“Yeah,” he said. “That hasn’t helped Jim psychologically either, you moving back to your old employer with a promotion at the moment he’s bungled himself out of business entirely.”
“Bungled?”
“If embezzlement to play the ponies isn’t bungling, I don’t know what is. Why don’t you leave him to stew in his own juice, Lydia? A month ago you were considering it.”
“A month ago he wasn’t down. I can’t leave him now.”
“Your damned loyalty,” he said irritably. “He’ll never get back on his feet, even if you stick with him. He’s washed up.”
“So I should leave him for you?” she asked sarcastically. “You’re as bankrupt as he is.”
“But not through my own fault. I’ll spring back again, eventually. Jim won’t. Even if you managed to help him back on his feet again, he’d fritter it away a second time. He’s weak, Lydia.”
“Perhaps. But he’s my husband. And at the moment you’re no better prospect than he is. I don’t think you realize what a practical person I am, Jules. Even if I weren’t married to Jim, I wouldn’t have you at this point.”
He gave her a surprised look. “Are you serious?”
“Completely,” she assured him. “Maybe ten years ago I’d take the chance. As a matter of fact, I did with Jim. With youth, you don’t mind helping a man struggle ahead. But I’ve gone through that once. Now I’m thirty-two and you’re nearly forty. I’m not interested in any more financial struggles that can be avoided. I’m stuck with Jim, but I’m not about to jump from the frying pan into the fire. My next husband, if there is one, is going to be firmly established before we say the vows.”
“You don’t make sense,” he growled. “You’ll have a lot more financial struggle with Jim than you would with me.”
“We happen to be already married. And I’m just as loyal as I am practical. Shall we go where he’s staying?”
Wordlessly he started the engine and drove off the lot.
The Redmill Hotel was on lower Pearl Street, hardly the best section of town. However, Jules Weygand assured Lydia, it was a perfectly respectable second-class hotel. She left her overnight bag in the car when they went inside.
The building was ancient and both the furniture and carpet in the lobby were well worn, but it seemed a clean enough place. Two old men sat in the lobby reading newspapers and a middle-aged man with a bald head was behind the desk.
Going over to the desk, Weygand said to the bald man. “He still in his room swilling the booze?’ The man merely nodded. Weygand led Lydia on toward the elevator.
“I slipped him a ten to keep track of Jim’s activities for me,” he said in explanation. “That’s how I knew about the bourbon he had delivered.”
“I’ll repay all your expenses,” she said.
“Don’t be silly. What’s a few more bucks when you’re fifty thousand in the hole? I have enough ready cash.”
They stepped on the elevator and Weygand said, “Seventh.”
When they got off at seven, Weygand led the way down the hall and around a corner to a door numbered 714.
“Well, here you are,” he said.
Over the door there was a transom with its glass painted white. It was open about four inches at the top, enough to show that a light burned in the room. Lydia gave the door a timid knock.
When there was no response, she rapped harder. After several moments of waiting, Weygand stepped forward and pounded several times.
A door across the hall opened and an elderly man peered out, then closed the door again.
Lydia said, “He must be asleep.”
“More likely passed out drunk,” Weygand growled. “I’ll go down and have Baldy bring up a pass key.”
Lydia waited in front of the door while Weygand went down stairs. In a few minutes he reappeared with the clerk.
“This is Mr. Simms, Lydia,” Weygand said. “I’ve explained that you’re Jim’s wife. Mrs. Hartman, Mr. Simms.”
“Pleased to meet you,” the desk man said a little dubiously. “There isn’t going to be any trouble here, is there?”
Lydia said, “I’m just concerned about my husband, Mr. Simms. We haven’t been having any marital discord, if that’s what you mean. I assure you he’ll be glad to see me if you let us in.”
“Well, I guess it’ll be all right,” Simms said reluctantly.
He fitted a pass key in the door, turned it and pushed on the knob. Nothing happened.
“He’s got it bolted!” Simms said. He pounded on the door until several doors along the hall opened and tenants peered out.
“Just a sound sleeper, folks,” Simms announced generally. “Excuse the noise.”
The tenants withdrew and their doors closed. The three in front of 714 listened for some sound within the room, but there was none. Lydia said worriedly, “He usually snores, particularly when he’s been drinking.”
This made Simms look worried. He tried the pass key again, with no more result than before.
“Is there a fire escape?” Lydia asked.
Shaking his head, Simms pointed to a fire-exit sign up the hall. “Just fire stairs in each hallway. Maybe we can see something through the transom. I’ll get a ladder.”
He went away and was gone some ten minutes before he returned carrying a six-foot stepladder and a small, stubby screwdriver.
As he set the stepladder before the door, he said, “I know I won’t be able to reach the release, because it’s too far down. But I may be able to unscrew the sideplate and get the transom open that way.”
Climbing the ladder, he attempted to peer into the room through the V-shaped crack left by the partially open transom.
“Can’t see anything but a piece of the ceiling,” he announced.
Holding the screwdriver, he thrust his right hand through the very top of the aperture and groped around for a moment. Then he withdrew it and climbed down the ladder.
“The metal plate holding the rod that opens and closes the transom is on the right edge about halfway down,” he said. “My wrist’s too thick to get my hand down thru far. You want to try it, lady?”
“All right,” Lydia said in a steady voice.
Taking the screwdriver, she climbed the ladder. Holding the screwdriver in her left hand, she inserted her right in the crack and felt for the metal plate. As Simms had said, it was attached to the edge of the transom about halfway down. Her hand and wrist were small enough to reach it easily. She couldn’t see it, but with her fingers she could feel that it was held by two screws.
Withdrawing her hand, she transferred the screwdriver to it and pushed it through the aperture again. Even though she couldn’t see what she was doing, the screwdriver was short enough so that with its butt end nested in her palm, she could still touch the screws with her fingertips. Guiding the blade into the slot of the lower screwhead, she unscrewed it, pulled her hand back out and handed the screw down to Simms.
“Better hold the top of the transom with your other hand when you unscrew the second one,” Simms cautioned. “Otherwise it’ll bang down against the door and maybe break the glass.”
Lydia put her hand through the crack again, located the upper screw by feel and seated the blade of the screwdriver. Before unscrewing it, she grasped the top of the transom with her left hand. When the screw came all the way out, the transom was suddenly released from its rigid position. Handing down both the screw and the screwdriver, Lydia cautiously let the transom move forward and swing down, climbing higher as she did and thrusting her arm further into the room until the transom finally hung vertically downward against the door below it.
Only then did she peer through the oblong frame at the motionless figure lying on the bed. She stared at it silently for a long time.
“Is he all right?” Weygand asked.