Black Mask Magazine (Vol. 27, No. 2 — September 1945)

Chapter One Ditson’s Dive

It wasn’t nice to look at, and come to think of it, I don’t really know why I had to look at it. I guess it was just one of those things a cop is supposed to do. I’d been sent all the way from the attorney general’s office at Capital City, to Midtown to investigate the Ed Ditson case, and taking a look at his corpse seemed a routine thing to do.

Not that looking at it told me anything I hadn’t learned from reading the papers. They’d said that Ditson’s body had fallen from the twelfth floor of the Maramoor Hotel, and that meant a messy corpse. The papers had also described how the body had fallen into a parked convertible. A girl, Sheila Brown, had been sitting in the convertible, and that meant that her body wouldn’t be nice to look at, either.

“Was she smashed up as bad as this?” I asked, indicating what was left of Ditson. Doc Barrett, the county coroner, shook his head.

“No, not nearly so much. Ditson struck her a glancing blow. It was his falling across the car door that practically cut him in two like that. Sheila’s family insisted on having the body right away, and I saw no reason to object. A whole undertaking establishment has been working on her trying to fix her up for the funeral.”

“You knew her, did you?”

“Oh, yes. Sheila was a lovely girl. One of the most striking brunettes I’ve ever seen. Fine family. Lots of money. It’s just a damn shame that this thing had to happen. Ditson I have no sympathy for. If he wanted to take his own life, O.K. Why did he have to take Sheila’s too?”

I said I didn’t know why things like that had to happen and gestured to Barrett that he should shove Ditson back into the cooler. He did, and we went on out of the morgue to my car. Maybe you wonder why a suicide rated an investigation from the office of the attorney general. The answer to that one was available in the headlines of not only the local papers but all those in the state. Ditson’s dive from his hotel window had busted wide open the whole gambling racket in the state.

“As near as I can gather from the stuff in the papers,” I told Barrett as I drove away, “Ditson came over from beyond the state line with thirty thousand dollars in his kick that he’d made out of selling his real estate holdings. So his first stop after he gets here is the Silver Dollar. Four hours later the thirty grand was gone. Right?”

“I don’t think those facts are in dispute, Mr. Corbett. Everybody knows about the Silver Dollar, and it’s known that Ditson did have that much money on him when he arrived in town. He certainly didn’t have any on him when he made his dive. And there wasn’t any money left behind in his hotel room.”

“What kind of cretin-brains are running the gambling in this town?” I asked. “If they’d used a couple ounces of sense, Ditson would never have committed suicide, and the fat wouldn’t be in the fire. Ditson’s death has made so much stink that not only is gambling battened down tight in Midtown, but there’s nothing open in the entire state.”

Barrett nodded. “But it’ll blow over. When the heat’s off, maybe three or four months from now, everything, including the Silver Dollar, will be open again.”

“Sure, but in the meantime the racket won’t take in a five-dollar bill. I’d think the lame brains running the set-up in this town would have been able to figure out with pencil and paper that it would be cheaper to give Ditson back his thirty grand and quiet his beet Especially when he’d advertised in the newspapers that he was going to do the Dutch.”

“Yes, Mr. Corbett, I agree with you. But I’m certainly not worrying about the racket people in this town. I for one am glad this thing has brought the situation out into the open. I hope you do something about it. The local authorities won’t. That’s why the Reform Committee went to the attorney general’s office.”

I stopped for a red light and gave Barrett a look out of the corner of my eye. He was nearly forty — he looked intelligent, and he should have known better.

“Look here, Doc, you said yourself that after the heat was off, all the joints would open up again. Or words to that effect.”

“But I meant that’s what would happen under normal conditions, Mr. Corbett. But conditions aren’t normal. The tragic death of Sheila Brown, a lovely girl from one of our best families, has aroused public indignation against the rackets. I have great hopes for you, Mr. Corbett. I’m sure you’ll get the goods on Spain Westfall, the man at the head of all the rackets. He’s the one really responsible for Sheila Brown’s death.”

I shifted gears and got through the intersection.

“Suppose I do get the goods on Westfall? So he gets a couple of years in the pen. Then one of two things happens. Either he keeps his fingers on the controls or somebody else moves in and takes over. Three months after he’s said hello to the warden, the town’s going full blast again.”

“You are very cynical, Mr. Corbett.”

“The hell I am. I’m just practical. People will always gamble. They’ll gamble probably a little bit more so long as it’s a crime. And it probably always will be a crime in our state because two powerful classes of people will keep the anti-gambling laws on the books. I mean the church people and the racket people, both in and out of uniform.”

Barrett looked horrified. “But certainly you can’t mean that you favor legalizing gambling any more than you favor abolishing the laws against the use of narcotics!”

“Oh, but I do! There’s a difference between gambling and using drugs. People have no instinct to use drugs. But they do have a mania for any form of gambling, and the only sensible solution is to let them gamble legally. Then their gambling can be controlled, and it won’t be in the hands of a slimy bunch of crooks. And law enforcement officers won’t be working for the same slimy bunch. Now don’t pretend that any gambling joint can stay open five minutes if it isn’t paying off to the local law!”

“I’m not pretending any such thing,” Barrett said earnestly. “But I do think that the pressure of righteous public indignation can prevail over dishonest policemen.”

“Sure it can, but not for very long stretches. The racket boys know that — they merely crawl back under their rocks till it’s safe to come out. The point is they always come out.”

Barrett sighed deeply, and I let it go at that. I dropped him off at his office, then cut across to police headquarters. I’d already introduced myself there and had gotten a colder reception than a petticoat salesman at a nudist colony. It seemed the Chief was in northern Michigan for his health, and the place had been left in charge of a captain named Hinchman.

Hinchman looked up sourly when I appeared in his office.

“Well, the boy wonder is back again! I suppose you’ve found out by this time that Ditson wasn’t any suicide at all but that he was pushed out of that window at the Maramoor!” Hinchman stood about six-feet-four, and he had the weight to go with the height. He looked rugged and tough, and something in his eyes indicated that he could teach a Jap when it came to low blows. But I promised myself that before I left the corporate limits of Midtown, I’d hit Hinchman at least once.

For the time being, I said: “As a matter of fact, I’ve been wondering just who did see Ditson take his dive. Would you mind my taking a look at the file?”

“Help yourself,” sneered Hinchman. “Some of the boys will tell you where it is, if you can’t find it.”

When a clerk had reluctantly handed over the file, I found about enough stuff to convince anybody who had already seen Ditson’s body that he was dead. There just wasn’t anything there. It did mention the name of Carl Bronson as the only person who had witnessed Ditson’s leap. I remembered the name. Carl Bronson was the owner of the convertible into which the body had fallen. The girl, Sheila Brown, had been his fiancée.

It didn’t take much imagination to see how tough a deal like that would be on Bronson. He’d temporarily parked his car in the hotel’s no-parking zone and run across the street to where his investment brokerage office was located. His statement in the file said he’d turned back to wave to Sheila when he’d reached the opposite curb. She waved back, then he happened to look up.

Ditson was standing in the window. At that moment he leaped. Bronson said he simply couldn’t utter a sound. He stood there and watched the falling body. He said he knew it was going to fall into the convertible, and he tried to warn Sheila with gestures. But she just laughed at him as if she thought he was crazy. Still stricken speechless, he watched Ditson’s body crush her.

This had taken place the evening before at about 9:10 P.M., when dusk was beginning to fall. Apparently nobody else had seen Ditson leap, or at least, if anybody had, the police hadn’t bothered to find him. All mention of the cause for Ditson’s suicide, even of his letters, published in the newspapers the evening before, was omitted from the file. This was natural enough, perhaps, for Ditson had accused the cops of giving him the bum’s rush when he’d complained about his losses at the Silver Dollar.

I handed back the file to the waiting clerk and walked out of the building. A cop was busy writing up a ticket for my car. I’d parked it in a space marked: Reserved for Police Cars Only. I didn’t tell the cop who I was, because I didn’t think it would mean anything if I did. I pocketed the ticket and drove off. It was only four-thirty in the afternoon, and I thought maybe I could catch Spain Westfall.

The delegation of Reform Committee members had said Westfall occupied a suite in the biggest office I building in Midtown. That would be the Clayton Building, for you could see li.it almost any place in town. It was fifty stories high — why it was that high, I didn’t know. Westfall’s name was listed as Westfall, Inc., so I took an elevator to the thirtieth floor, where the suite was located.

The receptionist sat in the foyer, and I gathered that Westfall had the whole floor. I gave her my name, and right away she ushered me into Westfall’s private room.

“You’ve kept me waiting,” said Westfall. “I supposed I’d be your first stop in Midtown.”

He was a medium-sized man of about fifty-five. His hair was graying. His face was intelligent, and his eyes showed a sly sense of humor. He held out his hand, and I shook it.

“Sit down, Corbett — I’ve heard about you. Believe it or not, I’m really glad to see you in Midtown. There’s something wrong about this whole Ditson deal, and maybe you’re just the man to put his finger on it.”

“I thought maybe you were the man. You don’t deny owning the Silver Dollar, do you?”

Westfall laughed. “Of course not! I’m the man higher-up that the Reform Committee is always trying to get something on. Yet I’ve never denied ownership of any property they said I owned. Why should I?”

I thought about the set-up with the local cops and said I didn’t see any real reason why he should. None of Westfall’s gambling places had been running for a day, and apparently he had resigned himself to keeping them that way for several months. I thought the Reform Committee was a little late in filing its complaints with Keever’s office — I’d been sent to Midtown to lock the stable door after the horse had been stolen.

“This thing has really got me upset,” Westfall conceded. “I don’t like the kind of publicity it makes. I don’t force people to come into the Silver Dollar or any place like it. And I don’t like to see people who can’t afford to lose. This Ditson was strictly a fool. What’s worse, he’s a welsher. It isn’t him I care about — that Brown girl was a swell little kid. She used to come into the Silver Dollar and drop a little dough — quite a little dough, in fact. But she had more of it than she knew what to do with. Yes, Corbett, she was all right in every way.”

“It was all so unnecessary. I can’t understand why a smart operator like you wouldn’t have taken care of Ditson before he dived. It doesn’t make sense.”

Westfall’s face hardened.

“I sent two of my boys with thirty grand to the Maramoor not forty-five minutes before Ditson jumped. I haven’t seen either of them since.”

“You’re not kidding?” He just looked at me, and I didn’t repeat the question. “All right, I believe you. So the guys went south with your dough. So you should give me their names and description so I can find them.”

Westfall laughed. “Oh, I’ll find them, all right.” He laughed again, but I didn’t. His two muggs wouldn’t have laughed either, if they had seen the look in Westfall’s eyes.

“Of course Westfall’s lying,” Keever said over the long-distance phone. “I’m amazed at you, Ben. You should know better than to believe a crook like Westfall. He never sent any thirty thousand over to the Maramoor or even five. He’s taking you for a ride.”

I didn’t argue. Keever always knew all the answers. He had all of his knowledge of human nature summed up in a few rules of thumb. It was so much easier than admitting that no two human beings are completely alike, and that none of them is completely predictable.

Westfall was a racketeer in Keever’s eyes, and that meant nothing he said could be believed. There was no use arguing, so I didn’t.

“Well, what do you want me to do? You sent me up here to bust up the gambling in Midtown, and now that I’m here, it’s already busted up. You want me to come back to Capital City?”

Keever’s inner explosion sounded over the phone.

“What am I paying you for? Don’t you knew Westfall and all those other rats will open up again unless you nail somebody to the cross? I want some indictments! Get the chief of police! Get the sheriff! Get the district attorney! They’ve all had their hands out, and I want them all indicted!”

“Do you mind if I have dinner first, or do you want all that done before eight o’clock?”

Keever hung up. I hung up. I thought it would be a good idea to drink dinner instead of eating it. I’d just considered a half-dozen pros and a few cons when there was a rap on my door. My door bore the number 1231. You guessed it. I’d checked in at the Maramoor a couple of doors down from Ditson’s room, 1229. I had a nice view of the asphalt, and I couldn’t look at it without thinking of Ditson. Other people seemed to have remembered, too. There weren’t any parked cars in the reserved space down there.

“Are you sure,” I asked the girl in my doorway, “that you haven’t made some mistake? You can’t want to see me because you don’t know me. I don’t even know who gave you my name.”

“But I do know you, Mr. Corbett, at least by reputation. You see, I’m Mary Ditson.”

“Oh.” I remembered reading that Ditson had had a daughter. Her picture hadn’t been in the papers, so I made her open up her handbag and shell out sufficient identification.

“I’d have gotten around to you sooner or later,” I told her, stepping aside to let her in. “You’re stopping here at the Maramoor?”

She gave me lifted eyebrows. “But how could I? I can’t pay five dollars a day for a room. No, I’m staying in a little hotel on the edge of the business section, the Broadhurst.”

“Short on cash, huh?”

“Very much so. I have a little money saved up, but it won’t last if I have to stay here much longer. They won’t release my father’s body.”

“Oh.” I thought about how quick Hinchman had been to let go of Sheila Brown. It couldn’t serve any purpose to keep Ditson in the cooler. Doc Barrett had found out everything he possibly could, even if they sealed the body in a time capsule. But red tape only gets tangled around people without the influence to cut it.

“That’s why I wanted to see you, Mr. Corbett. You’re not connected with these local authorities, and I thought maybe you could do something about the body.”

“Is that all?”

“Well, I wanted to tell you how much I wanted you to get the man who robbed my father. I suppose you know who it was — Spain Westfall.”

“Sure. I just talked to him. He admitted your father dropped the thirty thousand at the Silver Dollar, that is, he did by implication. He says, too, that he’d sent a couple of men with that much money to pay him off.”

Mary Ditson’s eyes widened. “But that’s a lie! Dad never got the money! If he had, he wouldn’t have jumped.”

“Sounds logical. Westfall thinks his boys took a powder with the thirty grand. After all, that’s booty in any man’s language.”

“I don’t believe he did! He wouldn’t give that much money back!”

“Well, I don’t know. But I do know how you can collect the thirty thousand.”

This time her eyes got even wider.

“How?”

“The easiest way would be to ask for it. Westfall realizes the heat’s on. He can’t stand having his victim’s daughter in Midtown crying her eyes out and telling her troubles to the papers. He can’t possibly shush this thing up until he’s squared your beef. And he knows you can collect legally, for you’re the only next of kin.”

This time she eyed me a little suspiciously.

“You know that to be true? Are you a lawyer?”

“I’m not a lawyer, but I’ve had to associate with lawyers so long that I’ve picked up a little law. You’ve got a legal claim, but before you give half of it away in attorney fees, you’d better try on your own hook. Suppose you call up Westfall and make an appointment. He’ll do you no harm. He wouldn’t dare disturb a hair on your lovely head.”

She actually blushed. I went over to the phone and had the operator try to get me Westfall. She couldn’t. Nobody seemed to know where Westfall was.

“Well, you can get him tomorrow morning. Do that.”

“All right, I will. But I never thought I could bring myself to look at him.”

“You could afford to ogle the Devil himself for thirty grand. My guess is Westfall will hand it to you on a silver platter.”

“Well, I’m glad I came to see you.”

“Who told you you’d find me here?”

“Captain Hinchman. I think he wanted to get rid of me.”

“Then he was nuts. Suppose I pick you up for dinner at eight?”

She blushed again and said she thought that would be all right. I hoped I’d make it. It was six-thirty then. I found Carl Bronson’s name in the phone book and got a call in to his house.

“Mr. Bronson will see no one,” somebody told me.

“He’ll see me. I’m from the attorney general’s office. Tell him to stick around till I get there.”

It took half an hour to do that. The Bronson place was in a swank residential development a few miles out. A maid led me through the house and out onto the terrace. Bronson was lounging in a summer chair.

“Sorry to bother you, Mr. Bronson, but I’ve got to. You see you’re the only witness to Ditson’s plunge.”

“That’s right. I don’t intend to stand in the way of an investigation. I’ll gladly tell you anything I know. I want somebody to pay for this.”

He looked as if he had been taking it pretty hard. And from Sheila Brown’s pictures in the papers, it looked as if he had plenty of right to take it that way. Bronson himself wasn’t much to look at — he had one of those faces that look like a mask for a calculating machine. His business was investment brokerage, so he was in character.

He was also a little bald, a fact which hadn’t shown up in his newspaper photo. I guessed his age to be an old thirty-seven. Sheila Brown had been twenty-two. I charged the incongruity up to the manpower shortage and let it go at that.

“The only thing I want to establish,” I told Bronson, “is whether Ditson definitely jumped.”

Bronson gave me a long, thoughtful look.

“What makes you think he didn’t?”

“A fair question. I’ve heard a rumor that Westfall sent thirty thousand bucks by way of a couple of his muggs to the Maramoor. The muggs haven’t shown up since. I thought maybe they got the bright idea of heaving Ditson out of the window and making it look like suicide. That way he wouldn’t be around to squawk about not getting the thirty thousand.”

Bronson looked me over as though I had large ears.

“But that’s preposterous! The money didn’t show up after Ditson’s suicide. Westfall must know they didn’t deliver it, so they certainly gained nothing by killing Ditson, assuming your theory is correct, which it isn’t.”

“Oh, it isn’t? You know that, do you?”

“Of course. I’ve already told my story many times. Ditson wasn’t pushed, he jumped. I saw him. He was standing in the window. He just stepped off. Then he turned over and over. His head was down when he... when—”

Bronson covered his face with his hands.

“For God’s sake, Corbett, why make me go into that?”

“I’m sorry. I only thought that Westfall’s boys might have counted on his thinking the cops who searched the room afterward might have got the thirty grand.”

“Then why haven’t they shown up? They can’t be banking on any such idea, otherwise they would.”

“I guess I’ll have to agree on that. But I thought the idea was worth running down. After all, I don’t have a lot to go on.”

“Well, I hope you raise hell in this town. I’ve been fed up for years with the bunch of crooks running it.”

“Then you didn’t approve of your fiancée going to the Silver Dollar?”

Bronson straightened. “Who told you she did?”

“She did go there, didn’t she?”

“Yes, but not with me. I wouldn’t be caught dead inside one of those joints. I can’t afford it, in my business. Pretty soon people who let me handle their money would begin to wonder if I was gambling it away.”

“Then who took Miss Brown there?”

“Her brother. He practically lives at the Silver Dollar, I hear. Dwight’s a nice boy, but he makes a fool of himself. I give him five years, and he’ll have his inheritance down the sewer. And Sheila’s, too, now that she’s gone.”

I got up. “Well, thanks. I’m glad I got to talk to you, though you’ve knocked my bright idea in the head. I’m sorry about your loss, really I am.”

“Thanks. Give ’em hell. Drive all those rotten crooks out of town!”

“I’ll do my best.”

Chapter Two Double Take

Mary Ditson looked so cute when I picked her up at the Broadhurst that I wished I’d bothered to shave. I tried to make up for it by taking her to the swellest place in town, the Maramoor Ionian Room. Of course it all went on the expense account.

“Who was your father’s worst enemy?” I asked her.

“Himself.”

“I know, but I mean other people. Did he have any serious enemies?”

“I’m positive he didn’t have. There wasn’t a soul in our town who didn’t love Dad — and pity him. The poor man thought he was a super gambler. Actually he never won in all his life.”

“This town you lived in across the state line — it’s not very big, is it?”

“Ten thousand. Nobody very rich. Dad was a pretty shrewd real estate operator — he had to be to make up for his gambling losses. I worked in his office and tried to keep him in line.”

“Couldn’t he have made somebody pretty mad on some of his real estate deals?”

“Say, what are you driving at?”

“An answer to my question.”

“Well, I suppose there were people who got peeved. Like Jim Newell. He really was burned up for a while when he found how much Dad would have given him when he bought his building for that chain store.”

“Now we’re getting somewhere! Where’s this Jim Newell now?”

“Greenlawn Cemetery. I think that transaction killed him.”

“Yes, it’s killing me, too! So the guy’s dead! Well, did he ever make anybody mad who’s still alive?”

“I just can’t think of anybody offhand.”

“Suppose you work on it.”

“You really suspect foul play? You really think somebody might have murdered Dad?”

“I’ve just got a hunch. Suppose the thirty thousand was actually paid to him. He’d advertised in all the newspapers that he was going to commit suicide. That made a perfect set-up for anybody who wanted to come along, pick up the thirty grand and toss him out of the window.”

“But Mr. Bronson saw him jump!”

“He thinks he did. But remember that your father’s falling body killed his girl. My bet is that Bronson has no very clear idea of what happened. A shock like that addles your brain. Besides, even if his girl hadn’t been killed, I wouldn’t put too much stock in his story. When I went to FBI school I turned in a report of a fake killing that said five shots were fired. There were only three. And I’m supposed to be a detective!”

I thought maybe I’d said the wrong thing then, for she gave me an odd look.

“Suppose we get out of this joint. I only brought you here because it’s expensive. I think it smells. We should be able to find a nice place that isn’t so stuffy.”

“I’m glad you said that. Let’s try the Silver Dollar.”

I gave her a double-take. “But it’s closed!”

“Only the gambling room part. The nightclub side is still running. I found that out.”

She’d also found out the Silver Dollar was on the south edge of Midtown, actually just over the corporation line. The cab had hauled us about five blocks before I noticed the tail.

It was one of those cabs that are converted passenger cars. There was no glass partition between us and the driver. I said: “Fellow, is there any place between here and the Silver Dollar that’s nice and quiet?”

Mary Ditson said: “Why, Mr. Corbett, I—”

“Don’t get any wrong ideas,” I told her. “We’re being followed. I’d like to find out why.” Again I addressed the driver. “Have you thought of some place by now?”

He turned around, about half scared.

“Listen, mister, what are you getting me into?”

“A ten-spot tip. Don’t get hot and bothered. I’m the law.” I flashed my badge.

He seemed to breathe easier. “There won’t be any shooting?”

“If there is, I’ll be doing it. Now let me know when you’re about to turn off and where you’re going to stop.”

The driver turned off at one of those cross-streets that rim through undeveloped areas. When he saw the tail turn after us, he really got a bad case of jitters.

“Gee, I don’t think I want any part of this! Those guys are after you!”

“Twenty dollars.”

“Well, I don’t suppose I can turn down dough like that. It’ll be when we go under the Pennsy overhead. I’ll stop real quick just on the other side of that.”

I turned to Mary Ditson. “How about you? You want out now?”

“I... I’ll stay! Maybe something important’s going to happen!”

I didn’t know how important it was going to be, but I made up my mind it wasn’t going to be sad for me. When the cabbie pulled up and stopped, the other car pulled up beside us and stopped as I had anticipated. By that time I had the cab door open and my .380 out of its shoulder holster. The windows on the other car were down, and I stuck the .380’s muzzle to within six inches of the big guy’s brain.

The big guy was sitting in the front at the right. “Hold it, fellow,” he said, “we only wanted to talk — privately.”

“That’s right,” chimed in a middle-aged man at the wheel. “We can help you, Mr. Corbett. That’s all we want to do, just help you.”

“Then why did you tail me down a back road? Why didn’t you come to my room at the hotel?”

“We’re hiding out, Mr. Corbett. We couldn’t come to the Maramoor on account of Westfall spotting us. So we had to watch our chance to see you.”

“Then you’re the guys Westfall sent over with the thirty grand.”

“That’s right, Mr. Corbett. We delivered it all right. We delivered every cent of it at nine o’clock. Parker here’ll bear me out, and I’ll vouch for him. My name’s Souders.”

“Why shouldn’t you boys back up each other’s story? Thirty grand split two ways is still a nice deal for each of you.”

“But if we had the dough, why’d we stick around here? Why’d we talk to you?”

“Go on. Let’s have the talk.”

“Well, that’s all there is. We gave Ditson the money. He was happy as hell about it. He was so happy he started laughing like he was crazy, and he wound up crying. We beat it, it was so embarrassing.”

“Then where’d the money get to?”

Souders exchanged a glance with Parker. Parker took a deep breath and nodded.

“Hinchman. He’s the guy who was in charge of the investigation. We stuck around long enough to see that — after we’d heard what had happened. This Hinchman is a strictly no good deal. We ought to know. We’ve been handling Westfall’s payoffs long enough to know Hinchman’s got his hand out almost as far as the chief’s and the sheriff’s.”

“How about the county D. A.? He like his gravy, too?”

The boys exchanged another pair of glances.

“What have you got on your mind?”

“An out for you fellows. Westfall’ll never believe your story about delivering that thirty grand. If he catches you, you’re through. You know that. Your only out is to turn state’s evidence. You’ll put Westfall, the crooked cops, the sheriff and even the D. A. where they won’t be able to bother you again. It’s the only way.”

The boys remained silent. Finally Parker, who had done the listening, said: “We’ll have to have a little time to think that deal over. That makes us squealers.”

“Live squealers. Think it over. When you’re ready, call me at the Maramoor.”

When they’d gone and I was back in the cab, Mary Ditson said:

“Why did you let them go? Why didn’t you arrest them?”

“That’s what they wanted. They daren’t turn themselves in to the local law because the local law is one of Westfall’s subsidiaries. They figured they’d be safe in my hands. If I let them sweat., it out a little longer they’ll be ready to upset the whole applecart. Then I can hand the town over to Keever on a silver platter.”

The cab was still standing there, so I said to the driver: “It’s all over, fellow. Get going.”

He turned around. His face was bathed in perspiration. His lower lip trembled.

“My God, why didn’t you tell me them guys was going to be Stonie Parker and Punch Souders? They’re the toughest boys Spain Westfall’s got! They might have massacred us all!”

“Not a chance. They were the tamest pair of punks I ever saw in my life. That means there’s somebody working for Westfall who’s tougher than they are. Got any idea who that could be?”

The driver shook his head. “I never heard of anybody that tough!”

He got the cab going, leaving a few teeth on the gears. When we got to the Silver Dollar, I paid him his fare and his twenty. He looked as if he thought he’d earned it. He got away from us as fast as his recaps would carry him.

There’s no use in my describing the Silver Dollar, because you’ve been in as many of those places as I have, and they’re all pretty much alike. The night club proper is merely a garish come-on for the annex where the real dough is made. Westfall had rigged up a slightly more elaborate club than the average, and there were sixteen pieces in the band.

It was still the kind of corny band you expect in such places, doing a bad imitation of Wayne King doing a bad imitation of Guy Lombardo. I saw that Mary Ditson was pleasantly surprised and guessed she’d been pretty much of a home girl. I wondered if she was going to order cokes — she’d passed up the wine list at dinner.

But she drank like a little lady. Insofar as I was concerned the pipes were pretty dry, and I brought matters up to date. After my third double, Westfall came over to our table.

“Mind if I sit down?”

“Not at all. Miss Ditson, Spain Westfall.”

Westfall paled. Mary Ditson dittoed. Westfall recovered first and sat down.

“Miss Ditson, I’m very sorry for what happened. I assume complete responsibility. The money your father had lost was to have been refunded to him by two of my most trusted men. They absconded, and the consequence was a terrible tragedy. I know I can’t bring back your father, but I do want to return personally to you the money he lost. You can come with me to my office now and get it, or my lawyers can give it to you in the morning as I’d already planned.”

Mary Ditson looked at him as if she were in a trance.

I caught the look in her eyes and said: “Don’t think he’s making a generous gesture, Mary. He knows you can collect legally, and he’s beating the gun. His voluntary payment will be noised around, and everybody will say: ‘What a white guy Spain Westfall is.’ He’s taking very little chance admitting your father lost the money in the Silver Dollar, because a gambling rap is strictly small time. It’s the conspiracy and bribery charge that bothers a big shot like Westfall, and he knows he’s in the clear on that.”

Westfall eyed me coldly.

“That’s right, Corbett. You’re beginning to get a little bit on my nerves. But you’re not worrying me a nickel’s worth. I told you I’d heard about you, and I had. But what I hear is you use your gun more than your brains. Try and raise a stink in Midtown and see how fast you get heaved out of it!”

He turned back to Mary Ditson and asked: “Do you want the money now or in the morning?”

“Take it now,” I told her. She was plainly flabbergasted.

“But thirty thousand dollars! That’s such a lot of money to carry, especially at night! Isn’t there danger?”

“There’s more danger Westfall might be in no position to pay off in the morning. A bird in the hand, you know. Besides, I’ll see you don’t lose the thirty thousand.”

Westfall gave me another cold look. Then he got up, and we followed him into his office. It was nothing so elaborate as his main headquarters downtown, but still it was strictly big time. He gave Mary her money in thirty bills and took a receipt for them.

“If you’ll take my advice,” said Westfall, “you’ll go right back to your hotel and put that money in the safe. I’ll send along a couple of my boys, if you like.”

“I don’t like,” I said. “The last time a couple of your boys got close to thirty grand they succumbed to wanderlust. I’ll do all the necessary bodyguarding in this case.”

Westfall shrugged. We went out through the club and took the only waiting cab. I’ll admit I had a few perambulating palpitations. It wouldn’t look so good if somebody came along and I let them take those nice clean bills out of Mary’s handbag. The driver started back downtown, but I said: “Let’s take a ride out into the country. Take it pretty slow and easy.”

If the driver knew anything about a war going on he didn’t hint it. He took us about two miles out, and when we came to a crossroad, I said: “Turn here.”

Mary Ditson eyed me with mingled wonder and suspicion while the cab turned down the cross-road. But she didn’t say anything until the road began to dip and twist.

“What is your idea? We’re going away from my hotel, not back to it!”

“Sure. Westfall wouldn’t pull anything so corny as to put a tail on us at the Silver Dollar. If he has any ideas at all, the tail would pick us up on the way downtown. This way we should cross him up.”

“But why would he have anyone follow us?”

“To see that nobody took the thirty grand away from you.”

“Well what’s the matter with that?”

“Nothing much except that I want it. Hand it over.”

She sucked in her breath in a short gasp.

“You crook! Why, I’ll bet you aren’t Ben Corbett at all! You’re somebody else just pretending you’re him!”

“Hey!” said the driver, slowing almost to a stop. “What goes on back there?”

“Keep out of this, bub,” I told him. “This is no affair of yours.”

Mary Ditson clutched her handbag tightly.

“You’re not going to get away with this!”

“Wrong again. It’s you who aren’t going to get away with it.”

“I... I don’t know what you mean!” Her eyes widened as if she suddenly saw the light. “I know — you think I’m not Mary Ditson, that I’m just pretending I’m she. That’s what you think, isn’t it?”

“Oh, no, you’re Mary Ditson, all right. It’s just that I don’t want to see a swindle pulled, even if it’s on a racketeer like Westfall. Come clean, Mary — tonight’s the second time you’ve collected your father’s gambling loss.”

“You... you’re crazy! Why would Westfall pay me off twice?”

“Because he didn’t know he was doing it. He doesn’t believe Parker and Souders delivered the cash to your father’s hotel room — I do. I think it was you who carried it out of there. You must have been there at the time, or else you came right over when he phoned you the good news.”

Mary Ditson forced a laugh. “That’s good! He got the money at nine o’clock and ten minutes later I was there to collect it from him! And all away across the state line!”

I laughed long and loud. Mary Ditson said: “What are you laughing at?”

“These screwball hunches of mine. Take this one. I had a hunch you might have been in Midtown to pick up the dough, but then there were other candidates. So what happens? You listen three times to as many stories about the thirty grand being delivered to your father’s hotel room. You heard me tell it, you heard Parker and Souders tell it, and you heard Westfall tell it. Nobody said anything about what time the money was supposed to have been delivered. Nobody said it was nine o’clock or that it was ten minutes before your father’s alleged suicide. Yet you just asked me how you could have traveled from your home town across the state line to Midtown in ten minutes, after a phone call at nine!”

Again Mary’s breath went in fast. I reached over and found no resistance when I took the bag away from her. I removed the bills, stuffed them into my inside coat pocket and handed back the bag.

I said, mainly for the benefit of the cab driver: “You’re probably one of Westfall’s stooges, and you may as well tell him what you overheard. You can also tell him he can have his dough if he comes to my hotel in the morning.”

He turned at the next cross-road and headed back toward town. Mary was crying her eyes out by this time. I took an armful of her.

“Think nothing of it, baby. Your old man got a bum break, and nobody will blame you for trying to take a rat like Westfall. My only beef is that your keeping mum was keeping me in doubt about whether I was working on a suicide or a murder. You should have thought of that.”

She whimpered all the more, but didn’t try to break away. Women are like cats — you can’t hate them because you can’t train them to be as dependable as dogs.

The tears were gone by the time we reached the Broadhurst. The cab driver had heard plenty, so I took Mary into the lobby and found a quiet corner, before I asked any more questions.

“O. K., Mary. Let’s hear what happened.”

“There’s nothing much. Those men — I didn’t see them — they stopped in the vestibule and delivered the money. They told Dad to stop squawking and get out of town. They didn’t ask for a receipt. I didn’t understand that.”

“They were trusted payoff men for Westfall,” I told her. “They never took receipts. Nobody would give them any. So they didn’t ask your father for one because the habit was too strong.”

“Well, I made Dad give me the money. I took it to the Broadhurst and the clerk put it in a safe. Of course he didn’t know what was in the envelope I gave him — it was just thirty bills, like the second package.

“I felt pretty wonderful, knowing Dad had got his money back. I went out to a movie. Then when I came out I saw Dad’s suicide in the headlines. I didn’t know what to think. I couldn’t understand why he would commit suicide. I couldn’t believe anybody had murdered him, because he hadn’t any money.”

“Well, you knew it had to be one or the other.”

“Of course. But I didn’t know why it would be one or the other. I waited till next day, then I went to the morgue. They wouldn’t let me claim the body. They treated me terribly — it’s plain that everyone I saw was working for the gamblers.

“I went to police headquarters, and it was the same story there. I suppose I’d have told about the thirty thousand if anybody had treated me half-way decent. But everybody seemed to be trying to brush me out of his hair. A whole day passed with nothing done.

“Then today, I found you were in the picture. Hinchman evidently thought he was getting rid of me by sending me to you — and by that time I was bitter. I didn’t know why Dad had jumped from that window, but I knew he wouldn’t have done it if it hadn’t been for Spain Westfall’s gambling place.

“I remembered the men hadn’t gotten a receipt. Then you told me Westfall himself believed that the money had never been delivered — that the messengers had gone away with it. So I thought I’d get even with Westfall and collect twice!”

“Sure it wasn’t so much revenge as the money?”

“Why not the money?”

“Atta girl! I don’t blame you for a little opportunism, only you sure played the devil with solving your father’s murder.”

“You really think it was murder?”

“Why would your father jump when he’d got his money back?”

“But if he didn’t have the money, why should anyone kill him?”

“Several things might have happened. The murderer might have killed him in an attempt to rob him. He might have killed him while torturing him to make him tell where the money was.”

“But in both cases the murderer would have to think he had the money!”

“Right. Parker and Souders had reason to believe he had it. So did Westfall and maybe a half-dozen or more of his stooges including Hinchman. And then there was you.”

“Me! Why, you can’t—”

“No, I don’t think you killed your father for thirty grand, though even a girl your size could have pushed him out of the window.”

“Well, thanks. I suppose after what I tried to do to Westfall, you’d be justified in thinking anything of me — even murder.”

“Well, I don’t, but I’ve an open mind. Run along to bed now, and I’ll see you in the morning.”

My cab driver hadn’t waited for his fare, which had been plenty. He had beat it back to the Silver Dollar to tell all to Westfall and collect an appropriate bonus. I got another cab. It was ten-thirty when I walked into the Maramoor lobby. I went to a pay phone, closed the booth and called the Silver Dollar. I asked for Westfall, and got him.

“Ditson had his payoff,” I told him. “The girl has the money.”

“So I heard,” said Westfall. “Only my tip is you’ve got the double payoff.”

“Your tip’s right. I’m holding it, but you’ll get it back soon enough. I want you to keep it under your hat for a little while.”

“Anything you say. I feel sorry about my lack of faith in my boys. They were good boys. It’s too bad I can’t apologize to them.”

“Oh, you can’t? Why not?”

“A while ago they went over Briarton Cliff in their car. A sheer drop of over a hundred feet. It’s a shame.”

“Yes, it’s a shame.”

I hung up. I’d counted on Parker and Souders contacting me by this time. Now they’d do no talking, and it was going to be tough getting the indictments Keever had ordered.

I thought I’d concentrate on a different indictment. Westfall had shown his nasty temper. The hot-seat would sweat it out of him. Parker and Souders had been muggs, but they had also been human beings, and there’s a law.

I stopped at the hotel safe and deposited the thirty grand. Then I went up to my room. I hadn’t much more than turned on the lights when there was a visitor in the doorway.

“Mr. Corbett,” he said. “I’m Dwight Brown, Sheila Brown’s brother.”

“Oh, come in. How’d you happen along?”

“Carl Bronson told me about your visit. It wasn’t hard locating you. I’ve been waiting for an hour in the lobby.”

“Then you must have something important to say.”

“I have. Sheila’s death has been a terrible shock to me. But it’s opened my eyes to a great many things.”

“To what?”

“To the fact that Midtown’s a rotten place so long as there are rats like Spain Westfall!”

“I get it. You used to be one of his best customers — now you blame him for your sister’s death.”

“Oh, I know he wasn’t directly responsible. His connection was relatively remote. But if Ditson hadn’t been a sucker at the Silver Dollar, he wouldn’t have committed suicide. And if there hadn’t been any Silver Dollar, he wouldn’t have been a sucker. And if there hadn’t been any Spain Westfall, there wouldn’t have been a Silver Dollar.”

That was the way he looked at it, and I couldn’t blame him.

“Well, what do you want to do about it?”

“I want to bust the whole racket wide open. And I can do it!”

Chapter Three Killing Takes Practice

I went over and locked my door. I got a bottle out of my bag and poured doubles. There were only two glasses — if Brown wanted a chaser, he could get it for himself. I didn’t need one. We drank.

“Well, son, let’s have it.”

“I’ve got enough on Westfall and Hinchman to put both of them away for keeps. You see, I’ve kind of palled around with Westfall. I think it flattered him to have me around. My family’s always been tops in this town. I think Westfall might have had social ideas in the back of his head. He talked of retiring when the war boom is over.”

Brown paused, looked around nervously.

“Mind if I have another?”

I got him another. I was on pins and needles, and forgot to pour one for myself, a rare thing.

“Yes, I’ve been pretty close to Westfall. Maybe you know how openly he plays the thing. A couple of summers back when the Reform Committee got things closed up for a couple of months he even ran an ad in the papers. It said: ‘Owing to excessive heat, the south wing of the Silver Dollar will be closed for the remainder of the summer.’ Just like that.”

“Why shouldn’t he play it open? With his protection he owns the town.”

“Sure. The chief of police, the sheriff and the D. A. are just hired help to him. Hinchman’s the boy who keeps them in line. He got the chief out of town as soon as the Ditson thing broke — he didn’t want a weak sister in his way. Even Westfall’s men don’t suspect Hinchman’s high man because the boss himself handles most of his payoffs.”

“I hope you aren’t just talking. You said something about being able to back this up.”

“Sure I can. I’ve seen Hinchman paid off a dozen times. Both he and Westfall took me for granted.”

“Is that all you’ve got — your word against theirs?”

“Hell, no! One day last summer I went fishing with Hinchman. He threw his coat over the back of the seat. Seven bank notes fell out on the car floor. They were on that many different banks and in that many different names. Hinchman didn’t notice them. I jotted down the data on the back of an envelope. I figured the information might come in handy some time.”

“For blackmailing Westfall into paying back your losses, maybe?”

“No. You must have been listening to Carl Bronson. According to him I’m a hopeless spendthrift gambling away my inheritance. Actually it’s almost intact. Westfall lets me win enough almost to break even. I just pay dues at the Silver Dollar. But I think maybe my bank account data might come in handy if Westfall decided to drop me and cash in real quick.”

“But you’ve got the goods on Hinchman, not Westfall.”

Brown looked me over. “You think Hinchman will take his rap alone? You think he hasn’t got enough on Westfall to take him with him? Break Hinchman, and you break the racket, too.”

“Well, the dope on the bank books combined with your testimony about the payoffs should do the trick if handled rightly — if you should live that long. A couple of Westfall’s boys, Parker and Souders, had some idea earlier in the evening. They went over Briarton Cliff. A sad accident.”

Brown eyed me thoughtfully. “So Stonie and Punch were going to sing? Westfall couldn’t have known that. They were on his list because they ran out with the booty to be handed back to Ditson.”

“I know. But you’ll get the same treatment if Westfall finds out you’ve been to see me. Is there any place you can hide out? Surely a young buck like you would have an address not in a telephone book.”

“I do. It’s a lodge in the hills out beyond Briarton Cliff. Nobody — no man, I mean, knows where it is.”

“Fine. Now, get out of here as fast as you can, only first draw me a diagram.”

Brown drew a crude one on a telephone pad and explained it.

Without a map it would take six squirrels and a finance company collector to find the lodge, it was that far back in the woods. I hoped Brown wasn’t kidding himself about its secrecy and that he wouldn’t be tailed. I don’t think I mentioned that he was a nice looking chap, not nearly the sad sister Carl Bronson had described him to be. Only I couldn’t forget that he might have dropped more dough at the Silver Dollar than he’d let on and that he seemed to know all about Westfall’s business. It was ghastly to think that in trying to rob Ditson he had killed his own sister!

The operator didn’t take long to get Keever. I gave it to him fast in a kind of double-talk we used, and he knew the case was hot.

“Hold everything till I get there,” he said. “I’ll round up a car full of detectives, and we’ll take the town over.”

“I guess you’ve never met Hinchman. It’ll take more dicks than you can bring in a train.”

“I’ll have a warrant for Hinchman before a shyster can say habeas corpus! Only chase out to Brown’s and keep him on ice. I can’t understand why you let him out of your sight. Are you drunk?”

“Definitely not. By the time you get here I’ll have not only Brown on ice but Ditson’s murderer as well.”

Keever didn’t believe me, but underestimating me is an old habit with him. I figured it would take him a good two hours to round up the five goons he’d hired on state pay to wear badges and pass themselves off as investigators, and get to Midtown. Far from taking over Midtown, those bums couldn’t have taken over an atoll if it had been defended by a cockroach.

I figured I had to work pretty fast. I took the elevator down and started across the lobby. A bulky form stopped me.

“Just a minute,” said Hinchman. “I was just coming to see you. Westfall told me about the Ditson girl having the thirty grand. I’m booking her for murder. She must have figured that pushing her old man out of a window was a sure way to keep him from losing the dough all over again.”

“O. K., only why do you have to see me first? Can’t you pinch a hundred and twelve pounds of pin-up without help from the A. G.’s office?”

“I came for that second thirty grand, Corbett. It’s evidence.”

“That’s why I’m keeping it in the hotel safe. The clerk looks honest.”

“I suppose I don’t.”

When we finally stopped arguing and got to the Broadhurst, Mary Ditson was gone and so was her thirty grand.

“I knew it!” said Hinchman. “She took a powder. She killed her old man — this proves it!”

“Maybe. Couldn’t be that Westfall dropped by and picked her up?”

“A snatch? Not Westfall. He’s strictly legit.”

“I suppose there’s nothing more legit than a little piece of murder. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten about Parker and Souders going over the cliff.”

“Dozens of people have gone over it. They haven’t invented a guard rail strong enough to hold the drunks. Those two boys were soaked all the time.”

“They weren’t tonight before they had their ‘accident.’ They were cold sober when they told me they’d let me know about turning state’s evidence.”

Hinchman paled. Then he quickly recovered.

“They didn’t know nothing. But this Ditson girl does. If it ain’t too late to stop her lamming out of town, I’ll have her confession signed and sealed in a matter of hours.”

He had a fair chance at that, for the Broadhurst clerk said she’d only checked out ten minutes before. He ran out with my blessing, for the Ditson dame had pulled a honey, running out like that. I believed Hinchman about Westfall not having the guts for a snatch. Dealing with me was going to be tough enough, but dealing with the FBI would be even tougher. I’m a modest little devil at that.

A cab hauled me out to Carl Bronson’s. He was still up.

“I know there’s no use in my going to bed, Corbett. I can’t sleep for thinking of Sheila.” He buried his hands in his face.

“I want you to think some more. Whether I crack this case tonight depends on you. You’re the only eye-witness of Ditson’s leap that I know of. Now, get this — Ditson didn’t dive, he was pushed.”

Bronson’s brows lifted in incredulous amazement.

“But I tell you, I saw him! Nobody was there in the window with him! He was standing on the sill, and he stepped off!”

“You’re cockeyed. You think you saw him step off because you were psychologically unprepared to see anything else. Usually when somebody goes out the window of a building it’s under his own power. It’s rarely a case of murder. So your prejudiced brain projected an image instead of a picture of the real thing. You’ve got to shake up that image and let the parts fall back where they belong. Then maybe you’ll see somebody there in the window with Ditson or at least somebody’s hands and arms.”

Bronson eyed me speculatively. “If you know what you’re talking about — and I think you don’t — you’re really trying to tell me that psychoanalysis would clear my memory.”

“That’s a ten-dollar word for it. Do it. Then maybe we’ll get someplace, as the saying goes.”

I watched while Bronson sat back and rubbed the bridge of his nose in his version of a mental kick in the pants. Suddenly he sat up straight.

“But this whole thing’s crazy! Why should anyone kill Ditson? He was penniless. I gather that he had no enemies.”

“I’ll bring you up to date, Bronson. Ditson had been paid off. His daughter was there at the time, and she socked the dough in her purse. Later she laid it away in the hotel safe, then she got another idea and took a ride. Hinchman should catch her. But even if he doesn’t, the fact remains that Ditson was paid off. His murderer might not have known about his daughter taking the money away. So he might have sapped him too hard and tossed him onto the asphalt to cover up.”

Bronson was visibly impressed.

“That does change things. I’ll think harder now.”

He went back to rubbing his nose again. I knew he could rub the skin away without changing the picture he carried in his mind. So I said: “Let’s go talk to Dwight Brown. He’s thrown in with me. Maybe he can help you.”

Bronson looked up. “Dwight? You mean he’s fallen out with Westfall over this? Say, that’s serious. When Dwight got drunk he used to tell me a few things he knew about Westfall and his crowd. Westfall is a tough character to fall out with.”

“It’s all right. Dwight’s in a hidden lodge out beyond Briarton Cliff.”

“Impossible! He doesn’t have such a place!”

“That’s why he has it, because it’s impossible that he should have it. You surely know the facts of life, Mr. Bronson.”

Bronson seemed shocked at such discretion. But he didn’t argue. He got a hat, and backed his car out of the garage. I paid off my cab and climbed in with him. Then I got out Dwight’s map and gave directions.

There was a mob of cars parked around Briarton Cliff. It seemed every neighbor had driven over to see the wreck about a hundred and forty feet below. The cliff was no grade — it was a rock ledge dropping sheerly. A fire burned briskly below.

“Get along!” said a highway patrolman as I signaled Bronson to stop.

I flashed my badge and said: “How come the fire? The boys went over a long time ago.”

“Lots of rubbish down there. There were signs up forbidding dumping, but people dumped anyway. This is no main road — people had plenty of chance.”

I took a look at the guard rail. I’m no engineer, but I’d say the highway department had done its darnedest here. To go through that rail a car would have to be traveling at least sixty. My professional curiosity was aroused. I wondered how Westfall’s expert had managed it.

“Get along,” I told Bronson. “I haven’t much faith in this map. We may be all night finding Dwight.”

We weren’t quite that long. But we were a good hour and a half checking false leads consisting of by-roads that Dwight had forgotten to mark. Finally we parked beside what had to be the lodge. At least there was a light inside, and Bronson identified Dwight’s car.

We barged right in. Dwight wasn’t alone. He was sitting at his fireplace, a highball in hand. Opposite him sat Mary Ditson. She also held a highball glass. It was a cozy picture.

“Come in, gentlemen,” said Dwight. “Make yourselves at home.”

“Well,” said Bronson with scorn run through with envy, “you’re in character, all right! Imagine bringing a girl here with your sister dead only two days!”

“Don’t break an ankle jumping at conclusions,” said Dwight. “This is Mary Ditson, the daughter of Westfall’s victim. Mary, this stuffed shirt is Carl Bronson. Not having to marry him is the only break poor Sheila got.”

“Dwight! You’re drunk!”

“I never had a soberer thought. Mr. Corbett, I hope you’ll forgive my bringing Mary here. I thought she’d be safer, and when I saw that mess at Briarton Cliff, I was glad I’d brought her along. Westfall is desperate. He knows he’s fighting for his life. So I hope you’ll understand why I brought Mary.”

“Sure, I guessed as much,” I said without batting an eye. I looked around the joint with no little admiration. Some of Dwight’s female companions must have put in residence, for the place had a touch no mere man could give it. But Bronson had different ideas.

“That Picasso is Sheila’s! I know because I gave it to her! She told me she’d hung it in her room! What’s it doing here?”

Dwight apparently got some enjoyment out of saying: “Sheila liked to come here, too. It was her hide-out as well as mine. No bromide ever beat a path to our door. We took turnabout and never got in each other’s way. You’d have liked Sheila, if you’d only known her.”

Bronson reddened. “Damn you, Dwight, you’ve no right to talk like that! Sheila and I were engaged to be married. She was wearing my ring when she died!”

“Sure, but she was still kidding you. She didn’t want to let you down hard and figured you’d tire out if she stalled long enough. It’s all in her diary she kept out here. I didn’t get very far, only a few pages. Brother, did she have your number!”

Bronson could take it no longer. He reached Dwight in two long strides, swung a haymaker that passed a foot over Dwight’s ducking head and took a pair of hooks into his middle that put him on his pants. I regarded Dwight with new respect.

Bronson didn’t look angry any more. He looked sick. He was sick in the bathroom after he’d staggered through a bedroom to it “I told him I wanted to shake up his memory,” I said. “If that doesn’t do it nothing will.”

Bronson was taking his time coming out of the bath, which was between the two bedrooms in the rear, but I figured that if I’d suffered a defeat like his, I’d want to spend some time there, too. I forgot all about Bronson when Keever walked in flanked by Hinchman and Westfall.

For one of the few times in my life I regarded Keever with genuine, unaffected admiration.

“For crying out loud! It took Bronson and me all night to find this place with a map! How the devil did you find it?”

“Elementary, my dear Corbett. I merely wired the county auditor to open up his records, spot any hill country land in the name of Dwight Brown. He found the place, loaned me a map out of his office. Then I picked up Westfall and Hinchman.”

I gasped: “But you didn’t have time to get a warrant!”

“Why should I? You promised you’d have Ditson’s murderer by the time I got here. Naturally it’s to Westfall and Hinchman’s interest to learn that Ditson was no suicide after all. Come, Corbett, produce your killer.”

“Let’s start with a preliminary rather than the main go,” I said. “This is Dwight Brown — Dwight, feel honored at meeting Attorney General Burton H. Keever!” Keever scowled at me and smiled at Dwight. “Dwight has a little piece to speak. Don’t miss any lines, Dwight.”

Dwight spoke his piece while I stood by with leveled .380. I wasn’t impressed by the flattened noses of Keever’s goons in the window. They knew how to surround the lodge — they’d been to the movies.

Hinchman broke quickly. Dwight had read his memo only half-way through when he turned to Keever and nodded.

“That’s enough. I’ll make a deal.”

“Fine,” said Keever, then he yelled. Westfall had lost his head. Keever’s goons must have missed the flat .32 automatic that he pulled out from under his belt. My .380 got in the first and only word, and Westfall’s mouth hung open. He put his hands over his belly, the .32 dropping to the floor. Then Westfall sat down.

I’ve read about guys who shoot guns out of other guys’ hands, but if you haven’t much time the belly is a bigger target. Westfall passed out cold, and I said: “Better get him to a doc — he may want to do a little talking before his life leaks out of all those holes inside him.”

“He won’t have to talk!” Hinchman shouted hysterically. “I know everything that he knows! I’ll bust up every racket in town!”

“You’ll tell us who killed Parker and Souders?”

“Sure, they were Westfall’s boys. He ordered it. I had absolutely nothing to do with it!”

“And who killed Ditson?”

Hinchman shook his head vigorously.

“Honest to God, I don’t know who did that! I actually thought you’d brought me here to turn him up!”

Keever eyed me sharply. “You said you’d turn him up, Ben!”

I hedged. “Well, aren’t you getting your money’s worth? You passed Briarton Cliff on the way here. I’ve cracked that case. Aren’t you satisfied with the progress?”

“Scarcely,” said Keever. “After all, this thing started with Ditson’s murder, and it’s still unsolved. By the way, why’s that fire still burning at the cliff? It started hours ago.”

“The rubbish dumped there,” Dwight volunteered. “Everybody does it.” He laughed. “Why, only a couple of days ago, I came along and found my stuffed-shirted prospective brother-in-law dumping a big bundle there.”

“How big?” I yelled.

Startled, Dwight replied: “A hell of a big bundle. Must have weighed a hundred and fifty pounds I’d say from the way he was lifting it.”

“The diary!” I yelled again. Then I raced into a bedroom and beyond into the bath. The door was locked, but the smoke fumes leaked through. The lock broke out with my second try, and my momentum carried me into Bronson. I tried to put out the fire first. When Bronson intervened I let him have a couple in the same place that Dwight had belted him. My punches were hurried and not so good, but Bronson was in no condition to handle them. He went down and stayed down while I salvaged the remaining pages of the diary.

Keever was staring into the bath, Dwight and Mary Ditson behind him.

“What have you here?”

“Ditson’s murderer — and Sheila Brown’s! It took me a hell of a long time to tumble, but I finally did when Dwight told about seeing Bronson heaving a big bundle of rubbish over Briarton Cliff. Then I realized the cliff’s about as high as a twelve-story window at the Maramoor. And the bundle was about as heavy as Ditson! That meant Bronson was practicing for throwing Ditson’s dead body from the hotel window!

“He had to know something about the trajectory of his gruesome missile. Its target was to be Sheila parked in his convertible below!

“Ditson’s murder was only incidental to Sheila’s murder. Ditson had advertised by letters to the newspapers that he would commit suicide if his losses weren’t paid back. Nobody, least of all the Maramoor Hotel people, took him seriously. If a suicide is on the level, he usually doesn’t tell a soul, much less advertise it in the papers. Even Westfall must have thought he was bluffing, but he couldn’t afford to call Ditson’s hand.

“The set-up was perfect for Bronson. He merely had to get in a little practice heaving man-sized objects from twelve-story heights. My guess is that he had experimented with several bundles before Dwight happened along.

“No parking was permitted in front of the Maramoor and beneath Ditson’s room. Bronson checked on Ditson’s window, planted his convertible there with the top down and ran into the hotel. The Maramoor is a big hotel. The odds were against anyone noticing Bronson enter or leave. He had only to rap on Ditson’s door, then rap Ditson and heave him out of the window with a mind to his Briarton Cliff ballistics. His human missile was well aimed.

“Of course his lovely victim could not dispute his subsequent statement that he had reached the curb on the opposite side of the street, waved, then seen Ditson’s plunge.

“I was fooled because I couldn’t find a motive for Bronson’s killing Ditson. Not until I realized that Ditson was merely the projectile he aimed at Sheila did I think about a motive for killing her. The answer must be in her diary, which he never knew existed until tonight My guess is that Bronson had converted securities she’d entrusted to him. The diary will probably tell how much his booty was.”

“It does!” said Dwight. He had come into the bath and picked up several pages. “It tells to the dollar — ninety-five thousand of them!”

Bronson groaned back into consciousness. Whirling, Dwight kicked him. I got him the hell out of there and back into the room where Hinchman stood in custody of two of Keever’s goons. Hinchman watched as Bronson was dragged out.

“Put us in the same cell, please,” said Hinchman. “It’ll raise my social standing.”

It was so corny I remembered my promise to myself, that I’d hit Hinchman before I got out of Midtown. So I did.