Black Mask (Vol. 31, No. 4 — July 1948)

Don’t Bet on Death by William Campbell Gault

Carol had laughed at everyone all her life — she never suspected a .22 would have the last laugh on her.

It was a Sunday morning and we were having a late breakfast, I remember. Ned was reading the entertainment page, and I was reading the sport section when the front door bell rang.

“Your turn,” Ned said. “I answered it last.”

“When was that?” I demanded. “Nobody’s been here since day before yesterday.”

“That’s when I answered it,” he told me, and smiled as he went back to his reading. As I went through the doorway to the living room, Ned added: “It’s probably one of your lady friends, anyway.”

It wasn’t, though. It was a thin and tall man wearing a gray suit and a frown, an intelligent and virile looking gent. “Lieutenant Maltz,” he said, “of Central Homicide.”

I couldn’t think of anything bright to say to that. He was studying me thoughtfully. “You’re Cary Vaughn?”

I nodded. “Come in, Lieutenant. Nothing wrong, I hope?”

Which wasn’t quite as stupid as it sounds. I get visits from the law, occasionally — cops who want tickets to sold-out fights and football games.

He came in. “Something’s wrong, all right. I said I’m from Homicide, Vaughn.”

“So...?” I said.

“So it’s murder.” He paused then, like a ham actor. “A girl named Carol Brenk was killed last night.”

“Carol Brenk—?” I couldn’t seem to get my breath. “You’re not — why—” I felt my legs getting weak, and I sat down staring at him.

Something like a smile appeared on his face, though it wasn’t really that. Just an ironic twist of his mouth. “You act surprised,” he said. “Pretty close to you, was she?”

“We were engaged,” I said. “You know that. Don’t be so damned cute, Maltz. What happened?”

His face was rigid. “Watch your tongue, Mr. Vaughn. You’re talking to an officer of the law.”

“What happened?” I repeated.

He didn’t answer that. Instead, he asked: “When was the last time you saw her?”

“Last night,” I said. “You probably know that, too. I’ve known too many cops to be impressed, Lieutenant. I want to know what happened.” I was leaning forward in my chair. I was about ready to pop him.

He was sitting on the davenport across from me, looking smug and official.

From the doorway, Ned said: “Something wrong, Cary?”

I couldn’t answer him. I continued to stare at Maltz.

Maltz said: “You’re Ned Orlow?”

Ned nodded. “I don’t believe I know you, sir.”

“You will,” Maltz said. “I’m from Homicide, Mr. Orlow. A friend of yours was killed last night.”

Ned looked at me. I said: “Carol.”

Ned was staring at the lieutenant, now. “Carol? Carol Brenk was killed?”

“That’s right. Hit you pretty hard, Orlow?”

Ned’s voice was sharp. “You can cut out the humor, Lieutenant. I’d have been engaged to her myself it she hadn’t preferred Cary. If you’ve got some business here, get to it or get the hell out.”

Maltz half rose, his taut face ugly. Ned was glaring at him, making no move, but Ned’s a very big, rough boy.

Maltz said: “For a man with a record, you’ve got a lot of lip, Orlow.”

Ned was white, and he took a half step toward the lieutenant as I said: “Sit down, Ned. Take it easy, Lieutenant.”

Ned stared at me as though I wasn’t there, as though I was merely a distraction.

“Sit down,” I repeated. “We’re all civilized, I hope.”

Ned seemed to shake himself. He went over to sit down in a chair near the window. He kept his gaze on the officer.

Maltz said: “I’ve got a job to do. It would be smart for both you boys to cooperate.” His glance alternated between us, then settled on me. “What time did you leave Miss Brenk last night?”

“Around ten-thirty,” I said. “She wasn’t feeling well.”

“You came right home after that?”

I shook my head. “I went to a friend’s apartment to play cards. I didn’t get home until two o’clock this morning.”

Maltz’ eyes were speculative. “You quarreled with her, didn’t you?”

“No,” I said. “Don’t try any traps, Lieutenant. You’re just taking a shot in the dark there.”

“Am I? Well, the people in the next apartment heard you quarreling. And they heard a noise, too, though it didn’t sound like a gun at the time. It was sharp, but not loud. You see, Vaughn, it was a .22. A .22 doesn’t make the kind of noise you’d expect from a gun, but it’s a killing weapon. That’s what they heard — at ten forty-five.”

“At ten-forty,” I said, “or very close to it, I was in my friend’s apartment.”

“You kept a close check on the time, didn’t you? Habit of yours?”

I shook my head. “But I wanted to get the 10:45 sports report on the radio, and I turned in at my friend’s place.”

“Now isn’t that a coincidence?” he said. “That’s how her neighbors remembered the time, too. The husband wanted to get the sports report. I forget the name, you know, the people that live next to her, there at the front of the building—”

“Don’t fish, Lieutenant,” I said. “I don’t know their name. You say Carol was — it was a .22?”

“That’s right. Shot in the left temple from close range.”

His gaze moved over to cover Ned, still in the chair near the window. “How about you, Orlow?”

“What about me?”

“Where were you last night? Say — about ten forty-five.”

Ned frowned. “I was on the Mill Road about that time. As a matter of fact, it must have been just about the time I was being pinched.”

“Pinched?” Maltz’s eyebrows went up.

“For speeding. For what that flatfoot called speeding, anyway. I was doing about forty when he picked me up.”

“Motorcycle officer?”

Ned nodded. “Thin fellow. Sour.”

“Ruxtell,” Maltz identified him. “His only son was killed by a speeding car, Orlow, so maybe he’s got a right to be sour. And the limit on that road is thirty-five.”

“I can read,” Ned said.

“I guess you both are bright enough to read,” Maltz said, “and figure out alibis, too.”

Anger flared in me, and I started to say something. But Maltz held up a hand. “O.K. It’s a remark I didn’t have to make.” He reached into an inner pocket and brought out a paper. “I’ve brought along a warrant. And some men. We’re going to go through this place very carefully.”

He rose, went to the door, and out into the hall. When he came in again, there were two men with him, one in uniform. He gave them instructions, and then beckoned us out into the kitchen.

He asked us the rest of his questions in there, while the two men went through the apartment thoroughly. Then they came into the kitchen, to check that.

One of them was carrying my .32.

Maltz said: “Whose is that?”

“Mine,” I said. “I’ve a permit for it.”

“Sure,” Maltz said. He laid it on the table.

Ned said: “I’ve an expensive camera and a wrist watch in there I want to see after you flat-foots leave. They’d better be there.”

Maltz colored. “You’re looking for trouble, Orlow. We can give you more trouble than you can handle.”

I rose and went into the other room. I knew Ned hated cops, but it was a strange time, I thought, to be brickering with them. From the top shelf of the bookcase in the living room, the picture of Carol smiled at me.

Shot with a .22... I’d known a lot of girls. I’m in sports promotion, and pretty girls have publicity value. I’d always had one in tow when I stepped out evenings. Carol had been something else. We’d planned on marrying in the spring; we had a house picked out, and we’d been buying furniture.

I went to the kitchen door, and said: “If you don’t want me any more, Maltz, I’m going out for a walk.”

He looked at me and nodded. “O.K. We’re about through, here.”

Ned said: “Easy does it, Cary.”

I didn’t answer that. I put on a topcoat and went out.

Chill day, an early fall day. Football weather, I thought. Carol and I were going to see the Giants tangle with the Redskins this afternoon.

I don’t know how long I walked, but I wound up in a bar on Fifty-third. It was a quiet spot, mostly table trade, but I stood at the bar. When my legs began to weaken, my head was still clear. I took a cab from there and went home.

The apartment was empty — and too hot. The whiskey got to my head; I was asleep on the davenport within five minutes.

When I woke up, it was dark, and the apartment was still too hot. I went over to open the window.

On the sidewalk below, a girl stood looking up at this window. She was indistinctly lined by the street lamp, but there was enough light for me to see she was young and well dressed.

I snapped on the table lamp near the window.

She seemed to hesitate — and then she started to walk south. Somewhere, I’d seen her before. And then I remembered. I grabbed my coat and hurried out.

She was still walking south as I came out of the apartment building. She was about half a block away now. I caught her just as she reached the next corner.

She turned as my hurrying footsteps approached, and her voice sounded frightened. “Mr. Vaughn—”

“You came to see me, didn’t you?” I asked her. “You’re Alice Hargreave. You live across the hall from — Carol’s apartment?”

She nodded. “I came to see you, but I didn’t see any light, at first, and then when I saw it go on, I was frightened—”

“I was sleeping,” I said. “I’d — been drinking.”

She said nothing.

“Was it about— Did you come to see me because you know something about what happened to Carol?”

“I’m not sure I know anything,” she said softly. “It was something I was afraid to tell the police. I don’t know—” Her voice trailed off, and she stared at the traffic going by.

Ahead there was a neon sign advertising The Waffle House and I indicated it with a nod of my head. “Let’s have some coffee, and you can tell me about it.”

It was seven o’clock, and I hadn’t eaten since morning. But I wasn’t sure I could get any food down though I meant to try.

Alice Hargreave was slim. She had light hair and a thin, interesting, intelligent face. Her clear blue eyes were clouded now with indecision.

She sat in the booth across from me after we’d ordered, trying to frame the words she’d brought me.

I said: “It isn’t anything definite you have, is it? It’s a suspicion, and you don’t want to give me the wrong impression.”

She shook her head. “It’s something I know, but I’m not sure it matters, now. This whole — idea, this trip was probably senseless—”

I said gently: “Why don’t you tell me what you came to tell me? Why don’t you let me decide it it’s senseless, or not?”

“All right.” Her voice was husky. “She... she didn’t love you.”

I didn’t say anything for seconds. Then I said: “You’re crazy. What made you say a thing like that?”

“I shouldn’t have said it. I realize that, now. It can’t do any good, not now. I wanted to tell you before this, but it was none of my business.” Her eyes were brimming with tears; she twisted her hands together on the table top. “There was a man who came to see her. He came often when you weren’t there. I heard them talk about you in the hall. I — heard them laugh at you.”

“That’s enough,” I said. “Don’t say any more.”

Her gaze was directed toward the top of the table; the hands were quiet. “A man named Bruce,” she said, and the blue eyes lifted to meet mine.

“Bruce Regan?”

“I don’t know. A big man with a mustache. He looks like a — like a racketeer. Very well dressed, loud voice.”

I didn’t say anything.

She asked: “Wasn’t he in some kind of trouble? There was something in the papers about a man named Bruce Regan.”

“He was in trouble,” I said. “With the boxing commission. More than once. He’s a gambler, and he’s been mixed up with some doubtful fights.” I shook my head. “I still don’t believe Carol would—” I stopped as the waitress brought our sandwiches and coffee.

“One night,” she said, “when I was coming home from work, I met them in the hall. They were laughing. He said: ‘If Vaughn ever saw us together, baby, we’d both be cooked.’ And she said: ‘What Cary doesn’t know can’t possibly hurt him, can it?’ I wanted to see you then. I wanted to tell you about it.”

“Why?” I asked. “Why should it concern you?” There was a pounding pain at the back of my head; my voice was sharp. “It doesn’t make sense... It’s...”

“I wanted to tell you,” she said, “because I knew how you felt about her. And I talked to her from time to time. She invited me over a few nights. Any woman could tell what she—” She stopped, her mouth tight.

“I’ve known all kinds of women,” I said. “I should know a phoney when I see one. I—”

There was some sharpness in her voice now. “Yes, I know. You’re a regular ladies’ man. No man is easier to fool than one of those. And it wasn’t any of my business. But I had to tell someone. I’m not any braver than anyone else; I couldn’t tell the police about a man as... as frightening as Bruce Regan.”

“I can,” I said, “and I will.”

“All right.” She sipped her coffee. Her eyes avoided mine. “You can do just exactly what you think best, of course.”

“I won’t mention your name.”

She didn’t say anything. She bit into her sandwich and her eyes continued to avoid mine.

I realized I’d treated her badly, and said: “I’m sorry for the way I’ve talked. But you hit me pretty hard.”

“I think I’ve hurt your ego as much as your heart,” she said.

I didn’t answer that. What Cary doesn’t know can’t hurt him, can it? It could, and had, even after she was dead.

The waitress interrupted my reverie. “Anything else? Some dessert, perhaps?”

I looked questioningly at Alice Hargreave. “Some ice cream,” she said.

“And you, sir?”

“Just some more coffee,” I told her.

We finished in silence and then she was fumbling in her purse for a cigarette. I offered her one of mine, and she said, “Thank you”, still not meeting my gaze.

I held a light for her; she concentrated on that.

“I’ll get a cab for you,” I said. “Don’t be afraid of Bruce Regan. I’ll take care of him.”

She drew her breath in sharply. “You’re not—”

“I’m just going to look him up and have a talk with him. If I’m in the mood, I might work him over a little.” I paused. “I don’t like to be laughed at.”

“It was your ego, then,” she said. “And now you’re all muscle. You’re the Cary Vaughn who used to play tackle for the Bears. You’re going to get your revenge. What possible good do you think that will do? What’s to be gained by violence?”

Only a part of her tirade came through. “How do you know I played tackle for the Bears?”

“I lived in Chicago then,” she said. “I saw all the Bear home games. What a raging madman you were. I thought you were different, now.”

“That’s the way George Halas likes his tackles,” I said, and found a little warmth somewhere for my voice. “I am different, now, Alice. But you wouldn’t want me to take this lying down, would you? Not a Chicago Bear tackle?” I managed a smile.

“It’s no affair of mine,” she said. “I’m through worrying about you, Cary Vaughn.”

“Worrying about me—?”

“That’s right. At Northwestern and when you were with the Bears, that time in the Minnesota game, and when the Packers broke your arm, and—” She broke off to glare at me. “All right, laugh, why don’t you? It’s funny, isn’t it? Why don’t you laugh?”

“I don’t see anything funny,” I answered.

“Don’t you? Well, I do. Because I was just a silly girl, then, and I can look back on it and laugh. Other girls had their movie stars, and their crooners, and—” The eyes were brimming again.

“You cry too much,” I said. “It that why you — I mean, you lived right across the hall from Carol, and—”

“That,” she said firmly, “was just a coincidence, Mr. Vaughn. I’d almost forgotten you when I came to this town. I have all kinds of civilized friends, now, Mr. Vaughn. Men who can read and take me to plays and aren’t always swinging at somebody.”

“Practically everybody at Northwestern can read,” I told her, “and they have a fine dramatic school there and I haven’t swung at anybody for a long, long time.”

“Really—” she said.

“And something else,” I went on. “My efforts at right tackle helped to get me through Northwestern. My reputation there got me the job with the Bears, a damned sight better job than the rest of the Business Ad majors got. The money I made with the Bears set me up in this town. And if you’ll pardon a little smugness, I think I’m sitting right pretty for a gent just thirty-three years old.”

“I’m sure you are,” she said. “Would you get the cab, now, please?”

Her face was blank, the blue eyes cool. I went out and got the cab. She was waiting in the doorway when I came back. The blue eyes met mine, and she said: “Good-bye, Mr. Vaughn. Good luck with Mr. Regan.”

I watched the cab drive off, and then went back in to pay my bill.

Outside the chill of the night got through to me as I walked aimlessly north. She was right; violence would solve nothing. If Bruce Regan had been close to Carol, the police should know it. If they’d been laughing at me, I’m just as soon nobody knew it. She’d made sense, all right. Only the anger was still strong in me, and the memory of Carol vivid.

I was in front of my apartment building now, and there were light on, up there. I turned in.

Ned was waiting for me in the open doorway. “Where the hell have you been?” he asked. “I’ve been looking all over town for you.”

“Something come up?”

“No, but I was worried about you. You looked so damned reckless when you left here.”

“I was,” I said. “I’ve been home since then, and out to eat. Hear anything new on what — happened?”

“They’ve picked up Bruce Regan,” he said. “They’ve got him down at headquarters.”

“They’re going to indict him?”

“I doubt it like hell,” Ned said. “They know he used to — visit Carol from time to time, but he’ll probably have a cast iron alibi.” He put a hand on my shoulder. “I was down there with Maltz and I heard some of Regan’s story. He must have seen Carol quite a lot.”

I shrugged. “Could be. Maltz pull you in, after I left?”

His smile was tight. “Yup. I got lippy. Ever since that three months I sat, I can’t stomach cops.”

Ned had been caught in a high-wheeling poker game and had the misfortune to run into a rough judge. Instead of the usual fine, he’d drawn ninety days.

I said: “I was going to see this Regan myself. I guess the law beat me to it.”

Ned said: “You — knew about him and — Carol, then?”

“Just rumors,” I said. “I never figured him for a Don Juan, but maybe I was wrong.”

“He’s shaved off his mustache,” Ned said. “Maybe that’s what did it. Though I still can’t see him as a lady killer.” Then, realizing his unfortunate choice of words, he flushed.

“I can,” I said. “I can figure him in both meanings.”

I headed for the bathroom. I thought a good hot shower might help to put me to sleep tonight. I left the door open as I undressed.

Ned said: “Remember that early appointment with Girard’s manager, Cary. He’s leaving town at nine-thirty, and it’s the last chance you’ll have for a month.”

“You take care of it,” I said. “I’m going to see Maltz in the morning.”

“O.K.,” he said doubtfully. “You’re willing to let Buster fight this Girard then?”

“Willing and eager,” I said. “Guys like Dan Girard were made for Buster. And its a title shot after that, Ned, We’ll have the middleweight champ of the world in the stable.”

Ned came to the open bathroom door. “Cary — you’re not going to tangle with this Bruce Regan, are you? He’s got some rough friends in this town, kid.”

“I doubt if I’ll tangle with anybody,” I answered. “I just want to get the story from Maltz.”

He grinned. “Easy does it, though, huh?”

“Sure,” I said.

“And about this Girard deal. The usual cut for Buster?”

“If you can chisel it. But shade it if you have to. The important thing is to get the fight. It’s the last step to the crown for both of them. Let Girard’s noodle understand that. We can’t get to the crown without fighting Girard, maybe, but neither can his boy get there without fighting Buster. That’s the tune you want to play tomorrow morning.”

“O.K.” he said. “I’ll take my fiddle, and play it over and over. And you watch your language around Maltz. He can be nasty. He even cooled me down.”

“I’ll be careful,” I promised.

It was a restless night. I couldn’t get the memory of Carol out of my mind. It had been a good year for me. I had a piece of the fastest welter in the game and owned the coming middleweight champ of the world. I’d picked him up young and cheaply, and now he was going to pay off in bundles. I had a good sized share of the Sports Bowl, and the Bowl was busy four nights a week. This had been a Midas year, had set me up solidly for the future. But Carol had been a part of that future — until now.

I could understand that Regan’s interest in her was something more than romantic; I’d bought a couple of contracts for respectable sugar that he’d been trying to pick up for peanuts. I’d beat him to the draw in backing the new Sports Bowl. Or rather, he’d beat himself, there. While he was figuring a way to chisel in without too much investment, I’d plunked a sizable wad of cash down and financed the rest to gents who had something besides a purely financial interest in sports.

Angle-shooters like Regan were getting pinched more and more as real sports lovers with moola crowded into the game. Which still didn’t make any sense out of Carol’s death. Well, maybe Maltz would have some kind of lead by now...

I got there early enough to catch him next morning. He was in a small room that served as his office, on the main floor at headquarters.

He was talking to a uniformed patrolman; I waited until he’d finished, and the patrolman left the room. Then Maltz swiveled in his chair to face me.

“I wanted to find out about Bruce Regan,” I said.

“Did you?”

“He’s still here?”

Maltz shook his head slowly. “We realised him last night. He’s covered just like the rest of you.”

“Nothing new?”

“Nothing new. And if there was, what makes it your business?”

My temper began to stir, and I waited until I could speak evenly. “Nothing, I suppose. Only — she was my girl and—”

“Your girl? And maybe Regan’s too. And maybe some other guy’s we haven’t met and won’t meet.”

“You sound as though the case is closed,” I said.

“There’re only twenty-four hours in a day,” he answered, “and seven days in a week. People are constantly getting killed in this town.”

I said nothing.

“Double-talk and smart talk, that’s what I’ve been getting in this case. And crack-proof alibis. I checked yours and one of the boys you were playing bridge with is an assistant D. A. Orlow’s got a cop to back him up, and Regan’s got about fifteen assorted characters who saw him at the Rainbow Cabin. You know where the Rainbow Cabin is?”

I shook my head.

“It’s about thirty-five miles from here,” Maltz said, “and he was seen there at eleven o’clock. You figure he could have made thirty-five miles in under fifteen minutes including the city traffic?”

“I suppose not.”

“You suppose not? You figure they wouldn’t notice a helicopter coming down in the parking lot at that time of night.”

“All right, he’s clear, and I’m clear and Ned’s clear. Those aren’t the only people she knew, are they? And maybe she didn’t even know her killer — or we didn’t.”

“Which brings us back to that twenty-four hour day and the seven day week,” Maltz said.

“How about that family that heard the quarreling? How good do you figure their story?”

“They gave me Regan. They gave me a plausible story about the quarreling. They haven’t any damned connection with Miss Brenk excepting the geographical accident of having lived in the same apartment building.” He paused then, to study me. “That girl across the hall, that Alice Hargreave, might be something else.”

For some reason, I sensed that he was watching for my reaction to the name. “Hargreave?” I said. “That girl with the light hair?”

“Mmmm-hmmm. Know her?”

“I’ve seen her.”

“She was about the only girl in the building who spent any time in Miss Brenk’s apartment. And — she was quite a fan of yours, the people in the front apartment tell me.”

“You’re talking in riddles, Lieutenant,” I said. “What do you mean — fan?”

“From the old days, when you were a football player. If she was the jealous type, I might figure a lead, there. But it’s a little far-fetched for a busy man. And now, if you don’t mind, Vaughn, I’ll get to work.”

“One more thing, Lieutenant. You’re sure in your own mind that Regan’s clean?”

“No. I’m not sure about any of you. But what I feel and what I can get a conviction on are two different stories. Good-bye, Mr. Vaughn.”

I left him.

Outside, I paused in indecision, and then decided to take a chance on Regan. He wouldn’t tell me anything he hadn’t told the police, but I wanted to see his reaction to some names.

I took a cab to the Morris Hotel. There was a regular clique of angle-shooters who lived there and made their deals in the hotel’s coffee shop.

Regan was there without any of his buddies. He was in a booth near the front windows, all alone. He wasn’t I realized such a bad looking gent with the mustache gone. He was beefy, ruggedly handsome.

His eyes were wary. I took the seat opposite him without saying a word.

His eyes met mine, and he said: “Lot of empty tables and booths, Cary.”

“I wanted to talk to you.”

“I’m all talked out. I’ve been talking to the police.”

“I don’t suppose you told them anything you didn’t want them to know.”

He shrugged. He said: “You’re all worked up because of what happened. You’re looking for somebody to take it out on. Well, Cary, I was at the Rainbow Cabin that night, you know where that is, don’t you? That’s right outside of Leedom City, and that’s a long way from here.”

“A couple of times,” I said, “I thought you were reading my mind. I guess you were, weren’t you? Carol was telling you about my business, wasn’t she?”

He met my gaze steadily. “No. I liked Carol all right, and I tried to pitch in that league, but we didn’t talk about you.”

“I know you did,” I said. “And Duke Fallon tells me you tried to approach him on the Korotsky fight.” Duke was my welter.

“He’s lying,” Regan said. “And if he did tell you that, why didn’t you go to the commission with it?”

“The decision would be Duke’s,” I said. “I didn’t have any reason for wanting to get you — not until now.”

“You haven’t any reason, now,” he said. “You know I’m clean. You never had anything I wanted.”

“Just my business and my girl,” I told him.

“I thought a lot of Carol. But your business you can have. Just stay out of mine.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Anything might happen,” he said evenly. “Don’t flex your muscles around me, Vaughn. I’m not in the least frightened.”

I contemplated pasting him, and he must have read the belligerence in my attitude.

He said: “The man sitting in that booth across the room is a city detective. He doesn’t think I know it, but I do. Keep that in mind, and don’t do anything foolish.”

I looked across the room, and saw the man regarding us steadily. His eyes swiveled away as I continued to stare at him.

I slid out of the booth, and stood next to the table. “I’m not through with you,” I told Regan. “The law might be, but I’m not.”

As I left the restaurant and went out again to the street, something kept nagging at my mind, something he’d said.

Carol and I hadn’t been engaged for long. Perhaps knowing that I was serious, realizing that as my wife she’d share in my good or bad fortune, she’d decided to tell me about Regan, to warn me about him. That would make some sense out of her death.

But not enough. If she told me about Regan, he could just drop out of the picture. I didn’t scare him enough for him to fear anything she might tell me about him. And it wasn’t the law he feared; he’d tangled with that enough.

And he had been out at the Rainbow Cabin in Leedom City at eleven o’clock. Maltz would check that carefully.

If I knew what the quarrel had been about...

There was a cab at the curb. I got in and gave him the address of Carol’s apartment building.

I wanted to find out how much of the quarrel the people in the front apartment had heard. It was information I could probably get. from Maltz, but Maltz didn’t seem the cooperative type.

Neither did the woman who answered the door to my ring. I’d seen her once or twice while visiting Carol, but she looked at me suspiciously now through the partially opened door. There was a chain across the opening.

“We can’t talk to anybody but the police, Mr. Vaughn,” she said meekly. “My husband told me before he went to work not to let anybody in here.”

“I just wanted to know about the quarrel you heard,” I said. “I thought you might have heard something that would help me.”

She shook her head. “The police have all that, Mr. Vaughn.” The door closed.

I turned away, as someone in the hall said: “Could I talk to you a minute, Mr. Vaughn?”

Alice Hargreave stood in front of her open door. She was dressed to go out.

I walked up the hall and she indicated the open door. I went through, into a comfortable, colorful living room. It was a duplicate of Carol’s apartment, but seemed warmer and more spacious.

“I was just going to work,” she said, “and I heard what Mrs. Pearson was telling you.” She nodded toward a chair, and I took it.

“What Mrs. Pearson meant was that she couldn’t talk to anybody but the police — and the neighbors,” Alice said. “From what she’s told me, Carol said something about telling Cary the whole setup and about watching out for my own future. That’s what made me think the man must have been this Bruce Regan.”

“It was a man all right, then?”

There was surprise in her gaze. “I — suppose — isn’t that what Lieutenant Maltz said?”

“He’s very reticent about telling me his business,” I answered. “A .22 doesn’t seem to be a man’s gun.”

“From what I’ve read and heard,” she said, “a .22 would be the logical weapon for an apartment building. It’s quieter than the others, but — effective.”

The whole set-up... The whole setup... I looked up at Alice Hargreave. “I’ll take you to work,” I said. “I’ll call a cab. And I want to apologize for last night. I was hurt pretty badly last night.”

Her smile was timid. “Coming out of it?”

“Maybe. I guess — I’m the world’s number one sucker.”

“I’ll call the cab,” she said.

We didn’t talk much on the trip to her office. She worked for an interior decorator over on Fifth; she’d worked for the same man in Chicago, and he’d wanted her along when he came to this town. He was doing very well here, and I sensed that she was, too.

“He’s the top man in the town for my money,” she said. “I’ve learned a lot from him.”

“He’s married?”

She frowned at me. “Happily married. With four lovely children. Any other questions?”

“Not today,” I said. “You haven’t accepted my apology, yet.”

“Forget it,” she said. “I’ve seen the Bears too often to expect they’d be gentlemen, even after they were retired.”

“That’s not fair,” I said. “We’re all gentlemen, and anyway the other team started it.”

The cab stopped and she got out. “Stay in there, Tackle Vaughn,” she said, and there was a lot of warmth in her smile.

I managed an answering smile.

The cabbie turned, and I gave him the address of my apartment.

The whole set-up... Leedom City... No mustache... It wouldn’t be the regular route to Leedom City, and it would be almost as short, maybe quicker.

I could tell. His face was no mask, I knew. It had cost him money, that face, in many a poker session.

The cab stopped, and I paid the cabbie. It was still chill, out, but there was little breeze, and the air seemed dry enough. I walked up the single flight of stairs to the apartment.

Ned was there, near the window.

“I got Girard for our boy,” he said. “Fifteen thousand or thirty percent, whichever’s bigger.”

I didn’t answer that. I said: “You shouldn’t let other people use your car, Ned.”

His guilt couldn’t have been any plainer if it had been written on his suddenly rigid face. “I... don’t get you, Cary...”

“That cop, that Ruxtell,” I went on, “would nail anybody who drove too fast past that hiding place of his, would he? you were sure of a pinch. Dark and no moon, and one big guy looks about like another, in the dark. If he’s got a mustache, he can always shave it off, can’t he?”

No words for seconds, from him. Fear in his face, and sudden understanding. “What — are you trying to—”

“The Mill Road is one way to get to Leedom City,” I continued, “and that’s what gave me the hunch. Regan drove your car, and when the cop stopped him, he gave your name, just as you two had planned. That established your alibi. Then Regan drove on to Rainbow Cabin, and that established his alibi. Two alibis with one man, which left you free — free to kill Carol.”

He rose. “Are you crazy, Cary? What in hell would I want to kill her for?” “Because she knew about the tie-up between you and Regan. She knew the whole set-up. Knowing about Regan wouldn’t cause her death. But you were closer to me. In case something should happen to me, you’d get the business, probably; you knew all about it. That was all right, as long as I was just dating her. But when she realized I planned marriage, she began to worry about her stake in my business. And that’s when you had to kill her.”

“Cary,” he said hoarsely, “in the name of... You’re not making sense — Regan, sure, but not...”

“Regan’s already talked,” I lied, “and that cop, that Ruxtell, says the guy he stopped looked a lot like Regan and not at all like you. Regan was wearing gloves, and you never wear gloves, Ned.”

All lies, but maybe one of them would score, maybe one of them would hit.

Again, he took a breath, and his eyes went past me toward the door. He said: “Regan’s idea — it—”

I hit him with a haymaker right. Not on the button; it landed high on the jaw, but he went back into the wall.

I came in, and his knee came up to hit me where it would do the most damage. I tried another right hand for the jaw as nausea charged through me.

It was a button shot this time, and he sagged. I was still hitting as he fell.

Ned talked after Maltz spent a few hours with him, and it was the way I’d called it. Ruxtell identified Regan, though how sure he was about it, I don’t know. It was enough to put Regan away for a long, long time, though he beat the chair. Ned didn’t.

I see Alice quite often. She and I have seen the Giants play all fall, and we root for them, occasionally. But our first love, of course, is the Bears. That, and some other things we have in common.