There was a girl in the corner of the room nearest the window. Her dress lay on top of one of the filing cabinets. Her underwear was not over clean, and her stockings had long runs in them. She had got herself tied into such a fantastic knot that she scarcely looked human. Her body bent backwards as if her back was broken and her legs hung over her shoulders and she was standing on her hands. As I stared at her she turned a slow somersault so she landed on her feet, still tied up in the same knot, and then fell forward once more on her hands to start the somersault all over again.
‘Why don’t you look at me?’ she said to the man with the crinkly hair. ‘How can you tell how good I am if you don’t look at me?’
The man with the crinkly hair went on pounding on the typewriter as if his life depended on it. He didn’t look up, even to see who had come in. The girl went on doing her slow somersaults, and kept asking why he didn’t look at her. But he didn’t take any notice.
I stood around staring at her, because although the act wasn’t very refined, it was sensational in its way. It would have been a lot more sensational if she had had a better figure, and if her things had been cleaner, but for all that as something free, it was worth seeing. I wished Jack Kerman could have seen her. Kerman was very keen on double-jointed women. He would have taken a great interest in her; more interest than I was taking. I felt he was missing something.
But like all things which are repeated too often the novelty wore off after a while. It didn’t wear off as far as the girl was concerned. She seemed set for the day, and never stopped asking the crinkly haired man to look at her. And the crinkly haired man seemed set for the day too. He never stopped typing.
So after I had gaped all I wanted to, I tapped him on the shoulder, but even at that he didn’t stop typing nor did he look up, but he did, say, ‘Wadjerwant?’
I said, ‘I’d like a word with Nick Nedick.’
He looked up then, but the typing went on as before.
‘Far door,’ he said, and his eyes shifted back to the typewriter again.
The girl said plaintively as she began another somersault: ‘The pain your mother went through to give you your eyes, you heel. Why don’t you use them? Why don’t you look at me?’
Because I was sorry for her, I said, ‘You’re doing fine, baby. You’re sensational! I’ve never seen anything like it.’
Her tight, hard little face swivelled between her crossed legs to look at me. Her mouth opened and she cursed me. Some of the words I had never heard before. They all sounded very bad. The man with the crinkly hair gave a sudden, sharp giggle, but he didn’t look up, nor did he stop typing.
I didn’t blame her for cursing me. It couldn’t have been much fun to do what she was doing, and the man who could give her a job not even to look at her. Maybe she had been years getting her body to tie itself up the way she was tying it up now. Maybe she was hungry. Maybe she couldn’t pay her rent. I guessed she was afraid to curse the man with the crinkly hair. He might have kicked her in the teeth. There was something about him that made me think he would kick her in the teeth if he had half a chance. I waited until she had run through all the words she knew, smiled at her to show her I hadn’t taken offence, and went over to the far door the man which the crinkly hair had indicated and knocked.
II
The inner office was very much like the outer office, only it was a little larger, and there were two desks instead of one and four metal filing cabinets instead of two and a lot more glossy photographs on the walls.
At the desk near the door sat an elderly woman with sad, dark-ringed eyes and a thin, yellowish face that might have been beautiful years ago, but was no more than plain in a nice way now. She was doing things with a book of theatre tickets. I wasn’t interested enough to see just what.
At the far end of the room was the other desk. A man sat behind it, but I couldn’t see anything of him except his thick fingers. He was hiding behind a newspaper he held before him. He had a big diamond ring on his little finger. The diamond was as yellow as a banana. I guessed someone had given it to him as a settlement of a debt, or maybe he had found it. It wasn’t the kind of diamond you would buy: not if you were in your right senses.
The woman looked at me with a timid smile. Her dentures were as phoney as a chorus girl’s eyelashes, and not half so attractive, but I didn’t take any interest in them either. She had to eat with them; I didn’t.
‘Mr. Nedick,’ I said, and tipped my hat. ‘The name’s Malloy. I’d like a word with him.’
‘Well, I don’t know.’ She looked timidly across the room at the spread of newspaper. ‘Mr. Nedick is busy right now. I don’t know really.’
‘Then don’t worry about it,’ I said. ‘Mr. Nedick and I will get along fine without you worrying. Won’t we, Mr. Nedick?’ and I went over to his desk and sat on the edge of it.
A round ball of a face appeared from over the top of the newspaper. Small, humorous eyes looked me over. The newspaper was cast to the floor.
‘We might, young man, we might at that,’ Nedick said. ‘Just so long as you don’t want to sell me anything.’
I could see at a glance that the trouble with him was that someone, sometime, had told him he looked like Sydney Greenstreet. All right, he did look like Sydney Greenstreet; but not only did he look like him, he now dressed and talked like him too, and that was a shade too much.
‘The guy outside with the typewriter said for me to come in,’ I explained. ‘I hope that’s all right.’
The fat man chuckled the way Sydney Greenstreet chuckles. He seemed pleased with the effect.
‘That’s all right. And what can I do for you, Mr. Malloy?’
I gave him my card: the one with the Universal Services crest in the comer.
‘Orchid City, huh?’ He tapped the desk with the edge of the card and smiled at the elderly woman who was hanging on his every word. ‘Millionaire’s country, Mr. Malloy. You live there?’
‘I work there,’ I said. ‘I’m trying to get some information about a young woman. I believe you know her: Anita Gay.’
Nedick closed his eyes and his round face registered thought.
‘What sort of information, Mr. Malloy?’ he asked after an appreciable silence.
‘Anything,’ I said, took out my cigarette-case and offered it. ‘I’m not fussy. I’m trying to reconstruct a picture of her background. I’d like to listen to you talk about her. Anything you say may be useful.’
He took the cigarette doubtfully. I lit it for him and lit my own.
‘Well, I don’t know,’ he said slowly. ‘I’m a little busy right now. I don’t think I could spare the time.’
‘I would pay for it,’ I said. ‘I wouldn’t expect you to give me your time for nothing.’
He let loose another chuckle: it wasn’t so convincing as the first.
‘Well, that’s business, Mr. Malloy. I appreciate a businessman when he’s as straightforward as you.’ He looked at the thin woman. ‘I think you could go to the bank now, Miss Fenducker. Tell Julius I’m tied up for the next half-hour as you go out.’
There was a short silence while Miss Fenducker hastily grabbed up her hat and coat and left the room. She was the type who never could do anything without getting into a panic about it. By the way she rushed out of the office you would have thought the place was on fire.
As she opened the door I caught a glimpse of the girl contortionist. She was still turning somersaults. Julius had stopped typing and was reading what he had written, his feet on the desk. Then the door closed, shutting out the scene and I was alone with Nedick.
‘What sort of fee had you in mind. Mr. Malloy?’ Nedick asked, his small eyes still.