The Chinese Doll

Chapter 3

There was about this man, Louise, a certain chilly deadliness that banished the possibility of continued nonchalance, real or pretended. I couldn’t hold up my end of it. He both repelled and fascinated me.

The latent menace of him was overpoweringly impressive. The sheer deadliness seemed to hang in the air about him, around his chair, reach across the polished desk to me. I could feel it as distinctly as I could feel a cold wind biting the back of my neck.

He was fairly easy to classify, mentally. Here was the type of man whose stark malevolence was both cloaked and betrayed by his very quietness. Whose inner thoughts spun and grew for hours on end in absolute, unemotional silence and then, coming at last to an irrevocable conclusion, suddenly lashed out with the unexpected finality of lightning.

I was afraid of him and we both knew it.

I fumbled around in a coat pocket but couldn’t find my pipe. He anticipated me, as usual.

Still smiling frostily, he pushed across the desk a glistening, copper-plated humidor filled with expensive cigars. I took two, and put the other one in my lapel pocket.

“For after a while,” I explained.

He nodded, smoothed out a nonexistent wrinkle in his tuxedo, and almost as an afterthought handed me a long bullet casing mounted on a plastic base. It was about the size used in the army’s machine guns. The green enameled top lifted off to reveal the lighter. It worked on the first spin.

I didn’t want his continued silence, feeling myself much safer if he were talking.

“I can explain my being here,” I started the ball rolling. “It was a kind of an accident.”

“Very much of an accident,” he assured me with grim, subtle intonations. “I have investigated it thoroughly. The driver made a regrettable mistake in stopping for you. It was her initial trip but that does not excuse the error. She carried certain precise instructions. They were not followed to the letter.”

“You shouldn’t hold it against the kid,” I objected. “Anyone in the same place could have made the same mistake. I was loafing on the corner and she thought I was a regular. She talked as if I were.”

He snatched that one up quick. His fingers had been playing with his tie. Now they flew to the edge of the desk.

“You talked with her?”

He had picked it up so quick I realized I was getting the babe into trouble. Here was something the tuxedo hadn’t known.

“Huh! Talked at her is nearer the truth. Getting a worthwhile answer was something else again. It was yes-sir, this, or no-sir that, and she was sorry but she couldn’t take my tip.”

“I see.” But he only partially relaxed. His sensitive fingers left the edge of the desk. There would be a push button under there. “However,” he went on, “it is an error that must not be repeated. And of course we shall cease using that particular corner.”

I grinned at him but there wasn’t much mirth in it.

“Hell, mister. You needn’t worry about me shooting off my mouth. I’m not in the habit of letting it hang open.”

He swung his chair around in a smooth half-arc so that he was no longer facing me. He could watch my movements from the corner of his eye. I pulled on the cigar. His voice dropped to a slightly mocking banter.

“I have absolutely no fear of your speaking out of turn, sir. None at all. If you will forgive me for trespassing upon your privacy, I must inform you that I have taken the liberty of checking on you. You understand, surely. When I was informed that you were downstairs it became necessary to know all about you. You realize that, of course.”

“Of course,” I echoed dryly.

“Good. I felt sure you wouldn’t mind. I know who you are, what you are, and to what exact degree you may be trusted. Knowing this, I repeat, I am securely confident you will say nothing of tonight’s lamentable misunderstanding, nor of your subsequent journey outside the city limits.”

“You should be in my business.”

“Thank you.” And he meant it. He swung around to me again. “However, I still believe it wise to abandon that particular corner. And I must ask you to give me your word you will not attempt to enter this establishment again.”

The request implied I was to be turned loose, which made me feel much better, so I supplemented, “Unless I’m invited.”

His smile was icy, his manner superior and sure. “You won’t be.” And then he struck off at a tangent.

“I must admit to no small curiosity concerning your unexpected presence here. A detective on these premises is a rare thing. I don’t recall it ever happening before. May I inquire if you are at work?”

“You may, and I’m not. The doll surprised me with the pick-up job. I came along for the ride,” I lied, “because she was nice looking.”

“There exists,” he insisted, edging forward, “not the slightest possibility your being here isn’t an accident?”

“None whatsoever,” I stated flatly. “I didn’t know the joint existed until the Judge opened the door.”

“Ah, yes.” He relaxed with a satisfied suavity. “Still another error. That two such could happen in one evening almost pushes the incident beyond the bounds of chance, does it not? The Judge isn’t in the habit of making mistakes. He was a trifle taken aback when I told him.”

I began to have the feeling that there was more here than met my eye, but couldn’t identify the hunch.

“Everyone makes mistakes,” I countered. “That’s what keeps me going in my business. You told him what?”

“What a gullible chap he had been. But I am inclined to forgive him this once. Yours was a subtle deception.”

“There wasn’t much else he could do,” I offered in the old boy’s defense. “He certainly didn’t want me lighting matches out there all night.”

“That is correct.”

“I suppose he’s sore about it. I would be in his place. And he’d probably like to take a poke at me.”

“That too is correct.”

I grinned. “I’ll make it a point to stay out of his way after this. I wouldn’t want to tangle with him on the street.”

“Such a meeting isn’t likely to occur.”

Turning that one over the cooking fire for a second or two, I decided to show the tuxedo what a gullible chap he had been.

“I said a moment ago that everybody makes mistakes and the mistakes keep me going in business. Will you be mad if I point out the one you’ve just made?”

“I?” Incredulously.

“You. In your conversation.”

“Not at all,” he said in a curious manner. “Tell me.”

“You’ve just told me that the Judge doesn’t go downtown. Now everybody goes to town, some town. They want to see the bright lights on Saturday night. They want to buy things they don’t need in the stores. They want a place to keep their women. Therefore, the Judge and probably the rest of your crowd, hang around some other town. A large town.”

I thought it significant that he didn’t say that too was correct. Instead he settled back in his chair, apparently having no more to say.

But I did.

“Well, that brings us to the meat of the matter. What are you going to do with me?”

He stared at me, silently, for a long time. Not just minutes but a long time. There was a small electric clock on his desk, an expensive timepiece set in dark walnut that matched the furniture of the room. It made a soft whirring noise as the second hand sped around and around. He wanted me to be uncomfortable. I was. I fidgeted.

“What do you suggest I do with you?” he asked at last.

I knocked the fine white ash of the cigar into my trouser cuff. “You might drive me back to town. Or if that doesn’t appeal to you, I’ll go down to the road and thumb a ride.”

The swiftly moving sweep hand spun around the circle of the clock face several times before he answered me. I couldn’t tell whether he was still needling me, or was actually considering my proposal. It did seem unlikely that he hadn’t yet made up his mind.

“I’ll have someone drive you in, sir.”

Get that “sir” on the end. It revealed a lot. I said thanks and stood up.

The shadow who had been waiting outside the office door came in instantly. My host across the desk had neither signaled nor called. He spoke to the shadow character.

“This gentleman is returning to the city. You will drive.”

The character said, “Yes sir.”

Tuxedo turned to me. “Any place in particular you wish to go?”

“I want to go to the City Hall,” I stated.

Their eyebrows shot up in perfect unison.

“Believe it or not,” I continued, “my detective license expires at midnight. Tonight. It suddenly came to me. I want to have it renewed of course.”

“Of course.” The insurance agent or whatever he was came from behind the desk. “To the City Hall.”

We didn’t leave by way of the gambling room downstairs. The tuxedo-clad gentleman opened a paneled door I hadn’t seen until now to reveal an enclosed landing, with still another door and a swift flight of steps to the ground. It was on the offside of the barn from the shack by which I had entered. The character handed me my hat and coat.

I couldn’t resist the temptation to wave good-bye to the chilly personage standing in the office. He returned it without a trace of humor.

“By the way—” I called back through the partly closed inner door, “I didn’t get your name.”

The door closed. Doors were forever closing on answers I wanted.

The self-attached bodyguard followed me down the steps. There was a car waiting at the bottom. In the darkness I thought it was an Olds but I couldn’t be sure. The overcast sky was breaking in spots and a cold, brilliant moon was trying to get through. Now and then a vagrant flurry of snow swept down out of nowhere. I climbed into the front seat without a word. It was an Olds.

The car was warm; the heater hot against my legs. The key was in the ignition and the silent driver twisted it, pushing on the starter at the same time. The motor caught instantly. We drove to the highway without lights.

The moon broke through then, lighting up a large patch of white snow and black lake.

Someone on ice skates cut across the lake in a long slow glide. The someone wasn’t doing very well. It looked like a girl but I couldn’t be sure at that distance.

The skater was small and slim. She handled her footing in a feminine way and seemed to be wearing slacks or pants, fastened tightly at the ankles, as girls often do. But she wobbled.

If this was my Chinese doll of early evening she was not the skater she had let on to be. The figure behaved on the ice about the way I do on roller skates, which wasn’t anything to inspire confidence in the other skaters. The girl careened across the ice and disappeared in blackness as the moon vanished again. It was like skating into an opaque curtain.

Our car turned onto the Main street road and the driver snapped on the lights. We didn’t speak to each other all the way down to the City Hall. Downtown, most of the neon lights were blinking off for the night. The street sweeping machine had been at work, piling up loose snow along the curbs. The weather held cold.

I said goodnight when the bodyguard let me out in front of the City Hall steps. He drove away without answering. I stood there and watched the twin taillights recede in the distance, knowing that he was watching me in the rearview mirror.

Inside, the redheaded patrolman seated at the sergeant’s desk looked at me entirely without interest.

“Hello, Wiedenbeck.”

“Hullo.”

He’s a quaint character you must meet sometime, Louise. His name is Philip Wiedenbeck, and he’s afraid of women. He’s also an accomplished artist and he substitutes that for the real thing. He likes to draw pictures of girls, half-clad girls who are knockouts until you look at — their faces. Every face is a thing of evil. That’s his inner nature coming out, his revenge on them because he’s afraid.

Wiedenbeck changed his disinterested attitude when I opened my wallet and pushed it across the desk to him. It was open to the identification leaves. He bent over them eagerly.

“Oh, shoot!” he exclaimed in the next second. “I thought you had joined the FBI, or something.”

“Not yet,” I returned pleasantly. “They’ve got their eye on me though.” The department was empty but for the two of us. “Where’s the sergeant?”

He scratched his head. “Gone home. His wife’s expecting. I’m in charge. What do you want?”

“I want this license renewed. It expires at midnight.” To emphasize that I tapped the date with my finger.

“Your nails are dirty,” he responded without interest. “Nothing I can do about it. I can’t sign the thing.”

“You can forge the chief’s name, can’t you?”

“And get ten years for it? Oh, no!”

“Wiedenbeck, you’re no good. You’d rather see a guy starve than forge an old name. What will my kids think when I tell them about you? What will they say?”

“You ain’t got no kids. You live by yourself.”

I changed tactics. “What’s come in on that hit-and-run case?”

“What hit-and-run case?”

“The one that happened in front of my office today, hot-shot. A girl was driving a Studebaker sedan with a supercharger on the hood. That ought to be easy.”

“We ain’t found her.”

“That’s not news. Look here—” I dug around in my wallet and produced a long pink and gray slip of paper. There were some pictures on it, scenes of soldiers riding horses into battle. Wiedenbeck stared down at it.

I continued, “This is a Confederate ten-dollar bill. I’ll bet you this ten bucks some sheriff’s office around the state will find that car. Ten bucks against your signature on my renewal. Some sheriff will find that Studebaker in a ditch somewhere, maybe wrecked, and somebody else will pop in and claim it was stolen in Croyden or someplace.”

The red-haired policeman searched my face.

“How did you know that?” he demanded suspiciously.

“Know what?” But I felt another kick in the teeth coming my way.

“About that sedan being stolen in Croyden. It was ditched just inside our county line. Sheriff’s deputy found it an hour or so ago. How’d you know?”

I stared at him in disgust. That wasn’t what I was waiting for: the belly-blow was coming in low and fast. Finally I asked him, “Who did it belong to?”

“Some big shot over there by the name of — hell.”

This was it.

He frowned, pushed aside some sketches and ran a bony finger down the page of his record book. Then he looked up at me, or rather at a spot in space some feet over my head.

“Can you imagine that?” he asked me, awed. “Maybe I’d better phone the sergeant.”

“Damn you, give it!” I yelled at him.

“The sedan belonged to the bumpee — you know, this guy Harry Evans. Imagine being run down and knocked off with your own car! I think I had better phone the sergeant.”

I whirled and walked to the door. Before reaching it I paused long enough to say over my shoulder, “Don’t forget I was in here before midnight about that license.”

He was still contemplating the ceiling with an open mouth. I hoped something would fall in it.

The wind hit me when I reached the bottom of the steps. I grabbed my flopping overcoat and buttoned it. There was something missing, something that should have pressured me but didn’t.

I had left my gun and holster at the barn.

The office is cold, the heat in the building is turned off early in the evening. I wanted to get this off to you before going home to bed, Louise. I’ve discovered that if I mail a letter in the post office slot by one A.M. it is put on the southbound train a couple of hours later and will reach you in the first mail delivery the same morning. Some seven or eight hours from now.

A good many surprising things have happened since I wrote you about Evans’ death yesterday afternoon, but the most surprising is the discovery of myself.

I’ve just realized what a damned fool I am.