Black Mask (Vol. 15, No. 2 — April, 1932)

She was a knockout and had come in for a bunch of money; she held the gun when the man fell; but Don Free wasn’t sure she had done the killing.

1

Don Free stood just inside the entrance door of the Hammond Agency and blinked gray eyes in the direction of Jen Carle. The girl used a lipstick deftly, slipped it into a drawer of the desk behind which she sat, relaxed in the chair. Don Free continued to look at her; finally he swore cheerfully.

She said: “Well — like it?”

Free grinned; it made him look ten years younger, almost boyish. He used his whole face when he grinned.

“Gave me a shock,” he replied. “Platinum, eh?”

She nodded and touched her hair with long, slender fingers. When he’d last seen her, ten days ago, she’d had long, brown hair. It had been touched with gray, and he’d liked it.

She said again: “Well — like it?”

Free let his grin become a smile, and looked older. He had a strong face, slightly browned. He was clean shaven and his lips were too thin to make him handsome. Otherwise his features were good. He looked towards a narrow corridor running from the outside office — the door of it stood half opened.

“Sure, Jen,” he said thoughtfully, but not as though he were thinking about the color of her hair.

She shrugged. “Which means you don’t,” she stated. “And that’s all right, too.”

He nodded. “I wouldn’t know, Jen,” he said. “It doesn’t matter, anyway. I love you for what’s under the mattress stuff.”

She said with faint bitterness. “Like hell you do.”

He took off a light brown coat and a brown felt hat, put them on a chair.

“Tim inside?” he asked.

She nodded, and her eyes grew narrow. “And loving being there,” she said with more bitterness. “The man killer’s with him.”

Don Free looked at a picture of Abe Lincoln, hanging on the office wall.

“The man killer?” he said.

Jennie Carle nodded, her lips smiling. “Go on in and get a load of her,” she suggested. “Better knock first.”

Free looked slightly puzzled. “Business?” he asked.

She closed her eyes and hit the desk with a clenched fist.

“If it is — it’s funny business,” she said.

Free spoke slowly. “Now, Jen. Times are bad — the agency needs business.”

She breathed something he didn’t catch, and then said more clearly:

“I’m damn’ glad you got back. Tim needs someone to tell him a woman’s only a woman.”

Free half closed his eyes and whistled softly. “You’re not getting that way. Jen — after all these years?”

He watched the bitterness in her eyes.

“All these years — that’s the trouble,” she said. “Better go in, Free — he’s expecting you.”

She chuckled a little, with bitterness in it. Free looked at the face of Lincoln again.

“Better buzz in that I’m here, Jen,” he said.

She lifted a French phone and after a few seconds said:

“I didn’t disturb you too much, Mr. Hammond? I wouldn’t want to, you know. Free’s here.”

She replaced the apparatus and shrugged at Free. “Okey,” she said. “Be sweet to her — she’s so damned young, and in so damn’ much trouble.”

Free looked at Hammond’s secretary and whistled again. Jen Carle lifted papers from her desk and held them so her face was hidden. Free went from the room and along the corridor. At the end door he rapped, but went right in. Tim Hammond stood near a window that wasn’t very far above where traffic made sound. The girl sat in a chair near Hammond’s desk. She was very beautiful. Hammond said:

“Hello, Free. That was nice work in Philly. Twelve years’ back alimony. It’ll be a good lump for his wife. Did he kick much?”

Free grinned. “Offered me five grand, just to go away and forget. Said he’d dropped a lot recently, at Monte Carlo. Got nasty, but he came through. The new one is fed up with Paris and the Riviera, and he wants to stick in the States for a while.”

Hammond was short and thick-set. He had gray hair and a handsome, dissipated face. His eyes were deep-set and gray. He nodded and gestured towards the girl.

“Miss Reynolds,” he said. “My assistant — Don Free.”

Free lowered his head slightly and smiled. The girl said:

“Hello, Mr. Free.”

Her voice was soft and very smooth. Her enunciation was very lovely. She was beautiful in a very feminine way, and yet she hadn’t the quality of a doll. Her eyes were brown, almost the color of her hair. She was tall and slender, and very perfectly dressed. Her hat was a concession to a new style, yet not the style itself.

Hammond said a little grimly: “Unfortunately, Miss Reynolds is in trouble — serious trouble.”

The girl looked at the carpet on the office floor. Free said nothing. When she raised her eyes there were tears in them. She looked at him for several seconds, then lowered her eyes. Free said:

“That’s too bad.”

Hammond nodded and went over and sat down behind his desk. He chewed a finger knuckle.

“Anyone outside when you came in?” he asked.

Free shook his head. Hammond’s gray eyes held little expression.

“Miss Reynolds has killed a man,” he said slowly. “About an hour ago.”

Free said: “Well — killed him, eh?”

Hammond nodded. The girl, with her head still lowered, shivered a little and made a moaning sound. Hammond said:

“A lot of others have tried to kill this same man, but it never took. He rated killing, Free. But there’s the law—”

Free said slowly: “Sure, there’s always the law.”

Hammond smiled thinly. “It was Bandor, Free. Tony Bandor.”

Free sucked in a slow, long breath. He swore very softly. The girl looked up and said fiercely:

“I didn’t mean to kill him, want to kill him! I had — to kill him!”

Hammond said: “That’s the way it was, Free.”

Free narrowed his eyes and said: “That’s the way what was?”

Hammond looked at the girl and spoke gently. “That’s all right, Miss Reynolds. Don’t worry.” His eyes went to Free’s. “It was like this,” he said, and then was silent for several seconds. When he went on it was as though he were reading a newspaper item. “Recently Miss Reynolds inherited quite a sum of money. She’s always lived in New York, but she hasn’t gone about so much. Miss Reynolds likes horse racing — a fine sport, Free. Now and then she used to make a bet. With the inherited money she increased her betting a bit, naturally.”

He paused and Free said: “Naturally.”

Hammond nodded. “About a week ago she had a streak of luck and made a big winning. The bookie was hit pretty hard, and he felt she should meet his backer. It happened to be Bandor. Miss Reynolds didn’t know anything about him, but she thought he was pretty nice. Tony could be that way, you know. Well, it turned out he wasn’t so nice. And about an hour ago he got himself killed.”

Free looked at the girl’s bowed head and said nothing. Hammond frowned.

“Miss Reynolds was perfectly justified, of course. But we don’t want the usual mess. Publicity, jury trial — the tabs smearing her name all over everything. You know how it is.”

The girl shivered again. Free looked at Hammond, smiling just a little.

“I know how it is, Tim,” he said. His voice held a peculiar note and Hammond continued to frown.

The girl spoke, without lifting her head, very softly:

“I told him — I didn’t care about — the bet. I’d let it go. But he wouldn’t—”

Her voice broke. Hammond said: “Well, let’s not worry about that. Tony’s dead, and the set-up doesn’t look bad. But we’ve got to be careful, Free. Awful careful. Miss Reynolds went to Burkley right away, and he sent her here. Burkley, you and I — and Miss Reynolds — we’re the only ones who know she killed him.”

Free said a little grimly: “That’s fine, if it’s right.” There wasn’t much enthusiasm in his voice.

Hammond said: “It’s right. Tony met Miss Reynolds at the Paramount at three. They sat through part of a picture, then he told her he had cash for her at his place. He said he always settled with cash. They took a cab down to the Village — got out three or four blocks from his place. It’s a nice old-fashioned, three-story brick house, with window boxes.”

The girl said a little shakily: “Green window boxes — it looked so nice—”

Hammond said: “Yeah, with green window boxes. They went inside — Tony using a key. He showed her around, and then took her into his radio room. He’s a radio fan. He can get China. It’s a sound-proof room. Well, things didn’t go so good, Free — and Tony got shot. Miss Reynolds came out, and she doesn’t think anyone saw her. Tony didn’t use the house much — he told her he only went there on important business. The room was soundproof, so the chances are he’s still where he fell. Miss Reynolds went right to her lawyer, and Burkley sent her to me. I happened to be in.”

Free said: “That was lucky.”

Hammond’s eyes got very small. Free looked at the girl.

“Sure Bandor was dead?” he asked quietly.

She raised her head and dabbed at her eyes with a small handkerchief. He didn’t think he had ever seen a more beautiful woman. She wasn’t a kid, yet everything was fresh, youthful. Her lips and eyes were lovely.

She nodded slowly. “His eyes — were open, staring terribly,” she said softly. “I waited — perhaps a few minutes. It seemed hours. I’m sure — he was dead.”

Free said: “What did you do with your gun?”

Her eyes widened. “It wasn’t — my gun,” she said. Her voice rose a little. “It was his—”

Hammond said: “It was in the radio room, Free. You see? It was just in there, on a cabinet or something. Miss Reynolds isn’t sure what the gun was on. She just grabbed for it. She’s been through a lot, Free.”

Free nodded. “Sure,” he agreed. “Well, what did you do with the gun you killed him with, Miss Reynolds?”

She shivered a little, then sat erect. Her eyes met his squarely.

“I brought it away with me,” she said. “It’s — in my bag.”

Free looked at Hammond and Hammond nodded. “I’ve had a look at it, Free. A ten slug Colt, with two slugs used. Miss Reynolds thinks she shot twice. Tony was close to her — and she thinks she got him in the stomach and heart. She was pretty excited, you see — and she just grabbed the gun and squeezed it. You know how it goes, Free.”

Free’s eyes were very small. “Sure, Tim,” he said. “It’s happened before. She noticed the gun right after she got in the radio room, eh?”

The girl said: “About five minutes after. Mr. Bandor — he didn’t seem to notice it, or if he did he didn’t pay any attention to it. When he said he wouldn’t let me go — I remembered the gun. It was all — very terrible—”

Hammond sighed. “Poor kid,” he breathed.

Don Free looked at the carpet. “Well... you don’t think you were seen going in the Greenwich Village house, or coming out. You haven’t been playing around with Tony Bandor. The shot was fired in a sound-proof room, and you’ve got the gun. A lot of guys were after Tony, and the police know that. Only three of us know that you killed him.”

Hammond reached for a pack of cigarettes laying on his desk.

“That’s about it, Free,” he said. He rapped on the desk surface before he lighted the cigarette. When he spoke his voice held a thoughtful note. “What I’m afraid of is a slip-up.”

The girl said huskily: “Oh,—”

Hammond said: “They might have been seen at the Paramount, or on the way downtown, or going in the house. She might have been seen coming out. And there’s this bookie who had Bandor as a backer.”

Free nodded. “What’s his name?” he asked.

The girl said: “Kronnen — Eddie Kronnen. He has an office in the James Building, but I’ve never been there.”

Hammond blew a thin stream of smoke towards the ceiling. He spoke very quietly.

“Self defense, Free. But we’ve got to be careful. If anyone is wise, they won’t run to the police. They’ll come after Miss Reynolds. She’s just inherited a lot of money. I think we can handle the police, unless things get too hot. I’d like you to buzz around the Village and find out if they’ve found the body yet. And you might get a line on Kronnen, see if he knows anything, or suspects anything.”

Free looked towards the girl’s handbag. Hammond watched him and said:

“We’d better keep the gun, Miss Reynolds.”

She handed the bag to him, and he opened it. He put a handkerchief in his palm, covering his fingers, and took the Colt from the bag, got it in a drawer of his desk. The girl said:

“I will pay you well, Mr. Hammond—”

He smiled at her. “Naturally,” he agreed. “But just once. We’re not blackmailers, Miss Reynolds. That’s what I’m worried about.”

Free looked at the girl. “You wore gloves when you grabbed the gun?” he said.

She nodded. Hammond said: “That’s all right, anyway. I’ve used cloth on the gun, and Miss Reynolds has never been finger-printed, of course.”

Free smiled a little. “Sure,” he said. “But she might be.”

The girl widened her eyes, and her lips trembled. Hammond frowned at Free.

“See what you can dig up,” he said. “Take it very easy, of course. Call me back at seven and we’ll eat together.”

Free nodded. “Okey,” he said. His eyes met those of the girl. “It’ll be all right, Miss Reynolds,” he told her. “Don’t let it hit you too hard. He was a louse — and a mark for somebody’s bullets pretty quick, anyway. Just stay with it.”

She covered her face with gloved hands and her body shook. Free nodded to Hammond and went from the office. In the outside room he stood beside Jen Carle, offered her a cigarette she refused, and lighted one for himself. She said:

“A knockout, eh?”

He shrugged. “One kind of one,” he replied. “What was the idea of you calling her a man killer, Jen?”

Bitterness was in her voice again. “She’s got Tim going,” she said. “I went into the office just before you arrived. She was crying and he was patting her shoulder. He told me to get out, and knock before I came in — the next time. A lot of them have cried in there, but this is the first time I’ve caught Tim patting one on the shoulder.”

Free grinned. “Yeah — this is the first time you’ve caught him,” he said dryly. “What’s her first name, Jen?”

She said: “Mary.”

Free nodded. “That good, old-fashioned name,” he breathed.

The secretary swore. After a few seconds she said:

“What’s her trouble, Free? Anything serious?”

Free grinned again. “Can’t tell yet — nothing much, I’d say. Just one of those things.”

Jen Carle frowned. “One of what things?” she asked.

Free chuckled. “You women!” he muttered. “She’s an agency client, Jen — her secret is our secret.”

Jen sniffed nastily. Free said: “I’m going to poke around some. But if anyone calls or comes in — you might say I haven’t come back from Philly yet.”

She nodded. He looked at her hair and said: “It’s all right, Jen — I like it.”

She frowned at him. “You think it’s business in there, Free?” she asked. “Give it to me straight.”

“I’m damned sure it’s business, in there, Jen,” he replied. “Don’t be that way.”

He put on his coat and hat and went from the office. There was a side entrance to the building, and he used it. In the cab, on the way downtown, he decided that Tim Hammond had acted rather strange, and that Jen Carle was worried about something besides a pat on the shoulder. Mary Reynolds he hadn’t been able to figure, but he was willing to agree that she was a man killer, of one kind or another.

2

After an hour he had got nothing of importance, and he called the agency. When he asked Jen if Tim was inside alone she said that he was but that she thought it had broken him up to let his pal go. Free said:

“Switch me in.”

Hammond said: “Hello, Parker,” in a cheerful voice and Free spoke slowly.

“On that downtown deal everything seems quiet. Maybe I’d better pick up somebody and go inside for a peek. What’s the address?”

Hammond hesitated and after a few seconds gave it to him.

“You want to be pretty careful, Parker,” he warned.

Free said: “Sure I want to. You believe the lady, of course?”

Hammond grunted. “Naturally,” he said. “I just called Burkley and checked up. He isn’t worried about the police but he says we’ve got to protect our client. He’s afraid of the friends of the man in that house — the sleeping chap. See?”

Free said that he saw. “I’ll be sure everything is right outside, and get in for a peek. Then we’ll know how to move. Our client might have made a mistake on what happened.”

Hammond said: “She didn’t, Parker; but handle it that way, and then call me.”

Free was smiling a little as he hung up. Hammond was seldom sure about women clients’ stories, but he was sure about the one this client had told. And it had been a pretty wild story.

He picked up Crail, one of the agency men, at his flat, and twenty minutes later they were on a quiet Village street not far from Tenth. Free said:

“If a cop comes along tell him you’re off duty, and looking for Joe Cline. Cline had a beat around here a few weeks ago, but got himself transferred nearer his home. Don’t get too far away from the place, unless you have to. I don’t want anyone coming inside.”

Crail said: “Right.” He walked along the sidewalk near the house front. His police uniform fitted him pretty well.

Free went up three or four steps and into a clean vestibule. It was almost dark. He tried the knob of the inside door and when nothing happened he got a few keys from his pocket and went to work. After about two minutes the door opened. As he went inside he turned and saw Crail strolling in front of the house. Inside everything was quiet.

It was dark, but not absolutely black. Free went through two rooms downstairs, neither very large. The place was furnished nicely and didn’t look as though it had been used much. He went up one flight of stairs and went through another room. There was a narrow hall leading towards the rear of the house, and there seemed to be a door at the end of it. When he got close to the door he saw that it was tightly fitted. His left hand was gloved; he found a knob and opened the door slowly. The air in the room was bad — and it was very dark. There were no windows, or else the windows were heavily covered. Free got a small flashlight from a pocket and snapped the button.

There was a heavy explosion — Free’s body pitched to the right, struck against the open door. His right hand jerked a Colt free of his pocket; the flashlight struck the floor and rolled a little. There was a second roaring explosion — and the bullet made sound as it tore into the carpet somewhere near the flashlight. Free, on his knees beside the opened door, let his body fall. It made thudding sound as he struck the carpet, which was thick.

He lay motionless, his gun at his side, one arm thrown out. Faint light from behind, from the narrow hall, came into the room. The flashlight beam was still streaking light — across the carpet. With slitted eyes Free saw a motionless hand caught in the yellow-white beam — a diamond glittered on a half-stretched finger.

There was the sharp odor of gun smoke in the room. The beam of the flashlight suddenly caught shoes — brown shoes. There were the cuffs of trousers, narrow and gray striped. Legs moved across the beam — Free’s slitted eyes could see almost to the knees of the moving man. Then the color was gone from the beam of light. There was a faint swishing sound, a very soft thud — as though a heavily padded door had closed.

Free lay motionless for almost thirty seconds, his Colt gripped tightly in the fingers of his right hand. The hand was beside the opened door. When he pulled himself to his knees he reached for the flashlight, moved it slightly. The beam struck Tony Bandor’s body. Bandor’s head was twisted to one side; his eyes were staring. His lips were drawn back slightly from white, even teeth. The diamond on a finger still shot color out. He was dead.

Free listened as faint sound seemed to come from the hall or the stairs, or a room below. He snapped out the flashlight, stood up. With his gloved hand he found the knob of the door, went into the hall and closed the door very softly behind him. He stood for several seconds, listening — and then moved to the head of the stairs. It took him almost five minutes to reach the floor below. The entrance door was heavily curtained, but as he neared it he saw the figure of Crail stroll past the house. A cab cruised by, and Crail looked towards it blankly.

Don Free put his Colt out of sight, opened the door and went to the vestibule. He closed the door behind him, then turned the knob. There was a spring lock, and he could not open the door. He pulled his brown hat low over his eyes, saw the rip in the cloth of his coat sleeve that the first bullet had made. His lips were pressed tightly together as he went from the vestibule, down the few steps. Crail’s back was to him, and he walked along behind the uniformed man.

At his side he slowed down a little. There were people on the street, but no one was near them. Free kept his head low and fumbled with his hat brim with both hands.

“Hear anything — from inside?” he asked.

Crail said softly: “Yeah — two shots — not too loud, though. Two cabs were passing and there was ‘L’ racket.”

Free said: “All right — I’ll be seeing you.”

Crail spoke thickly: “You okey?”

“Okey.” Free was a little ahead of the uniformed man. “No one came out — ahead of me?”

Crail said: “No.”

Free walked faster, took his hands away from his hat brim. He stopped at the corner and lighted a cigarette. When Crail passed close to him he said:

“Get out of the uniform and stick around the flat.”

Crail nodded his head very slightly and went on. Free went around the corner and after a few seconds hailed a cab. He pointed to the street along which he had just come.

“Go down there about half way, and park on the south side if you can,” he said. “Kill your engine, but stay back of the wheel. Don’t turn or talk to me, even when I tell you what to do next.”

The cab driver nodded. Don Free got inside, hunched down in a corner of the seat. The cab moved forward and around the corner. The driver took it half-way eastward on the block and parked on the south side. The house in which Tony Bandor was lying dead was about fifty yards to the eastward, and on the north side.

The street was a quiet one, but ten persons passed the three-story house with the green window boxes, while Don Free watched. No one was passing when a medium sized man came from the house. He wore a gray overcoat and hat, and his trousers were gray. From the distance Don couldn’t distinguish a stripe. The man held a handkerchief over his mouth, looked up and down the street, barely noticing the cab. Then he moved down the few steps, turned eastward. Jim Lanner, another agency man, came along from behind the cab and stopped near it. Without looking at Free he said softly:

“I had a damn’ bad stomach ache when you called me from Crail’s flat. Is that my man?”

Free said: “Forget the stomach ache, and don’t lose him. He counts.”

Lanner nodded and went along in the same direction as the one who had come from the house. He had a tabloid in both hands and he read it as he went along. Don Free straightened and was about to tell the driver to keep Lanner’s tall figure in sight, when a cab came eastward fast and halted two houses past the one occupied by Bandor.

A woman got out and paid up. She was young and slender, and looked good at seventy yards. The cab went on, and the woman stood near the curb, fumbling in a bag she held in her right hand. A messenger boy passed her. She looked at the cab twice, then took something from the bag, snapped it shut. Instead of going into the house before which the cab had halted, she walked rapidly westward, made a sharp turn and went into Bandor’s place. Her figure was lost from sight in the vestibule.

Free whistled softly and hunched back in the cab again. A minute passed, then another. A uniformed officer came westward slowly and when he was a hundred yards or so from Bandor’s place the street was very quiet. The first scream was shrill and terrible, but it reached the street faintly. The second got outside the house more loudly, and the uniformed officer heard it. He increased his pace, and was almost in front of the green window boxes when the woman came out. She screamed again in the vestibule — and the uniformed cop ran towards her.

Free’s cab driver was stiff in the seat, but he didn’t turn his head. Free was frowning. He leaned forward a little and said:

“All right — Seventh and Fortieth street, and make it fast.”

The driver twisted his head and looked at him with hard, blue eyes. Then he shook his head.

“Wait’ll that cop comes out of there,” he said.

Free narrowed his gray eyes on the driver’s. “What happens in there won’t make any difference to me,” he said. “Get going.”

The cab driver shook his head. “You picked me up at the end of this street and had me come back here. I want to know what’s wrong in there — before I take you anywhere.”

Free swore softly. Then he smiled a little. “Know who lives in there?” he asked.

The driver shook his head. “And I don’t care who—”

Free interrupted. “Tony Bandor lives there,” he said very slowly. “And what happens in there is his business, and maybe mine. It’s not yours—”

He watched the eyes of the cab driver get wide, and the hardness go out of them. He said thickly:

“Tony — Bandor—”

Free nodded. “That’s the name,” he said. “And I want to get to Seventh and Fortieth, very quick.”

The starter made sound and the engine made more sound. The driver muttered something that had the word “sorry” in it, and the cab jerked forward. When it passed Bandor’s house Free saw that the door of the vestibule was half opened. Then the window boxes were behind. He settled back in the cab. The one with the gray coat and trousers was not in sight, ahead — nor was Jim Lanner. The cab turned northward and moved along at good speed.

At Fortieth and Seventh Free got out. He tipped the driver a dollar, and the man said:

“I wasn’t figuring to be nasty back there. Just careful like.”

Free smiled and nodded. “Sure, it always pays to be careful,” he said.

The driver grinned. Then his eyes got hard again. “It sounded like that woman had seen something pretty bad in there,” he breathed. He grinned again. “But you never can tell about a woman.”

Free smiled a little tightly. “Never,” he agreed.

3

Jen Carle looked up from her machine and smiled at him. He went over close and looked at her hair.

“I like it better all the time,” he said. “Has the man killer gone?”

She nodded. “About ten minutes after you left. She was crying.”

Free nodded. “Tim didn’t go with her?”

She shook her head, and her eyes grew smaller. Free nodded again.

“I’m expecting a call,” he said. “Get it right to me. Tim’s inside?”

“Inside,” she said. Her eyes widened as she stared at his coat sleeve. “You’ve torn your coat, Free.”

He looked in the wrong place first, then found the rip. He whistled in surprise.

“Now how the devil did that happen?” he breathed. “In the cab, I suppose.”

She looked doubtful but didn’t say anything. Free went along the corridor and rapped on the door of Hammond’s office. Hammond said: “Come in.”

He went in. The agency head was seated back of his desk, and Free went over and sat on a corner of it. Hammond looked at him without speaking, and used his eyes without missing the cloth tear. He leaned forward and looked at it more closely. Then he swore.

“Bullet?” he asked.

Free said: “Bullet — the other one didn’t come that close.”

Hammond cleared his throat. “What did yours do?” he asked

Free shook his head. “I didn’t use any.” He pressed his lips together tightly, then parted them. “What’s the game, Tim?” he asked.

Tim Hammond looked puzzled. “Game? You know as much as I do — more,” he said.

Free shook his head. “Not one way. Tony’s dead. I didn’t stick around long enough to learn just how he got it. I had Crail outside in a cop’s uniform, and Jim Lanner up the street. When I went inside this radio room, or whatever it was — someone took two shots at me. I went down and let my flashlight roll. I think whoever fired was satisfied he got me. He got out of the room without using the door I’d opened. He wore gray striped trousers with a narrow cuff. I took things easy getting out of the house — but this one left after me. Lanner picked him up and I’m waiting for a call. At least, Lanner picked up a fellow with gray trousers who came out of Bandor’s house. Then a woman came along in a cab went in. Tall and slender and dressed nice. She yelped and ran out screaming, and a cop was on the street. They went back in together, and I came on up here.”

Hammond tapped on desk wood with knuckles. “So the police know Bandor’s out of things,” he said.

Free nodded. “And someone else knew it, before I got there,” he replied.

Hammond frowned. “You didn’t see the face of the one who shot at you?”

Free shook his head. “He must have heard me coming up the stairs — he had the lights out. My flash was on the floor and he crossed in the low beam. I could only see to his knees. But I think Lanner’s got him tailed.”

Hammond nodded slowly. “Then the Reynolds girl did finish Tony,” he breathed softly.

Free said: “Think so?”

Hammond narrowed his eyes and sank low in the chair.

“You don’t, eh?” he replied.

Free shrugged. “She isn’t young. She is fresh, looking. She doesn’t look like the sort of little fool that would chase along to Bandor’s place without expecting to be kissed, Tim.”

Hammond shrugged. “You’re getting old, Free. What she expects doesn’t count with us. She went down there, and naturally she’d pull the innocent stuff on us. She’s worth a lot of money. Something went wrong, and she finished Bandor. Then she got scared. She went to Burkley — and that was wise. Burkley knows what to do in something just like this. He sent her over here. They’re both thinking the same way. She killed Bandor, and someone will guess that she did. Then they’ll close in on her. We’ve got to stop that.”

Free smiled coldly. “The agency is getting up in the world,” he said grimly. “We now protect man killers.”

Hammond swore gently, then smiled. “How about taking five minutes out — and we’ll both weep for dear, old Tony Bandor,” he said with sarcasm. “He’ll be missed at church on Sunday. I don’t imagine he spotted out more than eight or ten guys — and he only beat three stick-up indictments.”

Free smiled cheerfully. “All right, Tim. A girl comes and says she killed Tony and she’s frightened because his friends might guess that she did and come after her. I go down to check up on her story. Tony’s dead, but someone inside opens up on me. Why? There wasn’t much light on me — I’ve been away ten days. I don’t know much about Bandor’s mob. Supposing the girl who went in and found Tony’s body had gone in when I did. What would have happened?”

Hammond grunted. “What would?” he asked.

Free smiled with his eyes narrowed. “She’d have got the same dose — only more of it, because she wouldn’t have had sense enough to fall and stay down,” he said. “That gent in there was expecting someone — someone he wanted to kill. That’s my hunch. I wasn’t the one.”

Hammond looked thoughtful. “Or he was in the room, and figured he’d better play safe. Maybe he thought you were a dick. Or maybe he was nervous, or hopped up. We can’t figure what he thought. He missed you and he got outside, and Lanner is tailing him. That’s good enough. The police know Bandor’s dead. That’s all right if Miss Reynolds wasn’t seen.”

Don Free looked at the knuckles of Hammond’s right hand and he spoke slowly, softly.

“You wouldn’t fool me, would you, Tim?”

Hammond closed his eyes, and when he opened them they held a hard expression.

“Jen’s been talking to you, Free,” he said. “She’s been worried lately. I’ve had some conferences, and just my luck the ladies have been nice looking. Jen’s been getting nervous — she had her hair done over. Notice it?”

Free smiled. “I noticed it,” he replied. “You wouldn’t fool me, would you, Tim?”

Hammond said sharply: “You don’t think Miss Reynolds finished Bandor, is that it?”

There was a little silence, and then Free spoke in a quiet voice.

“The Bandor mob is a hard one, Tim. We both know that. I’m working for you, but I’m not dying for you — not if I can help it. I’m entitled to know all the truth kicking Around, and I don’t think I know all of it.”

Tim Hammond stood up and looked squarely at Free. His eyes were expressionless.

“You’re, my best man, and I’d hate to see you quit the agency, Don. You’ve got this the way I got it.”

Free said: “You were talking to Miss Reynolds before I came in, and after I went out. She didn’t say anything of importance, anything I don’t know?”

Hammond said: “She didn’t say anything of importance — anything you don’t know. It comes down to this. She’s been living a pretty quiet life around the city, without too much money. She inherited a lot of money, and her life hasn’t been so quiet. Instead of doing the usual and losing her money, she won some more. Kronnen couldn’t pay, and he turned her over to Bandor. Bandor went at it too fast — and left a gun laying around. He got the works, and the girl didn’t throw hysterics. She calmed down, got out of the house with the gun, went to Burkley. He sent her here. You know the rest.”

Free sighed. “All right, Tim,” he said. “What next?”

Hammond frowned. “You’d better find out who the fellow that shot at you is. We can learn how the police are thinking. And there’s Kronnen. Miss Reynolds has changed her apartment hotel, and is going to sit tight under another name for a while.”

The phone on Hammond’s desk made buzzing sound. He lifted it, then handed it to Free. Free said:

“Yes?”

Jim Lanner’s lazy tones came over the phone: “The stomach ache is better. My man took in a Western picture at a small house, for fifteen minutes. I think he had a shot — he picked a chair near a wall, in a dark spot. He was pretty shaky going inside — dropped his ticket twice. We’re in a speake now — he’s drinking beer in another dark corner, and he’s alone. I’ve got a hunch he’s meeting someone here. He goes for his wrist-watch every few minutes. After the picture we took a short walk, and that helped the stomach ache.”

Free said: “That’s fine — talk some more and work in the speake address. If I get down there too late and you’ve gone, I’ll go over to Crail’s flat — and you call me there. We’ll stay apart, if you’re still in the speake. He might have spotted me, inside the house, and your stomach ache might get worse, if that’s the case.”

He could hear a radio yapping over the wire. Lanner talked and worked in the address. He went on.

“I’ve got a wall phone, and I can see my man. He’s just met his pal. He’s smooth-shaven, with a long nose. He’s big and wears clothes like a plain-clothesman. His left arm is in a sling — black cloth. Neat but not gaudy. They’re sticking around — the bad arm one is sitting down.”

Free said: “All right — I’ll be right along.”

He hung up. Hammond said: “Lanner’s got your man in a corner?”

Free nodded. “What’s this bookie Kronnen look like — did Miss Reynolds say?”

Hammond nodded. “He’s a big fellow with a long nose. Smooth-shaven and middle aged. He broke his arm sometime ago, and wears it in a sling. She said he seemed rather nice, and she felt sort of sorry for him, after she’d won this money.”

Free grinned. “Lovely client, Tim,” he said. “Feels sorry for bookies, murders mob leaders—”

Hammond interrupted sharply: “The personal habits and feelings of our clients are not important, Free.”

The ripped cloth of Free’s coat felt jagged under his finger. He took the finger away and smiled coldly.

“Kronnen’s with the fellow who shot at me,” he said. “I’ll go down that way and see what happens.”

Hammond swore. “That’s bad,” he breathed. “Kronnen is liable to have known Bandor took the girl to his place. And he owes her the money. With Bandor dead he hasn’t got the out he figured on. If he goes for the girl—”

Free pulled the brim of his hat low on his forehead. He looked at Hammond’s dissipated face.

“He doesn’t know where the girl is — New York’s pretty big.”

“And it gets small in a hurry,” Hammond breathed.

Free looked at the agency head narrowly. “Well — if they get her and she won’t pay — they’ll kill her. And that’ll make it even up.”

Hammond swore. His eyes were very small. “It won’t make it even up for us,” he said. “We’re being paid for keeping her in the clear.”

Free smiled narrowly. “That’s so,” he said. “I almost forgot that. You’d better eat without me.”

Hammond nodded. “I’ll have something sent in — and stick around. Give me a buzz when you get a chance. I’m glad you got back in time to handle this, Free.”

Don Free moved towards the office door. He didn’t speak. At the door he turned and smiled, closed the door behind him. He went down the corridor and into the office. Jen was taking a call; she said:

“Wait a second.”

She motioned to Free. Crail was on the wire.

“Just got a tip,” he said. “Tony Bandor’s been done for. In a soundproof room of a Village house he used, under cover. Or maybe you knew about it, Free.”

Free said. “Yeah, but what do the police know?”

Crail said: “Two slugs in the body — one close to the heart. No gun around — no one heard the shots. A flame of his is being held — she found the body and got hysterical. She says she thought he was a real estate operator. She’s a show girl. Her name’s Gray and the police think maybe she did the job, then came back and put on an act.”

Free coughed. “That all?” he asked.

“That’s all so far,” Crail said. “The sound-proof room had a couple of radios, in it, and Tony was supposed to have been a nut on the dial stuff. But there was a tight fitting door and stairs going down to the first floor. And the police think the room was used for the kill stuff. It isn’t pretty enough for a love nest. That’s all.”

Free said: “I’ll lay five it’ll be a love nest in the tabs, just the same. All right, Crail — buzz in again if you run into something.”

He hung up and Jen said: “Still like the hair?”

Free grinned. “When your hair has turned to platinum — I will love you — just the same—” he sang, off key. “Has Miss Reynolds called since she left?”

Jen Carle frowned. “No,” she said. “But I wouldn’t be surprised if she did.”

Free looked at the Lincoln picture. “Be nice to her, if she does, Jen,” he told her. “She’s very young and innocent.”

The secretary made a sniffling sound. “She’s very young,” she agreed, and Free went outside and towards the elevators.

4

Lanner looked at Don Free blankly as he passed close to the tall one’s speakeasy table. Free picked a chair at a table that kept his back to the one at which the gray trousered one and his companion sat. He faced a mirror that wasn’t too good, but it was good enough.

The one whose arm was in a sling had small eyes, a long nose and thin lips. It was the left arm that was in the sling. The shorter man with the gray trousers kept his head low and after five minutes of beer sipping Free hadn’t been able to get a good look at his face. He seemed to be about the build of the one who had come from the house with the green window boxes.

Free finished the beer, lighted a cigarette. The tall man rose and said a husky: “So long.” He had to pass close to Free’s table, but the agency man did not look at him. Someone called from near the bar: “How they runnin’, Eddie?”

The one with the arm in a sling shrugged. “So-so,” he replied, and went towards the hall that led to the entrance door of the speake. It wasn’t an exclusive speake; Free had got in easily on the strength of mentioning two political names that counted in the Village. He imagined Lanner had worked it the same way.

The one with the gray trousers ordered another drink. Free called the waiter and paid up. He passed close to Lanner’s table, dropped a box of matches and leaned over to pick it up. A radio was making sound.

“Stick with your man — I’ll take Kronnen,” he said. “I think they’ll get together again.”

Lanner looked blankly towards the radio loudspeaker. Free picked up the matches and went outside. Kronnen was hailing a cab. Free almost lost the one with the slinged arm before he could pick up a cruiser, and the cab driver almost lost the other taxi in traffic, on the way uptown. At Seventh and Fortieth the cab they were trailing pulled over against the curb and the long nosed one descended. Free leaned forward and said:

“This’ll do.”

He paid the fare, got slowly from the cab. Kronnen wasn’t hard to keep track of; he moved slowly, almost wearily. When he went into the building that held the offices of the Hammond Agency Free swore softly. Kronnen bought cigarettes at a small counter that was still open. Two elevators were running — Kronnen headed for one that had only the operator inside. Free didn’t follow. The elevator doors closed. The indicator showed that it stopped at three. It went on up to seven and came down with a messenger boy. Free got in and said: “Three.”

When he went into the Hammond Agency office Jen was pulling a small hat over her platinum colored hair. She looked at him and raised eyebrows.

“Back so soon?” she said.

Free grinned. “Did Tim just tell you to send a big man with a long nose and an arm in a sling — inside?” he asked.

She nodded. “A Mr. Harper,” she replied.

Free nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “That hat goes nice with the hair, but you should use a lighter colored lipstick.”

She thought it over and said: “I think you’re right. Thanks, Free. Shall I buzz Tim?”

He shook his head. “Never mind. I’ll wait around a bit.”

She finished fixing her face and said: “Don’t mind if I leave you? I’ve had a rotten day.”

Free looked at the picture of Lincoln. “Run along,” he told her. “And don’t worry.”

She looked at him with her eyes almost closed. “Don’t worry?” she repeated. “About what?”

He smiled and shrugged. “About anything,” he said. “Just smile. Be happy. Laugh and the world laughs with—”

She swore at him and went to the outer door. Beside it she stopped for a few seconds, turned and looked at him.

“A lot of things can happen in ten days, Free,” she said very grimly. “Or maybe you know that.”

“I’ve suspected it,” he said. “Let’s see — I was away about ten days — yes?”

She said very softly: “Yes.” She went out and closed the door behind her.

Don Free stood near her desk, frowning. After a few seconds he went along the narrow corridor, knocked on the door of Hammond’s office and opened it. Hammond was seated back of his desk and Kronnen stood near a window. Hammond said:

“Hello, Free.”

Free nodded. “Hello, Tim,” he replied. Kronnen smiled just a little. It made him looked very good-natured. Hammond said:

“You tailed Mr. Kronnen back here, eh?”

Free nodded. “Yes.”

Kronnen rubbed a lower lip with knuckles of his right hand.

“One of your boys?” he said a little throatily. “Damned efficient.”

Free said: “Thanks, Mr. Kronnen.”

Kronnen chuckled. “Not at all,” he replied, and made a gesture with his right hand. Through the black of the sling cloth Free could see the white of the plaster cast.

Hammond said: “Is Miss Carle still outside, Free?”

Free shook his head. “She just left,” he replied. “Said she’d had a rotten day.”

Hammond raised his eyebrows slightly. Kronnen was looking at Free with a slightly puzzled expression.

“I’ve seen you somewhere, recently,” he said. “But I have a bad memory. Can’t remember faces.”

Free nodded. “I’m the same way.”

Kronnen looked more puzzled. “But in your line of business — that’s bad, isn’t it?” he asked.

Free smiled. “It’s not good in yours, either, is it?” he asked pleasantly.

Kronnen narrowed his eyes. “In other words — we were both lying,” he suggested. “You were at Mac’s place, down in the Village.”

Free nodded. Hammond said: “Mr. Kronnen came in about a serious matter. Someone murdered Tony Bandor a few hours ago, in a house he sometimes used, down in the Village.”

Free said without any expression in his voice or eyes:

“That’s too bad, I suppose.”

Hammond tilted his chair back slightly. “Mr. Kronnen knows who murdered Tony.”

Free smiled at Kronnen. “That so?” he said almost pleasantly.

Kronnen smiled back at him. “It’s so as hell,” he said throatily.

Free coughed. “I’ll bet the police will be interested,” he announced.

Hammond looked at Kronnen, who was watching Free with half-closed eyes. The bookie took his eyes away from Free and spoke to the agency head.

“Does he know why you had him tailing me?” he asked.

Hammond shook his head. “No, but he can know now. He’s all right, Mr. Kronnen.”

Free said nothing and Hammond spoke slowly. “I wanted you to pick up Mr. Kronnen, Free — because a client of ours believes he owes her a large sum of money.”

Free said: “Sure.”

Hammond said: “This client is wealthy and she nicked Mr. Kronnen for forty thousand at a nearby race track. On the level, of course. Things have been bad for Mr. Kronnen for some time, but he’s always kept his books on the square. He couldn’t pay the forty thousand, but he was acquainted with Tony Bandor. In fact Tony had promised to fix this matter up. I didn’t know all this, of course. I simply knew that our client was anxious to have me talk with Mr. Kronnen. Well, everything looked all right — and then Tony Bandor was murdered. That would have made it bad for Mr. Kronnen.”

Free said: “Would have made it bad?”

Hammond nodded. “Would have,” he repeated. “Except for the fact that Mr. Kronnen knows who murdered Bandor.”

There was a little silence, and Free said finally:

“Well, let’s see — it would have been bad for Mr. Kronnen’s money man to be dead in about every case but one. The client who wanted you to find Mr. Kronnen must have murdered Tony Bandor, Tim.”

Kronnen said very grimly: “That’s the way it went.”

Hammond looked at Free, and neither of them spoke. Hammond shifted a little in his chair. Traffic sound came up from the street. Hammond said finally:

“May I ask why you have come to the agency, Mr. Kronnen?”

Kronnen smiled a little. “I knew Tony pretty well, and I know some of his boys. One of them was around when Tony and Mary Reynolds went into his place. When she came out alone it seemed a bit funny to him, strange. He chased along. She went to a well-known lawyer’s office, then came here. She was pretty nervous. When the body was found I put two and two together — and figured she’d gone to Burkley for advice — and he’d sent her here.”

Hammond nodded. “Uh huh... and what did you think she’d said here?” he asked quietly.

Kronnen shrugged. “I had a hunch she’d told the truth, said that Tony had got rough and that she’d shot him in self defense. I had an idea she might have thought you could fix up an alibi for her, or Burkley might have thought of that. Or maybe she just came to tell you she was worried.”

Free said with a faint smile. “With her looks and a straight story — I don’t think she’ll need an alibi.”

Hammond said: “Or maybe she just came to tell me she was worried about what?”

Kronnen said: “She isn’t a fool. She was lucky at the track, but she used her head, too. I think maybe she knew more about Tony Bandor than he thought. And after she’d finished him she kept her head and got scared. Scared of his mob.”

Hammond nodded slowly. “It’s a thought,” he agreed.

There was another silence, then Kronnen smiled a little and spoke softly.

“It should be worth a lot of money to her — to have the boys calmed down, or tossed a fall guy. In a way, I don’t blame her. Tony was tough on women. But I’m a business man, and if she comes at me for that forty thousand—”

He shrugged, and the smile went from his lips. Hammond said:

“Getting at it more directly — you think that she murdered Bandor. You know the mob pretty well, and you’re willing to toss them someone to take the slam — and let her out — for that forty grand?”

Kronnen lowered his voice and the smile came back again. It was in his eyes, and hard.

“For that forty grand — and about sixty more,” he said. “I told you I was a business man.”

Hammond rapped on the desk with his knuckles and Free looked at the ceiling. Kronnen said:

“She inherited over half a million from some relative she hadn’t seen for years. It was easy to take — it shouldn’t be hard to hand over a small chunk. A stretch in a female big house — she wouldn’t like that.”

Free smiled. “And then — there are Tony’s boys,” he said. “They might rather strangle her.”

Kronnen looked serious. “They might,” he agreed, and half closed his eyes.

Hammond stood up. “You’re sure you can make the fix, Mr. Kronnen?” he said. “And having made it — that’ll be the end? No blackmail — just a business deal.”

Kronnen nodded. “I’m sure I can fix things,” he said. “And if it wasn’t just a business deal — I wouldn’t come to you. You don’t blackmail through a detective agency. I just thought your advice to her might count more than any suggestion I could make.”

Hammond walked back and forth, nodding thoughtfully. Free said:

“There’s just one thing. She was seen going into Bandor’s house with him — and later she came out alone. She was followed to a lawyer’s office, and then here. Bandor’s body was discovered. That doesn’t exactly make her a murderer, Mr. Kronnen.”

Kronnen coughed and shrugged. “Still,” he said very slowly, “I think she might be willing to forget about forty and to pass over sixty — to have the boys convinced someone else murdered Tony.”

Hammond frowned. “I think maybe you’re right, Mr. Kronnen,” he said. “Where can I reach you — after I get in touch with her?”

Kronnen coughed again. “I’ll ring you in an hour,” he suggested. “I move around a lot, and it’s difficult to say just where I might be at a certain time.”

Hammond said: “All right — I’ll be here, and I hope I’ll have been able to get in touch with our client.”

Kronnen looked at Free and said grimly: “I hope so.”

He nodded to Free, bowed very slightly to Hammond, and went from the office. After a few seconds Free went outside, looked around and locked the outer door. Then he went to Hammond’s office again. The agency head was slumped in his chair, frowning.

“It doesn’t look so good now, Free,” he said. “That was what I was afraid of — they were seen going in together, and she was seen coming out, going to Burkley — and coming here. And this Kronnen has an inside with the mob — and some brains.”

Free said: “You could turn her over to the police — let Burkley be her mouthpiece. The police would protect her, and it’s good odds she’d get off.”

Hammond shook his head. “Too much muck. Her looks might not help enough — the prosecution would yap that she was just another of Bandor’s girlies. Even if she did get off — it would cost her as much, maybe more.”

There was a little silence, then the agency head said:

“Tossing the mob a slam guy is better.”

Free half closed his gray eyes, smiled with his thin lips and said:

“I’ve been away ten days, Tim. You got over liking Jen Carle in that time.”

Hammond said nastily: “What’s that got to do with this man killer case? What if I did?”

Free shrugged. “The agency racket is tough — and Mary Reynolds is a swell looker. I wouldn’t rush things, Tim.”

Hammond swore at him. “It’s my agency,” he said.

Free nodded. “I’m not too much of a church guy, Tim. But this office used to have a certain code. Things have changed suddenly. First you protect a man killer — then you throw in with a blackmailer to try and save her.”

Hammond made clicking sounds and smiled sarcastically.

“The big point is that I believe the girl. Tony Bandor was no good. She killed him in self defense. I want to get her off in the easiest way.”

Free looked at Hammond narrowly for several seconds, then shrugged.

“You’re the boss, Tim,” he said. “Lanner was sticking with the fellow who came out of Bandor’s house shortly after I was shot at. What about that?”

Hammond shrugged. “One of Bandor’s mob. Got it before that show girl arrived. Naturally, he didn’t run out yelling for the police. But when you popped in he got scared — and let loose. Met Kronnen to tell him things.”

Free said coldly: “Why didn’t he figure I might be another of the mob. Was he just in there popping at anything that opened the door?”

Hammond said slowly: “Listen, Free — Bandor’s dead. Mary Reynolds admits she shot him to death. Kronnen is wise that she shot him to death, and gives her an out — a money out. Let’s worry about that, and not why one of Bandor’s boys squeezed lead at you.”

Free lighted a cigarette and smiled coldly. “Okey,” he said finally. “What next?”

Hammond spoke quietly. “I’ll go to the girl and advise her to pay up and take a long trip. She can play the ponies in India and see something else besides the Empire State Building, on the side. The police won’t get anywhere — or they’ll get the guy Kronnen figures should be tossed along. And that goes for the mob of Tony’s. It’s the best way.”

Free was silent. Hammond said: “Let Lanner stick with his man. You go out and eat — and come back in about an hour. I may have things fixed by then.”

Free said: “Calling me off, eh?”

Hammond shrugged. “Unless Miss Reynolds doesn’t agree with me. Then you can stick around and try to keep the mob from finishing her.”

Free grinned. “Fine,” he said. “Well, I guess you’re right, Tim.”

Hammond grunted and reached for his hat. “Sure I’m right. She was lucky against Kronnen, but her luck didn’t hold out with Tony Bandor. She won and she lost — and now she’s got to forget about forty grand and dig in for another sixty. Maybe she’s learned that green window boxes don’t make a romance.”

Free went with Hammond towards the outer office. He said:

“It seems to me we’re getting our hands pretty dirty on this deal, Tim.”

Hammond swore. “We’re protecting a client to the best of our ability — and we’re going to be paid well for it,” he said.

Free shrugged. “If you turned her over to the police — she’d have one tough fight — a legal one. She’d win, and that would stop any blackmailing.”

Hammond swore again. “I can take care of Kronnen,” he replied. “He’ll get his money just once.”

Free smiled doubtfully. They switched out the lights — went outside. Hammond closed the door and locked it. They went down in the elevator. In front of the building Hammond hailed a cab. Free said:

“I’ll go around the corner to a chop house for my feed.”

Hammond nodded. “See you in an hour or so — that was a swell job you did in Philly, Free.”

He got inside the cab and slammed the door. The cab moved away. Free went towards the corner of Forty-first, his lips pressed tightly together. Ten minutes later, as he was going into the agency building again, he was thinking the same thought. And he breathed softly to himself:

“But it isn’t such a swell job you’re trying to do — in New York, Tim!”

5

When Jim Lanner came into the agency office with the gray trousered one Don Free was seated in a chair that faced the vacant one behind Hammond’s desk. The chair was tilted against a wall of the office. Rod Farley, of the Times Square precinct, was seated in another chair. Free said:

“Hello, Jim — he came along without crying?”

Lanner smiled narrowly. “I’ve still got a gun on him,” he said. “After I phoned you he got suspicious. And I can’t say he wanted to come up here.”

Free smiled cheerfully. “The Village air is milder,” he stated. “You’ve met Farley, Jim? Square plain-clothesman — one of the best around this section.”

Lanner nodded to Farley, who was looking at the gray trousered one. Farley said cheerfully:

“Poky Lake’s the name. Didn’t know he was lined up with Bandor, Free. Used to be a tough guy, some years ago. Got the ‘Poky’ tag because he was always eager to take a crack at somebody. I’d heard he’d quieted down.”

Lake had blue, expressionless eyes, small features and thick lips. He looked at Farley, who was tall and red faced, and spoke a little indistinctly.

“I don’t know what this is all about. This guy jumped me with a rod and said come along. I figured he was after my twelve bucks, but I guess not.”

They all smiled and Free gestured towards some spare chairs.

“Sit down, boys,” he said. “The others’ll be along soon. Sorry I can’t offer any drinks, but I can send down for some ice cream.”

Lake sniffed and said: “Take the rod off me and I’ll go get it.”

Free grinned. “Keep it on him, Jim. It makes me feel more comfortable.”

Lanner smiled and went over and sat down. “I searched him sort of quickly, in the cab coming up,” he said. “No bang-bang tools.”

Free continued to smile. “Keep it on him, anyway,” he said. “Just for fun.”

Lake sat in a chair, scowling. “Even a private dick can get in trouble — puttin’ a gun on a guy and making him go places,” he muttered.

Free said: “Were you the fellow that did this, Lake?”

He had his overcoat on, and lifted the damaged sleeve. Lake looked puzzled.

“What is it?” he said. “Dirt?”

Free shook his head. “Bullet rip,” he replied. “A guy named Bandor — Tony Bandor — was shot out, down in the Village. In a house down there. The house had green window boxes. Very pretty. I got a rumor that he was dead, and went in to see. Someone let go twice at me. I thought maybe it was you.”

Lake swore. “If you’re tryin’ to pin the Bandor kill on me—”

Free interrupted. “You came out of the house a few minutes after this guy tried to get me. I thought maybe there was some connection.”

Lake widened his eyes. “Me?” he breathed. “Like hell I did. I was in Jersey until I walked into Mac’s place.”

Farley grinned and shook his head. “Stick to the facts, Poky,” he advised. “The New York state line starts down along the Hudson water somewhere.”

Lake closed his eyes and looked bored. Free said:

“How about it, Jim?”

Lanner said: “Well — both of us saw him come out of that house with the green window boxes. That’s where I picked him up.”

Lake swore very hoarsely. “It’s a frame,” he breathed. “And it won’t take.”

Free shrugged. A door made a slam sound and there were footfalls. After a few seconds a voice said:

“Hammond?”

Free called: “Come on in, Mr. Kronnen.”

Lake’s eyes were expressionless. The footfalls grew louder and Kronnen came through the half-opened door, into the room. He saw Lake almost at once; his mouth opened and he yawned. After the yawn he looked around. Free said:

“This is Eddie Kronnen, boys. Kronnen — that’s Farley over there. Precinct detective. Lanner, there, is out of this office. You know Poky Lake, I believe.”

Kronnen said: “Yeah — sure. Hello, Poky.”

Lake swore again. “It’s a frame, Eddie,” he breathed. “They’re trying to pin Bandor’s kill on me.”

Kronnen raised his eyebrows a little, then looked at Free.

“Where’s Hammond?” he asked, and there was a peculiar tone in his voice.

Free tilted his head, resting the back of it against the wall. He half closed his eyes, looking at the ceiling, and spoke almost absently.

“He should be along any minute, unless he found Miss Reynolds difficult,” he said.

Poky Lake’s eyes narrowed a little. Kronnen stood near the desk, looking at Free and breathing quickly but evenly. His injured arm moved a little in the sling. Farley said:

“Who’s Miss Reynolds?”

Free closed his eyes. “Lovely lady,” he said slowly, casually. “She says she murdered Tony Bandor. Tim believes her.”

Farley blinked at Free. “She says she—”

He checked himself. Kronnen was facing Free, his right-hand fingers clenched at his side. His big body was tense, and his lips bared his teeth.

Lanner said: “And you don’t believe her, Free?”

Free opened his eyes and smiled at Lanner. “Hell, no,” he replied. “Her story was lousy. It had more holes in it than Tony had in him.”

Kronnen was breathing more slowly now; his right-hand fingers unclenched. The outer door made clicking sound, then closed softly. There were footfalls that grew louder in the corridor. Tim Hammond came into his office.

He halted just past the door, looked from one face to another. He had a cigarette in his left hand, and after seconds he went around behind his desk and squashed it in an ash tray. Free said:

“Hello, Tim. Did she hand over the sixty thousand?”

Hammond pulled back his desk chair very carefully, put his hat on the surface of the desk and seated himself. He looked from one face to another. His skin was pale, and the corners of his mouth twitched slightly at intervals. After a little while he leaned forward and placed elbows on the desk, closed his hands and held fists at his ears.

“What’s all this, Free?” he asked very softly.

Free smiled at him. “Gathering of the clan,” he said. He slipped his right hand in the right pocket of his gray coat and pulled the pocket material up so it rested on his right leg just above the knee. “Did the Reynolds girl hand over the sixty thousand?”

Hammond’s face twisted. “I’m running this agency, Free,” he said in a hard voice. “You’ve been getting yourself too well known around town, even if you’ve only been back a short time. I don’t like that — what do I owe you?”

Don Free continued to smile. “Let’s see — counting my expenses on the Philly trip and two weeks pay ahead — say about five hundred, Tim.”

Hammond nodded slowly. He reached down at his left and opened a drawer. Keys made jangling sound in his fingers. He closed the drawer, opened another. He tossed bills on the surface of the desk, five of them. Free stood up, walked over and picked them up. Hammond was looking down at the keys. He said suddenly:

“Good—!”

Free backed away from the desk, smiling coldly. When Hammond’s eyes lifted and met his, Free nodded.

“Sure — the key to the gun drawer isn’t there, Tim,” he said. “I came back, used it on the drawer, and took the gun out. I looked it over. And I didn’t put it back in again.”

Hammond’s eyes got very small. Free said: “It was like this, Farley — this Reynolds girl brought along the gun she said she’d killed Tony Bandor with, and Tim had it locked up.”

Farley nodded. “Well?” he said questioningly.

Free stopped smiling. “She didn’t kill Bandor with it or with any other gun,” he said slowly.

Poky Lake said hoarsely: “It’s some kind of a frame, Eddie.”

Eddie Kronnen kept his eyes on Free, but Free was watching Hammond. He spoke quietly.

“Lanner, you watch Lake. I’m leaving Kronnen to you, Farley. I’ll take care of my ex-boss, Mr. Hammond.”

Hammond said very slowly but in a strained voice:

“Get the hell out of my office, Free — you’re fired! Get moving right away!”

Free shook his head. “I came back here just in time to sit in on the tail end of a racket, boys,” he said steadily. “I’ve been getting too virtuous for Tim — or he’s been getting too crooked for me, one way or the other. Lake’s right, except for the tense he used. It was a frame — a two way frame. I was to be made permanently quiet — that chance just came along. It looked better than sending me out of town all the time. The Reynolds girl was to be nicked — sixty thousand now and then some more every once in a while—”

Hammond spoke very softly and huskily. “He’s talking rot — he knew I was going to fire him—”

Free chuckled. “Hammond’s too dumb to run an agency,” he said. “He’ll be a good looking trusty in stir. He’ll have some company Farley. Too bad Tony Bandor can’t be along. But there was a slip-up.”

Tim Hammond was swaying his body a little, from side to side, very slowly. His hands rested on the desk surface, and the fingers moved nervously. The others were all very still. Free stood with his back near the wall opposite the desk.

“It was Hammond’s idea,” he said slowly. “He might have got improvements on it from Bandor. Or Kronnen. Or even Poky Lake. Anyway — this Reynolds kid had come into some money and she liked to play the horses. Maybe they fixed it so that she got the right tips and won, or maybe she just was lucky, and that gave them the idea. Kronnen said he couldn’t pay up, but he had a backer. He brought in Bandor. Bandor was nice, and the Reynolds girl was beautiful and dumb.

“She went down to the Village, saw the green window boxes, and went inside. Bandor had a gun planted. He put on his act. He’d fixed it so she’d seen the gun. And she’d seen movies. So she grabbed the gun and let him have it. He went down. That was all fine and dandy — the way things were supposed to go. All the gun did was make noise, and Bandor didn’t even get a powder burn. The Reynolds girl took a quick look and was sure he was dead. She got out of the house, calmed down a little, remembered what she’d read in the tabs about Burkley — and went to him. That was a break for the House of Hammond. Burkley and Tim, here — they get on together. Miss Reynolds was sent over here. Not that it would have made any difference — Tim would have got after her anyway.”

He paused and Hammond said heavily: “It’s the dam’dest line I’ve ever heard!”

Free smiled coldly. “Bandor was in a bad spot, before they figured this deal. He was worried about his health, the police — and money. He was supposed to drop out of sight. I suppose Tim, here, would have told the Reynolds girl things had been fixed quietly. And then he would have started the bleeding process. A half million is nice to shoot at. There was a split with Bandor, for playing dead — and there was Kronnen to take care of. But plenty for all.”

Farley whistled softly. “And after Bandor played dead — someone really got him,” he breathed.

Free nodded, his eyes on Hammond’s. “Sure,” he said. “It was too good a chance. The girl was framed — why not finish Tony and make it right?”

Farley drew in a deep breath. “It was a natural,” he muttered.

Jim Lanner spoke softly. “They had their man killer all lined up. Who really got Bandor, Free?”

Free shrugged and looked puzzled. Then he smiled pleasantly and looked around at the faces in the room.

“It wasn’t Hammond,” he said. “He was too busy here in the office. Too busy figuring how he could get me bumped out.” Free narrowed his eyes on Poky Lake. “Was it you, Poky?”

Lake made a strange, chuckling sound. “Now I’ll tell one,” he said hoarsely.

Free looked at Kronnen. “I guess it was you, Eddie,” he said. He looked at the black sling of the left arm intently, and he nodded. “Sure it was,” he breathed. “You were in the house — you and Poky. But you could get close to Bandor without him being suspicious, with your gun all set in that left hand cast.”

Kronnen’s eyes went to Hammond’s. He said shakily:

“This is a hell of a joke — me with a broken arm—”

Free said to Farley. “You know most of them, at the tracks. Remember this one?”

Farley nodded. “I’d never forget that nose,” he replied. “Yeah — he used to pay off left handed. Think they called him Lefty Kronnen for a while there.”

Free’s eyes were on Hammond’s again. “Well — Kronnen finished Bandor. He got clear or he stuck inside. I walked in and surprised Poky puttering around. Poky let go at me, but he missed. I caught the gray of his trousers in the flash-beam. He came out and Lanner picked him up. I think maybe Kronnen made a quick duck after the kill, and then met Poky to learn if it had been right, at Mac’s place. I’ve got a hunch that Poky might have been tipped I was coming down — he seemed to be ready for me. Hammond tipped. He’s been getting careful of the old-timers around here, lately. Jen Carle, his secretary, she was slated to be fired pretty quick. Even a change of hair color couldn’t have saved her.”

Free smiled at Hammond. It was a hard, bitter smile.

“When I walked into Mac’s — Kronnen got a jolt. So did Poky. But Kronnen came up here and told Hammond what he already knew — that I was still alive. They decided to bluff on through. Well — here they all are.”

Farley nodded. “How’ll we work it?” he said slowly. “Take ’em to the precinct and knock hell out of them?”

Free nodded. “Poky’ll talk first. Have the doctor look at Kronnen’s left arm. He’ll find it’s never been broken, probably. I’ve got the gun the dumb beauty thought finished Bandor. It’ll show no bullets came out of the muzzle — they didn’t cover up on that because Hammond didn’t figure the gun would count. I can identify those trousers of Poky’s. We’ll dig in and find out how Mary Reynolds won so much at the track, from Kronnen. It may take a little time — but we’ve got them, Farley.”

Farley nodded and Jim Lanner said: “That’s what comes from Tim hiring good men to work for him.”

Hammond leaned across the desk and smiled with his lips. He looked at Free.

“How’d you do it, Free?” he asked. His voice was dull, almost lifeless.

Free smiled coldly. “I was willing to believe Mary Reynolds beautiful enough to be dumb enough to go to Bandor’s place,” he said. “I couldn’t quite see her using the gun — and I certainly couldn’t see Tony leaving one loose, in sight. And you were pretty tight with that gun she brought in, Tim — there a time when you would have let me see it. And those two shots were fired at me too quickly, Tim. I was expected. When I got a look at the gun the girl was supposed to have used — I sat here and did some thinking. And I figured out how you might have framed the girl, and how someone might have finished off Bandor. That was worth something to someone else — and Kronnen knows who. Did you get the sixty thousand from the girl, Tim?”

Hammond didn’t speak and Farley said in a hard, low tone:

“We’ll get all that, at the station, Free. Let’s start moving—”

Hammond took both hands out of sight, and shoved the desk forward and over. He swore hoarsely. Kronnen turned and his plaster cast made movement within the sling. The first bullet from his gun chipped plaster from the wall just to the right of Free’s moving head.

Farley’s gun crashed and Kronnen bowed his head, slumped forward. Dark metal spilled in a hunk from the plaster of the cast. Hammond raised his right hand and Free squeezed steel. Both guns crashed at once — there was a little stinging pain along the side of Free’s left hand. Hammond swung his body so that his face was to the wall behind his desk. He let his gun drop and leaned against the wall, arms at his sides. After a few seconds his body slipped downward.

Poky Lake didn’t move from his chair. His eyes held a dead, doped expression. Free looked at a scratch on his left hand, went over and looked down at Hammond. He heard Farley say:

“I guess Kronnen’s — through.”

Hammond looked up at Free as he leaned against the wall, a twisted smile on his lips.

“You had it right, Free,” he said weakly. “Only Kronnen finished Bandor — and tried for you, too. He got out of the room as you were falling — and Poky crossed in the light of — your flash. The Reynolds girl’s check for sixty grand — it’s in my... pocket—”

Free said: “The dumb brat—”

Hammond said hoarsely: “First — and last payment—”

He shivered and closed his eyes. Farley looked at Free and said:

“You hit?”

Free shook his head. “Just a scratch. Stick around — I’ll phone from the outer office.”

He went from the room and down the corridor. He was calling an ambulance when an elevator operator stuck his head in through the half-opened door space. He looked frightened.

“Anything wrong in here?” he asked. “I thought I heard shooting.”

Free said grimly. “You heard shooting, but there’s nothing wrong.”

When he’d finished calling the precinct station the operator’s head was still showing. His eyes were wide and he said stupidly:

“Is anyone dead — what’s it about?”

Free sighed heavily and reached for a cigarette. His fingers were shaking a little as he lighted the tip of it.

“Somebody’s dead,” he said tonelessly. “You can read all about it — tomorrow—”

The operator stared at Free. “Somebody’s dead—” he repeated thickly. “What’s it — about—”

Free went towards the corridor that led to the office. He said half to himself as he went:

“It’s about a gal with more looks than brains — and an agency boss who thought he could make her — a man killer.”