The Bigger They Come

Chapter 4

If Alma Hunter had a key to the apartment, she didn’t use it. She stood in the hallway and jabbed her gloved thumb against the buzzer at the side of the door. The young woman who opened the door and stood looking out at us was in the late twenties. She was slender around the waist, but had curves, and her dress showed the curves. Her hair was black. Her eyes were big, dark, and expressive. She had high cheekbones and very red, full lips. Her eyes veered away from Alma Hunter to study me, as though I’d been a new horse brought home from the fair.

Alma Hunter said, ‘Sandra, this is Donald Lam. He works for Bertha Cool’s agency. And he’s going to find Morgan and serve the papers on him. Tell me about the accident. Was it bad?’

Sandra Birks looked at me with surprised eyes. ‘You don’t look like a detective,’ she said, and gave me her hand.

She didn’t just extend her hand. She didn’t shake hands, but she gave me her hand just exactly as though she were turning over a part of her body to me.

As I closed my fingers around her hand, it surrendered in mine. ‘I try to look innocent,’ I said.

‘I’m so glad you came, Mr. Lam,’ she said, laughing nervously. ‘It’s imperative that we find Morgan at once. I think you understand why— Come in.’

I stood to one side and let Alma Hunter walk in first. It was a big room, with dark beams across the ceiling, heavy drapes across the windows, thick carpets underfoot. Lounging chairs were scattered about, with cigarettes and ash trays handy. It was a place that reeked with the feeling of having been lived in, a sensual, human, warm existence.

Sandra Birks said, ‘Archie’s here. I was fortunate to get him — I don’t think you’ve ever met Archie, have you, Alma?’

‘Archie?’ Alma repeated with the rising inflection of one who asks a question.

‘Archie Holoman. You know, Dr. Holoman. He was just graduating when I was married. He’s in a hospital and isn’t supposed to take outside cases, but of course Bleatie is different. It’s all part of the family.’

I saw from the way Alma smiled and nodded that she’d never heard of Archie before, and gathered that Sandra had a trick of producing intimate men friends just as a magician takes rabbits out of a hat.

‘Do sit down,’ Sandra Birks said to me. ‘I’m going to see if Bleatie can talk. It was the most awful thing! That car swung around the corner and banged into me before I had an opportunity to do anything. Bleatie swears the driver did it on purpose. It was a big, old car, and it got away. I hung onto the steering wheel. Bleatie lunged forward and went right through the windshield. The doctor says his nose is broken. I didn’t know that when I telephoned you, Alma... Do sit down, Mr. Lam. Pick a comfortable chair, stretch out, and have a cigarette. I want to talk with Alma for a minute.’

I dropped into a chair, put my feet up on an ottoman, lit a cigarette, and blew smoke rings at the ceiling. Bertha Cool was getting twenty dollars a day for my time. My stomach had food.

From a bedroom I could hear the sounds of motion, the rumble of a masculine voice, then a ripping sound as adhesive tape was torn in strips. I could hear Sandra Birks talk rapidly in a low monotone. Occasionally Alma interrupted with a question. After a while, they came back and Mrs. Birks said, ‘I want you to talk with my brother.’

I ground out my cigarette, followed them on into the bedroom. A young chap with a triangular face, broad across the forehead and eyes, coming down to a weak point at the chin, was putting on bandages with a professional touch. A man lay on the bed, cursing every now and then in a low voice. His nose was built up with splints, bandage, and adhesive tape. His long black hair was parted in the middle and hung down on either side of a sloping forehead. There was a bald spot about two inches in diameter on the top of his head. The adhesive tape, radiating out from the bandages on his nose made it seem as though his eyes were peering out from behind a white, coarse spiderweb.

The man’s body was heavier than one would have gathered from looking at his face. His stomach bulged prominently against his vest. His hands were small, the fingers long and tapering. I judged that he was probably five or six years older than his sister.

Sandra Birks said, ‘This is the man who’s going to serve the papers on Morgan, Bleatie.’

He looked at me then, a peculiarly disconcerting stare from cat-green eyes on either side of the bandaged beak. ‘For Christ’s sake!’ he said, and then, after a moment, ‘What’s his name?’ And the way his voice came through the bandages made it sound as though he’d said, ‘Whad’s hid nabe?’

‘Donald Lam,’ I told him.

‘I want to talk with you,’ he said.

‘I wish you would,’ Sandra chimed in. ‘You know time’s precious. Morgan may leave the country any time.’

‘He won’t leave the country without me knowing it,’ Bleatie said. ‘Look here, Doctor, how about it? Are you finished?’

The young doctor cocked his head on one side as a sculptor might survey a finished masterpiece.

‘You’ll get by now,’ he said, ‘but no sudden exertion, nothing which will run up a quick blood pressure and start a hemorrhage. For three or four days take a mild laxative. Take your temperature every four hours. If you start running a fever, get in touch with me at once.’

‘All right,’ Bleatie said. ‘Get out, the whole outfit of you. I’ve got something to say to Lam. Go on, Sandra, and you too, Alma. Go have a drink. Beat it.’

They went out like a bunch of chickens being shooed out of a garden patch. Before the blast of that dominating personality, the doctor lost his paternal sick-room manner and scuttled out through the door along with the rest. When the door was closed, the green eyes turned once more to me. ‘Are you with a lawyer?’ he asked.

I had some difficulty understanding his conversation at first. He talked like a man with a clothespin clamped over his nose. ‘No,’ I said, ‘I’m with a bureau of investigation.’

‘How well do you know Sandra?’ There was suspicion in his eyes, a suspicion which, for the moment, I couldn’t understand.

‘I met her for the first time about five minutes ago.’

‘What do you know about her?’

‘Nothing except what Miss Hunter told me.’

‘What did she tell you?’

‘Nothing.’

‘She’s my sister,’ Bleatie said, ‘and I should stick up for her, but God knows she has her faults, and they’re a pretty important element in this whole mess. If you ask me, she’s given her husband a hell of a raw deal. She can’t be trusted around a man. She’s never happy unless she has half a dozen men on the string, playing one of them against the other. She’s married, but marriage doesn’t stop her a damn bit. She goes her own way, and does pretty much as she pleases.’

‘They all do these days,’ I said easily.

‘You seem to be rushing to her defense a little too eagerly ― considering that you’ve only known her a few minutes,’ he said.

I kept quiet.

‘You’re sure you’re not lying to me?’

‘I’m not accustomed to lie to anyone,’ I said, ‘and I don’t like to have people with broken noses accuse me of being a liar.’

He grinned then. I could see the cheek muscles twist and the eyes narrow. ‘Sort of taking an unfair advantage, is it?’ he asked.

‘Yes. You can’t hit a man with a busted nose.’

‘I don’t know why not,’ he said. ‘I wouldn’t hesitate.’

I looked into the cat-green eyes and said thoughtfully, ‘No, I don’t suppose you would.’

‘If a man’s nose is broken, that makes him all the more vulnerable. When I fight, I don’t spar for points. I fight to smash the other man, and the harder I can smash him, the better I like it. And you’re a little shrimp to have such a gamecock disposition.’

He’d have liked me to make some comment then. I didn’t make any.

‘So Sandra wants a divorce, does she?’ he said after a moment.

‘So I understand.’

‘Well, there’s a hell of a lot to be said on Morgan’s side of this thing. Has that ever occurred to you?’

‘I’m serving the papers,’ I said. ‘He’ll have a chance to tell his side of it in court.’

‘The hell he will!’ Bleatie said impatiently. ‘How the devil could he come into court? He’s a fugitive from justice. Hell, they’d rip him wide open. What’s all the big rush about? Why doesn’t Sandra serve him by publication?’

‘It would take too long,’ I said, ‘and you can’t collect alimony on a service by publication.’

‘She wants alimony?’ he asked, then added quickly, ‘Thought you said you weren’t a lawyer.’

‘I think you’ll have to ask her or her lawyer about the alimony,’ I said. ‘After all, I’m only hired to serve the papers.’

‘You have the papers there?’

‘Yes.’

‘Let’s see ‘em.’

I passed the papers over. He hunched around on the bed, said, ‘Put your hand behind my shoulders and give me a boost — there, that’s better — now get that pillow down — you probably think I’m a hell of a brother, but we’re not a particularly conventional family — and when you come right down to it, I don’t give a damn what you think.’

‘I’m not paid to think,’ I said. ‘I’m paid to serve papers. And if you want to be personal, I don’t give a damn what you think.’

‘That’s good. I like your spunk. Sit down there and don’t interrupt me for a minute.’

He took the papers, glanced through the summons, and read through the divorce complaint with the laborious thoroughness of a layman who isn’t familiar with legal papers and has to puzzle through all the whereases, whyfores, and aforesaids. When he had finished, he folded the papers and handed them back to me. His eyes were narrowed thoughtfully. ‘So she wants a court order giving her the custody of the contents of all of the safety deposit boxes, does she?’

‘All I know is what’s in the papers,’ I said. ‘You’ve read those now. You know as much as I do.’

‘Pretty cagey, aren’t you?’ he asked.

‘I’m paid to serve papers,’ I said. ‘Why don’t you talk with your sister if you want to find out just what she has in mind?’

‘Don’t worry,’ he said grimly, ‘I’m going to.’

‘Do you,’ I asked, ‘know where her husband is?’

‘I know Morgan’s mistress,’ he said simply, ‘and she’s a damn nice girl.’

‘Mrs. Birks could have dragged her into the case,’ I pointed out. ‘She didn’t.’

He laughed, and his laugh wasn’t pleasant. ‘A fat chance she’d have, dragging anyone into the case,’ he said. ‘My God, you don’t know women very well, if you can’t size Sandra up just by looking at her.’

He was talking about his sister. I kept quiet.

‘If you’re ever left alone in the room with her for ten minutes, she’ll make a pass at you ― oh, don’t look so shocked about it.’

‘I’m not shocked.’

‘Well, I’m warning you. We’re an unconventional family. Hell, I don’t hold it against her. She lives her life. I live mine. But she’s a shrewd, selfish, scheming vixen. She has the morals of a cat. She’s attractive as hell. She has a quick mind — and she uses it most of the time to get something she wants— Hell, I should talk things over with you. Tell her to come in here.’

I stepped to the door and said, ‘Mrs. Birks, your brother wants to talk with you.’

‘You want me to clear out?’ I asked.

‘Hell, no. I want you in here.’

I moved over to the side of the bed. Sandra Birks came in, and said, anxiously, ‘What is it, Bleatie? Are you feeling all right now? The doctor left this sedative to give you if you get nervous and—’

‘Nix on that God damn cooing,’ Bleatie said. ‘You always did put on that solicitous air when you wanted something. Christ Almighty, I’m your brother. I know you like a book. I know what you want. You want to get the name of Morgan’s girl out of me. You want to serve papers on Morgan. You want to get a divorce. You want to be free to marry your latest sweetie. Who is he? That young squirt of a doctor? I’ve got my suspicions about him.’

‘Bleatie!’ she said. ‘Don’t!’ and glanced apprehensively at me. ‘You mustn’t talk that way. You’ve been through a nervous shock, and you’re upset and—’

‘Upset, hell!’ he interrupted. ‘Any time a man can’t be twisted around your fingers, it’s because he’s upset and isn’t himself — well, I don’t blame you. Now look here, Sandra. You and I are going to have a showdown. You’re my sister. I suppose I should be loyal to you. It also happens that I’m a friend of Morgan Birks’. Just because he’s down at the moment, is no sign you’re going to jump on him with both feet.’

‘Who wants to jump on him with both feet?’ she countered, her eyes beginning to glint. ‘I’ve given him all of the breaks in that divorce complaint. My God, the things I could have said about him would—’

‘Wouldn’t have done you a damn bit of good,’ Bleatie said. ‘Think of the things Morgan could say about you. Look at you! You never can forget your sex. I get my nose busted and damned if you don’t have to drag in your current boy friend or one of your current boy friends — to practice on me. That young squirt ain’t dry behind the ears yet, and you drag him in—’

‘Bleatie! You stop,’ she said. ‘Archie Holoman is a fine young man. Morgan knows him. He’s a friend of the family. There’s absolutely nothing between us.’

His laugh was cynical. ‘So Morgan knows him, does he? And he’s a friend of the family? You know what that means? Just because he comes to the house and shakes hands with your husband and smokes his cigars, makes him a friend of the family, does it? How about the times you see him when Morgan ain’t around?’

‘Bleatie,’ she said, ‘you cut that out or I’ll start doing a little talking. You’re no tin angel yourself. You make me sick with this holier-than-thou attitude. If you want to sling mud, I’ll scoop up a handful. That little—’

He held up his hand and said, ‘Keep your shirt on, baby, keep your shirt on. I’m just leading up to something.’

‘Well, lead up to it right now.’

‘I’ll give you a chance at Morgan,’ he said. ‘You can serve those papers on him and go ahead and rush your divorce case through. But I’m going to see that Morgan has a square deal.’

‘What do you want?’

‘That whole paragraph in there about property,’ he said. ‘You were earning your living when Morgan met you. You’ve feathered your nest since then. God knows how much you’ve picked up, but it’s plenty — you and that wheedling, cooing way of yours. You’ve managed to get a pretty good apartment here. I suppose the rent is paid for a while on a lease. You’ve got a whole closet full of glad rags. You’ve salted a nice little wad of dough. With those clothes on your back, your figure, and your knowledge of what it takes to make men putty in your hands, you’ll take a trip to Europe and wind up with a couple of dukes.’

‘You showed him those papers?’ she asked me, the words coming out in a rush. ‘You let him read my divorce complaint?’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘You sent me in to talk to him.’

She said irritably, ‘Of all the fool things—’ She broke off turned to her brother. ‘I’m finished with men,’ she said.

He laughed sarcastically.

Sandra Birks had lightning in her eyes, but she kept her voice calm. ‘What do you want, Bleatie? This isn’t getting us anywhere.’

‘I want you to go to your lawyer and get a new divorce complaint. I want one that doesn’t have anything in it about property. You get a divorce. You go your way; Morgan goes his. That’s fair.’

‘What do you mean, property?’

‘That stuff about the safety deposit boxes and all that stuff. You—’

She whirled on me. ‘You’re responsible for this. Why did you think you had to show him the papers?’

‘I made him,’ Bleatie said. ‘Keep your shirt on, Babe. I wasn’t going to be a sucker in this thing. One of these days Morgan is going to be out in the clear. Morgan can look me up then. Morgan isn’t a damn fool. The minute I drag the girl into it, he’s going to know where the tip-off came from. Remember that — Morgan Birks isn’t anybody’s damn fool!’

‘I haven’t any time to go to my lawyers and get another complaint,’ she said. ‘This one has already been filed and a summons issued.’

‘Well, you can change it, can’t you?’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘Sit down there at that desk,’ he said, ‘and write a letter. Put in that letter that you’re asking for property in your divorce complaint, but you really don’t want any, that when the case comes up for trial, you’ll have your lawyer tell the judge you don’t want alimony, that you’ll keep the apartment for as long as the rent is paid, that you’ll keep your clothes and whatever money you have in your jeans, and Morgan can have all the rest.’

‘What are you going to do with that letter?’ she asked.

‘See that you give Morgan a square deal.’

Her mouth was a firm, straight line. Her eyes were hot with anger. The man on the bed met her gaze with the calm assurance of one who is so accustomed to having people yield that he doesn’t even take the possibility of their disobedience into consideration. After a second or two, she walked over to the desk, jerked open the drawer as though she were going to pull it out by the roots, yanked out a sheet of paper, and wrote.

Bleatie said to me, ‘God knows how a cigarette will taste, but I’m going to try one anyway. You got one?’

I nodded.

‘Put it in my mouth,’ he said, ‘and light it for me, will you? The way this bandage sticks out on my nose, I’d probably burn the side of my face off trying to find the end of the cigarette.’

I gave him the cigarette and lit it. He inhaled a couple of deep drags and said, ‘God, it tastes funny!’

After that, he smoked in silence. Over at the desk, Sandra Birks scratched the pen across the paper. When an inch of the cigarette had burned down, she finished writing, blotted the paper, read it over, and handed it across to her brother. ‘All right,’ she said. ‘Now I hope you’re satisfied. You’d strip your own sister naked just to give a lousy friend a break.’

He read it through twice, then said, ‘I think that’s all right.’ He folded the paper, fumbled around until he found his, pants pocket, and pushed it down inside. He looked up at me and said, ‘Okay, buddy. Do your stuff. The girl is Sally Durke. She lives in the Milestone Apartments. Go up there and get hard with her. Get plenty hard. You’ve got to spread it on thick. Throw a good scare into her. Tell her she’s hiding Morgan, that you’re going to see she’s arrested for harboring a fugitive from justice or whatever kind of a stall you want to make. Tell her that Sandra is suing for divorce, is going to drag her into it and is out to collect all Morgan’s property. Don’t say a word to her about this letter Sandra has given me. Pretend you’re a cop — no, you’d never make that stick — but get hard.’

‘Then what?’ I asked.

‘Then shadow her. She’ll lead you to Morgan.’

‘Morgan won’t come there?’

‘Hell, no. Morgan’s too smart for that. Morgan keeps in touch with her, but he isn’t fool enough to walk into a trap like that, not when he knows the cops are looking for him.’

I turned to Sandra Birks. ‘Got some good pictures of your husband?’ I asked.

‘Yes,’ she said.

Bleatie said, ‘You’ll find his pictures in the newspapers.’

‘I know;’ I agreed, ‘but they’re no good. I’ve already checked up on them.’

‘I have a couple of snapshots and a good photographic portrait,’ Sandra said.

‘I’d prefer the snapshots.’

‘Will you come this way, please?’

I nodded to Bleatie.

‘Good luck, Lam,’ he said, and stretched out on the bed. His lips looked as though he wanted to grin and couldn’t. ‘When you get done, Sandra, come back and give me that sedative. I think in about half an hour this nose is going to be hurting like hell — it’s a wonder you couldn’t watch where you’re driving.’

‘Watch where I’m driving,’ she said. ‘My God, that’s just like you. At the time, you claimed the other car deliberately ran into us. If you could only stay put once—’

‘Save it,’ he said. ‘Lam isn’t interested in the brotherly and sisterly affection of the Thorns family.’

Her eyes glared cold daggers at him. ‘It took you a hell of a while to find that out,’ she said, and flounced out of the room. I followed along behind, closing the door after me.

Alma Hunter looked up with apprehensive eyes. ‘Did you get it?’ she asked breathlessly.

Sandra Birks nodded grimly. ‘You bet I got it,’ she said in a low voice, ‘and what I’m going to do to that baby isn’t even going to be funny!’

She kept on walking right through the living room and across, to a bedroom. ‘Come in here, Mr. Lam,’ she invited.

There were twin beds, pictures on the walls. The furniture was expensive, with plate-glass mirrors at various angles of the room. She said, ‘I have a photograph album here in my dresser drawer. Sit down over there — maybe you’d better sit on the bed because I’ll want to sit beside you. We’ll go over the photographs together, and you can pick out the ones you want.’

I sat down on the bed. She opened a drawer in the dresser, took out a photograph album, and sat down beside me.

‘What was my brother telling you about me?’ she asked.

‘Nothing much.’

‘Yes he did. He — he has a nasty mind. I don’t care if he is my own brother.’

‘We,’ I reminded, ‘were to get a picture of your husband. Is it here?’

She made a little face by wrinkling her nose, and said, ‘Don’t, by any chance, forget whom you’re working for.’

‘I won’t.’

‘Well?’ she asked.

I raised my eyebrows in a silent question.

‘I’m waiting to hear what Bleatie had to say about me.’

‘Nothing much.’

‘Did he say I was selfish?’

‘I don’t remember exactly how he expressed it.’

‘Did he say that I was sex-crazy?’

‘No.’

‘Well,’ she said, bitterly, ‘he’s improving. He usually has that idea about me. My God, I wouldn’t put it past him to even claim Dr. Holoman was a lover.’

When I didn’t say anything, she let her eyes glitter at me from under half-lowered lids. ‘Well,’ she asked, ‘did he?’

‘Was that what you really wanted to know?’ I inquired.

‘Of course I want to know?’

‘Just what is it you want to know?’

‘What did Bleatie suspect — did he accuse me of being friendly with Dr. Holoman?’

‘I can’t remember.’

‘Your memory isn’t very good, is it?’

‘No.’

‘Perhaps you wouldn’t make a good detective.’

‘Perhaps.’

‘You’re working for me, you know.’

‘I’m working for a woman by the name of Bertha L. Cool,’ I said. ‘I make my reports directly to her. As I understand it, I’m employed to serve papers on Morgan Birks; and I gather that you brought me in here to show me some photographs of your husband.’

‘You’re being impertinent.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Oh well,’ she said, ‘I don’t know why I’m so crazy as to want an answer. I know what the answer is. Of course, he panned me. We never did care for each other as brother and sister are supposed to care. But I didn’t think that even he would drag Dr. Holoman into it.’

‘I’d prefer snapshots,’ I said, ‘that show the face with some sort of expression, laughing or smiling.’

She almost threw the album into my lap.

She opened the book. I started turning pages.

The first picture was of Sandra Birks seated on a rustic bench with a waterfall in back, pine trees, and a stream running across the left foreground. A man had his arm around her shoulders. She was looking up into his eyes.

‘That Morgan?’ I asked.

‘No,’ she said, and turned the page.

She turned the leaves rapidly. ‘I don’t know just where it is,’ she apologized. ‘I put these pictures in helter-skelter. We were on a vacation trip together and—’ She turned two more pages, said, ‘There he is,’ and leaned across me to point.

It was a good clear photograph of a tall, thin man with sharp features, glossy black hair combed straight back away from a high forehead.

‘That,’ I told her, ‘is exactly what I want. It’s a clear picture. Got any others?’

She slid the pointed tips of her crimson nails under the picture, lifted it from the corners by which it was fastened to the book. ‘Perhaps,’ she said.

She turned two or three pages — pages that were filled with ordinary photographs, people in cars, people sitting on porches, people grinning inanely at the camera. Then she said, ‘Here are three or four pages taken on our vacation. Some of us girls went swimming together — you mustn’t look.’

She peeked down into the pages, giggled, turned four or five of them all at once, and then found another picture of her husband. ‘This isn’t quite as good as the other,’ she said, ‘but it gives you a profile view.’

I took it, compared it with the other, and said, ‘This is fine. Thanks.’

‘Are those all you need?’

‘Yes.’

She continued to sit there on the bed, her lips slightly parted, her eyes focused on distance as though thinking something over. Abruptly she said, ‘Excuse me for a minute. There’s something I want to ask Alma.’

She jumped up from the bed and went out into the other room, leaving me holding the photograph album. I tossed it up to the head of the bed.

She was gone a couple of minutes. When she came back, Alma was with her.

‘I thought perhaps you’d like to have one of the newspaper pictures,’ Sandra Birks said. ‘Here it is.’

She’d clipped a picture from a newspaper. The caption read:

I compared the picture with the two photographs. The newspaper picture wasn’t clear but was quite evidently that of the man whose photograph I held.

Sandra Birks gave a little squeal and grabbed for the photograph book. ‘Oh, I forgot about this,’ she said.

Alma Hunter looked at her questioningly.

‘It has those swimming pictures in it,’ she said, and laughed. ‘I left Mr. Lam unchaperoned with them.’

I said, ‘I didn’t look. I’ll take these pictures, report to Mrs. Cool, and get in touch with Sally Durke. You’d better give me your telephone number so I can call you as soon as I have something to report.’

Sandra said, ‘One thing, Mr. Lam. I want to know exactly when the papers are going to be served.’

‘I’ll report to Mrs. Cool as soon as I’ve made the service,’ I said.

‘That isn’t what I want. I want to know about an hour before you serve the papers.’

‘Why?’

‘I have reasons.’

‘What are they?’

‘I think Bleatie may be planning to double-cross me.’

‘Orders,’ I said, ‘come through Mrs. Cool. You’ll have to get in touch with her.’

‘Will you wait?’ she asked.

‘I’ll stop by the office to report,’ I said.

‘All right. Here, take my telephone number, and you, Alma, take my car and go with him. You can drive him around. It’ll save time — you’ll need a car, Mr. Lam, if you’re going to be shadowing this girl. I have an extra one you might just as well take. Do you drive?’

I looked at Alma. ‘I’d prefer a driver.’

‘You’ll drive him, Alma? Do. There’s a good girl.’

Alma said, ‘I’ll do anything I can to help. You know that, Sandra.’

She walked across to the dressing table, patted her hair, powdered her face, and tilted back her head to apply lipstick. A stretch of her neck was visible above the high collar. I thought at first the reflected light from the mirror was throwing splotches of shadow on it. Then I saw they were dark spots-bruises.

Sandra Birks said quickly, ‘Well, let’s go in the other room and let Alma dress.’

‘I don’t want to dress,’ Alma Hunter said.

‘I’ll buy you a drink, Mr. Lam,’ Sandra Birks invited.

‘No, thanks. I don’t drink when I’m working.’

‘My, what a moral young man,’ she exclaimed, and her voice was mocking. ‘You have no vices.’

‘I’m working for you,’ I pointed out. ‘It’s costing you money.’

‘Yes, that’s right. I suppose you’re to be commended.’ Her voice didn’t sound as though she really thought so.

‘Your brother,’ I reminded her, ‘wanted to have that sedative the doctor left.’

‘Oh, he can wait — the big baby — tell me, what did he say about me?’ Her manner was teasing, coquettish. She was very much aware that she was a woman. ‘What did he say about Archie?’

Alma whirled away from the mirror to watch me with warning eyes.

‘He said that he thought Dr. Holoman was a very skillful doctor,’ I said. ‘He told me you were impulsive and headstrong but as good as gold, that he didn’t always agree with you on little things, but that you always pulled together on big things; that whenever you got in a jam of any kind you could call on him and he’d stand back of you to the limit.’

‘Did he tell you that?’

‘That’s what I gathered from his conversation.’

She stood staring at me. Her eyes were round. There was an expression in them I couldn’t exactly classify. For a moment, I thought it might be fear.

‘Oh,’ she said.

Alma Hunter nodded to me. ‘Let’s go,’ she said.