“Damn it,” he said, “that’s what I get for mixing up with an amateur. You’ve bungled everything so far. I should have killed that monkey and taken it on the lam in the first place.”
“You’re crazy as hell,” Brokay told him. “That monkey represents the best clue we’ve got. He’s going to lead to a solution of the mystery one of these days.” He reached up his hand and patted the monkey’s head.
“I’m warning you right now,” Sam West said, “that we’re finished. We’re going to dissolve partnership.”
“O. K. by me,” Brokay said. “Personally, I’m going to clean this crime up. I might say, that it served me right for teaming up with a burglar that didn’t know his business.”
“What the hell do you mean, I didn’t know my business?” West flared, irritated at the aspersion cast on his professional ability.
Brokay laughed. “I was just kidding,” he said, “so that you could see how it felt. Come on, old man and snap out of it. We’re in this thing together; we’ve got to see it through together. Now the question is, do you want me in here when the fence comes to call on you, or not?”
“I most certainly do not,” West said. “You get out of here and stay out for ten minutes, then you can come back. When you come back, knock on the door. If I’m still busy, I’ll tell you to keep out; if you don’t hear anything from me, you can come in. And put that monkey in the closet and leave him there.”
“I want you to promise me,” Brokay said, “that you’re not going to do anything to that monkey. You’re not going to try to get it out of the way.”
“Oh, it’s all right now,” the burglar said. “The damage has been done. I didn’t want Thelma to know why we were on the lam.”
“Do you think she knows now?” Brokay asked.
The burglar laughed scornfully. “You think she’s a fool?” he inquired.
“Well, we can trust her discretion, can’t we?” Brokay asked.
“A woman doesn’t have any discretion,” the burglar said. “But get the hell out of here and let me see what this fence wants. Probably he’s got some pretty good job staked out. If he has, I’ll take a whirl at it, and make enough money to get out with, if I have to take a plane to Mexico City or some place.”
Chapter Four
The Fence
Brokay once more put the monkey back in the closet, closed the door tightly, found a key that fitted it, locked the door and slipped the key in his pocket. Then he left the room and returned to the lounging room.
He had hoped that the young woman who had attracted his attention a few moments earlier, would be back in the room, but he had it all to himself. He dropped into an overstuffed chair, relaxed, yawned, picked up a magazine and turned the pages idly. After he had glanced through the magazine he tossed it back on the table and looked down at the traffic in the street below.
The rooming house was in a cheap district and there were numerous wholesale houses on the streets, through which trucks rumbled and clattered. Brokay watched the traffic for several minutes in idle speculation, then figuring that his time was up he got to his feet, walked back down the corridor and knocked at the door of his room.
There was no answer. He turned the knob and opened the door, stepping into the room.
Sam West was lying on the bed on his side. From the closet came a shrill chattering noise of simian terror. Brokay stood staring at the form of Sam West with wide-eyed incredulity.
The burglar was in his shirt sleeves. His eyes were wide open and glazed in an expression of terrific futility. His legs’ were spread apart. The left arm was flung up on the pillow; the right arm clutched at his breast. There was a stain of red on the bed spread, and a slight stain of red on the front of the burglar’s shirt.
Brokay gained the man’s side in two swift strides, and felt for his wrist.
The burglar was quite dead.
The monkey in the closet continued to moan and chatter. The closet door was locked, as Brokay had left it. There was no sign that anyone else, had been in the room during Brokay’s absence.
Brokay inserted his hand beneath the shoulder of the dead burglar and lifted. He could then see the nature of the wound. There could be no doubt but that the burglar had been stabbed in the back, just as the partially clothed woman had been stabbed in the back. The body of the burglar was in a position which was almost identical with the position of Gladys Ordway’s body, when the two men had found her lying there in the bedroom of the Ordway mansion.
Brokay moved toward the door, having no definite plan in mind, but intending to notify Thelma Grebe of what had happened. Halfway to the door, he heard the shrill panic-stricken scream of the monkey, and knew that the little animal was terrified lest Brokay should leave the room without opening the closet door.
He moved to the closet door, unlocked it and gathered the monkey to his arms. The monkey took a look at the body which lay on the bed and then, shivering with terror, buried his head in the collar of Brokay’s coat, jabbering and chattering, keeping up a constant stream of low-voiced, terrified protest.
Brokay once more turned toward the door.
As he did so, the knob turned, the door opened and a man entered the room. The man was of middle age, with exceedingly broad shoulders. His head had been thrust forward until it gave to his neck and shoulders the appearance of a crouch. His eyes were small and bright, like the eyes of a bird, and he stared at Brokay with quick suspicion.
“Who are you?” he said. “I came to see Sam West.”
Brokay started to speak, but before he could formulate the words, the man’s eyes had turned to the body which lay on the bed. “That’s Sam,” he said. “Why… why… why, my God he’s dead!”
The man jumped back and stared at Brokay with eyes that widened with horror. “He’s dead!” he said. “Do you hear me? The man’s dead!”
Brokay retorted calmly: “Yes, I heard you.”
The man moved toward the body; stared down at it; touched it. “Murdered!” he said and stared accusingly at Brokay.
“Are you Frank Compton?” asked Brokay.
“Yes.”
“The fence?”
“What do you mean, a fence? I make an honest living, my friend. I never touched anything stolen in my life. What do you mean, a fence? What are you talking about? I should sue you for slander or libel, talking to me that way. And who are you, in herewith the body of the man who has been murdered? You, a murderer, should talk to me about being a fence.”
He whirled and started for the doorway.
“Just a minute,” said Brokay, “I want to talk with you.”
Compton’s hand sought the knob of the door. “I don’t talk with murderers,” he said.
Brokay took two swift strides, reached out with his hand and caught Compton by the collar of the coat, jerking him backward. “Just a minute,” he said, “you can’t pull that stuff.”
Compton whirled and lashed out savagely. Brokay blocked the punch, pushed the fence around to one side, slammed his right fist to the man’s jaw. The impact sent Compton staggering backward.
The monkey jumped from Brokay’s shoulder to the foot of the bed, where he sat chattering and jabbering. Compton, a powerful man, regained his balance, gave a bellow of inarticulate rage and charged with his fists swinging wildly.
Brokay, moving with the swift precision of a trained boxer, side-stepped, held himself perfectly balanced, snapped across a well-timed blow, which caught the fence squarely on the point of the chin.
This time the man went down. He swayed slightly on his knees, then crashed to the floor.
Brokay heard swift steps, the sound of the knob turning, then the door opened and the girl he had met in the social hall stood staring at him with wide, startled eyes. “What is it?” she asked. “I heard the commotion. It sounded as though a horse were trying to kick out the side of the building.”