The waiter served Hanan’s whiskey sour, set a small bottle of Perrier and a small glass on the table in front of Druse.
Druse poured the water into the glass slowly. “So what?”
Hanan tasted his drink. He said: “This is not a matter for the police, Mister Druse. I understand that you interest yourself in things of this nature, so I took the liberty of calling you and making this appointment. Is that right?” He was nervous, obviously ill at ease.
Druse shrugged. “What nature? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I’m sorry — I guess I’m a little upset.” Hanan smiled. “What I mean is that I can rely on your discretion?”
Druse frowned. “I think so,” he said slowly. He drank half of the Perrier, squinted down at the glass as if it tasted very badly.
Hanan smiled vacantly. “You do not know Mrs Hanan?”
Druse shook his head slowly, turned his glass around and around on the table.
“We have been living apart for several years,” Hanan went on. “We are still very fond of one another, we are very good friends, but we do not get along — together. Do you understand?”
Druse nodded.
Hanan sipped his drink, went on swiftly: “Catherine has — has always had — a decided weakness for gambling. She went through most of her own inheritance — a considerable inheritance — before we were married. Since our separation she has lost somewhere in the neighborhood of a hundred and fifteen thousand dollars. I have, of course, taken care of her debts.” Hanan coughed slightly. “Early this evening she called me at Roslyn, said she had to see me immediately — that it was very important. I offered to come into town but she said she’d rather come out. She came out about seven.”
Hanan paused, closed his eyes and rubbed two fingers of one hand slowly up and down his forehead. “She’s in a very bad jam with Crandall.” He opened his eyes and put his hand down on the table.
Druse finished his Perrier, put down the glass and regarded Hanan attentively.
“About three weeks ago,” Hanan went on, “Catherine’s debt to Crandall amounted to sixty-eight thousand dollars — she had been playing very heavily under the usual gambler’s delusion of getting even. She was afraid to come to me — she knew I’d taken several bad beatings on the market — she kept putting it off and trying to make good her losses, until Crandall demanded the money. She told him she couldn’t pay — together, they hatched out a scheme to get it. Catherine had a set of rubies — pigeon blood — been in her family five or six generations. They’re worth, perhaps, a hundred and seventy-five thousand — her father insured them for a hundred and thirty-five, forty years ago, and the insurance premiums have always been paid...” Hanan finished his whiskey sour, leaned back in his chair.
Druse said: “I assume the idea was that the rubies disappear; that Mrs Hanan claim the insurance, pay off Crandall, have sixty-seven thousand left and live happily forever after.”
Hanan coughed; his face was faintly flushed. “Exactly.”
“I assume further,” Druse went on, “that the insurance company did not question the integrity of the claim; that they paid, and that Mrs Hanan, in turn, paid Crandall.”
Hanan nodded. He took a tortoise shell case out of his pocket, offered Druse a cigarette.
Druse shook his head, asked: “Are the insurance company detectives warm — are they making Crandall or whoever he had do the actual job, uncomfortable?”
“No. The theft was well engineered. I don’t think Crandall is worrying about that.” Hanan lighted a cigarette. “But Catherine wanted her rubies back — as had, of course, been agreed upon.” He leaned forward, put his elbows on the table. “Crandall returned paste imitations to her — she only discovered they weren’t genuine a few days ago.”
Druse smiled, said slowly: “In that case, I should think it was Crandall who was in a jam with Mrs Hanan, instead of Mrs Hanan who was in a jam with Crandall.”
Hanan wagged his long chin back and forth. “This is New York. Men like Crandall do as they please. Catherine went to him and he laughed at her; said the rubies he had returned were the rubies that had been stolen. She had no recourse, other than to admit her complicity in defrauding the insurance company. That’s the trouble — she threatened to do exactly that.”
Druse widened his eyes, stared at Hanan.
“Catherine is a very impulsive woman,” Hanan went on. “She was so angry at losing the rubies and being made so completely a fool, that she threatened Crandall. She told him that if the rubies were not returned within three days she would tell what he had done; that he had stolen the rubies — take her chances on her part in it coming out. Of course she wouldn’t do it, but she was desperate and she thought that was her only chance of scaring Crandall into returning the rubies — and she made him believe it. Since she talked to him, Wednesday, she has been followed. Tomorrow is Saturday, the third day. Tonight, driving back to town, she was followed, shot at — almost killed.”
“Has she tried to get in touch with Crandall again?”
Hanan shook his head. “She’s been stubbornly waiting for him to give the rubies back — until this business tonight. Now she’s frightened — says it wouldn’t do any good for her to talk to Crandall now because he wouldn’t believe her — and it’s too easy for him to put her out of the way.”
Druse beckoned the waiter, asked him to bring the check. “Where is she now?”
“At her apartment — Sixty-third and Park.”
“What do you intend doing about it?”
Hanan shrugged. “That’s what I came to you for. I don’t know what to do. I’ve heard of you and your work from friends...”
Druse hesitated, said slowly: “I must make my position clear.”
Hanan nodded, lighted a fresh cigarette.
“I am one of the few people left,” Druse went on, “who actually believes that honesty is the best policy. Honesty is my business — I am primarily a businessman — I’ve made it pay—”
Hanan smiled broadly.
Druse leaned forward. “I am not a fixer,” he said. “My acquaintance is wide and varied — I am fortunate in being able to wield certain influences. But above all I seek to further justice — I mean real justice as opposed to book justice — I was on the Bench for many years and I realize the distinction keenly.” His big face wrinkled to an expansive grin. “And I get paid for it — well paid.” Hanan said: “Does my case interest you?”
“It does.”
“Will five thousand be satisfactory — as a retaining fee?”
Druse moved his broad shoulders in something like a shrug. “You value the rubies at a hundred and seventy-five thousand,” he said. “I am undertaking to get the rubies back, and protect Mrs Hanan’s life.” He stared at Hanan intently. “What value do you put on Mrs Hanan’s life?”
Hanan frowned self-consciously, twisted his mouth down at the corners. “That is, of course, impossible to—”
“Say another hundred and seventy-five.” Druse smiled easily. “That makes three hundred and fifty thousand. I work on a ten per cent basis — thirty-five thousand — one-third in advance.” He leaned back, still smiling easily. “Ten thousand will be sufficient as a retainer.”
Hanan was still frowning self-consciously. He said: “Done,” took a checkbook and fountain pen out of his pocket.
Druse went on: “If I fail in either purpose, I shall, of course, return your check.”
Hanan bobbed his head, made out the check in a minute, illegible scrawl and handed it across the table. Druse paid for the drinks, jotted down Hanan’s telephone number and the address of Mrs Hanan’s apartment. They got up and went downstairs and out of the place; Druse told Hanan he would call him within an hour, got into a cab. Hanan watched the cab disappear in east-bound traffic, lighted a cigarette nervously and walked towards Madison Avenue.