Mike Shayne Mystery Magazine, Vol. 1, No. 4, August 1957 (British Edition)

Kingston was dead. It was up to Private Eye Cory Andrews, his best friend, to find his killer and clear his name, for the wife he left behind him.

I

The coffee tasted bitter, and the grey rain drilling down outside the drugstore window looked just the way I felt. The big black headlines on the morning papers, spread out on the table before me, didn’t help my mood, either.

I looked up at the pretty, dark-haired girl who sat across from me in the booth. I said, “It smells — the whole thing smells — phoney. But why, Muriel? Why?”

Her slim fingers tightened on the coffee mug, as though she wanted desperately to hang on to something real and solid. Something that would drag her back from the nightmare she had just been through.

“I wish to goodness I knew, Cory. Anything, no matter how bad it was, would be better than... than this.” She spread her hands.

The accounts in the papers were very brief, since the story broke just before press-time. Ralph Kingston was dead. Not a noble death — not even an honourable death, like being struck down by a car, or killed in the line of duty. He had been shot down, ignominiously, in a gambler’s apartment during an attempted hold-up.

Muriel Kingston, the dead man’s widow, had walked into my office barely an hour before. I had known her three years, which was seven years short of the time I had known Ralph. She had given me the facts, the words tumbling out in a voice that was choked with hysteria.

“Ralph left home about eight o’clock last night, Cory. He acted perfectly normal. I knew he was working on a case, so I didn’t think anything about it — even when he didn’t tell me where he was going. That was the last I saw of him. The police called me about four this morning, and told me he was dead!”

“Do you know whether Ralph knew Anthony Lorio?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know, Cory. I never heard him mention him. I don’t know much about Lorio, except that he owns the Peacock Club. But it isn’t true...” She leaned forward and her hands clutched the arms of her chair. “Cory, you knew Ralph a long time. That’s why I’ve come here. You know he wasn’t a common thief!”

“Did the police give you many details, Muriel?”

“It happened at Lorio’s place. They said he was in an apartment over the club. Lorio says he left the club about two forty-five and went up to the apartment. He says he always takes the cash receipts from the club and puts them in a safe in the apartment.” Her tongue flicked over her lips. “Anyway, he says, when he got upstairs, two men were waiting inside the front hall.

“It was dark — they had unscrewed the light bulbs in the room, so, when he flicked the switch, nothing happened. One of the men jumped him and hit him with a blackjack, so Lorio pulled a gun and shot three times. One of the men got away down the back stairway, but, when he got the lights on, Lorio discovered he had hit one of them. The man was already dead — and it was Ralph!”

The note of hysteria had crept back into her voice, and suddenly she sprang from her chair.

“Cory, that just can’t be true! It’s some sort of a frame, or Ralph was dragged into something he didn’t know about. You knew him well — would you believe it?”

That’s when I’d brought her downstairs for coffee.

I couldn’t believe it about Ralph, either. Sure, I knew him well. I knew he was a full-grown 33-year-old man — and that he was a tough cop. He knew the facts of life, he knew how to take care of himself. I had always judged him to be honest and incorruptible, and I didn’t think I had judged him wrong on that point.

On the other hand, I hadn’t seen much of him in the past year, since I was booted off the police force. I had stepped on the Chief’s fingers in a case I was working on, when I knew an innocent man was being made the goat in an underworld gang killing, but couldn’t prove it.

I hadn’t blamed the Chief. After all, second-grade detectives don’t go around shooting off their mouths against the Chief. Besides, he had had his axes to grind. So I had been forced to continue waging my one-man war against crime from other quarters, and opened my own private agency.

My thoughts went back to Ralph Kingston. Perhaps the very fact that he was an incorruptible cop had led to his downfall. Lorio might have had very good reason for wanting to get rid of him. I agreed with Muriel that it was most unlikely Ralph had turned to grand larceny on the side. It just didn’t fit what I knew about the guy.

“How far have the police gone in their investigation?” I asked. “Do they have any actual proof, other than Lorio’s statement, that Ralph was trying to rob him?”

“As far as I know, just Lorio’s story.” She leaned across the table, her eyes biasing. “He could have been there on some official business. Lorio could have shot him, then made up this story about the robbery.”

“Yeah — maybe. But why, Muriel? He’d have to have a reason, and a damned good one. Besides, Anthony Lorio’s a big man in this town, and he’s always kept himself clean with the police. Sure, he runs a big private gambling club, and he may have his fingers in other underworld rackets. But he’s no small-time cop killer.” I shook my head.

“If he wanted to get rid of Ralph for some reason, it seems logical he’d have got someone else to do it. He’d have had it done somewhere outside his own place. But Lorio shot him himself, by his own admission. It doesn’t add up.”

I lit a cigarette, and finished up the coffee — it was lukewarm now — and added, “By the way, have the police been to your place yet?”

“No. They asked me to come down and — identify Ralph, right after they told me what had happened. They said they’d be out this morning. They wanted to look over his things.” Her face clouded, and her eyes were defiant. “They seemed to think they’d find some of his loot at home.”

She started to say something else, then paused. Even white teeth gave her lower lip a work-out. A little frown settled itself between her dark eyes. Then she seemed to make up her mind about something, and reached for her handbag. She opened the catch, fumbled inside and came up with a little piece of yellow paper. I didn’t have to look twice to know what it was.

“Cory, I want you to take this pawn ticket, and find out what it’s for.”

“Where’d you get it?”

“I found it among Ralph’s things. Please take it, and see what it’s for, before the police come.”

I took the yellow slip from her fingers, looked at it, turned it over. It was from Lowenstein’s Loan Shop on South Rampart. I creased it in the middle and stuck it in my billfold.

“Has Ralph been hard up lately?”

She shook her head. “There’s nothing missing from the apartment that he could have pawned. Besides, we have money in the bank. I know it wasn’t because he needed extra cash.”

She was afraid to put her doubts and suspicions into words, I was sure. So I helped her out.

“You realize what this could mean, Muriel?”

She nodded. “If it’s proved to me, beyond all doubt, then I’ll have to accept it. But unless it is, I won’t believe Ralph was there for the purpose of robbing that man.”

I got up, walked around to her side of the table and lifted the white topcoat from the back of the seat where it had slipped from her shoulders.

“Come on,” I said, “you’re going home. I’ll take over from here.”

She smiled and stood up. I put the coat across her shoulders and gave her a reassuring squeeze. “You do just what the police tell you, and I’ll call you at home when I pick up anything. You don’t have to tell them about me...” I paused.

“There’s one thing you must know, Muriel. About that pawn ticket — if it turns out to be anything the police should know, I’ve got to turn it over to them. It’s a little matter of ethics that friendship can’t touch. Understand?”

She nodded. “I understand, Cory. I’ll leave it up to you.”

II

I followed Muriel to the street. The grey haze which had cloaked the city that morning had turned into a raw, wet drizzle. I walked a couple of blocks, then went into a drugstore for another cup of coffee.

The early editions of the afternoon papers were out, and their coverage on the shooting was more complete. I took the papers to a back booth, and studied them carefully with the coffee.

It was an open and shut case, according to the stories turned in by the reporters. Anthony Lorio’s story stood up. He had made a signed statement to the police about the attempted hold-up. One paper had a picture of him emerging from Police Headquarters, and he didn’t look very happy. His smooth, black head was swathed in a bandage, and the right side of his face looked swollen and discoloured.

One of the papers had a little bulletin box at the top of the story, printed in bold type. The police had found Kingston’s car parked on the side of the road a half mile from Lorio’s place. In the glove compartment, they had found a roll of black masking-tape, an improvised mask and several pieces of obviously expensive jewellery. They were checking theft reports, the story stated, to see if the jewellery was stolen.

I swore. It looked bad for Ralph, all right — but I still felt as Muriel did. I couldn’t believe it.

I walked the few blocks from the drugstore to Police Headquarters. The rain bit through my topcoat, but I needed the exercise to clear my brain. The pawn ticket was burning a hole in my wallet, where I had stuck it, but I wanted some first-hand information from headquarters before I visited the loan shop. Besides, the longer it reposed in my pocket, the longer it would be before I’d have to face Muriel with what I was afraid I’d find out.

I had known Lieutenant Tracy Evans a long time, since before my days as a homicide detective. He was a good cop, but he had been a cop so long, he had lost a piece of his heart somewhere along the line. To Tracy, all men who passed through his files were bad, until they proved themselves good. I had never agreed with his line of reasoning, but I always admired and respected his ability as a police officer.

Tracy looked dead-tired. His big frame sagged in the chair behind his desk, and his cold, blue eyes were ringed with black circles. He scowled when he saw me.

“Don’t bother me to-day, Andrews. I’m up to my neck in trouble,” he said.

“You don’t mean this Kingston affair is getting you down!”

“Don’t be flippant. I’m not in the mood for wisecracks.” He stabbed viciously with his smoked-up butt at the ashtray. “What a hell of a mess!”

“You really think Kingston was guilty of robbery, Tracy?”

“You’re damn right I think he was guilty! I’ve got all the physical evidence I need. The facts don’t lie, Andrews — much as I hate to admit it. I’m kicking myself all over the place for not finding out about it sooner, before something like this happened.”

He shoved the chair away from the desk, stood up, and started a restless pacing back and forth across the office. “The papers are having a field day. A nice, juicy scandal, and they can kick us right where it hurts most. Then we even find evidence in his car!”

“What about that jewellery? Have you checked it yet?”

“Yeah — we checked. It’s stolen goods, all right. It was stolen about two weeks ago, from a private residence out by the lake.”

“Have you considered the possibility of a frame?”

“Don’t be melodramatic, Cory. This is no frame — it’s cold, hard fact. I don’t like it — you don’t like it — a lot of other people think it stinks like hell. But the facts speak for themselves.”

“Couldn’t someone else have stolen that jewellery and planted it in Kingston’s car last night?”

Evans scowled again, and I knew I had belted a homer. But he said, “We’d never in the world prove it. The house was burglarised while the owners were out of town. No one knows exactly when the stuff was stolen, and no one saw the thief. There were no fingerprints, no clues of any kind.” He paused and looked out at the rain-washed sky.

“Besides, that blow on Lorio’s head wasn’t faked. In fact, it damn near killed him.” He shook his head. “I know Kingston was a friend of yours, Cory, but you might as well face it. He was a no-good, yellow-bellied thief.”

I picked up my hat and left Tracy Evans’ office. He already had Ralph Kingston pinned to the cross — where he thought he belonged. Nothing I could say was going to change his mind.

III

The streets were crowded with late morning shoppers in spite of the rain. In Louisiana, in January, nobody stays home on account of the rain. If they did, they’d never go anyplace. I picked my way through the crowds to Rampart Street, and headed for Lowenstein’s Loan Shop.

I knew Abe pretty well — in fact, I had done a little business with him myself, right after I opened my own office. He was a nice little guy, and a sucker for a hard-luck story. I wondered, sometimes, how he managed to stay in business.

He greeted me warmly. “Mr. Cory Andrews — it’s good to see you!” Then his face sobered, and he peered at me anxiously. “How’s business? You doin’ all right?”

“Sure, Abe. Everything’s fine. This isn’t a business call — at least, not as far as your business is concerned. It is, though, from the standpoint of a client of mine.”

“You got something to pawn?”

“No, Abe.” I pulled out my wallet, and took out the yellow slip. “I want you to do me a favour. Can you tell me what merchandise this ticket’s for?”

He took the slip, went to a wall safe in the back of the shop and extracted a worn black ledger. His stubby forefinger slid down the page over a column of numerals. Finally it stopped. Abe paused perceptibly before he closed the book, his finger still marking the place. He held the book against his chest, and slowly turned to face me.

“Mr. Andrews, do you know who that ticket belonged to?”

“Sure, Abe, I know. I guess you’ve read the papers.”

Abe nodded. “This is bad — very bad. I’ll have to tell the police about it. That man was a thief!”

I grabbed Abe’s arm. “I don’t think so, Abe. Kingston was a friend of mine. I think he was framed.” I paused. “What did he pawn here?”

“It was a diamond bracelet. A very fine expensive bracelet. I loaned him eight hundred dollars on it”

I could feel the sickness welling up inside of me. Maybe Tracy was right, after all. Maybe I was soft-hearted, and a rotten judge of character — just because I’d liked the guy, considered him my friend. Then I remembered Muriel’s anguished face, her tormented words.

“Do you remember the transaction, Abe?”

“Sure — I remember it well. I don’t get merchandise like this often. I don’t make loans of eight hundred every day.” Abe pursed his lips and frowned. “He said it was his wife’s — that he had a chance to make some money on a business deal, but he had to have some ready cash. The bracelet is worth much more than that, but I told him it was as high as I could go.”

“Will you let me see it?”

He shrugged. “Sure — there’s no harm in that. The man is dead. I’ll have to tell the police, and they’ll come and take the bracelet. I lose the eight hundred bucks.” He shook his nearly-bald head, and walked back to the safe. “That’s a big loss for me, but it’s a chance we gotta take in this business.”

He opened the outer door of the safe again, and fiddled with the dial on a smaller inner compartment. A moment later, he returned to the counter at the front of the shop, with a manilla envelope in his hand.

The bracelet slithered on to the counter top, as he poured it from the envelope. I picked it up.

“What’s it really worth, Abe?”

He clasped his hands together on top of the counter. “Oh — maybe eight thousand — maybe a little more on the market to-day. Those baguettes in the centre are a good two carats apiece.”

“Would a guy be crazy to take eight hundred for a bracelet worth ten times that much, after he’d gone to the trouble of stealing it?”

“He would, yes. But unless he had a good fence to sell it for him, maybe he couldn’t get anything at all. You know that, Mr. Andrews. Stolen jewellery isn’t so easy to dispose of.”

“Sure, Abe — I know.” I could tell the defeat was there, in my voice.

I turned the bracelet over and ran it through my fingers. The cool hardness of the stones gave me an odd feeling of excitement. Then something on the back caught my eye.

I quickly went to the front of the store, where the light was better, and held the bracelet up where I could see it clearly. I hadn’t been mistaken. There was an inscription on the back.

It had been done in tiny script. Unless my eyesight was good, I’d probably have missed it entirely. Mine, fortunately, was good. It said, To Anita — with love.

Then I felt the mounting excitement turn to sickness again. It didn’t mean a damned thing. If anything, it made things look even worse for Kingston.

“When did he pawn this, Abe?”

He consulted the black ledger again. “On December seventeenth — just about a month ago.”

I laid the bracelet on the counter, picked up the pawn ticket and said, “Abe, I’m going to ask you to do me another favour. Just forget I was in here. Unless I go to the police with this ticket, there’s no way for them to know about the bracelet. And there’s no reason you should remember the name of a man who pawned something here a month ago.”

Abe frowned. “I’m an honest man, Mr. Andrews. I’ve always played square with the police. I don’t monkey around with stolen goods.”

I touched his arm. “Sure, Abe — I know. But if you call the police now, you lose the eight hundred bucks. All I want is a little time. I’m pretty sure it wasn’t stolen, and maybe I can find the owner. Then you might get your money back — with interest.”

“You goin’ to give that ticket to the police?”

“I’ll give it back to my client, where I got it. Then it’s up to her.”

Abe grinned. “Okay. I forget you were here — for twenty-four hours.”

IV

I didn’t bother to call Muriel, since I figured she’d be waiting for me. I went straight to her apartment.

She looked even worse than when I saw her, earlier that morning. Crying and loss of sleep had left their marks. She still wore the black suit she had had on before.

“The police were here,” she said dully. “They went through everything. But they didn’t find what they expected. I didn’t tell them about the pawn ticket.” Her voice was husky, and her eyes were imploring. “Cory...”

I knew she was hoping I had something good to tell her. I sat down on the couch, pulled her down beside me and held her hands tight. I gave it to her straight.

“Ralph pawned an eight-thousand-dollar diamond bracelet. He got eight hundred bucks for it.”

I felt the tenseness in her hands as her body stiffened. Her face looked as if I had belted her right between the eyes. I had to soften the blow some way, so I said, “Muriel, do you have any idea where he could have got a bracelet like that?”

She shook her head numbly.

“He never had that kind of money, Cory. I’m sure he didn’t buy it.”

I had to give her the rest of it. “The bracelet wasn’t new. It had an inscription on it. It said, ‘to Anita — with love’.”

Her voice was dull. “Do the police know about it yet?”

“No. I know the pawnbroker. He won’t say anything, at least until to-morrow, unless I give him the word.”

A thought was nagging the back of my brain, but I wasn’t ready to let it out — not yet. So I said, “Muriel, you might as well face it. There’s only two ways Ralph could have gotten that bracelet. Either he stole it, or someone gave it to him. Either way, it doesn’t look good.”

She stood up and walked across the room, her arms folded over her breasts as though she were cold. She paused at the window and gazed out at the rain-swept sky. “What are you going to do now, Cory?” she asked.

I came up behind her and touched arms lightly. “Don’t worry, I’m not through with this yet. I’ve got a couple of ideas to run down this afternoon.” I swung her around, so her back was to the window.

“You need some sleep,” I said. “I suggest a good stiff drink, a hot bath and bed. I’ll call you to-night and let you know what I’ve got. Most of all, don’t worry.”

She smiled a thin little smile, and, on impulse, I bent over and touched her lips lightly with mine. I meant it for a gentle, friendly kiss — but the moment my lips touched hers, she came suddenly to life.

The mood seemed to leave her as swiftly as it had come. Suddenly, she jerked away from me, and heavy sobs shook her body. She covered her face with her hands.

“What’s the matter with me, Cory? Am I a chunk of ice, instead of a woman? Ralph didn’t think so when he married me. He loved me then. He wanted me.”

I was shocked by her outburst. “What on earth do you mean?”

“He’s hardly touched me for months. He’s been like a stranger.” She shivered, in spite of the warm room. “I’m frightened, Cory. I don’t want you to find out any more. I want you to tear up that pawn ticket and forget about the whole thing.”

“You know I can’t do that. Look — you’ve had a rough time for the past few hours, and now the shock’s beginning to wear off. You’re starting to feel again. That’s good, even if it is hard on you.”

“I know — I’m sorry for the — outburst.” She sighed and brushed the tears from her cheek with the back of her hand. “I loved Ralph, and I just can’t believe it’s ended this way. It started out so good.”

She went to the little black lacquered cellarette in the corner of the room and extracted a bottle of brandy and two glasses. “I think I’ll have that drink now. I don’t like to drink alone.”

The brandy helped. Her eyes lost their haunted look, and her lips even curved in a faint, slow smile. I was seeing her now as a beautiful and desirable woman, instead of as the wife of a friend. Her feminine ego had taken a terrific beating, from what she had told me. So, I kissed her again. She was warm and alive in my arms.

“I’m glad you came here, Cory,” she whispered. “You’ve made me feel almost human again.”

I picked up my hat and topcoat. The rain-drenched street and the diamond bracelet didn’t seem nearly as important as the revelation left behind me in Muriel’s apartment. But I had work to do.

“I’ll call you to-night,” I said from the doorway. “You go to bed and get some sleep...”

V

The inquest was at 3.30. If I hurried, I thought, I’d probably be able to make it. Although I had known who Anthony Lorio was for a long time, I had never had the dubious pleasure of meeting him.

He had obviously been treated as a special guest of the City Police Department. The Oxford-grey flannel suit looked like Brooks Brothers to me, and the white shirt was fresh and immaculate. He carried a black topcoat, draped expensively over his arm, and a black homburg. A diamond the size of my little finger nail glittered on his freshly manicured left hand.

The only incongruous note to the whole sartorical picture was the white bandage which was pasted on the right side of his elegantly barbered black hair, and the long blue bruise which extended down from his temple under his right eye. He was about forty, and his slim, well-muscled figure indicated a rowing machine, a good masseur and, maybe, a little weight-lifting on the side.

It was open and shut. Lorio gave most of the testimony, telling how he had come into his apartment and flicked the light switch, to have nothing happen until the two men jumped him in the hallway. One had wielded the blackjack, but not until after Lorio had pulled his gun and fired three shots into the darkened room. When he came to, he had staggered to the phone and called the police. Then, while he was waiting, he found out the light bulbs had all been unscrewed from the lamps in the living room, dining room and hall.

“Was the room absolutely dark, Mr. Lorio?” The Coroner asked unctuously.

“There was a dim night light still on in the hall,” Lorio answered in clipped syllables that bore only the slightest trace of alien accent. “It’s one of those little lights that plug into the wallsocket. I keep it on all the time at night. They had evidently left it on, so as to be able to see what they were doing, but it wasn’t bright enough to distinguish much more than general objects.’”

Mrs. Lorio had been out of town, visiting friends, so no one else was in the apartment, the gambler continued. She had returned that morning, however. The only other people in the building had been two porters, who were cleaning in the club, and they hadn’t heard the disturbance.

“Did you get to see enough of the man who got away to be able to describe him?” the Coroner asked.

“No. Both men were only dim shapes. It wasn’t until after I got the lights on that I knew I had hit one of them.

“Kingston was lying on the floor in the living room, just inside the door,” Lorio said. “His Detective Special was still in his hand. There was no sign of the blackjack, so evidently the man who got away had taken it.”

“Where was the money?”

“In the inside pocket of my jacket. The second man evidently got scared when he found out Kingston had been hit. So he beat it without searching me.”

The testimony concluded with the information that Kingston had been shot three times in the chest with bullets identified as coming from Lorio’s .32 Baretta — that he had been facing Lorio, about six feet from him, when he was shot, and that his own gun was drawn but not fired.

The verdict was in, almost before the jurors went out. It was obvious their collective minds were already made up. It was justifiable homicide, with a recommendation that Lorio be released immediately, and no charges made.

I didn’t particularly want to see Ralph Kingston, but, after the inquest was over, I forced myself to withdraw the sheet and look at him. It wasn’t that I minded looking on death. I had seen a lot of it, too damn much on beachheads up and down Italy during the war. I had seen the horror of it and the finality of it, I had smelled the putrefaction of it, until a dead man was just another object to be got out of the way.

But Ralph Kingston was a man I had known for ten years. I knew that he had liked his steaks cooked rare, preferred cognac to straight bonded bourbon, knew the kind of women he liked. I knew how he had dreamed of a day when he could have a little ranch in the lush, fertile bayou country, and raise purebred cattle and a few racehorses. Ralph wasn’t a violent man — he was a good cop, who did his job well, but his heart wasn’t in it.

He could have been asleep. His blond hair was crisp and curly, slightly disarranged as it always was. His lean face was smooth and unlined, and I noticed, for the first time, that he had incredibly long eyelashes for a man. But there was no evidence of that last violent struggle before death blotted out everything it had taken 33 years of living to build. There was no hint of what had precipitated his final headlong flight to oblivion.

There was only one thing I knew for certain. If Ralph had been framed, I was going to clear him. It was my duty as his friend to leave his name clean, if he was innocent. That was the least I could do.

VI

I knew where I had to start. Why would a man like Lorio want to frame Kingston? If there was a frame, it had to start with Lorio. I could only think of two reasons. One would be something in connection with Ralph’s business as a cop — the other might have something to do with Ralph’s indifference to his beautiful and loving wife for the past few months.

I caught a cab and rode through the grey dusk to the Times-Picayune building. I might find what I wanted to know in the City Directory, and, if not, some checking of the newspaper files should produce results. I found it in the City Directory — Mrs. Lorio’s first name was Anita.

I went on up to the editorial offices and located a friend of mine named Tommy Drake, who wrote a gossip column. Tommy knew the ins and outs of the city’s night life like nobody else in town. I was sure he’d know a lot about the Lorios.

It was too early for him to begin his evening rounds, and I found Tommy with his feet propped up on his desk and his hat pulled down over his eyes. He was snoring gently. The rest of the place was practically deserted.

I flipped the brim of his hat so that it fell down over his face. He jumped as if he had been shot. Then, when he saw me, he grinned, yawned and rubbed his hand over his blond, slightly bald head.

“Oh — it’s you — the great private eye! Working on a hot case, Investigator?”

“I don’t know how hot it is, but at least it’s a case.” I perched on the edge of the desk, pulled out a Lucky and salvaged a kitchen match that was propped behind Tommy’s left ear. “You look all done in. How about a beer, a ham sandwich and a little information?”

Tommy yawned again, then pushed his hat back on his head. “I was just catching my evening nap — can’t do it at home with three kids around.” He grinned and removed a limp trench coat from the coat-rack. “The beer sounds good, but let’s make it a steak at Joe’s around the corner. I need nourishment this evening. And I’ll try to oblige with the information.”

Joe’s was steamy with the fragrance of stale beer and fried onions. There was a massive bar running the length of the room, and red checkered cloths on the tables. A typical, pleasant hangout for the gentlemen of the press — the steaks were good and rare, and the beer was frosty cold.

“Now — what’s this information you want?”

“What do you know about Anthony Lorio’s wife?”

He whistled. “Boy, you are working on a hot case! That wench is pure, unadulterated TNT.”

“What do you mean?”

“Lorio married her about two years ago. She was a singer in his club. Came here from Detroit, or some place up north. She’s some dish to see — thirty-six-inch bust, narrow waist, undulating hips — all on a strictly high-class plane, of course.” He gulped down the rest of his beer.

“What does she look like from the neck up?”

“She’s beautiful! But with a torso like she’s got, who cares?” He pulled himself up from the slouch he’d been assuming, and leaned across the table. “Say, what is this, Cory? If you’ve got any ideas, you’d better get rid of them fast! Lorio’s crazy about that girl, and he’s jealous as hell. He likes to keep Anita around to dress the club, but you just look — mustn’t touch. That guy plays for keeps.”

“I’ve got to talk to her, Tommy — alone.”

“Boy, you’re askin’ for it.” He grinned. “All I can say is, you sure make yours the hard way.”

“This is strictly business.” I glanced at my watch, picked up the check, and tossed a dollar bill on the table. When Tommy made a grab for the check, I said, “This is on me, Tommy. The information was worth it.”

“Maybe I should have kept my big mouth shut. I’d hate to see that beautiful kisser of yours get all uglied up.” He picked up hat and trench coat and followed me to the cashier’s stand.

“Tell you what I’ll do, Cory,” Tommy said. “I’ll be going to the Peacock Club, myself, a little later on. If you want to go on out and hang around the bar, when I get there I’ll see if I can wangle an introduction for you. Then, if you should manage to engage her in a conversation, it’ll all be on the up and up.”

“A guy can’t ask for better co-operation than that. I’ll take you up on it, Tommy.”

“You got your car here?”

“I came in a cab. I’ll go on out to my place, pick up my car and drive on out.”

“Okay, Sport — see you later. Stay out of trouble till I show.”

The Peacock Club was an old plantation building of the type of architecture known in New Orleans as Steamboat Gothic. It was northwest of the city, near the river. The spacious grounds, which were once the site of formal gardens in the front and slave quarters in the rear, had been converted into a parking lot, where patrons could park in shadowy obscurity under the moss-draped liveoaks.

Twin stairways, resembling those of the gaudy Mississippi riverboats, led to the gallery fronting the main floor, where the bar and dining room were located. The entire second floor consisted of the gambling rooms and another bar, and were reachable only after a careful screening by some of Lorio’s watchdogs. The Lorio’s apartment, I decided, must be on the third floor.

I parked my Mercury convertible next to a long black Cadillac and made my way to the bar. I had been to the Peacock Club a time or two, back in the more lucrative postwar days, when I had come home with a Captain’s mustering-out pay and a yen to have a good time and forget about the war.

It hadn’t changed. It was still plushy and dimly-lighted, with a huge horseshoe mahogany bar and ornate barstools, in keeping with the flavour of the place.

I ordered a rye and soda, and sat down to wait for Tommy. I felt conspicuous. It was early, and the place was thinly populated. I hoped Lorio was busy upstairs, some place. I had a feeling he wouldn’t like seeing me there, after I’d put in an appearance at the inquest.

Tommy came in about ten o’clock. I was on my third rye, and the place was filling up. He was still wearing the baggy tweeds he had had on earlier, and the battered trench coat hung limply over his arm.

“Come on — let’s circulate,” he said. “You won’t find what you’re looking for in here.”

I followed him across the crowded dining room, where a six-piece band was beating out a frantic mambo, to a broad carpeted stairway at the back.

He mumbled something to a tuxedo-clad gorilla who stood guard over the stairs, then turned to me and said, “You wait at that table there in the corner. I’ll be back.”

I sat down at the table, ordered another rye from the waiter who materialised at my elbow and watched the dancers on the crowded floor. Most of them could have stood a few trips to Arthur Murray’s. A few minutes later, Tommy was back. I all but gasped when I saw what he had with him.

Anita Lorio was a dish, all right. Her hair was silvery blonde, and it coiled smoothly over her shoulders. Her eyes, as nearly as I could tell, were green. He had described her from the neck down very accurately, and the whole enticing collection of curves and bulges was covered — if that’s the word for it — by a strapless black gown that glittered with sequins.

“This is Cory Andrews, an old pal of mine from Detroit,” he said. Then glibly to me, “Tony was busy, so I asked him if I could borrow Anita to throw out the red carpet.” He pulled out a chair for her, sat down and ordered brandy for her and a straight shot of Old Forrester for himself.

We tossed off some inconsequential conversation while Tommy tossed off his drink, and I watched Anita Lorio. She reminded me of one of those beautiful department store dummies. There was absolutely no expression on her face. It could have been boredom, it could have been stupidity, it could have been just plain shock.

Finally, Tommy said, “I’ve got to mingle and pick up some dirt for my column. See you later.”

I didn’t waste any time getting to the point. I said to the girl, “I’ve got something of yours I think you’d like to have back. I’ll sell it to you — for some information.”

The dead pan didn’t change. She toyed with her glass, took a dainty sip of the brandy and said, “I don’t think I know what you mean.”

“It’s bright and glittery, it cost about eight thousand bucks,” and it has an inscription on the back that says, “To Anita — with love.”

It wasn’t a sigh that passed through her body, it was more of a shudder. Her eyes looked almost black in the dim light. Finally she managed to say, “Who are you, anyway?”

“I’m a friend of Ralph Kingston’s. He didn’t steal that bracelet. You gave it to him.”

The dead pan was all gone — it had crumbled with fright. I had rung the bell on that last one.

VII

I thought she was going to leap at me right across the table. “For goodness sake! Tell me where it is, so I can get it back. And don’t get yourself mixed up in this. It’s none of your business.”

I could feel eyes all around me, boring holes in my back. “Get control of yourself,” I whispered fiercely. “I want to talk to you, and I know I haven’t much time.”

“No — I won’t tell you a thing! Get out of here quickly and don’t come back.”

“Okay — no talk, no bracelet — and the police will have it first thing in the morning. Also, every reporter in town will have a complete description of it.”

The tears in her eyes looked real, and the fingertips that touched my hand were like ice. “Please! You don’t know what you’re getting into! Get away from here, and forget you ever saw me, or the bracelet!”

I held my ground. “Look, Baby — I drive a hard bargain, where murder’s concerned. I happen to have a personal interest in this murder. So finish your drink — and give!”

She picked up the fragile glass and drained it in one gulp. “I can’t talk here. Do you have a car?”

I nodded. “Then drive around to the back, and I’ll meet you at the stairs. Only for goodness sake — be careful.”

I motioned for the waiter and smiled benignly. “You go on back upstairs. It’s a light blue Mercury convertible. I’ll be there in ten minutes. And you had better be there, or I call my friend Lieutenant Tracy Evans.”

She drifted back toward the stairs, and I saw her pause and say something to gorilla-face. She seemed to have regained her composure. I paid the check, tipped the waiter a dollar and retrieved my hat and coat from the check stand. Then I eased myself out into the wet night.

The wind had shifted to the south, and the rain had turned into a foggy mist. I groped my way to the Mercury, and sat there for a few minutes before starting the motor. No one followed me out.

I gunned the motor gently, slid out of the parking space and drove around the building. At the stairway, I eased the car to a stop, but left the motor idling. A minute later, the right door opened. A long hooded black cloak made her just another dim shadow in the night.

“Where to?”

“I can’t stay long. If Tony misses me, he’ll know something’s up. Drive down the road a little way. There are plenty of trees, and no one will see us.”

I parked under a big live oak just off the road. The rain dripped off the tree on to the canvas top, sounding like hailstones in the sudden quiet. I offered her a cigarette and lighted it for her.

Then I said, “Now give. What went on between you and Ralph Kingston?”

She started crying. Deep, tearing sobs that shook her whole body. That made me uncomfortable, so I took her by the shoulders and shook her.

“Stop it! He’s dead, and that won’t bring him back. I want to know why.”

She stopped crying. “I gave Ralph the bracelet to pawn for me. I needed some money, and I couldn’t ask Tony for it. He’d have wanted to know why, and I couldn’t possibly have told him.” I could feel the hate in her face, even though I couldn’t see it.

“I wish now I’d never married him. I don’t love him, I never did. But I thought it was a pretty soft berth I was walking into.” She pulled the cloak closer around her shoulders. “He’s a beast, and he’s terribly jealous. I fell pretty hard for Ralph, and I thought maybe he was the answer to everything. But then...” her shoulder stiffened next to mine.

“But then what?”

“He couldn’t see it that way.” She drew away from me. “Do you have another cigarette?”

“You knew he was married, didn’t you?”

“I didn’t at first. When I found out, it was too late.”

I handed her the lighted cigarette. “What did you need the money for, Anita?”

“One of the maids saw Ralph and me together. She threatened to tell Tony, unless I paid her off.” Her voice was dull.

“How long had you known Ralph?”

“I met him about five months ago. Tony had a little trouble with the police. Ralph came out several times, and then I began meeting him away from the club. When I knew Tony would be away, sometimes Ralph would come up to the apartment. He’d use the back outside stairs. It was one of those times when the maid saw him.”

She rolled down the window on her side, and her cigarette made a tiny arc of light in the fog. She was crying again, and I sat quietly, letting her get it out of her system. I felt sorry for her, but not nearly as sorry as I did for Ralph.

I thought I could see the whole picture now. She had been playing around with Ralph — Lorio had found out about it, had framed Ralph and shot him in cold blood. He had got rid of his adversary, and, at the same time, he probably figured it would teach Anita a lesson. No doubt, it had.

Ralph’s side wasn’t hard to figure, either. She was a beautiful woman, one to turn any man’s head. Maybe he had even fallen in love with her. It was the same old story. It had been going on since Adam and Eve.

I pulled out fresh cigarettes and lit them. “There wasn’t any attempted robbery, was there, Anita? The whole thing was a frame-up.”

She shook her head, but didn’t answer my question directly.

“Please — I don’t want to talk about it. If Tony knew, he’d kill me.”

“When did he send you out of town?”

I felt her grow tense. “I haven’t been out of town. When did he tell you that?”

I grabbed her arm. “You mean you were there last night?”

“Yes — but why? What difference does that make?”

To me, it made a lot of difference. I flipped on the ignition, and pressed the starter.

“Are we going back to the club now?” she asked.

“No — we’re going to Police Headquarters.”

Her fingers clutched my arm, and her voice was frantic. “No — no! We can’t! Don’t you understand? If I go there with you, it will be all over town by morning. He’ll kill me!”

She was right — she wouldn’t live fifty minutes, once the word got out. If the police got to Lorio first, someone else would do the job for him. There had to be another way. Besides, there was still something missing. I wasn’t sure just what it was, but I knew I had to find the whole answer before I began talking.

Then I remembered the guy Lorio said had got away, and the wicked wound on the side of Lorio’s head. He had to have an accomplice.

“Who was the other man in on the deal, Anita?”

“I don’t know. I really don’t know just what happened.” She tugged at my arm. “Please — let’s go back now. I’ve been away too long, and I’m afraid.”

VIII

The parking lot was almost full, and the cars and dripping trees were shadowy wraiths in the fog. I coasted around the building, and stopped where I thought the stairs were.

She pressed my hand in the darkness and quietly opened the door on her side. “You’d better get away from here now,” she said. “Whatever you do, be careful.” Then she was gone.

I tried to watch her to the top of the stairs, but the fog swirled between us. I wasn’t aware of any danger until the door on my side jerked open and I felt something cold and round pressed against my neck.

“Okay, Buster — this is the end of the line for you.”

The only thing I could tell about the voice was that it was rough and masculine. Automatically, I slid out of the car. Then, on impulse, I ducked and turned to face my assailant, swinging wildly. My fist connected with soft, spongy flesh, and I heard him grunt. Then something hard smashed into the right side of my head.

A thousand tiny lights exploded somewhere behind my eyes, and I was spinning through an endless black funnel, towards a pinpoint of light a million miles away. While I was spinning, I could hear her screaming faintly.

I couldn’t have been out for long, because I came to there on the wet ground beside my car, where I had gone out. My head felt about three sizes too big, and every inch of it was throbbing. I touched it gently on the right side, where it hurt the most, and my fingers came away wet and sticky.

Then, as I touched it, a thought exploded in my brain, making my head hurt worse than ever. I suddenly remembered Lorio’s bandaged head. He had been sapped on the right side, too. And, since I had been facing my assailant, he’d have had to wield his gun with his left hand.

I picked myself up off the ground, and grabbed the still-open door of the car for support. My legs felt like molasses, and waves of nausea rose from the pit of my stomach. I could hear voices in the darkness, and a wobbly beam of light was just barely discernible from the lights that still danced behind my eyes.

Someone was coming. Perhaps it was one of Lorio’s boys, coming to finish the job. Or perhaps, someone had heard the commotion and was coming to investigate. But whoever it was, I wasn’t quite ready for them to find me.

Another thought struck me. There hadn’t been any commotion, except in my head. I hadn’t let out a peep.

Something icy prickled down my pine. Anita must have screamed, from the top of the stairs.

I snatched my keys from the ignition and crept around the front of the car. I made what I hoped was a silent dash for the dense shrubs which surrounded the building.

The voices and the light got nearer, and I knew they were on the other side of the Mercury. I hoped they couldn’t hear the pounding of my head across the twenty feet that separated us.

I heard one of them mutter an obscenity, and their footsteps scraped off around the end of the building. The stupes thought I had gone back to the club, and, for the moment, I was happy to let them think so.

I was right at the foot of the staircase. It was fairly wide and went straight up the wall of the building to the third floor, like a fire-escape. I grasped the rail to steady myself and climbed up.

The door at the top of the stairway was a solid wood panel. It was bolted tightly from the inside. There wasn’t a chance in the world of my getting it open.

I eased myself back down the stairs and got in my car. I wanted it around the front, where I could get to it in a hurry if I had to. I found a parking place, cut the motor, fumbled in the glove compartment for some Kleenex.

My hand touched the pint of Old Crow I keep there for emergencies, so I unscrewed the top and took a good-sized gulp. It helped to clear my head up a little bit, but it still throbbed abominably.

I daubed at the sticky mess on the side of my head with the Kleenex and hoped it didn’t look too bad. It would have to do until I could get to the men’s room.

I hadn’t bled much, and, fortunately, none had dripped down on my clothes. I was just splashing cold water on my face when the door opened behind me. I turned around and saw Tony Lorio, and he didn’t look too happy. Behind him, were Gorilla-Face and a little guy with bushy eyebrows and a soft, spongy belly. He was holding a gun in his left hand, and the paunch looked just like the one I had hit before I got clipped.

“Okay, Andrews — come along with us,” Lorio said in his clipped voice. “You’re gettin’ too damn nosy.”

“And you’ve got plenty of reason for not wanting anyone to get nosy, haven’t you, Tony?”

He stayed calm. “Besides, you talk too much.”

“I haven’t even begun to talk yet. Why did you frame Ralph Kingston, Tony?”

His black eyes grew even blacker. “That matter is closed, Andrews. You should have left it alone.”

Anger was taking precedence over my better judgment. “Kingston was a friend of mine, Tony. You may be a big shot in this town, but you can’t get away with this. I’m going to see it through to the finish.”

Lorio motioned to the little paunchy guy with the gun. “Take him downstairs, Artie. This guy needs to be taught a lesson.”

The little gun was barely the size of Artie’s fat hand, but it felt big when he nuzzled it up against my back.

“... and don’t you let out a peep, Andrews,” Lorio warned. “Remember, you’re in my territory now.”

I didn’t have much choice in the matter, so I followed Lorio out of the men’s room. Gorilla-Face and Artie were right behind me. I was really in a jam, and I knew it.

We traipsed across the dining room and headed towards the door leading to the kitchen. I knew I didn’t have long to figure out an angle, but my mind refused to work.

And then I saw Tommy. He was pushing his way across the dance floor towards us. I could have kissed him. I saw Lorio scowl and felt the pressure of the gun against my ribs subside.

“Where the hell have you been, Cory? I’m ready to leave.” Then he hesitated, when the full impact of my entourage hit him. “Hey! What’s going on?”

“Is this guy a friend of yours, Tommy?” Lorio said.

“Sure he is. He came out here with me.”

“Then you’d better take him home. And tell him to stay the hell away from my wife.”

I didn’t trust Lorio as far as I could see him, and I knew I hadn’t reached the end of this little affair. As soon as we were gone, he’d have some of his boys out gunning for me.

Tommy Drake wasn’t looking too happy, and I couldn’t say that I blamed him. When we were alone, he said, “You sure put me on the spot with Lorio, Cory. I didn’t like that little piece of by-play a bit. I warned you not to get too chummy with Anita. He’s crazy about that girl.”

“Look, Tommy — before the night is over, I hope to prove something to the police that will give you a nice beat for your paper. Right now, I need your help.”

“You mean, something concerning Anita Lorio?”

“She’s concerned, all right. By the way, do you know who Lorio’s little friend with the paunch is?”

“Sure — that’s Artie Green. He’s one of Lorio’s favourite trouble shooters. Now, look, Cory—”

“You look, Tommy. Right now, I’m trying to figure out how I can stay alive through the night.” I jerked my head around so it was in front of his face, and he could see the cut. “I didn’t get that playing football. For your information, when you came in, Artie had a gun in my back.”

Tommy’s eyes popped. He was a little slow on the take, but once he got it, he could carry the ball pretty fast. “What do you want me to do, Cory?”

IX

I pulled him toward the doorway, and glanced back at the headwaiter, who was scowling at us ominously. “Call Lieutenant Evans at Homicide. Tell him it’s urgent, and to come with some of his men out here right away. Tell him I’m going to blow the Kingston murder sky high — in about ten minutes.”

He was already fishing in his pocket for telephone change. “You’d better give him time to get here first.”

“There isn’t any time left,” I answered. “By the way, have you seen Anita in the last fifteen or twenty minutes?”

“No, not since I left you with her. Hell, Cory...!”

“Look, Tommy — I don’t have time for explanations now. Do you know if there’s a back way to get upstairs to Lorio’s apartment? Inside, I mean.”

“Sure, but it’s through the kitchen.”

“Okay — you make that call, then stick around until Evans gets here. Tell him I’ve gone upstairs.” I tossed my hat and topcoat to him. “Here — watch these for me.”

I left him before he could put up a protest and headed straight for the archway that led to the kitchen. Everyone was busy, and, outside of a couple of waiters gaping at me stupidly, no one tried to stop me.

I found the back stairway and went right up. The door at the top opened into a small service bar which, in turn, opened into the gambling rooms.

It was a sweet setup. There was the usual assortment of roulette, dice and keno tables. An archway at the front led into a room where three card tables were going. The furnishings were lavish, the patrons expensively dressed.

I saw two intent-looking, tuxedo-clad gentlemen bearing down on me. Both had suspicious looking bulges under the left sides of their jackets. I spotted the door of the men’s room, practically at my elbow, and ducked inside. There was no lock on the door, so I shoved a leather chair in front of it, found the window and pushed it up.

I was in luck. It opened on a fire escape, which went up, as well as down. I went out through the window, pushed it shut behind me and started climbing.

The window at the top was also unlocked and opened into a dark chamber that appeared to be a bedroom. I tiptoed across a thick carpet to the door, which had a crack of light showing underneath. I could hear voices in the next room.

I eased my automatic out of my shoulder-holster and flipped off the safety catch. Then, I quietly turned the knob and opened the door.

She was crouched in a low yellow armchair. Behind her, in a small dining alcove, a table was set for two. The only light in the alcove came from two candelabra with yellow tapers. The dim light made a nimbus of her pale blonde hair.

Lorio stood between her and the doorway I had just entered, with his back to me. It had been his voice I had heard from the bedroom.

“How much did you tell Andrews, Anita? You shouldn’t have talked to him. I had everything all fixed for you, baby — all nice and neat. Now, I’ll have to get rid of him, and send you away someplace.”

“No, Tony — no! I swear I didn’t say anything to him!”

“You left the club with him, didn’t you?” His laugh was short and ugly. “Or was this like it was with Kingston? I’m sorry I covered up for you now, I don’t think you’re worth it.”

“Tony! How can you say such things! You know I appreciate what you did.”

“Just remember, Anita — next time, you’ll have to take your own rap for murder.”

She had been easing herself up from the chair and was now perched on the arm. As I opened the door, she saw me and screamed.

Her silver bag lay on the corner of the table in the alcove. As she lunged for it, the weight of her body against the table sent one of the candelabra crashing against the window. She didn’t seem to notice it. When she turned around, I saw the little revolver in her hand.

“Stay back both of you!” her voice was shrill. “Stay back, or I’ll shoot you both!”

I aimed carefully, as her gun pointed directly at Lorio’s chest. And then I fired.

The gun dropped from her hand, and she crumpled slowly to the floor. Her eyes were open, and she clutched convulsively at her shoulder. The blood oozed between her fingers. Lorio still stood in the centre of the room.

I crossed to where she lay beside the table, my gun still in my hand. Then, Lorio came to life. Before I could reach her, he was on his knees beside her.

“Anita... Anita, baby!”

“That’s funny — it doesn’t hurt,” she whispered.

“It won’t be fatal,” I remarked, as I stooped and picked up her gun. “You killed Ralph Kingston, Anita. And Tony framed the phoney robbery to cover up for you. Why did you do it? Was he walking out on you?”

I didn’t really expect an answer. And then simultaneously I saw the tongue of flame licking up the drape from the overturned candelabra and heard footsteps pounding up the stairs. The front door burst open, and I saw Tracy Evans.

“Look out, Cory!” he cried. “That curtain’s on fire!”

I turned around and gazed in fascination as the flames licked up towards the ceiling through the soft drapery material. I shook my head, and slowly came back to reality.

The room was bursting with activity. Tracy was saying to someone behind him, “Get down there and tell them to clear the building. Then for Pete’s sake, get a fire extinguisher up here!”

He looked at Anita. “Who shot her?”

“I did,” I said flatly. “She was gunning for Lorio — and me, too.”

Tracy motioned with drawn pistol. “Get your wife, Lorio and walk in front of me. Let’s get out of here. This place is going up like a tinder box.”

I could feel the heat of the flames on my back as we reached the stairs. As we got to the bottom, two men carrying fire extinguishers pushed by us and went up. I didn’t think they were going to have much luck.

X

I followed Tracy around to the parking lot in front. Patrons were streaming out of the place in hysterical confusion. In the distance, sirens wailed with increasing intensity.

We walked about a hundred yards from the building, and Tracy stopped. “I’ll get one of my men to give her first-aid until the ambulance comes,” he said.

Lorio was still holding her. She was shivering in the damp fog. I stripped off my jacket and put it over her shoulders. I was still holding my gun, and I kept it trained on Lorio.

“You framed that phoney holdup to cover up for her, didn’t you, Tony?” I shook my head. “Boy, what a sucker you were! She would have killed you, too, if I hadn’t got her first.”

His face was grim, and, before he could answer, Tracy was back with two of his men. Tommy Drake was tagging along behind him. The crazy fool was still carrying my hat and topcoat.

“Ye gods!” He exclaimed. “When you get into trouble, Cory, you really do it in a big way!”

I took the coat and put it on, and gave him the bare facts quickly. Then, I left him standing there, before he could start asking questions.

Tracy was bearing down on me. “Now, for Pete’s sake, Cory. Tell me what happened,” he pleaded.

I gave it to him fast, about Muriel and the pawn ticket, and my conversation with Anita. “When she said she was right here, and not out of town like Lorio said, I got to thinking. He’s crazy about her, and jealous as sin of any man who even looks like he’s making a pass at her. She told me she was in pretty deep with Kingston, so it all added up.

“Either Lorio framed Kingston to get him out of the way, or he framed the robbery to cover up for Anita. I wasn’t positive which, until that little scene you walked in on upstairs. She shot Kingston, and Lorio tried to get her out of it.”

“What about the jewellery in Kingston’s car? It was stolen several weeks ago?”

“Maybe a slob named Artie Green can tell us something about that. He’s Lorio’s topkick. I don’t think Lorio would stoop to larceny, but I wouldn’t put it past Green.”

I pulled out my wallet, and took out the pawn ticket. “Here’s what started the whole thing.”

I suddenly remembered I hadn’t seen Green since I left him and Lorio in the dining room. “By the way, Green clipped me with his left hand, and I’m willing to bet Lorio got him to wield the blackjack last night the same way. If you don’t find him here, he’s probably at my place — waiting to plug me on Lorio’s orders.”

Tracy gripped my arm and said, “It looks like you were right this time, Cory.” Then he scowled. “But you should have come to me with that pawn ticket the first thing.”

“I couldn’t until I was sure I was on the right track, Tracy,” I told him. “After all, you could have been right, and I could have been wrong.”

He grinned. “You look terrible. You’d better go home and clean up and get some sleep. Come down to my office in the morning, and you can give me a signed statement. I’ll put out a pick-up right away on this Artie Green, and I’ll take Lorio in myself. He and Green will be charged as accessories, and Mrs. Lorio will be charged with Kingston’s murder.”

I was almost home when I suddenly pulled in to the kerb and stopped the car. I was dead-tired and sick to my stomach — and I had just remembered Muriel.

She was wearing a long, white, wool robe, and she smelled sweet and feminine. She was also wide awake. She gasped when she saw me, and I realised I wasn’t exactly presentable for calling.

I grinned, told her I was all right, and let her push me into a chair, pour a drink and hand it to me. Then I gave her a brief and very sketchy outline of what had happened. I didn’t tell her much about Anita, though. I could fill her in on the details later. Then, I called Tracy Evans’ office.

“We’ve got it all wrapped up,” Evans said. “We picked up Green and got statements from all three of them.

“Kingston had gone there to see Anita earlier, to tell her he was through. She had told him to come up the back stairs to the apartment. When she found out what he had come for, she lost her head, grabbed Tony’s gun from the desk and shot him. She told Lorio Kingston had followed her upstairs and made a pass at her.

“Then, Lorio and Green framed the robbery, after the club closed. Green came up with the brilliant idea of planting the things in Kingston’s car, including the jewellery he’s confessed he stole himself. Then, Green clipped Lorio to make the whole thing look better, and left. We know what happened then.”

I replaced the phone, as Muriel poured another drink and daubed at the cut on my head with a wet washcloth she had fetched from the bathroom.

“You can’t go home like this, Cory.” She glanced at the electric clock on the mantle. “Besides, it’s nearly four o’clock. You might as well stay here.”

I grinned, reached up and pulled her down on my lap. I decided it was the best proposition I had had all day.