Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 21, No. 115, June 1953

A Woman Can Kill by Raoul Whitfield

He was tall and scraggly looking and the colors on the band of his straw hat brightened up the office a lot. Just inside the door he halted; smoke from a cigarette, that dangled just a little from full lips, curled past a left ear that wasn’t shaped much like the other. Blue eyes squinted at me.

“You Dion Davies?” he asked.

“I am Dion Davies,” I told him. “And sure ’tis an Irish name that me mither was proud of.”

“Your brogue’s rotten,” he said disgustedly. “I’m damn’ sure your mither wouldn’t be proud of that.”

He did a better job on the word “mither” than I’d done. Got more roll to the “r”, and the cigarette still stayed between his lips.

I said: “I’m sorry, Mr. McQuirter. Circumstances have forced me to move, ofttimes, in circles of culture and refinement. In so doing I have, perhaps unconsciously—”

McQuirter’s long face smiled in several places.

“Say — what we getting like this for?” he demanded cheerfully. “Maybe it’s the heat, eh? The boss told me you were a good guy. And me — I got a reputation for being right.”

I said: “Sure you have, Mac. You don’t mind if I call you Mac, do you? Somehow, I feel as though we’ve known each other for a long time.”

The cigarette he was holding just below the level of his chin rolled from his fingers into the palm of his hand. He closed the hand until it made a white knuckled fist. Smiling at me, he opened the hand slowly and surprise showed in his blue eyes as he looked at it. He whistled softly.

“Look what I done!” he said.

I smiled and nodded. “I noticed it, Mac. A symbol, wasn’t it?”

There was a brief silence.

“I don’t get you,” he said quietly.

I pointed to the waste-basket, and then to a chair.

“Dump the pill and squat,” I suggested.

While he was doing it Julie came in and handed me a telegram. I held it while she said:

“Everything is under control in the Faber case, Mr. Davies. Marks has just reported in from Cleveland. Rader and Leftovich are using the files. Connelly won’t be in tomorrow. Mr. Dancer will telephone you tomorrow at 10, from Chicago.”

I said: “Thanks, Miss Ryan. Finish up those letters, please.”

She said: “Yes, sir,” and went out.

McQuirter eased his scraggliness into a chair at one end of my desk.

“So we both can put on an act, eh, Dion?” he said pleasantly. “You don’t mind my calling you Dion, do you? Somehow, I feel as though I’d known you a long time.”

I tore open the envelope of the telegram and unfolded the yellow paper. Julie’s even handwriting was easy to read. “Gun in left hip pocket — bumped into him outside purposely — left-handed.”

Folding the yellow paper, I replaced it in the envelope, nodded thoughtfully, slipped the envelope in a drawer of the desk.

“My real intimate friends call me Dee, Mac,” I said without looking at him. “And I want you to feel right at home with me.”

McQuirter got a very clean handkerchief from his coat pocket, carefully tied a knot in one corner. He leaned back in the chair, held the handkerchief between two fingers by another corner and swung the knotted end in a slow circle.

“ ‘Dancer and Davies, Limited,’ ” he recited slowly. “The second biggest detective agency in New York, and maybe tougher than the first biggest.”

He grinned. “They say around Broadway that Dancer was a lawyer, and a smart one. Maybe too smart. So now he’s a senior partner. A quiet partner.”

I looked at the electric clock. “They say around Broadway that Jim McQuirter is as smart a fellow as Joey Tay, only so far he hasn’t had the breaks. So now he’s Joey’s right-hand man.”

McQuirter swung the knotted handkerchief slowly, his blue eyes watching the swing.

“A lady by the name of—”

He broke off, looked at me sharply. “This is just between the two of us, Dee,” he said.

I nodded. “Private chat.” I opened the Tower left drawer of my desk a few inches, which cut in the dictograph, put my feet on the drawer.

“A lady named Greenway,” he went on — “Sylvia Greenway — owns the old American Theatre near Ninth on 42nd. She’s about 80 years old, a sort of crusader. You know — when she gets an idea she stays with it. She’s been running highbrow plays for the poor in her theatre, for years. And losing plenty. Lately the poor have been getting poorer and she’s been losing too much. A couple of weeks ago she leased the theatre for ten years to a guy named Reginald Fox.”

I nodded. “Read about that — a theatrical man from the West. Had an arty theatre out in Seattle or some place. Came into some money and felt that he could carry on Mrs. Greenway’s ideas, only in a better way. Calls the new spot The American Gardens.”

“Yeah,” he said. “That was the idea. Then something funny happened. This fellow Fox changed his mind. He figured maybe a beer spot in the theatre would go better. It’s a big house; he could run entertainment on the stage, even use the balconies. The location was right — a thirsty neighborhood and not so far from Broadway. So he started alterations.”

I whistled a few bars from a tap-dance song. McQuirter looked at me.

“The old lady got wise, found out what was going to happen. That was about a week ago. She started to raise hell. You see — she’s been dead against the return of beer. She crusaded against it for years.”

I grinned. “Didn’t Joey Tay know that when he sent in his man Fox?”

McQuirter looked hurt. “You don’t think Joey would worry about that, do you, Dee?”

I lighted a cigarette. McQuirter shrugged. “There was a lot of lawyer talk, but Fox had the lease and it didn’t say anything about not changing things around and serving beer. The old lady had fallen hard for his art talk.”

I said: “Well, what’s worrying Joey?”

McQuirter frowned. “The old lady’s a scrapper,” he said. “She owns half a block directly across from the theatre. Some empty stores and a few with short leases. She bought up the short leases and a couple of days ago a big squad of workmen started in. Want a guess?”

I widened my eyes a little. “Don’t tell me the old lady hit on the one scheme to make Joey yelp,” I said “Not another beer garden, maybe a better one, to give him too much competition?”

McQuirter said bitterly: “You guessed it the first time. With a million or more fish behind her, and plenty of fight, even at 80. And to make it worse — she can fix an entrance on Ninth Avenue and she’s on the best side of 42nd.”

I grinned. “And as soon as Joey’s licked — she’ll close up.”

McQuirter swore. “Sure — and go back to losing money on orange juice and chocolate nut bars. But that won’t help Joey any. He’s got a lot of coin sunk in the lease and in contracts for fixing over.”

“Well, well,” I said. “That’s what Joey gets for trying to rob the cradle.”

McQuirter untied the knots in the handkerchief and narrowed his eyes.

“The boss suggested Dancer and Davies for a tailing job,” he said.

I stared at him. “Frame the old-lady — at 80?”

McQuirter didn’t smile. “Ever hear of Nancy Gale?”

I nodded. “Park Avenue stuff. Composes tone poems. Sings once in a while. Had a concert at Carnegie not long ago. A looker. Engaged to Jason Cummings — lawyer and definite dry.”

McQuirter chuckled. “You been reading the papers. Well, Nancy is the old lady’s granddaughter. And her weak spot. That’s the big point — Sylvia Greenway thinks Nancy couldn’t do wrong. She’s crazy about her — and her tone poems and her dry husband to be.”

I waited. McQuirter lifted a lean finger and pointed it directly at me.

“The boss wants Nancy tailed. And about three nights a week you can pick her up at the Tree Club. Upstairs, where the boys and girls try to beat the cards and wheels.”

I looked at McQuirter thoughtfully. He stood up, ran the handkerchief across his forehead, put it away.

“Retainer?” he asked.

I said: “A hundred to start.”

He tossed the hundred on my desk without much fuss. I said: “Receipt?”

He shook his head. “The boss and me — we’ve got good memories.”

I took my feet off the desk drawer and stood up. McQuirter said:

“The sooner we get the reports — the better. And the tougher they are for the old lady to look at — the better. And the easier they are for the newspapers to grab — the better.”

His tall, scraggly body reached the door; a lean arm was lifted. The door opened and he went out.

I shut off the dictograph, lit a cigarette from the tip of my short one. After a few seconds Julie came in, walked to the chair McQuirter had vacated, sat down.

Her dark eyes were narrowed and her fine lips pressed closely together. I looked at her black hair, almost jet, in the reddish light of the low sun. Her features were small and strong.

“Well, Miss Dancer?” I said slowly. “Joey Tay and Jim McQuirter. Two Chicago boys who made good in a bigger city. They’re tough, fast and smooth. You listened in on the little bed time story. Do we stall out?”

Julie lifted her head and smiled.

“Stall hell!” She said simply. “We’ll ease right into it!”

The American Gardens weren’t doing much business. Julie and I sat near the big stage, on the lower floor, mixed up in a lot of rustic benches, tables and considerable fake foliage. On the stage there was a brass band, yodelers and singing waiters. It was 9 o’clock and the night was hot.

Julie looked nice in a simple sport dress and a tiny hat. She was a quiet little package — to look at, with the odds a hundred to one you’d not guess the kind of dynamite behind those dark eyes of hers.

I’d been getting along, moderately, in my solo agency at the old Sixth Avenue address; then I had a break that rated first-page space. On the strength of that advertising, I’d always supposed, Julie Hazard blew in one morning with a check and a proposition.

We kept the D. — D. idea, but made it Dancer and Davies. She was never Stephen Dancer, although she picked the name and insisted on playing the incognito role of the senior partner. Said the slight mystery end wouldn’t hurt our business and would always give me the chance to stall.

She worked something of the same racket on me. Told me her name was really Hazard, that she’d come from some spot she mentioned in Pennsylvania and that I could look her up if I wanted to.

I’d never found the time to do it; and what’s more, as the weeks went by and business went over the peak, it didn’t seem necessary. She fitted all the way. But the mystery of her antecedents, how she came to be the way she was, did keep me thinking about her, more, perhaps, than I should.

She was Miss Julie Ryan, secretary-stenographer, to the clients and casual callers.

“Still like the racket, Julie?”

She smiled. “More than ever.”

I grinned. “You know, for the last six months your agency has been making fair money.”

“Our agency,” she corrected. “We’re in it fifty-fifty. In a few more months you can square things up.”

I said: “It’s a possibility. And Joey Tay may help me a lot.”

Julie said: “Trammer’s is doing better business than this spot.”

She sipped her beer. “The answer’s easy,” I said. “Sylvia Green way is doing everything in a bigger way. Her place hands out more free stuff. There wasn’t room for two spots here, anyway. She’s a shrewd old lady. It’ll cost her some money, but Tay’s licked right now. In a couple more weeks she can get this spot back from Tay, and have some profit at that.”

Julie said with admiration in her voice: “She’s a spunky woman.”

“Almost a fanatic,” I replied. “But I like her guts, too. And Joey tricked her into getting this spot. This is a funny thing, too — Joey Tay hiring a private detective agency for a pushover. Joey’s too tough to act that way.”

The German band made terrific sound. Julie shivered.

“I’m pretty crazy about you, Julie,” I said. “I wish—”

She waved a cheaply gloved finger at me. “Going sentimental, Mr. Davies? That wasn’t in our contract.”

She leaned back and looked me over. “Brown hair, slightly curly. Brown eyes, slightly squinted. Nose slightly long. Rather nice lips—”

I interrupted softly: “Easy — McQuirter!”

Julie threw back her head and laughed. “Oh, I really couldn’t go to Atlantic City with you,” she said rather loudly. “After all — that—”

McQuirter said: “Hello.”

I said the same thing as he looked down at Julie. He kept on looking.

“Don’t do it, lady,” he said, finally. “Never trust your boss.” He looked at me. “Can the steno take a walk to the ladies’ parlor and powder her nose?”

“Sure she can,” I replied. “Would you like her to do that?”

Julie rose, smiled at me. “I’ll run along home. I’m worried about Tim, anyway. Good night, Mr. Marvin.”

I told her good night. McQuirter sat on my right.

“Smart girl,” he said. “She even knows when to use wrong names.”

I nodded. “It’s my careful training,” I said. “Have a beer?”

He scowled at me. “Hell, no. I don’t drink beer when I can get good stuff.”

There was a short silence. “How’s business?” I asked, breaking it.

McQuirter swore. “It’s just as bad as we figured it would be, with the spot across the street.”

“Too bad,” I muttered, and shook my head. “One spot along here could clean up.”

McQuirter made the pebbles under his feet scatter.

“Listen, Mr. Dion Davies,” he said softly and slowly, “you wouldn’t play games with the boss, would you?”

“Games?” I said.

McQuirter leaned across the table.

“The reports your office has been turning in on Nancy Gale for the past week — they don’t mean much.”

“That so?” I replied. “The critics praised her latest tone poem.”

McQuirter said: “Listen, Dee — the boss sent 500 over to you a couple of days ago. That makes a total of 600 you’ve had. And what do we get? Nancy Gale giving concerts at the Colony Club, dining with this fellow Cummings, staying at home.”

He broke off. “Well?” I said.

McQuirter leaned back a little. “You were within five feet of her at the Tree Club, three nights ago. You saw her gambling. You heard the way she talked to Jerry Salem. And you know Jerry’s a big-shot gambler, if there ever was one. You saw Nancy at the bar — you saw her dancing, upstairs, with Jerry. She left with Jerry — and maybe you know where she went.”

McQuirter’s voice was low and sharp. “All that wasn’t in the reports. I had a man tailing you, Dee. That’s how I know what you saw. But we didn’t get it in the reports. What we got was that Nancy Gale remained at home.

“You know about Joey Tay, Dee. He doesn’t stand for doublecrossing.”

I said: “Sure — I like that in a guy. And he wouldn’t want to doublecross me, would he?”

“Meaning what?” he said softly.

“The girl he planted at the Tree Club looks a hell of a lot like Nancy Gale,” I said softly. “But she isn’t Nancy Gale, and that’s why he didn’t get the reports he wanted.”

McQuirter sucked in a deep, slow breath.

“Sure you didn’t make a mistake, Dee?” he asked, after a few seconds.

I nodded. “Positive,” I replied. “It was Joey Tay who made the mistake.”

McQuirter said grimly: “How?”

“Dancer and Davies isn’t that sort of an agency,” I said quietly. “If it’s a tailing job — that’s okay. We play fair and report straight. But we don’t frame anybody for somebody else.”

“Too bad, Dee — too bad. Joey was saying to me, after I told him that you’d spotted the Gale kid in the Tree Club: ‘I think we should send Davies five grand, Mac, when those reports come in.’ ”

I smiled at McQuirter. “It’s a lot of money, Mac. But the office doesn’t work that way. We don’t have to.”

“Joey might think the reports would be worth ten grand,” he said thoughtfully.

I shook my head. “He wouldn’t get them for fifty grand, Mac. What do you think of that?”

“I think you’re a fool, Davies!” he said harshly.

I shrugged.

“This means big money to Tay, Davies. Big money — get that? You had a chance to do a job that you were paid for. Who’d you sell out to, the Greenway lady or the girl?”

I laughed at him. “Don’t get rough, Mac. You wanted Nancy Gale followed. You wanted reports on her. You paid for them, and you got them.”

McQuirter looked at me coldly.

“Okay,” he said. “We’re calling it quits, eh?”

I nodded. McQuirter half rose from his chair, then sat down again. He said very quietly:

“You think you know something, Davies. But you don’t, see? And if you go to Sylvia Greenway, or to the Gale kid—”

“We don’t go after clients — they come to us,” I said.

“Yeah,” he breathed. “But if we should learn that either of these two had come to you, and you were working for them—”

I cut in. “We’re a well-known agency, McQuirter. If they got in trouble they just might come to us.”

McQuirter smiled nastily. “Maybe. But you’d turn down the job — either job — whatever either of ’em wanted. And you’d keep your mouth closed. Make like you know nothing.”

I said: “Would we, McQuirter?”

He stood up and smiled at me.

“Sure you would, Dee,” he said cheerfully. “You got brains, and you want to keep ’em, don’t you?”

He waved a hand carelessly and turned his back on me. I signaled a waiter and paid for the beer. He had to change a $10 bill and went away from the table to do it. It seemed to take a lot of time. After almost five minutes he came back with the change, and apologies.

I got up and walked between tables and fake foliage, over gravel, towards the entrance of the beer garden. In what had been the foyer of the theatre I stopped and swallowed a mint to take the taste of the beer away. There was a drizzle of rain on the street.

On the pavement there was a lot of light and no taxis. I waited a few seconds, then decided the chances would be better on Ninth Avenue. Pulling my soft hat over my eyes, I turned towards Ninth. The rain was coming down more heavily, and I couldn’t spot a cab. I crossed 42nd and went downtown towards 41st.

Halfway between the two streets I stopped. There were few people walking; traffic wasn’t heavy. Behind me there was the sound of someone running fast. I swung around. The man passed me with his head down, gasping for breath. He was trying to cry out something that sounded like: “For God’s sake — don’t—”

No one was running after him. I swung towards the curb, saw the closed car coming along, rolling downtown on the wrong side of the street. The running man must have been a quarter of a block past me.

The rear, curb-facing window of the car was down; a black curtain flapped as the car rolled on. I swung my body as it passed.

When the sub-caliber gun shoved the curtain to one side it wasn’t pointed towards the running man. I ripped at my rear right pocket for my Colt, but it didn’t come loose. As I was reaching for it I dived for the curb, breaking the heaviness of the fall with my extended left hand.

Bullets drummed along the sidewalk behind me. My left shoe jerked. I crawled out on the soaked street as the clatter of gunfire died. The closed car pulled between elevated girders, reached the right side of the avenue, and picked up speed. I got to my feet, limped to the nearest girder and leaned against it. The cloth over my left knee was ripped; the skin was scraped.

A uniformed cop crossed from the other side of Ninth.

“Shooting, eh?” he yelled at me above the racket from the El train. “They get you?”

I shook my head. The cop said: “Know who tried it?”

I shook my head again. The cop said: “Get the license?”

I shook my head once more. The cop said: “Got any enemies?”

I looked puzzled. “Enemies, officer? I’m the friend of man. I think there was a mistake.”

The cop grabbed my arm. “Let’s get the hell out of the wet,” he muttered. “I got questions to ask.”

We moved towards the curb. “Right now” I said cheerfully, “I can tell you I don’t know the answers.”

Julie sat opposite my desk, with a shorthand note book ready for action. The note book didn’t mean a thing.

“Kelly’s no good,” she stated firmly. “I want him fired.”

I said: “Okay, Mr. Dancer.”

Her dark eyes smiled a little. “Rader is one of our best men. I think you should have him closer to you.”

I said: “Very well, Mr. Dancer.”

She frowned at me. “Anything new on the Tay-Greenway case?”

I smiled more broadly. “Yeah. After you left last night, McQuirter told me some things. He said we’d call it quits — only if Mrs. Greenway or Nancy Gale came into the office, we were not to take them as clients. And we were to keep quiet about what we knew. I suggested we might not do either of those little things.

“I went over to Ninth to pick up a taxi,” I went on. “A pretty good actor ran past me, making sounds as though it was his finish. Then a car came along on the wrong side of the avenue, as though after him. But the bullets were for me. I had sense enough to dive for the street and get behind the car. Didn’t see anything but a sub-caliber gun. Didn’t get the license number, and the car got away. The waiter at Tay’s place held me up a long time on change. They probably had the car somewhere nearby and the hold-up gave them time to get set. I told the cops that I thought the men in the car were after the other guy.”

Julie got a pencil between even, white teeth and chewed on the wood.

“I don’t like having the agency mixed up with Tay,” she said finally.

I smiled grimly. “We can send him back the 600 and promise not to tell anyone what we know.”

Julie said: “Don’t be silly. We’re in it now. We’ve been mixed up with things we haven’t liked before this.”

“It’s all right,” I said thoughtfully, “so long as the old lady or Nancy Gale don’t get the idea that we might be able to help—”

The phone box from the reception room made buzz sound. I pressed a button and the Jones girl on the outside desk said, through the speaker:

“A Mrs. Sylvia Green way wishes to see you, Mr. Davies. She states that it is extremely urgent.”

I said: “In about five minutes I’ll have her in. Please ask her to wait.”

When I snapped the button on the phone box Julie stood up and swore.

“How about Mrs. Greenway?”

“You bring her in, Miss Ryan. Just show her to the door. I’ll send for you when I need you.”

Julie half-closed her dark eyes. “Before I become your steno again, Dee — if Mrs. Greenway has a job for us to do — we take the job.”

I grinned. “Okay, Mr. Dancer,” I replied. “And that’s a swell shave you had this morning.”

Julie swore at me and went away.

Sylvia Greenway was tall and thin. She had a sharp nose and dark eyes. She came into the room slowly, using a heavy cane. She was dressed in black, but not quaintly. Her hair was white. Near my desk she halted.

“Mr. Davies?” she said in a voice that was not quite steady enough.

“Yes, Mrs. Greenway,” I replied. “Let me get a chair for you—”

“Don’t trouble,” she said sharply. “I have been in the habit for quite a few years of getting things for myself and can still do it.”

I stood behind my desk until she reached a chair facing mine, seated herself.

“Your agency has been recommended to me. Never mind who recommended it. What I will tell you is confidential. Is that so?”

“Absolutely,” I said.

She drew a deep breath. “I have reason to believe that my life is in danger. I wish to be protected as much as is possible. That does not mean that I want two or three of your operatives under my feet all the time. You understand?”

I said: “Perfectly, Mrs. Greenway.” I toed out the dictograph drawer and rested one shoe on it. “You suspect some person, one person, of wishing to injure you?”

She regarded me with considerable contempt. “Well, I don’t suspect all New York, Mr. Davies.”

“Good,” I said cheerfully. “That will make our defense simpler.”

She narrowed her eyes on mine and made a sniffling sound.

“You are a drinking man, Mr. Davies?” she asked grimly.

I said: “Water and milkshakes, and now and then a glass of beer.”

“Beer?” Her eyes widened and held an angry expression.

“You are probably familiar with The American Gardens, on .42nd Street, if you drink beer,” she said coldly.

I nodded. “I prefer the place across the street,” I replied casually. “Trammer’s.”

“I own Trammer’s,” she said.

“Yes,” I said simply. “I know.”

“How do you know?” she demanded.

“You were tricked into leasing The American Theatre to a racketeer, through one of his men who posed as a theatrical man. The theatre was turned into a beer garden. There was no way you could prevent that, so you opened up another beer garden on property you owned, directly across the street. You called it Trammer’s. A man named Trammer runs it for you. The object is to drive the racketeer across the street out of business. Then you will close up your Trammer’s.”

Mrs. Greenway drew a deep breath. “Goodness!” she murmured. “But how did you—”

I interrupted. “The racketeer came to this agency, knowing it was a reputable one and that you would believe reports submitted by us. He wanted your granddaughter, Miss Nancy Gale, followed.”

Mrs. Greenway half rose from her chair. Then she sank back again.

“He wanted — Nancy — followed?”

I nodded. “He said she was gambling at a certain club, drinking — and in bad company. He said you loved her and that if he went to you with our reports and told you that if you didn’t let him run The American Gardens without competition he would expose your granddaughter — he thought you would close Trammer’s.”

Mrs. Greenway said: “Well!” She leaned back in the chair and looked thoughtful.

“Well?” she said finally. “You followed Miss Gale?”

I said: “Yes.”

Mrs. Greenway seemed very calm now. “I have not been told of any such reports.”

I smiled. “This racketeer had stated that we could pick up Miss Gale at a certain club. I handled the matter personally. I didn’t pick up Miss Gale. I did pick up some girl who resembled her very much and who used her name. It was a frame-up, so there were no reports.”

Mrs. Green way took her cane in her right hand and tapped the rug with it.

“I have said that my life is in danger — and that I want protection.”

She stopped and after a little time I said: “You suspect a certain person?”

Mrs. Greenway battered the ferrule of her cane against the carpet.

“I do,” she stated firmly. “I suspect my angelic granddaughter, Nancy Gale!”

Julie said: “What a set-up!”

“Rader is on the job now. He’ll watch the old lady. She’s in a spot.”

Julie said: “You’re in a spot, too.”

I shrugged. “He’s missed once. He’ll be more careful the next time. The thing that beats me is—”

I stopped and fingered the retainer check that Mrs. Greenway had left on my desk. Julie said, irritated:

“Go on — don’t play games.”

“I couldn’t swallow Mrs. Green-way’s idea of the reason Nancy Gale wants to kill her,” I said slowly. “Nancy wants money — and the old lady won’t give it to her. All right. But if Mrs. Greenway dies she won’t get it, anyway. Because Nancy gets only $500 a month. The rest goes for crusading against whiskey and wine. So what does Nancy gain?”

Julie said, “Mrs. Greenway told you that she was hated because Nancy knew she was only going to get the $500 a month. How about revenge?”

I shrugged. “I hate to show disrespect to age. But I think Mrs. Greenway was lying. If she does fear her — and she acts as if she does — she has some reason that she won’t tell us; so she gave us that hooey. But the point is, she fears Nancy Gale, fears for her life. We begin from there.”

I stood up and looked at my wrist-watch. It was after four. The private phone buzzed and I lifted the receiver.

Rader’s voice came clearly over the wire. “Mrs. G. had her chauffeur drive her around Central Park for an hour or so. Then over to the Drive. I trailed in a cab. Then she went to the Mary Ellen Tea Room on 72nd Street, west. Had lunch. Then to her home.”

I said: “The one that has the garage connecting? 68th, just east of Park?”

Rader said: “Right. She got there at about 1:15. She told me not to get under her feet, so I didn’t crowd her. The car was driven into the garage, and after a while her chauffeur came out and said he was through for the day. He was off for the baseball game. He said Mrs. G. had gone into her house, by the garage entrance. She always does. Said she wouldn’t be out until tomorrow — maybe not then.”

“All right,” I stated over the phone. “What of it?”

Rader’s husky voice said: “At 3:10 a cab stopped at the corner of Park and 68th St. The Gale girl got out and paid up. She walked past the Greenway house a couple of times, and when things looked right went into the garage building. She’s still out of sight.”

I whistled softly. “Sure it was the Gale girl — Nancy Gale?” I asked. “You covered her while I was spotting the other one — the one Joey Tay wanted us to think was Nancy Gale. They look a lot alike, you know.”

Rader said: “Yeah, but they don’t walk alike. This was the real article.”

I said: “How’d she get in the garage — double doors, aren’t there?”

Rader said: “Yeah — double doors; they open out. But there’s a single door at one side, and the chauffeur and footman have quarters upstairs. The chauffeur told me that. His name is Haney.”

“Where was the footman when Haney headed for the ball game?” I asked.

Rader said: “He wasn’t in the car today. His day off. He’s over in Brooklyn. Got it from the chauffeur while Mrs. G. was having lunch.”

“All right,” I said. “How’d Nancy Gale get in the garage entrance — just open the door?”

Rader said: “I’d passed her once, to get a good look, and I-was pretty far away when she went in. She seemed to just open the door and walk in. But a few minutes ago I tried the door. It was locked. So maybe she used a key.”

I said: “Maybe. You stick near the place — and if she comes out — call the office. But don’t tail the girl. Stay where you are.”

Rader said: “Okay.”

I hung up and told Julie what Rader had told me. She frowned.

“Why would Nancy Gale use the garage entrance to get into the Greenway house?” she asked slowly.

I smiled a little grimly. “We don’t know that she got into the Greenway house,” I said.

Reaching for the outside phone, I gave the switchboard girl a number. After a few seconds a voice said: “Hello.”

I got my voice flat. “Howard Stevens, of White, Stevens and White,” I said. “I have important news for Miss Gale.”

The voice, which was feminine, said: “Just a minute, please.”

I waited. Julie lighted a cigarette. The phone made clicking sound and a different voice said:

“This is Miss Gale — I think my maid failed to tell me the correct name—”

I said: “Good news, Edith — the court has decided—”

The voice cut in: “I am Miss Nancy Gale. You have made a mistake.”

I said: “Miss Nancy Gale? I’m terribly sorry. My secretary must have given me—”

There was more clicking sound. I hung up and frowned at Julie.

“Sounded like Nancy,” I said. “I only heard her speak once or twice, when Rader and I were tailing her. But it sounded like her voice.”

Julie pulled hard on her cigarette.

“What the devil?” she murmured. “Maybe Rader was fooled, and it was Joey Tay’s girl that went into the garage.”

I shook my head. “Rader and I have been close to the other one. We’ve been right beside her. Rader wasn’t fooled.”

Julie said: “All right. Then Nancy Gale went in the garage at 3:10 or a little after. It’s just 4:20 now. Nancy left some other way, and got back to her apartment.”

I shook my head. “Don’t see it, Julie. What other way?”

Julie said impatiently: “We don’t know anything about the rear of the house or the garage, or other ways she might get out without being seen.”

I agreed with that. “I’d rather play with the idea that Nancy is still inside the garage somewhere, and that someone did a good job with her voice.”

Julie pointed, towards the phone. “Better call Sylvia Greenway.”

I nodded and called. A maid answered; I gave my name and said it was necessary for me to speak to Mrs. Greenway. The maid said that Mrs. Greenway was sleeping. I said:

“Has she had any visitors since she returned from her drive?”

The maid hesitated and I said: “This is important. Answer the question or wake Mrs. Greenway and give her my name.”

The maid said that Mrs. Greenway had received no visitors. She had retired immediately after arriving.

I said: “She couldn’t have visitors without you knowing it?”

The maid was very certain. “No, sir — she could not.”

“Fine,” I told her. “Now wake Mrs. Greenway up, tell her Mr. Davies is calling and it is very important.”

The maid started to protest and I spoke sharply and to the point. After about a minute Mrs. Greenway said irritably:

“What is it, Mr. Davies? I was sleeping.”

“Sorry,” I told her. “You haven’t seen Miss Gale since you returned?”

Mrs. Green way said: “Of course not!”

“Good.” I watched Julie’s narrowed, dark eyes. “You remember what Mr. Rader looks like?”

Mrs. Greenway snapped: “Of course.”

I interrupted. “Rader is outside, somewhere near the house. Send someone out to tell Rader to come in and stay near you. But don’t stay alone while you do it.”

Mrs. Greenway’s voice held sudden fear. “What is the matter — what has happened?”

“Nothing,” I said quietly. “I’m coming up right away. I don’t want you to be left alone until I get there.

I want Rader inside and near you—”

Mrs. Greenway said in a high-pitched voice: “Nonsense!”

I spoke slowly. “When you talked to me this morning arid said you were afraid of a certain woman — I was inclined to think there wasn’t much reason for you to be afraid. Do you remember what you said to me?”

There was silence at the other end of the wire.

“You said,” I told her, “ ‘a woman can kill. Men aren’t the only killers.’ ”

Mrs. Greenway spoke rapidly, in a high-pitched voice.

“You are afraid that Nancy—”

I interrupted. “Send someone out for Rader. Tell that person what he looks like. Have someone stay with you. I’ll be right up.”

Mrs. Greenway said in a shaken voice: “Yes... yes — I will!”

I turned the key in the lock, at the side of the two-storied garage building. The door gave way and I went inside. According to Rader, who had left Mrs. Greenway locked in her room, this was the door Nancy Gale had entered. Rader followed me in. The small hallway was dark.

I found the light switch, snapped it. Stairs ran up from the hallway to the next floor, where the chauffeur and footman had rooms. To the right of the stairs was a door. Rader said:

“That’s the door leading into the garage. Mrs. G. said the one leading into her house is halfway back in the garage, and on the left as you go back.”

I gave the door on the right a shove, but it didn’t move; When I pulled it towards me, it opened. There was dull light in the rear of the place as we walked past two cars, side by side.

“Door’s on the left,” Rader said.

Behind the two cars were barrels of gas and oil and a long work bench with some small machinery on it. I stopped and looked to the left when we were near the work bench. Rader said:

“God!”

The body was lying face downward. I went over close to it. The door leading into Mrs. Greenway’s house was less than three feet from the head. A small, blue hat lay several feet from the body, battered out of shape. A blue hand-bag was close against the base of the door, which was closed.

Leaning down I turned the body over. Rader, standing close to me, muttered:

“Nancy Gale — all right!”

I said: “Nancy Gale — but not all right. Dead as hell!”

“Head smashed. Lot of blows.”

I nodded. “Back of the head, top of the head — across the forehead. Probably got the first from behind and wasn’t worried about any of the others.”

I got a handkerchief around my right hand and picked up the bag.

I took the bag over to a clean spot on the work bench and opened it. It took five minutes to look over the contents, and the five minutes were wasted.

Lipstick, rouge, powder, small bills and change. Some criticisms of a concert of hers. Two handkerchiefs. A hunk of green jade in the shape of a monkey. A small tin of aspirin. A vial of some sort of perfume. That was all.

I got the contents back in the bag, put the bag where I’d found it.

“No good, eh?” Rader said.

I shook my head. “Poke around the dead lady a little,” I ordered. “But don’t move her any more than you have to.”

I walked around the garage, looking at a lot of things pretty carefully. When I got back to Rader he was shaking his head.

“Sport dress, hat and gloves — gloves on, hat off. Nothing in the pockets but a blue handkerchief to match the blue of the dress. You went through the bag.”

I nodded. “No key to the garage?”

Rader frowned. “If there is one — I missed it.”

I shrugged. “Maybe the murderer didn’t,” I said. “I’ll check up.”

The check-up didn’t do any good. I stood near the door leading to Mrs. Greenway’s house. There was a knob on it, but no lock. I used a handkerchief again and turned the knob. Nothing happened.

Rader said: “Mrs. G. told you it was kept bolted on the inside,”

I nodded. The next ten minutes were spent in looking over the garage for the second time. Nothing turned up. Rader and I stood near the body.

“You go to Mrs. Green way and tell her about this,” I said. “Then call the police. I’ll keep in touch with you. Better stick around here. Your story to them is that the agency was hired to protect her. She can tell them what she was afraid of. You were tailing Mrs. Greenway; saw a woman enter here and called me. We came in and found Nancy Gale.”

Rader said: “Okay. Do we forget about Joey Tay and McQuirter?”

I nodded. “And the fact that I called Nancy Gale at her apartment, after you called me and said she’d come in here — and someone who said she was Nancy answered the phone.”

Rader said: “The hell you say!”

We went away from the body of Nancy Gale, towards the door that led from the garage to the hallway. At the foot of the stairs I stopped and looked towards the first floor.

Rader said: “Want to take a look up there?”

I shook my head. “The police can do that. If I’d known that Nancy was being smashed out I’d have told you to stay outside. I didn’t know, so you went to the old lady. That left the murderer the chance to get out to the street, if that was what happened.”

We went to the street and shut the door behind us. When I tried the door from the outside it was locked. I gave Rader the key,

“When you get to Mrs. Greenway, break the kill news to her gently, Rader. Remember, she’s 80.”

Rader said: “I got a hunch she can take it.”

The doorman swung open an ornate door and I went into the foyer. A uniformed gentleman near a switchboard turned his head in my direction.

“Miss Nancy Gale. That’s Apartment 1803, isn’t it? The name is Davies and I’m expected.”

The uniformed one nodded and plugged in. I walked over soft carpet, went into the nearest elevator and up to Apartment 1803.

I pressed the button and after about ten seconds the door was opened. The maid was in a quiet uniform. She had very large brown eyes and a fat face.

“Miss Gale among those present?” I asked cheerfully.

She shook her head. “No, sir.”

I nodded. “I know.”

I moved into the foyer of the apartment. The maid’s large eyes grew larger.

“But Miss Gale is not—”

I nodded again. “I know that. What’s your name?”

Her lips tightened. I stopped smiling. “Rather talk at the police station?”

“You’re not the police,” she said.

“I’m damn’ near the police,” I told her harshly. “And you’re damn’ near the police right now.”

I kicked the door closed. She stood near a gray wall and watched me.

“Why did you play two parts a little while ago, when I phoned Miss Gale?” I said.

Fear showed in her eyes. I said: “Ever been mixed up in a murder?”

Her lips parted; she stared at me.

“You’ve got a good chance to be,” I told her. “You tried to do Nancy Gale’s voice over the phone. You did a fair job — your voice has something of the same quality. But Nancy Gale wasn’t here when I called. That mixes you up in a murder.”

She said tremulously: “A murder?”

I nodded. “Why did you do the voice job?” I asked softly.

She took the back of her left hand away from her lips.

“She told me to,” she said slowly. “She said Mr. Cummings might call — that’s her fiancé. She wanted him to think that she was at home. I was just to say that she felt bad, couldn’t see him. And then hang up.”

I shook my head. “You’re lying. I told you my name was Stevens. And still you played Nancy Gale.”

She said: “I thought Mr. Cummings might be trying to—”

I smiled. “Trick Nancy Gale?”

She nodded. “That’s the truth — the whole truth,” she said.

There was a brief silence. “All right — I think that’s straight,” I said. “She was playing games with him, eh? And he suspected her?”

She just stared at me. I said gently: “Where was Miss Gale going, when she left here?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know — I never knew where she went. I’m just — her maid.”

I said: “Well, you’re not her maid any more. She’s dead. Murdered.”

She shut her eyes and lowered her head.

“Show me the telephone,” I said.

She opened her eyes and looked stupidly at me. After a short time she turned and went along a hall.

Near the living-room she stepped aside. I stopped and said:

“You sit near the phone. It won’t hurt for you to hear what I say.”

She sank down on a divan and covered her-fat face with her hands. I called Mrs. Greenway’s house.

A voice said: “Yeah — hello!”

“Calling Mr. Rader,” I stated. “Is he around?”

The voice said: “Yeah — there’s a lot of us around.”

I cut in. “Get me Rader, will you? It’s Dion Davies talking.”

The voice said: “Say — I figured that out. This is Delahenty.”

“I figured that out, too,” I told him. “Sergeant Delahenty, isn’t it?”

He chuckled. “They haven’t busted me yet. Say — you got an inside on this job, Davies?”

I said: “Sure — I was sitting in one of the cars when she was knifed.”

Delahenty swore. “The knife must have had a solid handle,” he said. “Here’s Rader—”

Rader spoke tonelessly. “Rader.”

“Can anyone hear you talk?” I asked.

“No. Booth — sound-proof.”

“Anything turn up, besides the police?”

Rader said: “Yeah — things are popping. That tough lieutenant, Fendler, came along. He found something.”

“What did he find?” I asked.

“An extra cane of the old lady’s. Bloodstained, with some hair on it. No fingerprints. He found it inside the house, on the other side of the door leading in from the garage.”

I thought that over. It was something I hadn’t expected. Rader said:

“You still on?”

“Yeah,” I replied. “Still on. Is Fendler going at Mrs. Greenway?”

Rader swore. “Sure, but carefully. She’s seen what he’s getting at and already has called him a damn’ fool.”

“What’s her story on the cane?” I asked. “How’d the murderer get it?”

Rader said: “She says she hasn’t used the cane in months. It was in a closet on the street floor, the last she knew about it. Someone gave it to her as a present, but it was too heavy. She put it in the closet herself.”

I said: “What’s Fendler’s idea of a motive?”

“Seems to think the old lady knew her granddaughter hated her. Sent for her, trapped her and killed her. Murder because of fear. Didn’t think she’d be suspected if Nancy was killed in the garage. And her age, too — figured that would get her off. Fendler hasn’t said that, but his mind seems to be working that way.”

I thought that over. “How’s your mind working?”

Rader swore. “The cane was the weapon. The murderer wore gloves. The murderer got inside the house, even though the servants swear the inner bolt was shot. The servants seem to be all right — three of them. I can’t figure Mrs. G. She’s a strong woman, physically and mentally, for her age. And she was afraid of Nancy.”

I said: “All right — stick around and keep your eyes open. I’ll call you.”

Hanging up, I looked at the maid. “What’s your name — I asked that once before.”

“Bunter, Norah Bunter.”

“Nice name,” I told her. “Even for a liar.”

She sat up straight, and there was rage in her brown eyes.

“You’re taking this pretty hard — considering how little you know about it,” I said slowly.

She was breathing quickly. “I was Miss Gale’s — maid — for two years—”

“Sure,” I agreed. “It’s a shock.” I went over close to her and looked down at her. “Why did Nancy Gale go to Sylvia Greenway’s house this afternoon?”

Her eyes held a sullen expression. “I didn’t know she went to Mrs. Greenway’s house,” she said in the same dull voice. “All I knew was—”

She checked herself, shook her head. I went to the divan and sat down.

“Go ahead,” I advised. “It’s easier to tell me than to tell the police. I’m a sentimental guy.”

She made a little gesture.

“I knew that she hated Mrs. Greenway. And yet — she was afraid of Mrs. Greenway. She said her grandmother was a hard, strong woman.”

“Many women are hard and strong,” I said. “Why was she afraid of Mrs. Greenway?”

Norah Bunter pressed her lips tightly together. I waited.

“I don’t know,” she said finally. “But she was afraid of her. She did what Mrs. Green way made her do.”

I nodded. “What did Mrs. Greenway make her do?” I asked.

She shook her head. “I don’t know. But she sent for Miss Gale often. She made her sneak into the house — she couldn’t use the main entrance. She had to go in through the garage. Miss Gale would come back hating her.”

“You wouldn’t be fooling me, would you?” I asked.

She stared blankly at me. I went to the phone and called the office. When I got Julie I said:

“Any news from Mr. Dancer?”

Julie said: “A wire from Chicago—”

I said: “So? Well, I’m in Miss Gale’s apartment.” I gave her the address and apartment number. “I’ve been talking with the maid, Norah Bunter, the one who played she was Miss Gale, over the phone. I’m going to talk with her some more. She had her orders from someone, and I don’t need two guesses on that. Perhaps if I stick around, they may show — for a check-up, and I’ll get a story. I’m playing it that way. I wanted you to know in case you had to reach me.”

Julie’s voice sounded hard. “Very well, Mr. Davies.”

I called the Greenway house again, got a dumb dick and then Rader.

“Anything new?” I asked.

Rader said that Lieutenant Fendler was still battering away at Mrs. Greenway. He believed she’d killed her granddaughter in the garage and then had come into the house and had been careless about the cane. She had picked a time when her footman was off duty and her chauffeur was at the ball game. One of the other servants was away, too. Fendler hadn’t got the motive yet, but thought it had something to do with money.

I said: “When he says that Mrs. G. was careless with her cane it’s a beautiful understatement. Apparently she left it around for anyone to pick up.”

Rader said: “Mrs. G. hasn’t mentioned Joey Tay or McQuirter, or the beer business. Not yet. She’s sitting up and snapping back at Fendler.”

I said: “Pretty good for 80, eh? Well, stick around.”

Hanging up, I turned towards Norah Bunter.

“Who do you think murdered Miss Gale?” I asked softly.

She shivered. “I don’t — know.”

“You know something you’re not telling me. That puts you in a bad spot. A very bad spot. The police think Sylvia Greenway murdered Miss Gale.”

She shook her head slowly. “I don’t know,” she said. “All I know is that Miss Gale was afraid of her.”

I said: “You think Mrs. Greenway killed your mistress, Norah?”

Her eyes flashed anger. “Don’t call me Norah!” she snapped.

“Several pardons,” I said. “Isn’t your name Norah? You can call me Dion, or Dee, if you wish.”

Her eyes were narrowed, sullen. I spoke in a soft voice.

“Nancy Gale was afraid of Sylvia Greenway. Mrs. Greenway is a hard, strong woman. She made Nancy do things she didn’t want to do. Made her sneak into her house through the garage. Nancy would return here hating her grandmother. You’ve said those things.”

Norah Bunter said dully: “Yes—”

I nodded. “You’ve suggested that the murdered woman’s fiancé suspected her of being something-or-other — and Nancy knew that. So when he tried to trick her, Nancy had you try to trick him.”

She looked at me with narrowed gray eyes, but did not speak.

I said: “You wouldn’t keep anything back from me, would you? Nothing that might get you a stretch of years in jail?”

“I’ve told you all I know,” she said.

“Fine,” I said. “And just to show you that I appreciate your frankness — I’ll tell you all I know.”

She opened her eyes, and her fingers moved nervously.

“Once upon a time,” I told her pleasantly, “there was a racketeer by the name of Joey Tay. He had—”

I checked myself as her eyes stared past me, towards the entrance of the living-room. I didn’t turn. My right hand slid downward until a voice said:

“Never mind the gestures, Davies! Keep those hands up!”

The voice was very low and very hard. I stood perfectly still. Norah Bunter leaned back again, closed her eyes and drew a deep breath. She said bitterly:

“I wish to God I was dead!”

“You may get the wish, at that,” I told Norah Bunter. “They hanged a woman out West, not so long ago — and if the law can hang them it can burn them.”

She swayed to her feet and called shrilly: “No... no—”

Another voice behind me said: “Shut up — and sit down!”

Norah Bunter turned sidewise and half fell on the divan.

I said: “Don’t be rough with her, McQuirter.”

When I turned around, McQuirter was standing just inside the living-room. Both hands were in pockets of his suit coat.

Five feet nearer me, and slightly to the left of McQuirter, stood Joey Tay. He was wearing a close-fitting blue serge suit and there was a white flower in a buttonhole. His small, dark eyes were on mine — his right hand was buried in the right pocket of his blue serge suit coat. He was medium in size, smooth-shaven and pale. His very new soft hat was turned down in front.

I said: “Hello, Joey.”

His voice was cold but easy. “Hello, Davies. Social call?”

I shook my head. “My partner and I talked things over and he thought I’d better drop in on Miss Bunter.”

Tay said: “Yeah? I thought Dancer was out of town.”

I nodded. “He is. But the town he’s in has a telephone.”

Tay said: “So? Must be a big town.”

“Chicago,” I replied. “They’ve been trying to get a phone for a long time. I think it’s a good thing.”

McQuirter said harshly: “Who the hell cares what you think, Davies?”

I made clicking sound. “Mr. McQuirter! Is that nice?”

McQuirter jerked an automatic from his right pocket. He held it low and moved the muzzle slightly.

“Is that nice, Davies?” he said huskily.

Tay looked at McQuirter without moving his head.

“Put the water pistol away, Mac,” he ordered quietly. “If there’s any killing to be done around here — I’ll do it.”

McQuirter shrugged. “Okay,” he said, and got his gun out of sight.

I looked at Joey Tay’s buried right hand, then at his eyes. Tay smiled just a little, and his smile wasn’t too pleasant. He tilted not much of a chin in the direction of Norah Bunter.

“Trying to get something out of her, Davies?”

I said: “Yeah — a girl by the name of Nancy Gale was murdered this afternoon. Maybe you’ve heard of her.”

Tay smiled so that his teeth showed, but his eyes were hard.

“The name sounds familiar,” he said calmly.

I nodded. “When you walk into her apartment the way you did just now — I should think it would.”

Tay nodded very slowly. “Did Norah tell you anything that helped, Davies?” he asked in the same easy tone.

I said: “Yes — and no.”

Norah Bunter pulled herself up, turned wide eyes towards Joey Tay.

“No — I haven’t said—”

Tay moved his right hand upward From the pocket. Norah Bunter was on her feet, facing him. She took a step towards him and sank to her knees.

“Joey... Joey!”

Her voice was pleading. The gun hand jerked and a Maxim-silencer that only half worked gave a loud popping sound. Norah Bunter gasped: “Joey — I didn’t—”

Her body slipped downward, crumpled on the rug near the divan. I stood very still, looking down at her. After the fall she didn’t move much.

Tay said softly: “Take a look, Mac.”

McQuirter went past me and bent over the crumpled figure. When he straightened up he said:

“That did it, Joey — she’s through.”

I kept on standing, still. Joey Tay said: “Damned if I thought Norah would suicide this way.”

He looked down at the body, shook his head slowly from side to side.

McQuirter said huskily: “She was in a tough spot, Joey — I guess it was the only way out.”

I stood very still and kept very quiet.

Tay said: “Sit down on the sofa, there, Davies. See that cigarette box? Pick it up and put it down again. Lift that decanter, and use your fingers.”

I did as I was told. “How about pressing my fingertips on the wood of the table?” I asked. “It’ll take a good print.”

Tay smiled grimly. “We don’t want to overdo things. Now sit back and listen.” He turned to McQuirter, who was standing behind him again. “Keep your hands off everything, Mac — and we go out the way we came in — the service entrance, all the way down. Handkerchiefs on the knobs again.”

McQuirter nodded. Tay handed him the gun he’d used on Norah Bunter.

“Fix it so it’ll be sure to go off again,” he ordered. “I’ll talk fast, Davies. It happened like this — you suspected her of the murder of Nancy Gale. You came up and gave her the works. She shot you and suicided. The gun will be in her hand, and the silencer won’t count, one way or the other. Simple, eh?”

I said: “Very. Only how will the police know I suspected her of the murder of Nancy Gale?”

Tay said: “They won’t know it — but they’ll figure it that way. You discovered the body, and you came here.”

I said: “Joey — you’re getting old. They’ll figure I came here to question the maid. They won’t figure I suspected her.”

Tay shrugged. “When they look over her suicide and your kill — they’ll figure you got something on her.”

I said: “Good — that will let Mrs. Greenway out.”

Tay narrowed his eyes. “That’ll depend,” he said coldly. “It’ll depend on just one thing.”

I leaned back on the divan and nodded my head.

“Joey,” I said quietly, “did you have to murder Nancy Gale to frame the old lady? If you’d knocked off Mrs. Greenway — wouldn’t that have closed up the beer garden across 42nd Street, and let you clean up?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know how she has things fixed, after her death,” he said slowly. “I’d rather see her live and order it closed up.”

I nodded. “Norah Bunter’s dead. I’ll be dead. Then you get after Mrs. Greenway. You can fix it so that the police know the truth, if Mrs. Greenway closes up her spot across the street from The American Gardens. But if she doesn’t close it up—”

“We’ll just fix it so things look tougher for the old lady,” Tay said softly.

I watched McQuirter fiddling with the gun. Tay said:

“You had a chance, Davies. There was money in it for you. You wouldn’t give us reports.”

I shook my head. “You slipped on that. The reports wouldn’t have done you any good. Mrs. Greenway would have laughed at you. She didn’t give a damn about Nancy Gale. She was afraid of her.”

McQuirter stopped fooling with the gun and looked sharply at me. Tay said: “Oh, yeah?”

I nodded. “A woman can kill,” I said slowly. “That was in the old lady’s mind.”

Tay ran left-hand fingers across his forehead. He smiled with his lips.

“You put yourself in a spot, Davies. You didn’t go through with us. Then the old lady went to you, and you played in with her.”

“Sure,” I said. “And then you had to work fast, before things got away from you.”

McQuirter spoke anxiously: “Listen, Boss — he’s talking a lot, and—”

“And that doesn’t matter,” Tay said in a hard voice. “He’s having his final chat.”

I said: “Norah Bunter called you Joey, before you shot her out, Tay. She fed me a wild story about Nancy being afraid of her grandmother. That was the bunk. Nancy was only afraid of one thing.”

Tay said: “What?”

I looked at his narrowed eyes. “You,” I told him. “She was playing nasty with her fiancé, because you were more interesting, because you could take her places on the quiet and show her things. A nice girl falling for a big-shot racketeer. That’s happened before. And you put Norah Bunter in as her maid. Right?”

Tay smiled coldly: “You were a pretty good dick at that, Davies.”

“Thanks,” I said. “It wasn’t hard to figure. You’d been seen once or twice. One of my boys got some underground stuff. And when you tried to frame Nancy by having us trail that other girl — you did a fair job. The reason you did so good a job was because you knew Nancy pretty well. And you had to have help on the inside. Norah Bunter tipped you when you could safely produce your imitation Nancy Gale for us. That was when the real Nancy was not going to be moving around town.”

Tay said: “Well, well!”

I nodded. “You had to fake a Nancy Gale for us, Tay,” I said, “because the real Nancy Gale had got wise to you. She was afraid of you, but she knew what you were trying to do. You were afraid she’d take it to the old lady, and with her information Mrs. Greenway could wind you up quick. Perhaps you had some other reason — enough to make you want to kill. You had Nancy stopped, and in a way that you could still play against Mrs. Greenway.”

Tay moved his buried right hand slightly in the right pocket of the blue serge suit.

“How did Norah murder Nancy Gale?” he asked in a peculiar tone. “With the old lady’s cane? How did she get into the garage? How did she get out?”

I forced a smile.

Tay said: “You’ve been pretty bright up to this point. Dancer and Davies, Ltd. A tough agency. How’d Norah do the job on Nancy Gale, Davies?”

I shook my head. “I haven’t the slightest idea,” I said. “I don’t know why Nancy Gale went in the garage entrance. I don’t know how Norah Bunter got the cane, or how she got away. I don’t know that Norah Bunter was the murderer. But I do know that she faked Nancy Gale’s voice on the phone, after Nancy was dead. That was the tip-off. She faked, thinking it would make things tougher, hold back the discovery of the body. It wasn’t sense, but she was getting panicky. And she was losing her nerve, when I talked to her. She felt I suspected her, when I really didn’t. I was trying to get at the murderer through her. Trying to frighten her by making her think she was suspected. And suddenly I realized her fear was deep — and that she was—”

Tay said: “Gun all right, Mac?”

McQuirter’s voice was husky. “Yeah.”

He handed it to Tay. Looking at me, Tay took his right hand from the coat pocket and held the Maxim-silenced gun in it. His face was expressionless.

“In a way — you were a good guy, Davies. You had a lot of things right.” He broke off, spoke to McQuirter without taking his eyes from mine. “Get a handkerchief ready — so I can wipe off this gun before we squeeze it into Norah’s fingers.”

McQuirter said: “Yeah — and remember she was left-handed.”

Tay swore tonelessly. “I remembered that when I gave her the dose. The coroner’ll say she could suicide the way things are.”

He looked at me again, with eyes almost closed.

“It’s the hour for kiddies, on the radio, Davies — so I’ll end up tonight’s story before I sign you off.”

I tried to get a smile going, but it didn’t work. Tay said very softly:

“Norah Bunter got the old lady’s cane — a few days ago. She went over with a note from Nancy Gale to Mrs. Greenway. The closet door, downstairs, was open. Norah got the cane under her coat. One of the boys worked a couple of nights and had some keys made for the garage lock. It wasn’t much of a job.”

McQuirter was looking at the body of Norah Bunter. Tay kept his eyes on mine.

“Today Norah went to the garage with the cane — while the old lady was out driving. She hid in the cellar until the car came in and the chauffeur cleared out. Then she used the garage phone and called Nancy Gale. She said her sister was ill — she’d been called away. And that the old lady had telephoned that she wanted Miss Gale to come to the house immediately, entering by the garage. She was in trouble. Nancy had gone into the house through the garage before and naturally she had the key to that side door.”

Tay shrugged. “Nancy Gale went to the garage — and Norah used the cane. I promised her ten grand, or a lot of trouble if she didn’t do the job.”

I said shakily: “She did the job — but she got the trouble.”

Tay spoke very quietly. “You were close to her, getting to, her.”

I tried to keep my voice steady. “The cane was found inside the house — and the door was bolted on the inside.”

Tay smiled just a little. “I had one of the boys inside the house, reading meters. He went in just as the old lady came in from her drive, and stalled around, fixing a couple of them. He unbolted the garage door — the one leading to the house. After Norah did the job she took her time, went into the house and dropped the cane, shoved the bolt back and left by the servants’ entrance of the house.”

I said: “Maybe the police will think about the meter reader — and look him up.”

Tay shrugged. “He’s riding out of town right now, and he hasn’t got a record. Norah’s dead — a suicide after she shot you dead. The police may worry about that — but the old lady’s on the spot. She was afraid of Nancy, because Nancy always needed money and the old lady didn’t give it to her. And there’s the bloodstained cane.”

I said: “You may win — if Mrs. Greenway gets scared and thinks you can help her out of a jam. She may-let you clean up on 42nd Street—”

Tay’s voice was hard. “Stand up, Davies! Over there beside Norah.”

I stood up and he lifted his right hand. There was a sharp crack from somewhere beyond him. Tay dropped the gun and went down. McQuirter swore and swung around. I started to dive for McQuirter, and heard Julie say:

“Hands out from your sides, McQuirter!”

I straightened, picked up the silenced gun from the floor and got the other gun from Tay’s pocket. Then I went over to McQuirter and got his one gun.

Julie said: “I had to shoot, Dee.”

I said: “You certainly did.” I went over and looked at Joey Tay. Julie’s bullet had got him low under the heart. His eyes hated me, but he didn’t speak.

Julie said: “Did he get you, Dee?”

“You didn’t give him time,” I said. “Call an ambulance.”

Julie called an ambulance.

“Hear the kiddies’ hour story?” I asked.

Julie said: “Most of it. I got to thinking and decided I’d better come up the way they did — service elevator. They’d left the servants’ door conveniently unlocked, and I’ve been waiting to hear their story. I waited almost too long, and had to shoot.”

I brushed sweat off my forehead. “Wish I’d known you were there,” I said. “Now call the police.”

While she was doing it I said to Tay: “You’ll sell that beer garden lease cheap now, won’t you? Need the money for defense, eh?”

Tay said thinly: “I won’t — have — to worry.”

McQuirter swore hoarsely.

“Any calls while I was away, Miss Ryan?” I asked Julie.

She grinned. “Mr. Dancer — called — from Chicago—”

I put the hand that didn’t hold a gun on her shoulder.

“Well, he’ll be glad to learn you saved his partner for him,” I said.

Julie’s eyes were very dark and very hard to read.

“Yes,” she said very slowly, “I expect — he will.”