“Baloney!” Hartwell sneered. “You’re mixed up in the thing with the whole bunch of them. Why the devil should you be selected as the one to...”
Moraine got to his feet. His manner was grimly purposeful.
Dr. Hartwell’s hand swung toward his hip-pocket.
“Don’t you come closer!” he said. “I’ll defend myself. I’ll...”
He pulled out the empty gun and held it out in front of him.
“You forget it isn’t loaded,” Moraine said.
Hartwell’s face twisted in dismay. Moraine reached forward with his left hand. Hartwell struck out in a futile blow which Moraine slipped over his shoulder. He stepped in, grabbed the collar of Hartwell’s coat, flung open the exit door of his office, propelled Hartwell out into the corridor, fastened his left hand on the seat of Hartwell’s pants, gave him the bum’s rush down the long corridor.
“You would pull a gun on me, would you!” he said.
Hartwell twisted in vain struggles. Moraine swung him around the corner in the corridor, turned him loose, and, as he did so, swung a kick which missed by a matter of inches.
Hartwell, still holding the gun, turned to sputter indignant threats and protests. Moraine, dusting off his hands, walked back to his office.
Natalie Rice was standing in the doorway, her eyes apprehensive.
“What’s the matter?” Moraine asked. “Why aren’t you on your way? The detectives may be here any time now.”
“I was afraid,” she said.
“Afraid of what?”
“Afraid you and that man were going to have trouble.”
“We did,” he told her, grinning, “and I feel a lot better for it. I gave him the bum’s rush down the corridor and restored my good nature.”
“What’s the matter with him?” she asked.
“He’s nuts,” Moraine told her cheerfully.
“Aren’t you getting mixed into this thing rather deeply?”
He grinned gleefully.
“Most fun I’ve had since I had the measles. Go ahead and get out of here. Look up that information for me.”
“You’ll be in the office?” she asked.
“I will not,” he said. “For your private and personal information, I am now going to 4390 Washington Street, to interview Mrs. Doris Bender. I don’t mind telling you that I think Mrs. Bender is going to contribute some information to the cause.”
Chapter Six
Doris Bender herself answered the bell. She wore a flowing negligee. Her face brightened with a smile of recognition, as she swung the door wide open. Light, streaming from the eastern windows, filtered through the filmy negligee and disclosed every line of her body.
“Why, it’s Mr. Moraine,” she said, smiling. “We certainly put you to a lot of trouble. I had no idea I was letting you in for anything like that. But I certainly appreciate it, and I’m so glad you called. I was going to get in touch with you.”
Moraine brushed aside her gushing comments.
“Where’s the boy-friend?” he asked.
The smile faded from her eyes. She regarded him speculatively.
“Boy-friend?” she asked.
“Wickes,” he told her.
“Mr. Wickes isn’t here.”
“Is Mrs. Hartwell here?”
“Yes.”
“I want to see her.”
Doris Bender hesitated a moment, then stood to one side. Her hand rested on Moraine’s arm.
“Come in and sit down,” she invited. “Ann’s taking a bath.”
“Were the officers tough with her?” Moraine inquired.
“Pretty tough.”
“What was the idea?”
“I don’t know. They were looking for clews, I guess, but they kept asking a lot of questions. They asked questions about you. They wouldn’t believe that she hadn’t known you before.”
“Neither would her husband,” Moraine said.
“Her husband?”
“Yes.”
“When did you talk with him?”
“A few minutes ago.”
“What did he say?”
“Quite a few things.”
Doris Bender started to sit down on the edge of the chair, then changed her mind and came over to stand close to Sam Moraine.
“Sit down,” she said, “and tell me about it.”
There was a chaise longue between wide, curtained windows. She indicated it, and Moraine sat down. She sat at the side of him, swung around, pulling her legs up under her negligee, and faced him.
“How did he happen to come to you?” she asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Was he angry?”
“Plenty. He had a gun.”
“A what?”
“A gun.”
“Good heavens! What did you do?”
“Took the shells out of the gun and gave it back to him. Then I gave him the bum’s rush. Was that the proper thing to do?”
She stared at him speculatively and said dubiously, “I don’t know.”
“Well,” Moraine remarked cheerfully, “it’s done, anyway.”
“Look here,” she asked, “just what’s your connection with all this?”
Moraine let his face show surprise. “Why, I’m the man that your boy-friend picked to pay the ransom.”
“Please don’t keep referring to him as a boy-friend.”
“He is, isn’t he?”
“It depends on what you call a boy-friend.”
“I call him a boy-friend.”
She frowned, “You’re most obstinate, Mr. Moraine.”
“All men are. Have they finished questioning Ann?”
“I guess so. They had her at their headquarters almost all night. Then they let her come out here on the understanding she wasn’t to try to leave the city.”
“Seems funny they’d waste time questioning her,” Moraine remarked, “when they should be out chasing kidnapers.”
“Yes, doesn’t it?”
She watched him with a somewhat puzzled speculation.
“Well,” Moraine asked, “what’s the trouble?”
“I was thinking,” she remarked slowly, “that I’ve never seen a man quite like you.”
“What’s wrong with me?”
“I don’t know.”
Moraine laughed.
“I can’t understand just why you keep mixing In this thing,” she said.
“Your boy-friend asked me to.”
“He’s not my boy-friend.”
Moraine stretched out his feet and grinned.
“After all,” he observed, “I’m more mixed in than mixing. I always liked to read about mysteries, and now I’m in one. I think I’m going to like it.”
“The mystery’s been solved,” Doris Bender said, her eyes studying Moraine. “Ann is back.”
“But the kidnapers haven’t been caught.”
“We don’t care about that; that’s up to the police.”
“You mean you want them to go free?”
“No, not that.”
“What, then?”
“Nothing.”
“Then,” Moraine went on affably, “it still is a mystery.”
“But not one that were primarily concerned in.”
“Oh, yes, it is.”
“You mean,” she asked slowly, “that you’re going to try and catch the kidnapers — that is, that you’re going to try and do it personally?”
“Why not?”
“Why should you?”
“Oh, just as a matter of curiosity.”
“Pooh,” she said, watching him narrowly. “You couldn’t do a thing. You wouldn’t even know them if you saw them again.”
“What are you doing?” he asked. “Whistling to keep your courage up?”
“What do you mean?”
“You said that defiantly — as though daring me to contradict you.”
“I do dare you to contradict me.”
“Yes,” Moraine said slowly, “I think I’d recognize them again.”