Black Mask (Vol. 33, No. 3 — September 1949)

Could Timothy Regg’s blonde wife resist the temptation to touch his forbidden black book?

Chapter One Die Tonight

At just 5:30 on the afternoon of September 10th the door of Timothy Regg’s liquor shop at 413 Beetle Street swung open with a sharp, shrill clatter of its bell. Sitting behind the counter with his thin shoulders hunched over his “little black book,” as he called it, Timothy Regg said pleasantly, without looking up “Hello, Blossom, dear.”

To another man the bell might have seemed a nerve-jarring jangle, but to Timothy Regg it was a welcome and dulcet sound because it signalled the return of his beloved wife. Blossom.

This afternoon, however, the bell’s clang was louder and sharper than usual. Timothy Regg lifted his gaze from his little black book to find that his wife had halted just inside the door and was staring at the front page of the newspaper she had brought in.

“Why. Blossom, sweet,” Regg asked, disturbed by the shocked expression on her plump face, “is anything the matter, dear?”

Ignoring his solicitous question, Blossom continued to pore over a front page news item. She might be described in a stock phrase as a “big blonde” but this would not give Blossom due credit. Although large-framed and plump, she was also superbly proportioned.

She was always snugly girdled, her nylons were always sleekly smooth, she invariably had her mouth on straight and her mascara never actually dripped. She was largely a self-made woman and could be proud of the job she had done on herself.

Certainly she need never worry about holding her husband’s affections. He adored the very ground her spike-heeled, size nine sandals trod on — prized her so highly, in fact, that his friends simply wagged their heads.

Alarmed for her now, Timothy Regg hurried around the end of the counter to her side. Blossom’s round face was blanched with anxiety and she had begun gnawing the rouge off her lips. Craning to see the paper, her husband found a headline howling blackly across the whole front page:

“Lennox?” Timothy Regg asked mildly. “Who’s he, sweetie?”

Blossom turned a disdainful stare on him. She weighed a good fifty pounds heavier than her husband and towered eight inches over him. She had her lush sort of beauty while he, with his bald head and button nose, could never be called handsome.

His best feature was his eyes, which were bright and blue as gunmetal. They were their brightest and bluest when Timothy was near Blossom, for then they shone with loving admiration for her — even when she treated him with scorn, as she did so often.

“Who’s Lennox, you ask me?” she said scathingly. “Sometimes I think you must be the dumbest runt—”

“Len Lennox is— Oh, never mind!” Blossom added acridly. “Among other important things he happens to be one of your steady customers.”

Undisturbed by the sneering note in Blossom’s voice, Regg answered thoughtfully, “Lennox? I don’t remember having that name in my little black book, sweetie.”

She stared at him now in silent contempt. He seemed to have failed in the first place to recognize Len Lennox as a smooth, big-time operator having such diverse interests that he might easily find use for more than one name. Blossom appreciated so much more about Lennox’s situation than her husband did, that she couldn’t think how to begin to explain it to the good-natured little simpleton.

“And besides, Blossom, sweet,” Regg said patiently, “even if this Mr. Lennox did happen to buy some bottle goods here at some time or other, why should you be upset by the trouble he’s gotten into?”

“Who said I’m upset?” Blossom bit at him. “I think it’s interesting, that’s all. Quit bothering me.”

She marched into the little corner office behind the counter, bumped down into her husband’s chair, crossed her solidly modelled legs and continued to frown over the news about the fugitive cop-killer, Lennox.

A customer came in to keep Timothy Regg busy for a few minutes. Bidding the customer good-by and turning to his cash register with the money, Regg saw instantly that his little black book was no longer where he had left it on the counter.

Blossom had picked it up while his back was turned and was rapidly leafing through it. His reaction came lightning-fast. He snatched the book out of Blossom’s scarlet-nailed fingers and retreated clutching it behind his back.

“Whattaya mean, ya shrimp!” Blossom said, rising, her face furious. “Don’t you get rough with me. Gimme that back!”

Regg shook his bald head, looking immovable. “No. Not my little black book. Anything else of mine you can have for the taking, Blossom. Help yourself to every dollar in the cash register, I won’t care. Get mad and bust every bottle on these shelves, tear the shirt right off my back. Anything I own is yours, Blossom, sweet — except you can’t have my little black book.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Why not? As long as I’ve known you, you’ve been guarding that thing like a miser guards his gold. What’ve you got written in it?”

“Just information, Blossom, such as the names and addresses of all my customers, with their likes and dislikes. But I’ve been many years accumulating it, Blossom, and it’s the very cornerstone of my business now, the most valuable thing I own. I just can’t let anybody touch it — not even you, my sweet.”

“I don’t get this,” Blossom said. “What’s so precious about a few names and addresses and such stuff?”

Her husband smiled patiently as he explained. When certain rare wines came in, he saved them for certain customers who preferred them. He had a number of free-spenders to whom he never mailed bills, for reasons of domestic strategy; with these, he always waited until they came in to pay cash.

Then too, some of his best customers had deliveries made to addresses other than their homes or offices — sometimes to two or three other places — and Timothy Regg offered an extremely valuable service by never getting such delicate situations fouled up.

“So you see, Blossom, dear, this little black book is not only my most valuable business asset,” Regg wound up, “but also, if this information should leak out to the wrong places it might cause no end of terrible trouble to my very best customers. That would ruin me, Blossom dear, and maybe ruin them too.”

A glitter had appeared in Blossom’s eyes. She answered with what was, in her, a surprising degree of understanding, “Well, I really can’t blame ya, Timmy. Like for instance, if you’ve got the name of an important man like, say, Mr. Ned Nelling, you’ve probably got him at one or two addresses which he would want us to keep mum about.”

Blossom had mentioned the name of Nelling as a sly means of testing the value of that little black book and her husband’s awareness as well. It was no secret to Blossom that Len Lennox had often found it convenient to be Ned Nelling. She watched her husband’s homely face to see whether it registered any suspicion of this; but it did not.

“Mr. Nelling’s got no less than four different addresses in my little black book, and a couple of ’em he’s told me never to mention to anybody else. He might call me say, ‘Send a case of stuff over Number Three place,’ and I’d known just what to take and where to go.” Timothy Regg shook his bald head.

“But nobody but me must know such information as that, Blossom. Not even you. Because such information could leak out and be very dangerous.” Backing up his injunction, Regg turned to a cupboard under the counter. He placed the precious little black book inside it, closed its door, firmly twisted the key in the lock, then tucked the key snugly in his pants pocket.

“You understand clearly, Blossom, dear? Never, never, never touch my little black book.”

“Poo,” Blossom retorted, lifting her blonde head derisively. “Anything I need to know, I’m quite sure I can find it out in other ways.”

As if to prove it, she directed her big, trimly shod feet across the store and marched out, leaving her husband to wonder just what she might mean.

Timothy Regg gazed after her, past the stacks of bottles in his show windows, with a sad expression settling on his face. Slowly shaking his head, he went to his desk, picked up the paper that Blossom had left there and read about the city-wide man-hunt which had one Len Lennox as its objective. Then he pulled his telephone close and dialed a number.

“Police headquarters?” he said politely. “Let me talk to Captain Dango, please— Captain Dango is out? You don’t know just when he’ll be back? Very busy on the Lennox case — hmm, I see. Well, it’s too bad, because I have met Captain Dango personally and I think he’s a very fine man, the kind of man I can talk to. I had a little message to give him. I wanted to tell him I’m afraid my wife is going to die very suddenly tonight.”

The telephone made twanging noises at Timothy Regg as he sat there, scarely hearing them, gazing out the street window at Blossom, who was just then hustling out of sight at the corner.

“Well,” he said, breaking in and arousing himself, “I do hope Captain Dango gets back in time, before my wife gets killed. I’d like to tell him about it beforehand, so I’ll call back a little later.” Then Timothy Regg added courteously, “Good-by,” and hung up.

It was 7 p.m. when Captain Dango appeared in his office at police headquarters. He came in quietly through a back door, looking haggard and hungry. The tough job of bringing Len Lennox to book was Captain Dango’s responsibility and he had put in an exhausting day getting nowhere with it.

Chagrined, worried and supperless, the captain sank into his chair and listened dejectedly while Kerson, his khaki-shirted secretary, gave him a brief digest of intelligence received during his absence.

Dango responded by saying heavily, “The hell with that routine. I’m concentrating on a rat named Lennox. Rustle me up four hamburger sandwiches and two quarts of coffee, pronto.”

Half a moment later, before even getting started on this assignment, Kerson was back with another item of news.

“He’s here now, Captain — just came in asking for you. I mean the guy I’ve been worrying about.”

Captain Dango’s own troubled mind being preoccupied with the task of smelling out and capturing Lennox, he had paid little attention to Kerson’s recital. He blinked and asked, “Which one was that?”

“The one who said he’s afraid his wife’s going to die suddenly tonight. He’s here to tell you about it. Says he runs a liquor store on Beetle Street — name’s Timothy Regg.”

Captain Dango’s eyebrows went up a notch. “I know him slightly. What makes him think she’s going to— Wait a minute.” Dango’s interest grew keener. “I remember his wife too. Name’s Blossom. I think she’s been mentioned somehow in connection with Lennox.”

Dango had been far too busy all day to look into such angles himself, but he scented a possibly important development here. He picked up his interphone and called Lieutenant Detective Hyam, who was acting as his first deputy in the Lennox man-hunt. “Blossom Regg — isn’t that the name of the woman who was seen at various roadhouses with Lennox just before he lammed?”

“That’s the gal, all right, and we’re checking her,” Lieutenant Hyam answered at once. “But like I warned you, Danny, it’s too much to expect her to know where Lennox’ hideout is. He’s too smart to trust that kind of information to a casual friend.”

“It may not be so casual on her side,” Dango answered. “Anyway, I’ve got something cooking on her at this end also. Sit tight until I find out what it is.”

Hyam said, “Will do, Danny,” and Captain Dango, clicking off the connection, instructed Kerson, “Bring that little guy in.”

Kerson opened the door and signalled. Timothy Regg entered smiling. He had slicked himself up for this interview, with his best three-year-old suit, last year’s snap-brim felt and high top shoes shining almost as brightly as his burnished ryes.

When they settled into chairs, facing each other across Dango’s desk, Regg’s expression became sad and the captain’s became intent.

“You say you’re worried that your wife may get killed tonight? Why should she die so suddenly as all that? What do you think’s going to happen to her?”

“I haven’t the slightest idea, Captain,” Timothy Regg answered. “I just have a dreadful feeling that some sort of terrible disaster is hanging over her. I just get these hunches every once in a while and it’s sort of uncanny the way every one of them has come true.”

Frowning skeptically, Dango inquired, “As for example?”

“Well, just a few weeks ago the feeling came to me, out of nowhere, that I was going to get hurt somehow. Sure enough, the very next day I happened to slip on the damp floor of the cellar under my shop. I fell and wrenched my shoulder pretty badly.”

“I heard about that,” Dango said evenly. “But in not quite that same way. You didn’t actually slip, did you? Neighborhood gossip says you were knocked fiat by a bottle wielded by your wife during the course of a pretty loud argument — and rumor says further that this wasn’t the first time she’d flattened you.”

Regg’s thin cheeks flushed indignantly. “Why, that’s an unfair exaggeration, Captain! Blossom was there, true, and she did have a bottle in her hand, but that happens very frequently in a liquor store, and she may have nudged me with it accidentally, but really, I assure you, she would never intentionally harm a hair of my head.”

Dango glanced at Regg’s bald pate and did not smile. “Wasn’t she also bawling the hell out of you at the time, or is that rumor exaggerated also?”

“She was just protesting a little, Captain,” Timothy Regg explained quietly, “About the missing case of Scotch, I mean. Strangely enough, that was another queer hunch I’d had — about the Scotch. I’d gotten a feeling only that morning that something might be wrong in the stock room and sure enough, when I checked—”

“You keep your stock room locked, don’t you?” Dango inquired. “Was there any evidence of burglary?”

“None at all, but—” Timothy Regg sat forward earnestly. “Now look here, Captain! Don’t you go and suspect my wife of anything underhanded. It’s true I sometimes leave her alone in charge of the shop, but what of it? She couldn’t possibly have any use for a whole case of Scotch at once — and on the sly too! I’m sure it was just a clerical mistake on my part. Anyway, the only reason I mentioned it was to show you that these hunches of none have a funny way of coming true. They really have, dozens of times. That’s why I’m so worried by my feeling that something horrible might happen to Blossom tonight.”

“Just when did this sense of impending disaster first creep over you, Mr. Regg?” the captain asked carefully.

“It was at five forty-five this afternoon, just after Blossom went hurrying out of my shop. Suddenly I got this ghastly feeling that I might never see her again — that she was hastening off to her death.”

“Then why didn’t you stop her?” Dango asked. “Why aren’t you with her now, protecting her from this danger that’s hovering over her, whatever it is?”

“She was out of sight before I could start after her,” Timothy Regg explained, “and she had left without saying where she was going. I haven’t seen her since, haven’t been able to locate her by phone. That’s why I need your help to find her, so we can both do our best to safeguard her. Besides—”

Noting a brighter gleam in those gun-metal eyes of Timothy Regg’s, Captain Dango cued him alertly, “Yes?”

“Besides, if something should happen to her tonight, I–I want to make sure in advance that I’ll be in the clear.”

Dango said thoughtfully, “Hmmm?”

“I mean I’ve heard that the very first thing the police do when a woman meets with a fatal accident is to suspect her husband of foul play. It wouldn’t be fair to feel that way about me, Captain. I cherish my Blossom very dearly. I want to do my best to keep her safe from all harm. I implore you to help me do that in every possible way. But at the same time, in case something does happen to her tonight, I want to have an iron-clad alibi.”

Dango teetered back in his chair, studying this shiny-eyed little man from under darkly lowered eyebrows. He had begun to suspect that Timothy Regg might be trying to slip over a fast one.

On the other hand Dango could not for a moment ignore the scandalous rumor tying Mrs. Timothy Regg to Len Lennox, the cop-killing fugitive whom he was endeavoring so earnestly to find. Nor, for that matter, could he help being touched by Regg’s look of innocent anxiety and genuine concern.

Sitting up decisively, Captain Dango said, “Mr. Regg, I’m going to turn you right back to Sergeant Kerson. He’ll start things humming for you. Give him a complete description of your wife and a list of all the places where she likes to go. We’ll do all we can to find her and keep her safe.”

Gripping Regg’s gentle little hand, he brushed aside the expressions of gratitude and steered the little man back into his secretary’s custody. Closing the connecting door firmly, he went back to his interphone.

“Listen, Hyam. Blossom Regg is on the prowl right now. If she’s really crazy about Lennox she’s probably trying as hard as we are to pick up a little information as to where she might find him. Anyway let’s play that lead for all it’s worth. Spot her, but let her keep on the move and watch her on the chance that she might lead us to Lennox.”

“Okay.”

“Put Brown on the job of checking the dame’s husband, Timothy. Let’s get a good picture of what he’s been up to lately.”

“Check.”

“Don’t slip up on any of this,” Dango cautioned him. “Especially keep a sharp eye on the woman on the chance that something might suddenly happen to her.”

He disconnected scowling at himself. The task of flushing Lennox out of cover was proving to be tough enough, but now, on top of it, he had this shiny-eyed little man named Regg to stew about. It wasn’t so easy to dismiss Regg as a crackpot. There was a certain quality of sincerity in the guy that carried a sense of conviction. Already Captain Dango had begun to feel that unless he took quick and careful measures against it, something terrific and fatal would happen to Blossom Regg tonight.

Chapter Two Little Black Book

About 7:45 p.m. a woman who might have been Blossom Regg was seen entering the Old Keg Tap Room, a medium-class dive just outside the downtown section of the city. The observation was made by Sergeant Miller, one of the many plainclothes men who were scattered at strategic points under orders from Lieutenant Hyam.

Sergeant Miller immediately and quietly entered the saloon after this woman. He found the place crowded with sixty or eighty customers. As he gazed at them in the murky light an expression of bafflement spread over his face. Three minutes thereafter he was enclosed in a phone booth in a rear corner and making a report direct to Captain Dango.

“Look, Captain, I respectfully submit we gotta get a better description,” he complained. “There’s entirely too many big, bleached blondes on the loose tonight. In this joint right now there’s exactly eight of ’em, and every one looks so much like Blossom Regg’s supposed to look that I wouldn’t know which to pick. I can’t step up and ask each one what’s her name and is she the dame I’m supposed to be tailing, can I? And if they start scattering, Captain, how’n hell’m I gonna tail all eight at once? See what I mean, Captain?”

Dango, disconnecting, could see very well what Miller meant. He was wondering what to do about it when his phone rang again. This time it was Sergeant Brown, whom Lieutenant Hyam had put to investigating Timothy Regg.

“One thing I found out about him, Captain — aside from the fact that he’s a quiet, well-behaved, hard-working citizen — is that last week he bought a couple sticks of dynamite.”

“Dynamite?” Dango muttered. “What for?”

“I can’t answer that one, captain. In this state people can buy dynamite over a hardware store counter without a license and without explaining what for. However, they do have to have a permit to store it. I checked this and found out Timothy Regg duly got such a permit to keep two sticks of dynamite on the premises at 413 Beetle Street for not longer than thirty days. So he’s legal on both counts.”

“And just what the hell am I supposed to do about the fact that he’s a law-abiding man?”

“Sorry, Captain. Call you back when I’ve got something important.”

While mulling this over in his mind Dango received another call, this one from Hyam.

“The tie-up is getting stronger, Danny. I mean I’m picking up more and more info to show that Blossom Regg really is the babe that Lennox was seeing the most of lately. The usual thing on his part, they say, but plenty serious on hers. No doubt of it, we’re getting somewhere by playing your hunch. More info later.”

Dango winced at that word hunch. Thoughts of Timothy Regg kept nagging his troubled mind when he should be thinking about Lennox, who was remaining persistently and completely missing. Feeling feverish, Dango began pacing his office. Presently the door opened and Sergeant Kerson stepped in, also looking worried.

“That little guy is getting under my skin,” he complained. “I can’t get rid of him. He just keeps sitting there. Sometimes he mutters to himself. A minute ago I heard him saying, ‘I do hope and pray she’ll never, never touch my little black book.’ Then when I asked him how’s that again, he apologized and went on fidgeting.”

Looking out into his waiting room, Dango found that Timothy Regg, seated there, was looking even sadder than before. His doomful convictions seemed to be growing on him. Regg rose with an apologetic air and came to the connecting doorway with a reminder.

“As I said, Captain, I want you to know exactly where I am every minute, so there won’t be any question that I’m entirely in the clear in case something terrible does happen to my Blossom.”

Dango quietly took his arm, led him back to his original chair, sat him down, then stood frowning over him.

“Mr. Regg, you recently purchased two sticks of dynamite. For what purpose?”

The little man looked astonished by the question. “Why,” he answered, “for rats.”

“For rats?” Dango echoed. “Dynamite?”

“Why, yes. I’m troubled with rats in the basement of my shop. Sometimes they get into the liquor cases and eat the tax stamps right off the bottles, and then I can’t sell those bottles without violating the law or going through a lot of red tape to get new stamps.

“One of my neighbors suggested using dynamite to get rid of them. She said just to break up the sticks and sprinkle the stuff around, then they’ll eat it and die. They seem to like it better than regular rat poison, she said, because it has an attractive sweetish odor and pleasant taste. Besides, it’s safer.”

“Dynamite safer than rat poison?”

“Yes, because it won’t get tracked around and set the place on fire, like phosphorus, and none of it will find its way into the stomachs of my neighbors’ pets, like other poisons. As for the danger of an explosion, of course you know, Captain, that dynamite won’t explode unless it’s set off by a sudden shock, usually a percussion cap.”

“That’s right,” Dango admitted. “Does it really work? On rats, I mean?”

“I don’t know,” Regg answered, smiling. “I forgot to use it — so busy I just tucked it back on a shelf and forgot about it. I’m glad you reminded me. Now I’ll remember to try it as soon as I get back to the shop. I’ll have to try it before my storage permit runs out anyway, because I wouldn’t want to violate the law in any way.”

Dango shook his head. In more than one wacky way this night was building up into one he wouldn’t soon forget.

“Mr. Regg, we’ve scores of men looking for Mrs. Regg all over the city, but so far we haven’t spotted her. Unfortunately it’s necessary for me to keep most of my men in the Lennox dragnet. That’s important too. You know Lennox?”

“I don’t recall that I ever met him.”

“Lennox is a self-styled hot-shot who made the mistake of thinking he could get away with wholesale lawbreaking. He insisted on running a fancy gambling den in a respectable residential neighborhood, right next door to a church. He insisted on it in spite of two raids.

“The third time, early this morning, he was drunk when we crashed in on him and he made the even greater mistake of trying to beat the rap with a gun. Now we want him on a double murder charge.

“We’re sure he’s still somewhere inside this town and we’re not going to stop combing it until we come up with him.” Dango’s frown grew a little darker. “Do you know if Mrs. Regg ever happened to meet him?”

“Oh, of course not,” Regg said. “Blossom couldn’t possibly know a disreputable character of that sort.”

Dango heaved another sigh. This was certainly not the first time he had met a husband in blissful ignorance of the fact that his supposedly loyal wife was run-ring around behind his back with some flashy guy.

This time, however, considering the dashing handsomeness of Len Lennox as compared with the washed-out mildness of Timothy Regg, it was more easily understandable than usual. Still, not knowing just how to size up this odd little man, who might conceal an unknown strength of character or intellect inside his puny frame, Dango felt he must proceed carefully.

“Mr. Regg, you have assured me you love your wife deeply. As one of your neighbors, I know — speaking frankly — that at times she gets, let us say, a little rough with you. With true affection, however, your devotion to her remains unshaken. But tell me this: is there anything she might do that would turn you against her?”

“Yes,” Timothy Regg answered simply, and a glint came into his bright blue eyes — a glint of such cold mercilessness that Captain Dango shuddered to see it. “Yes. One thing. Only one. If she loved somebody else. But,” he added quickly, his eyes growing softer again, “I haven’t had the slightest reason to worry.”

“You’re sure of it?” Captain Dango asked softly.

“Absolutely,” Timothy Regg said, pronouncing the word with the force of utter conviction.

Captain Dango sat down. “Mr. Regg,” he said wearily, “you may stay right there in that chair if you wish — so I’ll know just where you are every minute. Rest assured we’re doing our best to bring your wife under our official wing tonight. Meanwhile all we can do is wait for a report from the field that we’ve found her. While waiting I’ll have to put in a little time on the Lennox case. Please make yourself comfortable, Mr. Regg, and excuse me for a few minutes.”

Frowning over various reports on his desk. Captain Dango found his mind peculiarly distracted from the Lennox case. The Lennox man-hunt was undoubtedly the most important job he had ever tackled, but instead of hitting it with everything he had, he found himself, instead, puzzling over the question of just what Regg might be up to, if anything.

It was a little past 9 o’clock when the first definite word on Blossom Regg buzzed in. A patrolman named Nutley sent it, phoning from a call box at the corner of State and Spring Streets, downtown.

“I spotted her, captain,” he reported. “Just a minute ago. In the Bikini Bar at 611 Spring.”

Captain Dango growled over the wire, “I want you to be sure of this, Nutley. During the past thirty minutes I have had four different reports to the effect that Mrs. Blossom Regg had finally been found. Unfortunately all four Blossoms turned out to be big blondes with other names. It’s bad enough that it’s taking us so long to find her, so let’s not foul it up further with more false reports.”

Nutley went on carefully, “This is the way it was, Captain. I saw this big, theatrical-looking blonde heading into the Bikini Bar looking hot and bothered, like she’d been hustling for hours. Inside, I saw her buttonholing one of the barmen. He looked offish and kept shaking his head. After she let him loose I went to work on him with a few questions of my own.”

“Nutley—”

“I asked the barman what this big blonde wanted to know so badly and he said she was just asking about a friend of hers. He insisted he didn’t know this friend’s name, but of course I knew she was trying to get a lead on Lennox’ hideaway. Then I said, ‘That woman is Blossom Regg, ain’t she?’ and he admitted that was her name. So this report is the straight goods, Captain.”

“All right, Nutley, but you’ve left something out. Where’s the woman herself now?”

“Oh,” Nutley said. “She slipped out a back door. Before I could get out there into the alley after her, she’d hustled out of sight again.”

Captain Dango, at his desk in headquarters, looked harassed as he lowered the phone. Then he shot a sharp glance at Timothy Regg. The little man was still sitting there in the chair, squirming uneasily, his lips working as he muttered to himself. Dan-go was sure he had heard Regg mumble something about a little black book.

“What say, Mr. Regg?”

“Nothing, nothing,” the little man answered quickly. “I guess I was just thinking aloud.”

Dango appeared to dismiss the matter from his mind, but a moment later he rose, stepped out into his waiting room and carefully closed the door behind him.

“He just did it again — mentioned that little black book,” he said to Kerson in low tones. “Call Brown. I want him to do a quick dig on that little black book, whatever it is. Tell him to call me back about it as early as possible.”

Dango returned to his own desk just as his phone rang. Once more it was the busy and efficient Lieutenant Hyam.

“This is a brief recap on the Lennox situation, Danny. Our double-check of all outlets makes us sure Lennox didn’t skip town. He’s still holed in somewhere inside the city, in a place he had prearranged to go to for that very purpose.

“Of course he intends to stay there nice and snug until we let down a little, then he’ll find an opening and squeeze off into a sneak getaway. There’s more than one babe willing to keep him company, so he’ll probably pick a choice one to lam along with him.”

“That’s just what our other subject has in mind, very possibly,” Dango said, referring to Blossom.

“Certainly,” Hyam agreed. “Our boys are beginning to sag a little under the strain, which is exactly what Lennox is hoping for, so I’m fight-talking them into staying on their toes. The last thing in the world we want is for that rat to leave us flatfooted, looking like a bunch of chumps. That’s all on Lennox as of this minute. On Blossom there’s still nothing. If the two of them should get together now, they’ll certainly make a fine, elusive pair.”

Silently vowing to prevent that if it were within his power, Captain Dango hung up; and instantly his phone rang again.

“Brown calling, Danny,” said the officer specializing in matters pertaining to Timothy Regg. “I’m canvassing Regg’s neighbors now and I’ll have something on that little black book right soon. Meanwhile the only other piece of non-routine information I’ve been able to scare up is that just the other day he bought an electric burglar alarm. I know, that isn’t illegal either, but can I help it if this guy is entirely on the up and up? More coming, I hope.”

Thoughtfully Dango eyed Timothy Regg. The sneaky feeling persisted within him that somehow this little man was hoodwinking him most expertly. Dango couldn’t guess how so far, because nothing had yet happened.

Regg continued to look innocently anxious about his Blossom, and also because he seemed to have nothing whatever to hide. Even before asking about that burglar alarm, Dango already knew that Regg had had a perfectly legitimate use for it.

“After that one case of Scotch disappeared,” the captain asked, “did anything else happen to turn up missing, Mr. Regg?”

Timothy Regg shook his bald head. “I thought it was just a bookkeeping error on my part, Captain, but I decided not to take any chances anyway. Although the store hadn’t been broken into the first time, I thought it might be possible that somebody had gotten hold of my keys somehow and had had duplicates made.

“That was just a wild theory, but I bought a burglar alarm anyway and installed it myself — fixed it so a big bell would start bonging like crazy if certain doors in the shop were opened during the night. Not the front door, because then I couldn’t go in myself without disturbing my neighbors.

“Just the stock room door, and also the door of a little cabinet under the counter where I keep my valuable records. But of course,” he added to his somewhat lengthy monologue, “there hasn’t been a tinkle out of that bell so far.”

Dango nodded. Of course. It seemed to him that the burglar alarm had been an unnecessary expense, considering the strong possibility that Mrs. Regg had presented that case of Scotch to Len Lennox as a small token of her affection, but in any event Dango, as an officer of the law, could find no reason to criticize Regg’s efforts to protect his valuable stock against thievery.

When the captain’s phone rang again, after an empty interval, it was Brown with a report on Regg’s little black book.

“He keeps accounts and records in it, that’s all, Captain, but he’s very fussy about it, just as if it contained priceless trade secrets. The story goes he’s always been very strict about his wife having to keep her mitts off it.

“Every one of his neighbors that I’ve talked to has heard him say at one time or another, ‘No, no, Blossom, dear, please, never, never touch my little black book,’ and apparently that’s been going on for years.” Then Brown added a complaint. “It’s no use looking into this guy any deeper, Captain. Apparently he is exactly what he seems to be.”

“And what’s that?” Dango inquired ironically.

“Just an ordinary little guy.”

“I’m not so sure,” Dango retorted.

Disconnecting and staring at Timothy Regg, he felt less and less sure of it. The eyes of this seemingly ordinary little guy were so blue and so bright — and so unreadable.

Dango felt convinced that lots of tricky thinking went on behind them, yet he couldn’t begin to guess what secret thoughts, if any, might be clicking through Timothy Regg’s mind.

“Captain Dango,” Regg said mildly. “I don’t mean to seem unappreciative — but shouldn’t one of your men be finding Blossom pretty soon now? After all, the longer we go on searching for her like this, the more likely it is that something horrible will happen to her before we even get a chance to stop it.”

“We’re doing our best, Mr. Regg,” Dango said, a great uneasiness inside him. “We’re really doing our level best.” But he was haunted every minute by a growing apprehension that his best would somehow not be good enough.

Chapter Three Curiosity Kills

Finally, just after 10:30 p.m., the search for Blossom Regg came to a head. It actually was her blonde head, twinkling over the back of a booth in a downtown tavern, that signalled the end of the hunt for her.

Detective Matt Coombs had been methodically trudging in and out of swank cocktail lounges and back-alley dives all evening, and like many of his fellow woman-hunters had wasted time over more than one big blonde who had turned out to be somebody else. This time his first act was to make sure. He signalled a waitress aside and said, “That babe back there — know her? Name of Blossom Regg?”

The waitress nodded, thereby signalling the pay-off on a long night’s work, and added, “She’s talking to the boss.”

As inconspicuously as possible Coombs faded through the blue-lighted gloom and into the corner where Blossom was seated in the booth with the man named Parker who owned the establishment.

Behind the booth in that secluded corner was a telephone hut. Coombs gratefully eased inside it, noisily closed its folding door, then opened it again very quietly. He was able to overhear the low-voiced exchange between Blossom and the proprietor.

“You’re Len’s best friend,” she was insisting. “He’s got no secrets from you. He’d want you to tell me where to find him. He likes to have me around.”

“Listen, honey,” Parker answered her hoarsely. “The reason you wasn’t able to find me sooner tonight, I was paying a little visit down to police headquarters, see? By request, un’erstand? Down there they kept askin’ me that same question; where’s Len? Honey, I got to tell ya the same thing I told them cops. I just don’t know.”

“Ya can’t hand me that stuff,” Blossom argued. “Have a heart, Parkie. I’m nuts about Len. When he starts headin’ places I wanta head right along with him.”

“Ya got a husband, ain’t ya?” Parker reminded her.

“That insignificant little worm!” These words were loaded with purest scorn as Blossom spat them out. “Len’s my man. Parkie, if you don’t tell me where I can connect with him—”

“Honey, honest, my heart bleeds for ya, but I swear by all that’s solemn, I can’t tell ya where Len is because I just — don’t — know.”

A moment of frustrated silence followed, and then Blossom said hoarsely, half to herself, “Well, then, there’s one other way I can find out, and I’m goin’ right after it.”

Noiselessly closing the phone booth again. Coombs dialed a number that connected him straight through to the desk of Captain Dango. Rapidly he relayed to the captain the gist of the conversation he had just overheard. The mirror behind the bar showed him the image of Blossom Regg gulping down the last of her drink.

“She’s leaving the booth now, Danny,” Coombs reported, giving it play by play. “She’s heading out the door under full steam. She said she knows a way to find out where Lennox is hiding and she certainly seems to mean business. Here I go again, Danny, keeping her in sight.”

“You and a couple of other guys,” Captain Dango said grimly over the wire just before Coombs hung up. “I’m going to keep this move covered every step of the way.”

Within one minute by the clock an unusual alarm was broadcast over the police headquarters transmitter.

“Calling Car 42. Calling Car 42. Turn immediately into Court Street. Proceed northward along the 300 block. Watch the west side of the street. Spot a woman named Blossom Regg, description previously given. Report back by radio at once.”

Car 42 immediately followed these instructions and had no difficulty spotting Blossom Regg. Just as the radio had said, she was moving along the sidewalk on the west side of the street at a fast clip. At a cautious distance behind her Coombs was striding along in her wake. Blossom was too intent on her purposes to be aware that she was being tailed doubly.

Sergeant Sharp of the radio patrol, one of the two men on duty in Car 42, began giving, over the two-way system, a running account of their quarry’s progress.

“Have picked up Blossom Regg. She is walking rapidly and has just reached corner of Spruce Street. Now she is turning west and crossing street. She is continuing west along Spruce.” The spot news kept flowing in this manner, keeping Captain Dango posted on Blossom’s every step, until finally her course took a significant and crucial turn.

“Now into Beetle Street. She just swung into Beetle Street in the 100 block and is steaming right along...”

Once Dango had grabbed this impatient blonde he could get to work persuading her to tell him just where she had counted on learning the location of Lennox’ hideaway. The captain wasted no time in premature congratulations, however. He strode back into his office, where Timothy Regg was hopefully waiting.

“I think we have her now,” he announced on a pardonable note of gratification. “We’ll go out right now and make sure. Hustle along with me, Mr. Regg, and we’ll have this thing settled in a matter of a few minutes.”

His eyes gleaming blue, Regg went rapidly with Dango down the stairs, out into the dark street and into the front seat of the captain’s official car. Dango whooshed it off at a speed that almost snapped Regg’s hat off his slippery bald head. Without using his siren, but blatting his horn a little to clear other cars out of the street ahead, he kept on driving swiftly with one hand while using the other to switch on the radio. Over it he could hear the running account of Blossom’s progress as it continued to emanate from Car 42.

“She has now reached the middle of the 400 block on Beetle Street and is turning to the door of Number 413. It is Regg’s Liquor Shop. It is entirely dark. She is using a key at the front door.”

Dango glanced sharply at Timothy Regg. Squirming in the seat with anxiety, Regg answered breathlessly, “Of course she has a key. A key to the front door, that’s all, because sometimes she has to lock up. Please, Captain, can’t you drive any faster?” Then he added to himself, in a mutter which Dango couldn’t quite make out, something that sounded like, “Oh, dear, I do hope she remembers not to touch my little black book.”

It occurred to Dango that Regg’s little black book might be the very thing which Blossom felt sure would supply her with the address of Lennox’s hideaway. The moment demanded especially careful driving by Dango, with no opportunity to ask questions, because he was just then swinging the car into Beetle Street.

Blossom was already inside. Getting out of his car, Dango could see that she had left the entrance ajar behind her in her haste. She had not turned on any lights. Dango somehow got the impression that she had gone behind the counter and was doing something violent back there, but he couldn’t quite make her out.

As he neared the front of the shop he was aware of Timothy Regg hustling breathlessly along behind him and again he thought he heard the little man mumbling.

“Good heavens, she mustn’t—”

Suddenly a burst of terrifically loud and fiery forces struck Captain Dango. He saw light flare up inside the store with the brilliance and violence of a lightning bolt. He was conscious of windows shattering, of bottles flying.

The blast of it caught him completely unawares. He felt himself thrown backward bodily. When his senses stopped spinning he discovered himself lying full length in the street.

There was also a crackling sound as of logs in a fireplace. Lifting his dizzy head, Dango saw first that the liquor store had been transformed into a shambles of broken wood and smashed bottles.

It was a fortunate circumstance to everyone, except Timothy Regg of course, that his property suffered the only damage done. Every other building in the block was vacant. Some months ago the entire block had been condemned by the city to make way for a new housing project; everyone except Regg had already moved out.

Regg’s stock, however, one of considerable value, must certainly be counted a total loss.

“She did it!” Regg blurted. “Year after year I warned her never to touch my little black book, but in spite of all my warnings she finally did it anyway!”

Stunned as he was, Dango remembered that electric burglar alarm and those two sticks of dynamite, and putting them together in his mind—

“I kept my little black book in that cupboard under the counter,” Regg went on wailing. “I had the dynamite stored in there too, to keep it safe. I had the big gong wired so that the alarm would go off when the cupboard was opened. I had the cupboard locked but Blossom must have forced it open, trying for some reason to get at my little black book, and the jarring of that big bell must have been enough to make the dynamite explode. Oh, my poor Blossom!”

Dango was pulling himself to his feet, not sure of anything, when a bit of paper came fluttering down through the air. It landed gently at the captain’s feet — a ragged bit of paper with charred edges which looked as if it might be a page ripped from a notebook. He picked it up and as he read the lines scrawled on it his own eyes widened to their fullest extent.

“ ‘Ned Nelling.’ Say, that’s one of Lennox’ aliases! You — Regg! Didn’t you know that?”

“What? Nelling? Lennox? I told you, I never met Mr. Lennox. Nelling was one of my best customers, a very nice man, but— Oh, I can’t think! My poor Blossom! She’s gone — gone!”

Blinking, Captain Dango was quickly checking over the four addresses listed on that charred page under the name of Nelling. “Sand Street — we checked that one. Moore Street — also checked. Ohio Street — not there. Fulton Avenue — that’s new, one we haven’t looked at.”

“I warned her, oh, I warned her over and over. Time and again I told her never, never, never to touch my little black book. Maybe I didn’t make my warnings strong enough. Maybe they only served to arouse her feminine curiosity. Oh, I can never forgive myself! Captain — Captain Dango! Am I to blame for my Blossom’s death somehow? Did I kill my darling Blossom?”

Eying him, Captain Dango answered, “I can’t say you did. On the other hand, I can’t say you didn’t. All I can say is, I’m damned if I know!”