Red Gardenias

CHAPTER X

The room had nothing in it but a double bed. There were bars on the window and the door was locked. The floor was bare and there was only one light, on the ceiling. Crane sat on the bed and sucked his knuckles. He wondered what was going to happen next.

He didn t understand about Delia. The singer didn t care about him; why had she brought him to her room? Why had she called him "darling" when Slats appeared? Was she trying to get him shot because of his interest in Richard? Did she think in that way she could keep a secret of her affair with Richard?

Of course, Slats wouldn t dare shoot him. That was too cold blooded. But he was in a bad spot, anyway. Slats might beat him up, or have him beaten. That wouldn t be so good. He felt a little frightened. He wished he had a gun.

The door opened and two of the men came into the room. One of them was the bartender with the gold teeth. "How do you feel, pal?" he asked.

"I d like a drink of water."

"Sure, pal."

He went away. The other man was younger. He had slick black hair and a green suit. "Can we do something else for you, pal?"

"Could I have a cigarette?"

"Anything you say, pal."

He gave Crane a cigarette. He lit a match and held it for Crane. The bartender returned with a glass of water. He gave it to Crane. They both watched him drink.

"You feel all right?" the young man in green asked.

"I guess so," Crane said.

"That s fine, pal," the bartender said.

"Yeah, most of em don t," the other said.

"Can we do anything else?" the bartender asked.

"I don t think so."

"Anything you say, pal," the man in green said.

They went out. Crane felt scared. If they had cuffed him around a little he wouldn t be scared. But they were nice to him. That was unnatural. That was what scared him. Of course, Slats wouldn t dare shoot him.

He had no watch but he knew it was very late. There wasn t any sound of music. The Crimson Cat was quiet. Everyone had gone. It wouldn t be any use calling for help. He looked around the room. The window was the only way out, but it would be necessary to break the glass to get at the bars. That would warn the guards. There wasn t a chance of escaping. He got off the bed and knocked on the door and went back to the bed.

The bartender opened the door.

"When can I see Slats?" Crane asked him.

"Soon enough."

"I d like to see him now."

"Pal, you don t know what you re saying."

The young man was in the doorway. "Don t you like the cigarette?"

"Sure. But…"

The young man said, "Pal, you want to make the most of that cigarette."

Crane sat on the bed for perhaps ten minutes. Somewhere down the hall a woman was sobbing. He wondered if it was Delia Young. He regretted having ever seen her. He nursed his broken knuckle and wished he had a pistol. He was badly frightened.

Slats Donovan came into the room with the two men. The men looked very solemn. "Scram," Slats told them.

They went out and Slats sat across the bed from Crane. "Let s talk."

"About what?"

"About what you were doing with my girl."

"I was talking with her."

Donovan s manner was very solemn. "Delia says you had something else in mind."

"If that s her story I m stuck with it."

"That s no lie," Donovan said seriously.

"What if I did have something else in mind?" Crane asked.

"I d have to kill you."

The gambler was serious. He was really thinking of having him murdered, but he wanted to be sure it was the right thing to do. He was like a judge, stern and implacable, but fair. No appeal to his emotions would be any good. He just wanted the truth. It was different from anything Crane had ever encountered. He felt helpless and scared.

"The truth is — " He had to stop to moisten his lips. His mouth was dry with terror. "I wanted to ask Delia about Richard March."

Donovan had a long, lantern-jawed face. The rough skin was so deeply pock-marked it almost looked as if he had encountered a burst of shrapnel. But the remarkable feature was his eyes. They were the blue-white of watered milk. They were like the glass eyes of a cheap doll. They watched Crane without blinking at all.

"Delia did say you told her Richard March was murdered," he said.

"Yes. Somebody hosed carbon monoxide in his car."

"How do you know that?" Crane didn t answer.

"Why were you asking Delia about Richard March?"

"Why don t you ask her?"

"Boys!" Slats called.

The young man with the smooth skin and the bartender were waiting in the hall. Donovan spoke to the bartender.

"Pete, this gentleman won t talk."

"That s very bad," Pete said.

"Maybe you can persuade him."

The young man said, "You want us to exercise him a little, Slats?"

Pete said, "This one is mine."

The young man said, "But you just got to exercise Lefty."

"He don t count," Pete said. "Lefty don t count." Slats said, "Hurry up, boys." He found a cigar in his pocket, cut off the end with a pearl penknife.

"Come on, pal," Pete said to Crane. "Stand up, pal."

"Never mind," Crane said. "I ll tell you about it."

"All right, boys," Donovan said. "Scram."

Crane told him of his job with March amp; Company and how he had moved into Richard March s house. He described Lefty s theft of the letters.

"That aroused my curiosity," he said. "So I put the torn letters together."

He went on to his discovery of the house on February Lane and to his pursuit of Delia and Lefty. He said their anxiety to evade him had made him suspicious, and lying, added that as a result he had examined Richard s car.

It was impossible to tell from Donovan s blue-and-white eyes whether he knew this was the truth or not. It was impossible to tell if he had known of Delia s affair with Richard, or if he had just learned of it and was angry about it.

Crane went on with the lie. "I found a hose had been fastened to the car s exhaust pipe. That meant Richard was murdered."

Donovan said, "I don t get it."

"The hose is run into the car with the windows closed. The driver doesn t see it; he starts the motor, and in a couple of minutes he s dead. You see, the gas is odorless."

"That s clever." Donovan s long face was thoughtful. "I might have thought of that myself." He suddenly looked at Crane. "You didn t think I did it, did you?"

"I thought maybe you were angry because Richard pursued Delia while you were in… away that year."

"In jail," Donovan said. "A year in jail." The cigar had crumpled in his hand. He looked with surprise at the mass of tobacco, then dropped it on the floor. "I didn t know about the house in Brookfield," he said. "But I wouldn t have killed Richard that way."

"I wasn t sure."

"You are now, though."

"Oh yes," Crane said. "But having Lefty shoot at me, and then learning he was Delia s bodyguard, I naturally…"

"Lefty won t shoot at you again," Donovan said.

"That s fine."

Donovan s milky eyes studied Crane. "It s a smart idea, to use carbon-monoxide gas. It would pass as an accident in most cases, wouldn t it?"

"It certainly did in Richard s case."

"In fact, you re the only one in Marchton who realizes his death was not accidental."

"Yes."

"That s very fortunate… for me."

"How do you mean?"

"You aren t going to talk about it."

"Why not?"

Donovan s pale eyes were on Crane s face. "In ten minutes you won t be talking to anybody." His face was grim.

"You re joking," Crane said.

"You think so?"

There was a noise in the hall. The door opened and Frenchy Duval came in the room. He had his hands in the air. Back of him came Williams, holding a revolver against Duval s neck. Pete and the smooth-faced young man followed with drawn automatics, and behind them walked Ann Fortune.

"Bill!" she said when she saw Crane. "Are you all right?"

"Sure."

Williams spoke to the smooth-faced man. "You shoot, punk, and this gun ll go off, too." He said to Donovan, "You wouldn t want the Frog s brains all over your floor, would you?"

The smooth-faced young man s face was undecided.

"What do you say, Slats?"

Donovan said, "Put the rods away." His face was impassive.

The two men put their pistols in their pockets, but Williams held his to Frenchy s neck. Ann Fortune went over to Crane.

"Are you really all right?"

"I m fine."

Frenchy Duval s sallow face was the color of a turnip. He said, "I couldn t help it, Slats. This man, he caught me by the bar and…"

"Forget it," Donovan said. "We re all friends."

"Yeah?" said Williams.

Crane was glad to see Ann, mostly to be rescued, but also because it showed she wasn t too angry with him. "This is my little wife," he told Donovan.

Donovan said, "Pleased to meet you."

"I think it would be nice to go home," Ann said.

Crane walked with her to the door. "Good night," he said.

Frenchy Duval was frightened again. "Slats, don t let them kill me!" Under the pressure of Williams revolver he walked stiff-legged to the door. "Slats!"

The smooth-faced young man had his pistol out again. "I can fog him easy, Slats," he said.

"Let them go," Donovan said.

Crane thought it was wonderful to be safe again.

In the hall he tried to take Ann s hand, but she wouldn t let him.

"Thanks for coming back," he said. "It was Williams," she said. "I really didn t want to."

They were going down the stairs, and Crane could see the red light in the hall below. "Well, thank you, anyway."

Outside, Frenchy Duval pleaded, "Please don t kill me.

Williams said, "All right, Frog. Run."

Frenchy Duval ran away. They got in the limousine. "Where to?" asked Williams.

"Where s Richard s car?" Crane asked..

"In the Union Garage. They re holding it for the estate."

"Let s go there."

The sun came up on the way to Marchton. There were no cars on the road. When they halted for a stop sign they could hear a rooster crowing. A cold wind came from the east.

"What did Donovan want?" Ann asked.

"He was angry because I talked to Delia."

"What was he going to do about it?" Williams asked.

"I think he was going to kill me."

"Really?" Ann asked.

"I got that impression," Crane said. "I really did."

It was broad daylight when they reached the garage, persuaded the sleepy watchman to let them see the sedan. It was a big one, painted a cream yellow. "Plannin to buy it?" the watchman asked.

"Yeah," Crane said. "Mind if we look it over?"

"Go right ahead." The watchman walked away. Crane examined the heater, found it was in perfect condition. Williams, peering over his shoulder, said, "No leak there."

"There has to be something," Crane said. "Or else I lied to Slats Donovan."

"Do you care?" Ann asked.

"I always hate to lie," Crane lied.

He knelt down by the rear bumper, ran his finger around the edge of the exhaust pipe. It was sticky. He held his finger to his nose, then stretched out his arm toward Ann. "Smell," he said.

"Rubber!"

"Sure." He led the way back to their car. "That proves Richard was murdered. The exhaust pipe got hot while the hose was on it, melted some of the rubber.

Now if we can find something wrong with John s car we can prove Carmel s suicide note was a fake."

Williams started the limousine. "We can bust into Carmel s garage. That s where John s car is."

By walking along the hedge which divided Richard s property from Carmel s, they approached the garage from the rear. Williams had no trouble finding a master key to fit the lock on a side door. There was a green convertible, a space for a car and a big sedan inside the garage.

"The big one s John s," Williams whispered. Crane knelt and ran his fingers over the exhaust pipe. He smelled his finger, nodded his head, stood up. "Rubber?" Ann asked.

Crane nodded solemnly and Williams whispered, "Then it s a double murder!"