting and Sargent went into the vestibule and the detective gestured to the mailboxes. There it was for anyone to see — anyone who picked this building from a million others in the city. Ruth Reese, a card said under the first mailbox. That indicated her apartment was on the first floor.
Wilting opened the inner door and they started down the short hall to the door. When they were six feet from it the door was opened and a woman stepped out. She wore a tailored suit of red and brown plaid, the brown color predominating. It was set off by a matching hat of the same material. Gloves were on her hands and a purse was under her arm. She was a blonde and almost as beautiful as Eileen Prescott.
Her eyes showed some apprehension as they advanced toward her. “Miss Reese?” Sargent asked, knowing very well that it was.
She looked from Sargent to Wilting. “I was just going out,” she murmured.
“My name is Frank Sargent,” Sargent said. He nodded to the door she had been about to lock. “Do you mind?”
She hesitated an instant, then turned and led the way into the apartment. It was a cheap, shabbily furnished place. “Will you excuse me a minute?” Ruth Reese asked, starting for a bedroom.
Wilting headed her off and Sargent said, “Do you mind? No telephone calls. This man is a... detective!”