“You mean about the woman?”
“Yes.”
“We couldn’t get to first base with him.”
“We could if we played it right. Suppose we should tell him we were representing a newspaper; that the Hartwell woman had been in the neighborhood of his house. We could tell a lot from the way he answered the question. But we’d have to work fast. I have a hunch Phil Duncan is going to launch a complete investigation.”
“Did he say so?” she asked.
“No. But Carl Thorne’s interested, and Carl Thorne and Phil Duncan are hand in glove.”
“You saw Carl Thorne?”
“Yes. I went up to Doris Bender’s apartment and started asking questions. She thought it would be a good plan to twist me around her finger, so she started working on me...”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Some high-powered vamping. She was just commencing to paw around a little when the door opened and Carl Thorne entered the place.
“Now get that. There was a spring lock on the door — so Thorne must have a key. He simply opened the door and walked in.”
“What kind of a spot did that leave you in?”
Moraine laughed. “I guess I was in quite a spot,” he said, “but the Bender woman is a fast worker. She passed me off as Ann Hartwell’s boy-friend, and I let her do it.”
“To keep her from getting in bad with Thorne?”
“Yes.”
Natalie Rice looked thoughtful.
“What sort of a spot will that put you in as far as Dr. Hartwell is concerned? He’ll probably hear about it. You told him you didn’t even know his wife.”
Moraine made a wry face and said, “I’ve been thinking of that myself off and on during the day. Of course, he may not hear anything about it. That’s what I get for being big-hearted and trying to do a woman a favor. I should have become hard-boiled and declared myself right there, but I let it drift along in order to give her an out.”
“Well,” Natalie Rice said, laughing nervously, “you craved excitement. It looks as though you’re going to get it.”
He nodded slowly. “I never got so much lack out of anything in my life. I didn’t realize it would be so much fun fooling around with crime.”
“You’re not fooling around with it,” she said, “you’re getting into a game where you’re playing for big stakes and you don’t know what trumps are yet — that is, if you don’t mind my saying so.”
“Not in the least,” he observed cheerfully. “However, if we’re going to go out and see Dixon, we’d better get started.”
“What will you tell him you want to see him about?”
“I’ll tell him we’re representing a newspaper, or that I’m a feature writer and I want to get a statement out of him. Perhaps it’ll be better to pull that free-lance stuff. He’ll start lying at first and then probably try to pay us some money to suppress the whole business. You see, we’re sitting pretty. We’ve got the taxi driver sewed up, and, unless Ann Hartwell talks, we’re the only ones who know about that cab driver. If we bring him into the picture and have him identify Ann Hartwell, then Dixon is in a mess.”
“If she came from his house and if he knows anything about her?”
“We can tell the answers to those ‘ifs’ in just about half an hour.”
She nodded, arose from the chair, smoothed out her skirt.
Knuckles pounded on the outer door.
Moraine looked at her thoughtfully.
“Door locked?” he asked.
“Yes.”
Phil Duncan’s voice called from the corridor, “Hello, Sam, are you in?”
“Oh,” Moraine remarked, his voice showing relief, “it’s Phil Duncan. I can get rid of him in a few minutes and then we can go out.”
He strode to the door and opened it.
Phil Duncan entered the room. His face was stung red by the wind. He pulled off gloves, turned down the collar of his overcoat and said, “B-r-r-r-r, but it’s a mean night out — a cold, biting wind.”
“Come on in, Phil, and sit down. I’ve got to leave in a few minutes, but I can buy a drink before I go.”
He opened a drawer of his desk, took out a brandy bottle and two glasses. He glanced up at Natalie Rice and said, “How about making it three, Miss Rice?”
She shook her head at him.
“You can’t go for a while,” Duncan said.
“What do you mean?”
“Because I’m calling on you.”
Moraine laughed.
“Try and hold me,” he said; “I’ve got a date with a girl.”
“No,” Duncan observed, rubbing his hands together to get circulation started; “I mean it, Sam. This is an official visit.”
Moraine raised his eyebrows.
“What’s more,” Duncan told him, “you probably should know there’s a federal man sitting outside in an automobile. He’s under instructions to shadow you wherever you go.”
Moraine, who had been pouring the brandy, carefully corked the bottle, glanced significantly at Natalie Rice, replaced the bottle in the desk.
“Are you sure, Phil?” he asked.
“Yes. Perhaps I shouldn’t tell you, but, at that, it’s not betraying any confidence. I parked my car right behind the federal cop. He was lounging in the car, smoking. He was interested in me until he saw who I was. I have an idea they’re making a complete report on the people that come to see you, and all that sort of stuff.”
Moraine once more glanced significantly at Natalie Rice.
“A poor night to keep a date with a girl-friend,” he said.
She met his gaze knowingly.
“I wonder if it isn’t something I could do for you, Mr. Moraine?” she asked. “Couldn’t I go and see the person you were to meet? I think I know how you were going to handle the business. I feel quite certain that I could at least lay a foundation for what you want, and, if necessary, I could make some shorthand notes of the conversation. That might clarify the situation.”
Moraine clicked glasses with Duncan, tossed down the brandy.
“Honest, Phil,” he asked, “is this an official visit?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“There’s something phoney about that kidnapping business. The whole thing is a mix-up.”
“Well, you know all I know about it.”
“I’m not certain that I do,” Duncan said slowly.
“Why, good Lord! You were with me, or rather I was with you when I contacted the people. Then I told you what Wickes wanted and I took the money and went out...”
“It isn’t that,” Duncan said slowly, “but you followed it up. You were out to Doris Bender’s apartment today, weren’t you?”
“Yes. Why?”
“And Carl Thorne was out there?”
“Yes. Why?”
“And before that, Dr. Richard Hartwell had called on you?”
Moraine made a grimace. ‘“What is this, Phil?” he asked. “Some sort of a third degree?”
“No, I just want to get some information.”
“Why?”
“Because the whole case has taken on rather a peculiar aspect.”
“What did you want to know?”
“When Thorne was out there, you were posing as Ann Hartwell’s boy-friend, weren’t you?”
Duncan grinned, and said, “I had the honor thrust upon me.”
“But you did pose as her friend?”
“You might put it that way. Why?”
The district attorney set down his empty brandy glass and said, “There are a lot of angles to the thing, Sam.”
“Oh, don’t be so damned mysterious. What are the angles?”
Duncan looked at his wrist-watch.