The New Black Mask (No 6)

After the Thin Man: Conclusion Dashiell Hammett

In Part One, Nick and Nora return to San Francisco from New York to find a welcome-home New Year’s Eve Party in progress at their house. The party is interrupted when the body of the former gardener for Nora’s family is mysteriously deposited on the doorstep. Later that night, Nick and Nora visit her Aunt Katherine for dinner. There they find Nora’s cousin Selma distraught over the disappearance of her husband, Robert Landis, and Nick is browbeaten by Aunt Katherine into trying to locate him. Nick and Nora go to a known hangout of Robert’s called the Li-Chee, managed by Dancer, where they find Robert in the company of Polly Byrnes, the club singer, whom, he tells them, he plans to marry.

Soon afterward Robert, who is very drunk, leaves with Polly; they are followed by Phil, who is described as Polly’s brother. Outside, Robert meets David Graham, long enamored of Selma, and accepts a bribe to leave her. He agrees to go home for the last time to pack his clothes.

When Robert arrives home, Selma protests his leave-taking and pulls a gun. As he walks into the foggy night, he is shot to death. David arrives out of the fog, takes the gun, and throws it into the bay. Back at the Li-Chee, having gotten word of Robert’s murder, Nick has arranged to have the police meet him in Dancer’s apartment.

Dancer’s apartment — at the Li-Chee. Nick is lying on the sofa, as before. Lum Kee is sitting in the corner, reading a book. In another chair, Polly is sitting, manicuring her fingernails. Dancer is sitting astride a chair, chewing a toothpick and looking angrily at Nick. Nick is in the middle of an apparently long and pointless anecdote.

Dancer spits toothpick out on the floor and says angrily, “Listen, we’re putting up with you, but do we have to put up with all this talk?”

Nick sits up and looks at him in surprise, saying “But I thought I was entertaining you.”

A Chinese waiter opens the door and says, “Mr. Caspar here—”

Caspar comes in. He is a little man, almost a dwarf, sloppily dressed, with bushy hair, and is addicted to Napoleonic poses. He comes into the room bowing and smiling to everyone and saying “Well, well — what is it?”

Dancer, grouchily. “Do I know? So a guy comes in and buys a drink. He goes out and somebody kills him. What are we supposed to do, give the customers insurance policies with the drinks?”

Nick says, “Wouldn’t be a bad idea — with the kind of stuff you’re serving.”

Caspar advances toward Nick with his hand out, saying “I didn’t recognize you for a moment, Mr. Charles. You remember me — Floyd Caspar?”

Nick says, “Oh, yes,” and pats his pockets as if to make sure he hasn’t lost anything.

Caspar goes on, “A man killed! Surely you don’t think these people—” he looks at the three others in the room as if they were saints, “—would have anything to do with a thing like that!” He puts a hand on Dancer’s shoulder and says, “Why, I’ve known this boy since he was—”

Dancer pushes the hand off roughly and says, “Save it for the district attorney. What’re you wasting your voice on this gum-heel for?”

Through the closed door comes the sound of men arguing. Then the door is swung open by Lieutenant Abrams, pushing a Chinese waiter against it. Two other detectives are with Abrams. He looks very tired and very dissatisfied with all the people in the room. When he sees Caspar, he groans and says, “I knew it would be like this. I knew there would be some shyster around to slow things up.”

Caspar draws himself up to his full five feet and begins pompously, “Lieutenant Abrams, I must ask you—”

Abrams pays no attention to him, walks over and sits down on the sofa by Nick, asking not very hopefully, “Is it right you know something about what’s been happening?”

Nick says, “A little.”

Abrams says, “It can’t be any littler than anybody else seems to know. Do you want to say it in front of them — or do we go off in a corner?”

Nick says, “This suits me.”

Abrams asks, “Is this the dame Mrs. Charles was telling me about — that lives in Dominges’ apartment and was with Landis tonight?”

Nick says, “Yes. She sings here, but she took time off to see that he got home all right.”

Abrams says gloomily, “She certainly did a swell job.” Then he asks Polly, “And what did you do after he got home?”

Polly says, “I came back here. I work here.”

Abrams says, “When did you find out he was killed?”

Polly says, “After I came back — maybe half an hour. Dancer told me. I guess Mr. Charles told him.”

Abrams says, “Never mind guessing... I guess you know your landlord was killed this afternoon?”

Polly exclaims, “What!”

Nick says, “I told her earlier tonight, but she seemed to think it had to do with some fellow named Peter Dufinger, or Duflicker, or something.”

Polly says, earnestly, to Nick, “I honestly didn’t know, Mr. Charles. I never knew what his name was, except Pedro.”

Abrams asks, “What did you know about him besides that?”

Polly says, “Nothing. I’ve only lived there a couple of months and I never even seen him more than half a dozen times—”

Abrams asks Nick, “You believe her?”

Nick says, “I believe everybody. I’m a sucker.”

Abrams asks Polly, “Who do you think would kill Landis?”

She says, “I haven’t the faintest idea. Honest I haven’t.”

Nick says, “Miss Byrnes has a brother who carries a gun. Dancer was chucking him out when I came in. I hear he hung around for a while outside... Perhaps until just about the time that Polly and Landis left.”

When Nick says “Dancer was chucking him out,” Polly looks sharply at Dancer, but when Nick finishes his speech, Polly jumps up and comes over to him, saying earnestly “Phil didn’t have anything to do with it, Mr. Charles. He wouldn’t have any reason.”

Nick says, “I’m not accusing anybody. I’m just talking.” Then he tells Abrams, “Dancer says he threw him out because he was bothering Polly for money.”

Polly turns to Dancer, angrily exclaiming “That’s a lie! You had no right to—”

Little Caspar interrupts her, saying “Take it easy — take it easy. That’s the idea of this police clowning — to get you all at each other’s throats. Just answer any of their questions that you want to and don’t let ’em get under your skin.”

Abrams complains to Nick, “That’s the way it goes. I leave that little shyster stay in here because I got nothin’ to hide and he keeps buttin’ in. If he don’t stop it, I’m going to put them where he’ll need a court order to get to them.”

Caspar smiles and says, “Well, that’s never been much trouble so far.”

Abrams turns to Polly again, asking “Where is this brother of yours that didn’t kill anybody?”

Polly says, “I don’t know. I haven’t seen him today.”

Abrams asks, “Does he live with you?”

Polly says, “No. He lives in a hotel on Turk Street. I don’t know just where.”

Abrams says, “You don’t know much about anybody, do you?”

Polly says, “I honestly don’t know what hotel. Phil’s always moving.”

Abrams says, “What’s the matter — does he have to move every time he don’t kill somebody? What does he do for a living — besides not killing anybody?”

Polly says, “He’s a chauffeur, but he hasn’t been able to get much work lately.”

Abrams asks if anybody knows a Selma Young. Nobody does.

Abrams asks Nick, “What do you think of it now?”

Nick says, “My dear Lieutenant, you wouldn’t expect me to question a lady’s word.”

Abrams says, “It’s all right for you to kid. Nobody jumps on your neck if you don’t turn up a murderer every twenty minutes.” He sighs and, indicating Dancer and Lum Kee, asks, “Well, what about them?”

Nick says, “They seem to have disappeared not long after Polly and Landis went out. Then showed up again with their hats on around the time I heard about the murder.”

Abrams asks Dancer, “Well?”

Dancer says, “I went out to get some air. What city ordinance does that break?”

Lum Kee, who has continued to read all through the scene so far, puts down his book and says, “I went with him.”

Dancer tries not to show surprise.

Abrams says, “Yeah? Where’d you go for all this air?”

Lum Kee says, blandly, “Air pretty much same everywhere. We go in my car — ride around. Ask chauffeur.”

Nick says, “There was another little point: I told Dancer Landis had been killed, but he seemed to know that he’d been shot.”

Abrams asks Dancer, “How about that?”

Dancer says, disagreeably, “This is the twentieth century — in a big city. How do most people get killed — battle axes? I just took it for granted, like you would when you don’t know you’re on the witness stand.”

Abrams asks, “Have you got a gun?”

Dancer takes an automatic out of his pocket and gives it to Abrams. From a card case he takes a slip of paper and gives it to Abrams, saying “Here’s my permit.”

Abrams asks Lum Kee, “You?”

Lum Kee brings Abrams an automatic and a permit.

Caspar says, “If you’re going to take those, Lieutenant, we should like a receipt.”

Abrams complains to Nick, “I can’t stand that shyster.”

Nick. “I was beginning to suspect that.”

Abrams asks Polly, “Have you got a gun?”

Polly shakes her head no.

Abrams. “What’d you do with it?”

Polly. “I never had one.”

Abrams, wearily. “Nobody has anything, nobody knows anything. I don’t see why I don’t give up this racket and go farming.”

Dancer, to Caspar. “Everybody thought he did a long time ago.”

Abrams. “I’m laughing. Did you know this Pedro Dominges?”

Dancer. “No.”

Abrams looks at Lum Kee, who says, “No.”

Abrams stands up wearily, saying “Come on, we’re going down to the Hall of Justice.”

Caspar. “On what charge?”

Abrams, disgustedly. “Charge, me eye! Witnesses. You ask ’em questions — where were you when you were over there? — and you have a stenographer take it down. You ought to know. Your clients spend nine-tenths of their time doing it.” He looks at his watch, nods at the door through which the sound of music comes, says, “Or maybe for staying open after hours. Didn’t you ever tell ’em about the two-o’clock closing law?”

Caspar. “I’m going with ’em.”

Abrams. “And you can bring the wife and kiddies for all I care.”

The door opens and Nora and David come in accompanied by a detective. David and Polly look at one another with startled recognition, but neither says anything. Nora goes quickly over to Nick, who asks, “What are you up to now?”

Nora. “Have they found out who did it? Who did it, Nick?”

Nick. “Sh-h-h, I’m making Abrams guess.”

Abrams looks from David to the detective and asks, “Where’d you find him?”

Detective. “You told me to shadow anybody that left the Landis house. Well, Mrs. Charles did, and went over to his apartment, and I knew you wanted to talk to him, so as soon as I found out who it was, I went on up and got him. There’s something about a fellow on the fire escape, but they can tell you better than I can.”

Abrams looks questioningly at Nora, who says, “Yes, it was—” She looks at Polly, hesitates, says, “It was her brother.” Then to Dancer. “The one you threw down the stairs when we came in.”

Everybody looks expectantly at Polly, who seems dumbfounded. After a long moment she exclaims, “I don’t believe it!”

Nick says, “That’s certainly a swell answer.”

Abrams asks Nora, “What was he doing on the fire escape?”

Nora. “I don’t know. He went away as soon as we saw him, and by the time we could get the window open there was no sign of him. You know how foggy it is. And then this man came” — indicating the detective — “and by the time we could persuade him to do anything, it was too late.”

The detective, apologetically. “I reckon maybe I wasn’t up on my toes like I ought to’ve been, Lieutenant, but it sounded kind of screwy to me at first.” He addresses Nick, “I didn’t know she was your wife then.”

Nick. “You never can tell where you’re going to find one of my wives.”

The sound of music suddenly stops. Out in the restaurant, the customers, complaining about this unaccustomed early closing, are being shooed out.

Polly flares up, saying angrily “What are you picking on Phil for? What’s the matter with Robert’s wife killing him? He told me himself she was batty as a pet cuckoo and would blow up and gum the whole thing if she found out that this guy—” pointing at David “—was paying him to go away. Maybe she did find out about the bonds. What’s the matter with that?”

Abrams looks thoughtfully at David and says, “Hmmm, so that’s where the bonds came from?”

Dancer is watching Polly with hard, suspicious eyes. Nick, surprised, asks David, “Bonds?”

David nods slowly.

Abrams says to Polly, “This is no time to stop talking — go on, tell us more about this bond deal.”

Caspar comes forward importantly, saying to Polly “No, no, I think this is a very good time to stop talking at least until you’ve had some sort of legal advice—”

Polly says, “They know about it. Anyway, he does” (indicating David). “Besides, you’re Dancer’s and Lum’s mouthpiece, not mine. How do I know you won’t leave me holding the bag?”

Abrams looks pleased for the first time since he’s come into the room. He says to Polly, “Now just a minute — that’s fine!” He turns to Caspar and says, “So you aren’t her lawyer? Well, that’ll give us a little rest from your poppin’ off. You and your two clients are going outside and wait until we get through talking to the little lady—”

Caspar starts to protest, but Abrams nods to his detectives and two of them take Caspar, Lum Kee, and Dancer out. At the door, Dancer turns to warn Polly. “Don’t get yourself in any deeper than you have to.”

When the door is closed behind him, Abrams sits down with a sigh of relief and says, “It’s a lot better in here without them — especially that little shyster. Now maybe we can get somewhere!” He turns and sees that Nick, Nora, and David are huddled together whispering in a far corner of the room. David is telling Nick about Selma and the gun. Abrams says gloomily, “There it is again. If people got anything to say, why don’t they say it to me?”

The huddle breaks up, Nick saying “Just a little family gossip.”

Abrams says, “I’d even like to hear that.” He asks Polly, “Did you ever see Mr. Graham before?”

Polly says, “I saw him tonight, when we went to get the bonds.”

Abrams asks, “You and Robert Landis went to get them?”

Polly says, “Yes. He was waiting for us on the corner of ___ Street — and he gave them to Robert.”

Abrams asks, “And then what?”

Polly says, “And then nothing. We left him and Robert went home.”

Abrams asks, “And what did you do?”

Polly, after a moment’s hesitation, says, “I went with him.”

Abrams asks, “He took you home with him?”

Polly says, “Well, not in the house. I waited for him a block away — around the corner.”

Abrams asks, “And then what?”

Polly says, “I waited a long time and then I heard a shot — only I thought it might be an automobile backfire — it was foggy and I was too far away to see anything — and I didn’t know what to do — then after a while a policeman went past the doorway where I was standing — and a police car came — then I honestly didn’t know what had happened, but I thought I’d better get out of the neighborhood if I didn’t want to get in trouble — so I came back here—”

Abrams says, “Phooey!” and looks at Nick.

Nick says, “I think somebody ought to ask her where she was too far away from—”

Polly stammers, “From wherever it was it happened. If I hadn’t been too far away, I’d have known where it was, wouldn’t I?”

Nick says, “I give up.”

Abrams. “All right — we’ll come back to that later. So you were waiting for him? What were you going to do if he hadn’t been killed?”

Polly glances uneasily at the door through which Dancer went, then shrugs and says, “We were going away.”

Abrams. “Where to?”

Polly. “New York first, I suppose — then Europe, he said.”

Abrams (looking at her evening gown). “Dressed like that?”

Polly. “We were going to stop at my place for me to change.”

Abrams. “Dancer know you were going?”

Polly. “No.”

Abrams. “Think he found it out, and knocked Landis off?”

Polly, shaking her head quickly from side to side. “No!”

Abrams. “You’re supposed to be Dancer’s gal, aren’t you?”

Polly. “I work for him.”

Abrams. “That’s not what I asked you.”

Polly. “You’ve got it wrong — honest. He knew I was running around with Robert — ask anybody.”

Abrams. “How long?”

Polly. “A month — three weeks anyhow.”

Abrams. “Get much money out of Landis?”

Polly, hesitantly. “He gave me some.”

Abrams. “How much?”

Polly. “I don’t know exactly. I–I can tell you tomorrow, I guess.”

Abrams. “Did you split it with Dancer?”

Polly. “Why, no!”

Abrams. “Maybe you’re lying. Maybe Dancer found out you were going away where you could keep all the sugar to yourself — and he put a stopper to it.”

Polly. “That’s silly!”

Abrams. “Sure. And hanging up in the air with a hunk of rope around your neck is silly, too.”

After a little pause to let that sink in, he says, “Landis hadn’t been home for a couple of days. Was he with you?”

Polly. “Most of the time.”

Abrams. “Drunk?”

Polly. “Yes.”

Abrams. “In your apartment?”

Polly. “There and here.”

Abrams. “Anybody else with you in your apartment?”

Polly. “No.”

Abrams. “Let’s get back to the money. How much did you get out of him — roughly?”

Polly stares at the floor in silence.

Abrams. “As much as a grand or two? Or more?”

Polly, not looking up. “More.”

Abrams. “More than five grand?” Polly nods. “All right, kick through — about how much?”

Polly shrugs wearily, opens her bag, takes out a check and gives it to Abrams, saying “A couple hundred dollars besides that, I guess.”

Abrams looks at the check, then up at the girl and asks, “What’d he give you this for?”

Polly. “Well, I was chucking up a job and everything to go away with him, and I didn’t want to take chances on being stranded somewhere off in Europe.”

Abrams. “Looks like you didn’t, all right.” He beckons to the others, who come to look over his shoulders at the check. It is to the order of Polly Byrnes for $10,000 and is signed by Robert Landis. They look at one another in amazement.

Nick says, “Where do you suppose he got hold of that much?”

Abrams. “Why? Aren’t they rich?”

Nick. “The money is his wife’s, and she found out some time ago that she had to stop giving him too much at a time — just on account of things like this.”

Abrams. “Yeah? How about the signature?”

Nick. “Looks all right to me.”

David. “And to me.”

Abrams (as if thinking aloud). “But he don’t usually have this much money, huh?” He asks Polly, “Sure you didn’t take this to the bank today and find out it was no good?”

Polly. “I did not.”

Abrams. “That’s something we can check up. You know you’re not going to have any easy time collecting this — unless his wife’s as big a sap as he was.”

Polly. “Why? He gave it to me.”

Abrams. “Maybe. But his bank account’s automatically tied up now till the estate’s settled, and then I got an idea you’re going to have to do a fancy piece of suing — taking a drunk for his roll!”

Polly. “I’ll take my chances. Just the same, if his dying makes all that trouble, that shows we didn’t have anything to do with killing him, doesn’t it? Why wouldn’t we wait till after we’d cashed it?”

Abrams. “We, we, we! So Dancer was in on it! How about the Chinaman?”

Polly. “Nobody was in on it. There was nothing to be in on.”

Abrams. “Phooey!” He addresses the remaining detective. “Okay, Butch. Take her and her two playmates down to the Hall and let the district attorney’s office know you’ve got ’em there. We’ll be along in a little while.” He turns to Nick. “Or do you want to ask her something?”

Nick. “Yes. Did Robert Landis know Pedro Dominges?”

Polly shakes her head and says, “Not that I—” She remembers something. “Once when Robert and I were going out together, we passed him and he said good evening to both of us by name and we couldn’t figure out how he knew Robert’s, and Robert made some joke about nobody being able to hide anything from a landlord.”

Nick. “Thanks.”

Polly and the detective go out.

Abrams. “That mean anything to you?”

Nick. “Not too much.”

Abrams. “Now, Mr. Graham, I’ve got to—” He breaks off to look at Nora and Nick, saying thoughtfully “I don’t know whether you two ought to be in here while I’m doing this or not.”

Nick, yawning, says, “I know where we ought to be. Come on, darling.”

Abrams. “Maybe you ought to stay. Now, Mr. Graham, I got to ask a lot of questions that you’re not going to like, but I got to ask ’em.”

David. “I understand.”

Abrams. “First off, you’re in love with Mrs. Landis. Right?” David starts to protest, then simply nods. “She in love with you?”

David, trying to speak calmly in spite of the painfulness of this inqury. “You’ll have to ask her.”

Abrams. “I will. Did she ever say she was?”

David. “Not — not since she was married.”

Abrams. “Before?”

David. “We were once engaged.”

Abrams. “Until Landis came along?”

David, in a very low voice. “Yes.”

Abrams. “Ever ask her to divorce him and marry you?”

David. “She knew how I felt — it wasn’t necessary to—”

Abrams. “But did you ever ask her?”

David. “I may have.”

Abrams. “And what did she say?”

David. “She never said she would.”

Abrams. “But you hoped she would. And you thought with him out of the way she would.”

David looks Abrams in the eye and says, “I didn’t kill Robert.”

Abrams. “I said you did? But you did pay him to go away.”

David. “Yes.”

Abrams. “Did she know about it?”

David. “No, not unless he told her.”

Abrams. “Were you and Landis on good terms?”

David. “Decidedly not.”

Abrams. “On very bad terms?”

David. “Very bad.”

The lights go out. In complete darkness Abrams’ voice is heard saying “Stay where you are — everybody!”

From the distance come the sounds of doors crashing, of glass breaking, of feet running, of men shouting; then close at hand furniture is knocked over, a door is slammed open, feet pound on the floor, two shots are fired, bodies thud and thrash around on the floor. Presently a cigarette lighter snaps on, held in Nick’s hand. Behind him, in the dim light, Nora’s and David’s faces can be seen. The three of therm are looking down at their feet. Abrams lies on the floor on his back. On top of him, mechanically chewing gum, his face serene, is Harold. One of his feet is on Abrams’ throat; both his hands are clamped around one of Abrams’ feet, twisting it inward and upward in the old Gotch toehold.

Nick says gently, “Harold, Harold, get up from there. Lieutenant Abrams isn’t going to like this.”

Harold, cheerfully. “You’re the boss.” He jumps up.

As Abrams gets up, a hand to his throat, Nick says, “My chauffeur. Stout fellow, eh?”

Abrams goes toward Harold, saying “What do you think you—”

Harold sticks his face into the lieutenant’s and says, “What am I supposed to do? I’m sitting out there and I see the lights go off. Nick and Mrs. Charles are up here and I know what kind of dump it is. Think I’m going to sit out there like a sissy till they throw the bodies out? How do I know you’re a copper?” Then more argumentatively as he goes on. “Suppose I did know it? How can I tell Nick ain’t got hisself in a jam with the police?”

Nick. “All right — but don’t you boys think you’d better stop wrangling long enough to find out who turned out the lights and did the shooting?” He asks Harold, “Did you run into anybody else on your way up?”

Harold. “Only the copper, here.”

The lights go on.

They are standing in the passageway outside Dancer’s apartment. As they start toward the front of the building, out of the restaurant comes one of Abrams’ men with Polly, Lum Kee, and Caspar, and behind them another detective, dragging a Chinese waiter.

Abrams asks in a complaining voice, “Well, now what have you been letting them do?”

One of the detectives, indicating the waiter, says, “Dancer had this monkey pull the switch and beat it out a window. Butch is hunting for him now.”

Abrams asks, “And what was that shooting?”

The other detective says sheepishly, “I guess it was me. I thought there was somebody running at me but I guess it was only me in the mirror.”

Abrams says wearily, “All right — but this time take them down to the Hall like I told you.”

David has taken Nick a little aside and is asking “Should I tell him about Selma and the gun?”

Nick. “It depends on whether you think she did it.”

David. “Of course not — do you?”

Nick. “No. Then the only thing to do is to tell him everything.”

At this point, Abrams, returning from seeing his men off, says, “I asked you people not to go off whispering in corners all the time.”

David. “Lieutenant Abrams, I’ve something to tell you. I happened...”

Abrams interrupts him. “All right — but we’re all going down to the Hall where we can talk in peace. I don’t like the high jinks that come off here.”

Nora yawns.

Abrams. “Sorry, Mrs. Charles. I won’t keep you any longer than I have to but we’ve got to do things regular.”

A cheap hotel room. Phil is sitting at a table playing solitaire with a gun on the table. He is smoking nervously and there is a pile of cigarette butts on a saucer near him. Presently there is a knock on the door. He picks up the gun and stares at the door with frightened eyes but doesn’t answer. The knock is repeated, louder. After a little pause, Dancer’s voice comes through, saying “This is Dancer — will you open the door or will I kick it in?”

Slowly, as if afraid to open the door and afraid not to, Phil gets up and, holding the gun behind him, goes to the door and unlocks it. Dancer pushes the door open violently, knocking Phil back against the wall, then kicks the door shut; and standing close to Phil, says with threatening mildness, “What did I tell you about trying to cut yourself in on somebody else’s game?”

Outside the Hall of Justice — broad daylight. Harold is asleep in Nick’s car. Nick, Nora, and Abrams come out of the building surrounded by a flock of reporters.

Abrams is saying to the reporters “Lay off us. I told you anything you get, you’ll have to get from the DA.” He then says to Nick and Nora, “I could use a lot of breakfast. How about you folks?”

Nick looks at his watch and says, “I could use a lot of sleep.”

Nora is too sleepy to say anything.

Abrams insists. “Yeah, but you got to eat anyhow, don’t you, and there’s a pretty good place not far from here.”

Nick asks, “You mean you want to ask some more questions?”

Abrams. “No, not exactly, but there are a couple of points.”

Nick. “We’ll drop you wherever you’re going and you can ask them on the way — but if you get wrong answers it’s because I’m talking in my sleep.”

As they are about to get into Nick’s car, a taxicab drives up and Dancer gets out. Abrams goes over and grabs him by the shoulder, asking “Where have you been?”

Dancer. “Hiding — where’d you think I’ve been? The lights go out and somebody starts shooting — I haven’t even got a gun — I don’t know whether somebody’s trying to get me or if I’m being framed by you people, or what — so I did the only smart thing I could think of and played the duck and waited for daylight so I can at least see who’s shooting at me.”

Abrams turns to Nick and says, “Phooey! I won’t be more than a minute. I’m going to turn him over to the boys. I’m afraid to trust myself with him this morning — I’m liable to slap him around too much.” He and Dancer go back into the Hall of Justice.

Abrams returns almost immediately, gets into the car with Nick and Nora complaining “What stories these guys think up.” They drive off.

Interior Nick’s car. Nick, Nora, and Abrams are sitting together. Nora is nodding sleepily, her head keeps bobbing in front of Nick, interfering with his vision. Whenever Nick turns to speak to Abrams, her head falls back, concealing him.

Abrams. “Sure I believe David Graham — I guess, but how do I know he ought to have believed Mrs. Landis? Well, I’m going to talk to her today, if I have to lock up that lame nut doctor while I do it. On the level, Mr. Charles. What’s she doing with him around if she isn’t at least a little bit punchy?”

Nick. “I don’t think she is — just very nervous. You know how idle wives get — look at Mrs. Charles, for instance.”

Abrams looks at Nora, who by this time is sound asleep, her chin resting on her chest.

Nick goes on — “and then, living with Robert wasn’t doing her any good.”

Abrams. “You honestly don’t think she did it?”

Nick. “No.”

Abrams. “She had the best reason. Graham had paid him to go away and he was going away, so he didn’t have much reason — Dancer and the Chinaman and the Byrnes gal were taking him all right, but killing him made it tough for them on the check. Besides, why didn’t they grab the bonds and that jewelry of his wife’s that he had on him? And that goes for the Byrnes gal, even if she was double-crossing the others.”

Nick asks, “How about Phil — her brother?”

Abrams. “There’s no telling exactly until we get hold of him, but he figures to be out for the dough, too — so why don’t he grab the bonds? He don’t sound to me like a lad who would kill somebody just because he was running off with his sister.”

Nick. “Lots of stickups go wrong — perhaps he had to leave before he could get the stuff.”

Abrams. “You mean on account of Mrs. Landis running around the corner with a gun in her hand like she said she did? If he saw her, why didn’t she see him, and she didn’t say anything about that, did she?”

Nick. “Back in the office, you said Landis and Pedro were killed with bullets from the same gun. She doesn’t fit in very well with Pedro’s killing; but Polly lived in his house, which ties his killing up at least a little with her and the others.”

Abrams. “That’s right enough, and I guess there’s not much doubt that he was killed because he was on his way to tell you something. It’s a fair bet that that something he was going to tell you had to do with Robert Landis, but there’s something funny about that house that I want to show you. Maybe, if you’ve got a few minutes—”

Nick. “You don’t mean the goats in the hallway?”

Abrams, surprised. “What goats?”

Nick. “Never mind — but Mr. and Mrs. Charles aren’t going anywhere but home — to sleep. Think you’ll be able to fish Mrs. Landis’ gun up from where David threw it?”

Abrams. “I guess so. Anyway, the boys are down there working now.” He pauses. “—and when we get that, then we’ll know. It will only take a few minutes to go over to that apartment house.”

Nick. “Call me later. We’ve been on a train for three days and look what kind of a night we’ve had.”

Abrams. “All right — I could use a little sleep myself but I’ve got to talk to Mrs. Landis and got to stop at the bank and see about that check.”

Harold pulls over to the curb and Abrams gets out. Nora almost falls out after him as he withdraws his support. Abrams helps Nick put her back on the seat and placing her head on his shoulder, Nick nods goodbye to Abrams, who waves to him as they drive off.

Nick and Nora in their car going home. She is sleeping on his shoulder. With his free hand he unties his necktie and takes off his shirt. When he twists around a little to unbutton his collar, in back, Nora wakes up and asks, “What are you doing?”

Nick. “I’m getting as few clothes as possible between me and bed.”

Nora. “That’s cheating.” She begins to loosen her clothes. They arrive at the house. As they go up the front steps, Nora says, “Last one in bed is a sissy!” They run into the house pulling off clothes.

From the living room to meet them come Asta and the reporters that they left at the Hall of Justice, the reporters asking questions “Do the police suspect Mrs. Landis?” “What connections had Pedro Dominges with the Landis killing?” et cetera, et cetera.

Nick insists he knows nothing about it and has nothing to say as they go back into the living room, winding up with “I’m going to give you boys one drink apiece and then put you out.”

One of the reporters asks, “Well, answer another question for us and we won’t print it if you don’t want us to. Is it true that you actually didn’t retire as a detective but are working under cover?”

Nick, starting to pour drinks. “No, it’s not true, but don’t print it because I don’t want my wife’s relatives to know I’m living on her money.”

A stone with a piece of paper wrapped around it crashes through the glass of the window and knocks the bottle out of his hand. Asta joyfully grabs the stone, runs under a sofa with it, and starts to chew the paper off while Nick and the reporters scramble after him. By the time Nick recovers the stone with the paper, the note has been pretty well chewed up. He spreads it out, glances at it and puts it in his pocket before the reporters, who are crowding around him, can read it.

Nick. “Silly little woman. I told her to stop writing me.”

The reporters, failing to get anything else out of Nick, rush out to see if they can find out who threw the stone. Nick smooths the note out and he and Nora, patching it as well as they can where Asta’s teeth have tom it, read it. It is crudely printed.

The rest of the note has been chewed off by Asta.

Nick, indifferently. “Well, what are we supposed to do, send them an anniversary present?”

Nora. “Nick, phone Lieutenant Abrams!”

Nick. “And have him up here to keep us awake some more?”

Nora insists. “Phone him, Nick. Don’t you see, if Phil was her husband...”

Nick grumbles, “I guess you’re right,” and goes out of the room.

Nora plays with Asta for a minute or two and then goes to the door of the next room where the phone is. Not seeing Nick, she calls him. There is no answer. After a little hesitancy, she goes up to the bedroom. Nick, in pajamas, is asleep. On her pillow is a sign: SISSY.

Aunt Katherine at telephone at her home. Dr. Kammer is sitting in a chair nearby. She calls a number and asks, “Mr. Moody. This is Miss Forrest calling.”

Series of Short Shots. Printing press running off extras with enormous headlines: MEMBER OF PROMINENT FAMILY KILLED.

Editorial room of newspaper office — men being assigned to cover this story.

Then up to publisher’s office, where Peter Moody, a very dignified old man with a grave and courteous manner, is picking up the phone, saying “Yes, Katherine, how are you? I’m awfully sorry to hear about Robert’s death.”

Aunt Katherine. “Thank you, Peter. It’s terrible and that’s what I called you about. The police, it seems, are trying to make a great deal of mystery out of what must have been — it couldn’t have been anything else — simply an attempted holdup. I hope I can count on you to do your best to give the whole terrible affair no more publicity than is absolutely necessary.”

Peter Moody. “Of course, of course, Katherine. But you must understand that if the police make it news we must print it.”

Aunt Katherine. “I understand, but you will handle it as quietly as possible?”

Moody. “Certainly, I can promise you that. And will you please convey my sympathy to poor Selma.” Aunt Katherine. “Thank you, Peter.”

As Peter Moody puts down the phone, a man comes into the office bringing an early copy of the extra that had been run off with the enormous headline seen in the previous shot.

Moody looks at it and nods with approval, saying “Very good.”

Aunt Katherine phones her brother, the general, who is having his whiskers trimmed by a valet almost as old as he is. The valet hands him the phone, saying “Miss Forrest, sir.”

The general hems and haws between his words a good deal. “It’s terrible, Katherine — I just heard — I’m on my way over.”

Aunt Katherine. “Yes, terrible, Thomas and I want to see you — but first, will you see if you can get in touch with the mayor?”

General. “The mayor?” He clears his throat some more.

Aunt Katherine. “Yes. I’m sure poor Robert was killed by a robber, but the police seem determined to make as big a mystery out of it, with as much resultant notoriety for all of us as possible. I wish you would ask him to do what he can.”

General. “Certainly, my dear,” clearing his throat again, “I shall look after it immediately.”

As Katherine hangs up, he gives the valet the phone, saying “Get me the mayor” in the tone one says, “Get me a newspaper.”

As Aunt Katherine turns from the phone toward Dr. Kammer, the butler appears at the door to announce Lieutenant Abrams.

Several hours later, the general arrives at Nick’s house. He hands his hat to the butler who opens the door and says, “Take me to Mr. Charles immediately.”

Butler. “But he’s still asleep, sir.”

The general snorts, saying “Yes, yes, so you said when Miss Forrest phoned. Devilish inconsiderate of all of you.”

The butler says apologetically, “But we never disturb him when he’s asleep, sir.”

The general snorts some more. “You said that over the phone, too. Now stop this silly nonsense and take me to him.”

The butler, overawed by the general, takes him up to Nick and Nora’s room. They are sleeping soundly. The general prods one of Nora’s shoulders with his finger and says, “Here, here, wake up.”

Nora stirs a little and mumbles something but doesn’t open her eyes.

The general prods her again, saying “Come — this is no time to be sleeping. Devilish inconsiderate of all of you.”

This time Nora opens her eyes and stares up at him in amazement.

General. “Wake up your young man, my dear. Why doesn’t the fellow sleep at night?”

Nora asks, “But what’s the matter, Uncle Thomas?”

General. “Matter? We’ve been trying to get you for hours. Wake him up.”

Nora shakes Nick, who says without opening his eyes, “Go away porter, I told you not to call me till Sacramento.”

Nora. “Wake up, Nick, Uncle Thomas wants to talk to you.”

Nick. “Tell the white-whiskered old fossil to do his snorting in somebody else’s ear — I’m busy.”

Nora. “But Nick, he’s here, standing beside you.”

Nick sits up blinking and says, “Why, Uncle Thomas, how nice of you to drop in on us like this.”

General. “Come — enough of this nonsense. Selma has been arrested and you lie here snoring.”

Nora looks horrified.

The general snorts some more. “The mayor did nothing to stop it — the bounder.”

Nick. “Maybe he didn’t know.”

The general asks, “Didn’t know what?”

Nick. “That I was snoring.”

General. “Come, get up. You know about these things — Katherine is counting on you.”

Nick, putting on his robe and slippers, says, “You don’t need me now, you need a lawyer.”

The general says contemptuously, “A lawyer — old Witherington is running around in circles, completely at sea; no ability at all, that fellow.”

Nick. “Then why don’t you get another lawyer?” The general draws himself up. “Witherington has been our family attorney for years.”

Nick. “Well, what do you expect me to do?” General. “To make the police stop being so silly — to get Selma out of there right away — to put an end to all this beastly notoriety.”

Nick asks, “Is that all?”

General. “Come — we’re wasting time — get into your clothes.”

In a barely furnished office in the Hall of Justice, Nick is talking to Abrams.

Abrams. “I know how you feel about it, Mr. Charles, I guess I’d feel the same way if it was one of my family; but what can we do? Everything points to her.”

Nick asks, “You mean you found out some things I don’t know about?”

Abrams. “Well, not much, maybe, but there’s that check thing.”

Nick asks, “What check thing?”

Abrams. “Maybe the district attorney isn’t going to like this much, but I’ll tell you: I went down to Landis’ bank and that ten-thousand-dollar check he gave the girl is perfectly okay. It was okay because his wife had put ten thousand in there for him just the day before.”

Nick looks surprised. He asks, “Are you sure?”

Abrams. “Sure, I’m sure. I saw it myself.”

Nick. “Did you ask her about it?”

Abrams replies wearily, “Yes, and there’s some kind of hanky-panky there, too, but I can’t figure out just what it is. She started to say she didn’t and then the old lady, Miss Katherine,” he breaks off to add — “that one’s a holy terror—”

Nick. “Make two copies of that.”

Abrams. “—she spoke up and said, ‘You did, Selma, you told me so yourself,’ and then Mrs. Landis said yes, she did.”

Nick asks, “So where does that fit in?”

Abrams. “So maybe she gave it to him and found out he was passing it on to the girl — how do I know? Every time I tried to pin her down she gets hysterical.”

Nick asks, “Find out anything else at the bank?”

Abrams. “No. He had given the Byrnes gal a check for a hundred dollars and one for seventy-five, like she told us.” He takes the checks out of a desk drawer, saying “Here, if you want to see them.”

Nick looks at them and asks, “Have you got the ten-thousand-dollar check he gave her?”

Abrams. “Yes.” He gives it to him.

Nick stands up, tilting back a light-shade, holds one of the small checks with the $10,000 check over it up against the light and tries the big check with the other small one. Abrams stands up to look over his shoulder. Nick fiddles with the checks until the signature of the top one is exactly over the bottom one.

Abrams exclaims, “A forgery!”

Nick nods, saying “Yes, a tracing. Nobody ever writes that much the same twice.”

Abrams picks up the telephone and says, “Give me Joe,” then says, “Joe, go out and pick up that Polly Byrnes for me.”

When he puts down the phone, Nick asks, “You aren’t holding any of them?”

Abrams shakes his head and says, “No. The guns we got from the Chinaman and Dancer are .38’s all right, like he was killed with, but the experts say they are not the guns that did it. I’m still not too sure this forgery is going to help Mrs. Landis much. I already told you I knew there was some hanky-panky about these checks.”

Nick asks, “You haven’t found her gun yet?”

Abrams. “I got a couple of men in diving suits working over the bottom down around where David Graham threw it. But it was night, you know, and we can’t be too sure of the exact spot.”

Nick. “And you think you are going to convict her if you don’t find the gun?”

Abrams. “Maybe I do and maybe I don’t. It’s what the district attorney thinks.”

Nick. “Does he think she killed Pedro Dominges?”

Abrams. “That’s not funny, Mr. Charles. Her alibi covering that time is just no good at all. She claims a compact had been mailed to her from the Li-Chee and she sent it back saying it wasn’t hers; but she thinks it belongs to some woman who was there with Robert, so that afternoon, when she’s kind of nuts over him not being home for a couple of days, she goes down there to see if she can find out about him. Of course that joint don’t open till evening and so she didn’t see anybody that could tell us she was there. She says she went back home again and that just about covers the time that Dominges was being killed. On the level, Mr. Charles, we had nobody else but her that we could hold.”

Nick. “Found your Selma Young yet?”

Abrams. “No.”

Nick. “How about Phil?”

Abrams. “Sure, maybe, if we can find him.”

Nick takes out the note that was thrown through the window, gives it to Abrams.

Abrams reads it carefully, then asks, “And where did this come from?”

Nick. “Somebody wrapped it around a dornick and heaved it through my window.”

Abrams asks, “Where’s the rest of it?”

Nick. “Somewhere in my dog’s intestines.”

Abrams reads slowly, “—lives at the Mil—”

Nick pushes the telephone book over to him and says, “Maybe that won’t be so tough. Polly said he lived in a hotel on Turk Street.”

Abrams. “That’s right.” He opens the telephone book to the “hotel” classification and runs his finger down the “Mi” entries, finally coming to the Miltern Hotel, — Turk Street.

Abrams. “That could be it — want to give it a try with me?”

Nick. “Right!” They get up. As they go toward the door, Nick says, “You noticed that whoever wrote the note misspelled easy words like my name and ‘years,’ but did all right with ‘alias’ and ‘married’?”

Abrams. “Yeah, I noticed.”

Exterior of Miltern Hotel — a small, shabby, dirty joint with a door between two stores, and stairs leading up to an office on the second floor. Abrams, Nick, and two other detectives get out of a car which draws up with no sound of sirens. One of the men remains at the outer door. Nick, Abrams, and the other detective start up the stairs. They go up to a small and dark office. Nobody is there. Abrams knocks on the battered counter. After a little while, a man in dirty shirt-sleeves appears. Abrams asks him, “Is Mr. Phil Byrnes in?”

The man says, “We ain’t got no Mr. Byrnes — not even a Mrs. Byrnes.”

Abrams. “Have you got a Ralph West?”

The man. “Yep.”

Abrams. “Is he in?”

The man. “I don’t know — room 212 — next floor.”

Abrams says to the detective with him, “Get on the back stairs.”

Abrams and Nick walk up the front stairs and down a dark hall until they find room 212. Abrams knocks on the door — there is no answer. He knocks again, saying in what he tries to make a youthful voice “Telegram for Mr. West.” There is still no answer. He looks at Nick. Nick reaches past him and turns the knob, pushing the door open.

Nick. “After you, my dear Lieutenant.”

Sprawled on his back across the bed, very obviously dead, is Phil, fully dressed as when we last saw him.

Nick points to something on the floor between them and the bed. It is a pair of spectacles, the frame bent, the glass ground almost to a powder. Abrams nods and comes into the room, stepping over the glasses, and leans over Phil.

Abrams. “Dead, all right — strangled, and he was beaten up some before the strangling set in.” He looks down at one of Phil’s hands, then picks it up and takes half a dozen hairs from it. Turning to show them to Nick, he says, “Somebody’s hair in his hand.”

Nick looks at the hairs, then at the broken glasses on the floor. He says nothing. It is obvious he is trying to figure something out.

Abrams goes out saying “Wait a minute — I’ll have one of the boys phone and then we’ll give the room a good casing.”

Nick moves around the room looking at things, opening and shutting drawers and looking into a closet, but apparently not finding anything of interest until he sees an automatic on the floor under one corner of the bed. He bends down to look at it but doesn’t touch it.

While Nick is looking at the gun, Abrams returns to the room.

Nick. “Here’s another .38 for your experts to match up.”

Abrams. “Hmm, what do you think?”

Nick. “I don’t think — I used to be a detective myself.”

Abrams. “Nobody downstairs seems to know about any visitors, but I guess the kind he had wouldn’t have gone to the trouble of knocking on the counter like we did.”

He leans over Phil and begins to go through his pockets. Then he straightens up and says, “I guess the heater’s his. He’s wearing an empty shoulder holster.” He holds up a flat key and adds, “And I guess this is the key to the Byrnes gal’s apartment. It’s got her number stamped on it.”

Nick. “Another good guess would be that Selma Landis didn’t do this.”

Abrams: “Fair enough, but he wasn’t killed the way the other ones were, either.”

Policemen enter, some in plain clothes, some in uniform, and Abrams starts to give them instructions about searching the room, looking for fingerprints, questioning the occupants of adjoining rooms, et cetera, et cetera.

Nick. “And I think you ought to have your laboratory look at that hair and the cheaters,” indicating the broken glasses.

Abrams. “Okay.” He looks curiously at Nick.

Nick. “And the sooner, the better.”

Abrams, again. “Okay.” He addresses one of the men standing and listening to them. “Do it.” He hands him the hair. Then turning back to Nick, he says, “Anything particular on your mind?”

Nick. “Ought to be on yours, with three murders tied together in just about twenty-four hours. Now that we’ve been told he’s her husband and he’s dead, don’t you think we ought to see Polly as soon as possible?”

Abrams says, “There’s something in that” and tells one of his men, “Don’t let these lugs dog it while I’m gone.” He and Nick go downstairs. In the office he uses the telephone. When he’s through, he grumbles, “They haven’t picked her up yet.” He scratches his chin, then says, “I’ve got a man waiting up in her apartment. Want to take a run up there? I told you there’s something funny about the place that I’d like you to see.”

Nick. “All right. Don’t you think now we’ve got something more to talk about to Dancer?”

Abrams says in a hurt tone, “I think of things sometimes. I told them to pick up him and the Chinaman both.”

They go downstairs to the street.

At Aunt Katherine’s, all the Forrests except Selma are assembled. They are very excited and keep moving around so that Asta, who obviously doesn’t like any of them, has a great deal of difficulty keeping out of their way. Nora and Dr. Kammer are also there.

The general is standing, glaring down at Nora, and asking indignantly, “Do you mean to say that this — ah — husband of yours actually advised David to tell the police about Selma and the pistol?”

Nora says defiantly, “Yes.”

The general starts to walk up and down the floor, sending Asta into hiding again, and rumpling his whiskers and growling. “Why, the fellow’s a scoundrel — an out-and-out scoundrel.”

Nora. “Nick’s not — he knows what he’s doing.”

The general snorts and says angrily, “Nonsense — nobody knows what they’re doing. The whole country is full of incompetents and scoundrels nowadays.”

Aunt Hattie nudges Aunt Lucy and asks, “What is Thomas saying now — he mutters so.”

Aunt Lucy, who has been sniffling into her handkerchief, sobs, “Poor Selma. This is a terrible thing to happen to me — only a week after my eighty-third birthday.”

Nora jumps up and says, “Nick’s not incompetent and he’s not a scoundrel. You’re all acting as if you thought Selma really killed Robert.”

Aunt Katherine and Dr. Kammer exchange significant glances. The general clears his throat and says, “It’s not a case of anybody killing anybody — it’s a case of his being so devilish inconsiderate of the family. Has the fellow no feelings?”

William, who is considered not too bright by the family, runs his finger inside his too-tight collar and asks, “Does anyone know if the police have considered the theory that Robert might have committed suicide?”

Aunt Katherine snaps at him, “That will do, William,” while the rest of them glare at him.

Burton, his tic working overtime, asks, “Well, where is this Nicholas? Why isn’t he here to explain himself?”

Nora. “Because he’s out trying to clear Selma while you all sit around here and criticize him.”

The general says, “I’d never have asked him if I’d known what the fellow’d been up to.”

Nora rises with great dignity and calls Asta. She faces the family and says, “I’m sure he doesn’t care what any of you think — he’s not doing it for you — he’s doing it for Selma. Good-bye.”

What would otherwise have been a dignified exit is spoiled by her bumping into the antique butler as she goes through the door. After the butler has gotten his breath, he says, “Mr. Graham on the phone for you, Mrs. Charles.”

She goes to the phone and says, “Hello, David.”

David, at the other end of the wire, asks excitedly, “Where is Nick? I tried your house and the detective bureau but he wasn’t there. Lieutenant Abrams wasn’t in either.”

Nora. “They’re probably out together. Oh, Lieutenant Abrams said something about wanting Nick to go over to that apartment house with him. Maybe they’re there. What is it, David?”

David. “Something’s happened — I’ve got to see Nick. What apartment house?”

Nora. “I’m leaving here now. I’ll meet you and take you there. Where are you?”

David. “I’m in a drugstore at Mason and Bush streets.”

Nora. “Wait for me — I’ll be right over.”

They hang up and she, after making a face at the direction of the room where she left the family, goes out and gets into her car.

Abrams and Nick arrive at the building where Polly has an apartment. It is a large, shabby building, set at the foot of Telegraph Hill. Across the street from it the hill rises steep and unpaved, with winding, wooden steps leading up between scattered small frame houses. The end of the street, even with the house’s left-hand wall, is closed by a high board fence. From the fence, as from the house wall, the ground falls perpendicularly fifty or sixty feet to a rock-strewn vacant lot covering several blocks. In the street and on the hill above, goats are roaming. As they approach the door a goat runs out and dodges past them and goes to join the others. The front door is open. Abrams and Nick go in. Abrams knocks on a door on the left side of the corridor. The door is opened by a plainclothesman who says, “Nary hide or hair of her yet.”

A policeman in uniform and another in plain clothes are bent over a table doing a crossword puzzle together. They rise hastily as Abrams comes in, but he pays no attention to them.

Abrams, as they go in. “This is Polly’s apartment. There’s nothing much here except you’ll notice the rug’s new.”

Nick looks at the rug and says, “Oh, I saw a new one once in a store window.”

Abrams, patiently. “All right, but wait — maybe it don’t mean anything, maybe it does.”

Nick asks, “What do you think it means?”

Abrams sighs and says, “If I knew, do you think I’d be wasting your time dragging you up here? We’ll go back here, now.” He leads the way out of Polly’s apartment down the hall to an apartment on the same floor in the rear, unlocking it with a key from his pocket, saying as he opens the door “This is the fellow’s that was killed — that Pedro Dominges.”

Nick says quickly, “Another new rug — I said it first.”

Abrams, pointing to the other end of the living room, where there is a rug rolled up and lying against the wall. “There’s another one.”

Nick asks, “What is this rug racket? Are we hunting for an Armenian?”

Abrams. “Maybe you’re right in kidding me — maybe none of this means anything, but just the same, he bought twelve rugs only a couple of days ago and that’s just how many apartments he’s got in the place.” He walks over to the table and says, “Here’s the bill. And the one apartment that didn’t get a rug was rented only last week to somebody named Anderson. No front name — no Mr. or Miss or Mrs., according to his books here. I want to show you that next.”

Nick asks, “What have you found out about him?”

Abrams. “Nothing. This guy Dominges ran this place by himself. We haven’t found anybody who ever saw this Anderson.”

There is a terrific uproar from the corridor. They go to the door to see Asta, a goat, and Nora (at the other end of Asta’s leash) all tangled up together, while David is trying to untangle them. When the goat has finally been chased out, they all return to Pedro’s apartment.

As Nick helps Nora brush off her clothes, she says, “Why that drunken man was right — there are goats in the hall.”

Nick. “You can always trust my friends, drunk or sober. Is that what you came down here to find out?”

Nora. “No. David has something to show you.”

David takes from his pocket a sheet of paper, on which in the same crude printing as on Nick’s note is:

After they have read it, Abrams asks, “Haw’d it come to you?”

David. “It was under my door when I woke up today.”

Nick. “The same half-smart attempt at illiteracy as the one I got.”

Abrams. “Yeah — but that don’t have to mean that what it says is wrong. Running out yours got us something, so why don’t we run out this?”

Nick. “We’ll have to wait until you pick up your people. Now how about this Anderson?”

Abrams. “To tell you the truth, Mr. Charles, I don’t believe there ever was any Anderson, but you can—”

Nick. “Tut-tut — don’t be so skeptical; you read his fairy tales when you were a child.”

Abrams, patiently. “Okay, kid me — but what I mean is — I don’t believe this Anderson ever was, and I’ll show you why when we get upstairs. As a matter of fact, I don’t believe anybody took that apartment.”

Nora. “I took that.”

They look at her in surprise. She has gotten up from the chair and has gone over to an enlarged snapshot hanging on the wall.

Abrams. “You did what, Mrs. Charles?”

Nora. “I took that picture. They’re the servants we had at Ross. There’s Pedro,” she points them out, “Ella, Ann, et cetera.”

Pedro looks much as Nora remembered him, except that he is six years younger and his mustache, while not small, is definitely not long, nor is it as white as it was when we saw him.

They all get up to look.

Nick asks, “You’re sure that place you had wasn’t on Coney Island?” He turns to Abrams and says, “I apologize for the domestic comedy. Let’s go up and look at the apartment that you say wasn’t rented by a fellow whose name wasn’t Anderson.”

Abrams leads the way up to the next floor, unlocks the door, leading them into the apartment over Polly’s, saying to Nick “See the rug—” The rug is stained and very worn.

Nick. “I get it — it’s not a new rug.”

Abrams. “Yeh, that’s one of the things I meant. I’ve got something else to show you—” He points to a corner of the room where there is a pile of old and battered iron pipe. “But the chief things that we found was that Pedro had the lock changed on the door only yesterday and all the fingerprints we found in here are his.”

Nick walks to a window, raises it and looks down the side of the cliff. He says, “A nice drop from here. Would I be guessing wrong if I said that this apartment was right over Polly’s?”

Abrams. “No, I guess not.”

Nick asks, “Well?”

Abrams. “I don’t know, Mr. Charles, for a fact, but not putting a new rug in and only his fingerprints here makes it look to me like he was kind of using the place and not figuring on renting it.”

Nick asks, “And you think he changed the lock so he couldn’t get in again to keep tenants out?”

Abrams, patiently, as usual, says, “I told you there was something funny here. I told you I didn’t know what it was all about.”

Nick. “Pedro was killed first. What are you picking on him for?”

Abrams. “What do I know from nothing? If you can think of anything, play your string out.”

Nick. “No hard feelings. Don’t take me too seriously. Suppose you were going to put a rug down, what would you do first?”

Abrams. “I don’t know — I guess I’d get somebody to lug it upstairs.”

Nick. “Swell. And then what?”

Abrams. “Then you start at one end of the room and roll it across the floor.”

Nick asks, “On top of this one?”

Abrams scratches his head and says, “No, I guess not.”

Nick. “All right — let’s take this one up first, then.”

Abrams. “Okay. You take that corner and I’ll take this one.”

Nick. “Who, me? Haven’t you got hired men downstairs?”

Abrams. “Sure.” He goes outside the door and yells, “Hey, Francis — you and that other cutie who was trying to find a three-letter word for ape, come up here.”

Nora, in a hoarse whisper, asks, “What is it, Nick?”

Nick. “Do I know? Men are dying all around and you ask me riddles.”

There is a clumping on the stairs and the plainclothesman and the uniformed policeman who were working on the crossword puzzle come in.

Abrams says to them, “You boys roll this three-letter word meaning rug down to the other end of a four-letter word meaning ‘room.’ ”

They say “sure” very eagerly, push furniture out of the way and start to roll the rug up. They roll it halfway when Nick says, “Maybe that’ll do for the time.” He walks over to a spot they have uncovered where six floorboards have been cut across in two places to make about a square foot. “Let’s look at this.”

Abrams, followed by his two men, goes to the spot Nick has indicated. Abrams opens a pocket knife, puts the blade in, and the sawed boards come up in a section, leaving a square-foot hole. He looks down, then puts his hand in and brings up a pair of flat earpieces on a steel band such as telephone operators wear, attached to a wire running down into the hole.

Nick. “I suppose we know what this is. Send one of the boys downstairs to recite the alphabet in Polly’s place.”

Abrams jerks a thumb at the plainclothesman and says, “Go ahead, Francis.”

Francis goes out. Presently, from down below through the earpieces comes Francis’ voice. “A B C D E—” A moment of hesitation, then: “A B C D—”

Nick. “Okay for sound. It was for listening in, all right.”

Abrams. “Yeah, that’s that. What do you guess this Pedro was up to?”

(All through this scene, Asta shows that he is very fond of David, ignoring both Nick and Nora in favor of him.)

Nick. “Well, there’s still this junk to figure—” He turns toward the pile of iron pipe in the corner. Asta is busy chewing it. “Get away from the evidence, Asta.”

Abrams. “He won’t be hurting it much — there was only Pedro’s fingerprints on it. What do you guess it was for? I couldn’t be thinking anybody would pipe gas through it.”

Nick. “Why not? With a layout like this, you can pipe gas in several directions at once.” He sits down on the floor and begins to screw sections of the pipe together. (This is actually a ladder, but he keeps the rungs sticking out in all directions and keeps it from being recognizable until, suddenly, when he puts the last piece on and turns it around.)

Nick, holding the finished ladder up, says, “Fifty will get you two-fifty that it will just about reach to Polly’s window below, with this piece left over—” picking up an extra part from the floor, “for good measure when he got there.”

He takes the ladder to the window, lowers it and hangs it on the sill. It reaches exactly to the sill of Polly’s apartment below.

Abrams. “What do you guess he wanted to do that for?”

Francis sticks his head in the door and says, “We got Byrnes. Do you want her up? And we got Dancer and Lum Kee, too.”

Abrams looks at Nick and asks, “Will they clutter it up for you? Do you think you got as much out of this place as you want?”

Nick. “The more the merrier. Perhaps not as much as I want, but as much as I think I’m going to get.”

Abrams says to Francis, “Okay, feed them to us.”

Nick asks Abrams, “What kind of clothes did you find in the place?”

Abrams. “None — not a stitch. Nothing to show anybody ever lived here. That’s why I told you I don’t believe anybody ever did.”

Nick asks, “Where does that fit in? Do you think Pedro was using the place himself — spying on the people downstairs? He’s killed first and, half a day later, Robert Landis, who visits downstairs, is killed, and the next day, the brother or husband or something of the gal he visits is killed. How are you going to blame all that on Pedro?”

Abrams, wearily. “Mr. Charles, how many times have I told you there was something funny here I don’t understand; and some hanky-panky about the checks I don’t understand? Did I ever pretend I knew what all this led to?”

Nick. “Oh, yes — about the checks. We’ve got to ask these people about them when they come upstairs and maybe they won’t want to say right out. What would be wrong with getting Mrs. Landis over so we’d have her here to chuck at them if they think we’re fooling?”

Abrams. “I don’t know, the DA’s kind of—”

Nick. “What — with a police escort?”

Abrams. “Okay — I’ll send for her.”

Nick. “God will reward you.”

Three policemen, one in uniform, bring in Polly, Dancer, and Lum Kee.

Abrams. “Francis, phone the Hall and tell them to bring up Mrs. Landis.”

Francis goes to the phone.

Nick, aside to Abrams. “Maybe they don’t know. Throw it hard enough to bounce.”

Abrams says to Nick, “Okay.” Turns to Polly: “Your husband was killed this afternoon. What do you know about it?”

Polly. “I — what?”

Abrams, to Dancer. “Her husband was killed this afternoon.”

Dancer. “Her what?”

Abrams. “Cut it out! We’re not playing charades.”

They look at him blankly.

Abrams, counting out syllables on his fingers, says, “Pol-ly had a hus-band named Phil e-ven if he was sup-posed to be her bro-ther and he was found dead on Turk Street this af-ter-noon.”

Polly and Dancer turn to face each other at the same moment, exclaiming simultaneously, “You—!!!” and then breaking off as they realize each is saying the same thing.

Abrams. “You — you — you what?”

Neither of them says anything.

Nick says to Abrams, “Simple enough — she started to accuse him of killing Phil because he found out he was her husband and he started to accuse her of double-crossing him by not telling him Phil was her husband.”

Abrams says to Polly, “He was your husband, wasn’t he? Married three years ago in Topeka?”

She nods, glancing sidewise at Dancer. “But I didn’t want to have any more to do with him and so when he showed up last week I didn’t say anything about it.”

Abrams. “What did he go to the pen for?”

Polly. “Blackmail.”

Abrams. “And what did he have on you that he was hanging around shaking you down for?”

Polly, hesitantly. “Well, he knew about me and Robert and I didn’t want Robert to find out I was married, and then I was kind of sorry for Phil. He was broke and had come out of the pen with bad lungs.”

Abrams. “And why did you keep it from Dancer?”

Polly. “It was nobody else’s business, and a girl in this racket gets along better without people knowing about things like that.”

Abrams. “You didn’t know Dancer found out about it, did you?”

Polly. “Not until—” And breaks off with a frightened look at Dancer.

Abrams. “Go ahead — not until what?”

Dancer. “I never found out about it up to now.” Then, to Polly. “I wish I had, Baby.”

Abrams says to Dancer, “Stick your mouth out of this until you get your invitation. You’ll get it.” Then to Polly. “And now you think he killed Phil because he found out?”

Polly stammers, “No— I don’t— I—”

Abrams breaks in very sharply. “Isn’t it the truth, sister, that you and this husband of yours were working together on Robert Landis and something went wrong and you had to kill him?”

Polly shakes her head and says, “No.”

Abrams, paying no attention to her answer. “And then isn’t it just as true that Dancer found out about it and killed Phil?”

Dancer interrupts again. “Listen, I never found out about it till I come to this room.”

Abrams. “Whenever you found out about it, what do you think now — don’t you think they were double-crossing you?”

Dancer shrugs and says, “Maybe I do now, but I didn’t know anything about it till you told me.”

Abrams asks him, “Do you think Phil tried to stick Landis up and had to kill him?”

Dancer replies contemptuously, “I don’t know what a punk like that would do.”

Abrams’ manner has become increasingly irritable through this scene so that when, as he starts to ask Dancer, “Now do you—” and Nick interrupts him by saying, “Let’s go into the check business,” Abrams turns around and says, sharply for him, “Who’s doing this?”

Nick says very mildly, “It’s hardly ever been my party. Come on, Nora.”

Abrams says very earnestly, “Aw, listen, Mr. Charles, I’m not getting any rest out of this at all and I’m kind of jumpy. What were you going to say?”

Nick. “I thought I said it — about those forgeries?”

Dancer says to Nick, “I’ve put up with your gum-heeling for a day or two, but I got a business to run. I better be down there running it than barbering here with you. Why don’t the two of us just go out in the hall and see who smacks who in the nose and call it square?”

Nick. “No, let’s do it the hard way. The ten-grand check Landis is supposed to have given Polly is a forgery.”

Dancer. “So what’s it to me?”

Nick. “The signature was traced from one of the other checks he gave her.”

Dancer. “I’m still asking you — what’s that to me?”

Nick. “Maybe Polly can answer that.” He asks her, “Did you do the tracing or did he?”

While Polly is hesitating, Dancer says very distinctly, “I told you before, I don’t know anything about that check. Whatever was between Landis and Polly was between them.”

Nick says to Polly, “You were right — they are letting you hold the bag.”

Before Polly can answer, Dancer, addressing Nick, but talking for Polly’s benefit, asks, “What bag? This check you’re talking about — has anybody tried to pass it yet? What kind of charge have you got against her until she does?”

Nick and Abrams look at each other and Abrams says, “Wise guy.” Then to Polly. “Come on, answer that question now.”

Polly says hesitantly, “Well, I don’t know— I—” She breaks off, looking all the time at Dancer, hoping for a cue.

Dancer says nothing and gives Polly no sign.

Polly. “Honestly, Lieutenant Abrams, I don’t think that check is a forgery.”

Abrams asks, “Where did you get it?”

Polly. “Well, I—” She breaks off again.

Abrams. “What are you covering this lug up for, sister?” He takes the note David had given him out of his pocket and shows it to her, saying “See, he had already found out Phil was your husband.”

Polly reads the note and her eyes widen. She looks at Dancer.

Dancer. “If you’re helping to frame me, Polly, okay; I’ll have to figure out what I do about that, but if you haven’t made a dicker for yourself with the police, I don’t see where you’ll be getting anywhere just running off at the head for the fun of it.”

Abrams starts toward Dancer, saying angrily, “Listen, you—”

The door opens and Caspar comes in. He bows very formally to everybody in the room, then says to Dancer, “I just heard a moment ago.” Then, very pompously, to Abrams. “Lieutenant,I cannot permit you to—”

Abrams turns to Nick and groans, “Now, look — we got this five-and-ten-cent-store Darrow with us again.”

Caspar says to Nick, “Good evening, Mr. Charles.”

Nick bows, buttoning up his coat and patting his pockets to see if he’s lost anything.

Caspar goes over to Dancer, puts a hand on his shoulder, and says, “My dear boy — I’m entirely at your service.”

Dancer shakes the hand off his shoulder and snarls, “You ought to be — for the dough you charge me.”

Caspar tries to smile as if he thought Dancer were joking. He asks Lum Kee, “What are these policemen doing now?”

Lum Kee, bland as usual, says, “Trouble, trouble — they want to see us — we go — why not? They police, we innocent, you betcha.”

Abrams growls, “Aw, cut it out. Hold your conferences on your own time. We’ve got work to do. Has anybody here ever been in this apartment before?”

Some of those there say “No,” some shake their heads.

Abrams looks questioningly at Nick. Nick says, “Perhaps Polly could help us if we told her what it’s all about.”

Polly. “What?”

Nick. “You know this place is right over yours?”

Polly. “Yes.”

Nick, indicating the earpieces. “With that dingus you can hear a pin drop in your place.” She stares at the earpieces in surprise. Nick goes on. “And if you’ll go to the window, you’ll see a ladder running down to your window.” She goes to the window, looks at the ladder, then turns back to Nick, still more bewildered. Nick picks up the extra piece of pipe and says, “And nobody’s head would be helped much by being patted with this.”

Polly. “But I don’t understand—”

Nick, looking at Dancer and Lum Kee, says, “Is there anybody here that does understand?”

Dancer looks sullenly at him but doesn’t say anything.

Lum Kee says cheerfully, “We run restaurant — you detective.”

Nick to Polly. “Even if you don’t understand, who can you think of that would have this much interest in you?” hefting the pipe in his hand.

Polly. “Nobody.”

Nick. “Phil had a key to your apartment. Has Dancer?”

Before she can reply, Dancer takes a key out of his pocket and tosses it on the floor, saying “Yes. So what would I need that trick ladder for?”

Nick asks, “Has Lum Kee?”

Polly. “No, of course not.”

Nick. “Who else?”

Polly. “Nobody.”

Nick. “Did Robert have one?”

Polly. “No. What do you think I did, put them around under doors?”

A policeman opens the door and Selma comes in. She and Nora immediately run to each other uttering exclamations of affection.

David exclaims, “Selma,” and he goes over to them asking, “are you all right, dear?”

She exclaims, “David,” and, holding out her hands to him, she starts to ask him a question, “Did you—” and then breaks off, glancing nervously at Lieutenant Abrams. “Oh, it’s been terrible,” she tells Nora and David.

Nora. “I know, dear, but it’ll soon be over. Nick will have everything cleared up in no time. He’s wonderful.”

Nick. “Nice of you to say so, darling.” He goes over to greet Selma.

Selma. “Oh Nick, I’m so grateful to you. Have you really—?”

Nick. “Now don’t start asking us questions. The game is for us to ask you. Have you ever seen any of these people before?” indicating in turn Polly, Dancer, and Lum Kee. To each Selma replies “No.”

Nick asks, “Have you ever been in this building before?”

Selma. “No.”

Nick. “Did you know that Robert and Miss Byrnes were friends?”

Selma. “No.”

Nick. “All right. Now this next question you’ve answered before, but the police weren’t altogether satisfied with the way you answered it. I want you to remember that Robert’s dead, so whatever you say isn’t going to hurt him though it may help us find his murderer and get you out of this mess.”

Selma. “What is it, Nick?”

Nick. “That ten-thousand-dollar check of yours that was deposited in Robert’s account. Did you or didn’t you write it?”

Selma hesitates, looks from Nick to Abrams, then down to the floor, and, in a very low voice, says, “I didn’t.”

Abrams, who has been a very interested listener up to this point, now takes his hat off and throws it angrily on the floor. But when he crosses to confront Selma, his voice and manner are more hurt than angry. He asks, “Why couldn’t you have told us that before? Whatever got into you to—” He breaks off as her lips begin to tremble, and grabs a chair, saying “Now, now, sit down, Mrs. Landis, be comfortable. One of you boys get Mrs. Landis a glass of water.” Then again to her. “Now, now, maybe there’s not a great deal of harm done anyhow.” Then aside to Nick, as she sits down. “If this dame gets hysterical again, I’ll go nuts.”

Selma. “Thank you. I’m quite all right.”

Abrams mumbles in Nick’s ear, “You ask her the rest. She always blows up on me.”

Nick says to Selma, “Since you’ve gone this far, I think you’d better tell the police why you didn’t tell them the truth before.”

Selma. “I started to, but Aunt Katherine wouldn’t let me.”

Abrams growls, “That old battle-axe.”

Nick asks, “Why wouldn’t she?”

Selma. “She said there was enough scandal with Robert being killed that way, without this.”

Nick. “Thanks. That’s fine.” Pats her on the shoulder, turns away.

Abrams. “Maybe that’s fine for you, but it could stand a little more explaining for my part.”

Nick. “The explaining room is out there,” indicating the kitchen. “Shall we try it now?” He and Abrams go into the kitchen. Nick continues, “The gadget is that Aunt Katherine thought Robert forged the check and she was willing to let the ten thousand dollars go to keep people from knowing there had been a forger in the family as well as a murdered man—” Then, as an afterthought, he adds, “Especially since it was Selma’s ten thousand.”

Abrams asks, “Had he ever done anything like that before?”

Nick, earnestly. “That boy had done everything.”

Francis comes to the door and says, “Telephone for you,” to Abrams.

Abrams goes out.

Nick spies a battered cocktail shaker on the shelf and begins to look through the closets for something to put in it. The closets are absolutely bare. He disgustedly throws the cocktail shaker in the garbage can as Abrams comes back.

Abrams. “The laboratory says those red hairs were probably from a wig and that the broken specs were only window glass. Were you kind of expecting something like that?”

Nick. “Kinda.”

Abrams. “And the gun’s not the one those people were killed with. Expect that?”

Nick. “Kinda.”

Abrams. “But what’s really good is, the boys picked up some pretty nice fingerprints of Dancer’s in the joint. Let’s go in and see how he likes that.”

Nick. “All right, but mind if I get in a question first?”

Abrams. “Go ahead, help yourself.”

They return to the room where the others are.

Nick asks Lum Kee, “Did you ever mail to Mrs. Landis a compact that you thought she left in the restaurant about a week ago?”

Lum Kee. “Maybe yes, maybe no. All the time people leave things.”

Nick to Dancer. “I knew he didn’t. You sent it to her pretending you thought it was hers and when she sent it back with a note saying it wasn’t, you traced her signature on the bottom of a ten-thousand-dollar check payable to Robert, and sent it over for deposit in his account because you knew the bank wouldn’t question that and when they eventually found out it was a forgery, he’d be blamed for it because he’d done things like that before. Then you were all set to forge a check on his account for the same ten thousand while Polly kept him busy so that the bank couldn’t reach him to ask him about it if they got suspicious. And so then if he’s killed, who’s going to be able to prove that he didn’t forge his wife’s name to the check to get money to give to this girl he was in love with?”

Dancer asks scornfully, “And then I suppose I knock him off and stir up all this fuss before I get the dough? What kind of a stumblebum does that make me out to be?”

Nick. “I’ll let you know in a little while. Take the witness, Lieutenant Abrams.”

Abrams. “I’ll tell you what kind of a stumblebum you are. You’re the kind that left fingerprints all over Phil Byrnes’ joint when you killed him.”

Caspar comes forward between Dancer and Abrams, saying “Lieutenant Abrams, I cannot allow—”

Dancer takes him by the back of the neck and pushes him out of the way, snarling “Shut up! Everything you say is used against me.” Then to Abrams, “Yeah, I was at Phil’s place last night and when I left he was on the floor with a split lip and a goog and a couple of dents in him here and there, but he was just as alive as you are, if that means anything.”

Abrams. “You mean you went up there when you had the switch pulled in your place?”

Dancer. “Yeah.”

Abrams. “What for?”

Dancer looks thoughtful for a moment, then says, “Okay, I don’t know what I’m letting myself in for, but I’m not going to let you hang any murder rap on me. This Robert was a sucker and Polly and I were taking him. Maybe it was some kind of check razzle-dazzle like he (jerking a thumb at Nick) said maybe it wasn’t. Even if it had been, what would be the sense of killing him? Nobody’d have believed him if he’d said he hadn’t forged his wife’s name. Maybe we even talked him into doing it; anyways, he’s cooled before we get anything. This guy,” jerking his thumb again at Nick, “says Phil followed Robert and Polly down the street. Knowing Phil, I figured he tried to stick Robert up that night and had had to kill him. I don’t like having a punk gum things up for me that way, so why shouldn’t I go over and push him around a little to learn him manners. But I didn’t kill him.”

Abrams asks, “Did you ever wear a wig?”

Dancer seems completely surprised. Then he says, “No, but you ought to see my collection of hoopskirts.”

Abrams asks Lum Kee, “Did you?”

Lum Kee says, “No,” pulling a lock of his hair. “Good hair — see?”

Abrams groans and says to Nick, “I hate comedians.” Then he asks Polly, “Did you?”

Polly. “No.”

Abrams. “Have you thought of anything that might have something to do with this layout?” indicating the window from which ladder is hanging, and earphones.

Polly. “No. But maybe this was all just a gag. Nobody came down and hit me on the head with that pipe and Robert wasn’t killed in my place.”

Nick asks her, “You know why that was, don’t you?”

Polly. “No.”

Francis says to detective standing beside him, “What a swell gal she’d be to take out — all she can say is ‘No.’ ”

Nick. “I’ll tell you. This mysterious Anderson, probably in a red wig, phony glasses, and gloves to keep from leaving fingerprints, was sitting up here at his listening post waiting for a good chance to come down and polish off Robert, and hearing most of the things that were said down there between you and Phil and you and Dancer and you and Robert, until he knew more about all of you than any of you did. But for one reason or another, he put off the killing until he learned that you and Robert were going away the next day. It was that night or never with him, but he got a bad break. Pedro came up and wanted to put a new rug down. That would have exposed the listening post and spoiled everything; so when he tries to talk Pedro out of it—”

Asta, who has been playing with David over by the open window, now lifts his leg against the chair.

Nora yells, “Asta!” Then complains, “Now I’ll have to take you out just when I was so interested. Couldn’t you wait until I get back, Nicky?”

David. “I’ll take him out for you.”

Nick to Abrams. “Murderers get funnier every year, don’t they?”

Abrams. “Huh?”

Nick. “Just when you get ready to arrest them, they want to take dogs out walking!”

Everybody looks at Nick in surprise.

Nick. “David is Anderson. He didn’t recognize Pedro any more than Robert or I did, but in spite of the disguise Pedro finally recognized him, just as Polly told us he’d recognized Robert. I suppose David gave him some hocus-pocus story, but Pedro, knowing Robert was spending a lot of time in the apartment just below this, probably knowing that Robert married Selma and knowing that David had been engaged to her when Pedro was working for Nora, and knowing Nora married a detective, thought he’d better change the lock and keep David out until he could come over and ask Nora’s and my advice. He was foolish enough to tell David what he was going to do and David followed him over and shot him in the vestibule.”

David turns to Nora, who is standing beside him by the window, and asks, “Nora, is he fooling?”

Nora says nothing. She is too busy listening to Nick, as are the others.

Nick. “Sure. And you were fooling when you said you hadn’t seen him since he worked for Nora and pretended you remembered him as a man with a long gray mustache. He’s got one now all right, but if you’ll look at that picture downstairs, you’ll see that it was neither very long nor very gray then. And what was Phil doing on your fire escape except to try to shake you down because we know he’d followed you and Polly that night? We know the boy liked to shake people down; but you weren’t alone that night, so he beat it and made a date with you for the next night and got himself killed.”

David protests, “But—”

Nick, paying no attention to him, continues “—and what do you suppose Pedro was trying to say when he died? That he’d been killed by Miss Selma’s young man, which would be a servant’s language for your status back when he worked for Nora.”

Selma says, “But Nick, why should David have killed him? He’d given him the bonds and Robert was going away.”

Nick. “He didn’t want Robert to go away — he wanted to kill him. That’s why he had to do it that night; otherwise he’d have had to hunt all over the world for him. Promising to pay him, with Polly knowing it, would make it look as though he had no reason for killing him. He intended killing him that night he met him, but Polly was along, so he couldn’t. But he followed him and shot him when he came out of the house.”

Selma. “I can’t believe—”

David grabs Nora and forces her backward out of the window so that only her legs are inside and she is held there only by his arms. His face has become insane, his voice, high-pitched and hysterical. He screams, “I’m not going to the gallows! Either you give me your word that I go out of here with a five-minute start, or Nora goes out of the window with me.”

The policemen’s guns are in their hands, but everyone is afraid to move except Lum Kee, who, standing by the corridor door, softly slips out, and Selma, who starts toward David, crying “David!”

David snarls, “Keep away, you idiot!”

Nick, talking to gain time, trying not to show how frightened he is, says to Selma, “See, he’s not in love with you. He was, but when you turned him down for Robert, he probably came to hate you almost as much as he did Robert. But playing the faithful lover let him hang around until he could get a crack at Robert. That’s why when he saw you hop around the corner with a gun in your hand right after he’d shot Robert from the car, he circled the block and came back in time to frame you while he pretended he was covering you up. He had probably meant to frame Phil or Dancer — which he did after he’d had to kill Phil while you were in jail.”

David, from the window, says, “You’re stalling for time, Nick, and it’s no good. Five minutes’ start or another of your lovely family goes down on the rocks with me.”

Nick. “Don’t be a sap, David. The chances are they’d never hang you. You ought to be able to get off with a few years in an asylum. What jury’s going to believe a sane man did all this?”

David. “That’s a good ideal So I won’t have to jump out the window with her. Either I get my five minutes or she goes down alone.”

Nick turns to Abrams and says, “Lieutenant, I—”

There is a commotion at the window. Nora goes farther out backward. David turns and leans out of the window, looking at something below. Outside, Lum Kee, in his stocking feet, is hanging by his toes and one hand to the rungs of the ladder, with his other around Nora’s waist, and his head bent down, trying to avoid David’s blows. Inside, Nick snatches a pistol from the nearest policeman and shoots David. David somersaults out of the window and crashes to the rocks some sixty feet below. Nick has gone to the window and is pulling Nora in. He shakes her violently by the shoulders and says, “You numbskull, why didn’t you keep away from him after I told you he was a murderer?”

She says just as sharply, “You fool, why didn’t you—”

They both break off and go into each other’s arms.

Abrams turns from looking out of the window and says, “Some of you boys go down and gather him up. A good enough ending for it. I guess that Doc Kammer would have had no trouble at all getting him off.”

Lum Kee climbs over the sill. Nick and Nora turn to him together to thank him for saving her, Nora adding that it was especially wonderful of him inasmuch as Nick had once sent his brother to the pen.

Lum Kee says, “Sure. Mr. Charles send him over — number one detective — I no like my brother — I like his girl — thank you many times — you betcha.”

He moves uncomfortably and looks down at his stocking feet. He is standing in a puddle. He smiles blandly and says, “I go down and get my shoes,” while Nora exclaims reproachfully, “Asta!”

After the Thin Man was released fifteen months after the story published here was completed. During the process of preparing a final script, there was one major alteration in the plot.

The produced movie omits the murder of Pedro Dominges at the beginning. Instead, Nick finds Pedro’s body in the basement of the apartment house where Polly lives when he goes there to inspect her apartment after Robert has been murdered. While there, Nick finds the compact sent to Selma and her signed note returning it. Her signature on the note was the model for the forged check on her account. As Nick is leaving, Dancer comes in and a gun battle ensues, without injury to either party and without either man seeing the other’s face. Dancer flees through the basement, Nick chasing him. There Nick finds a trunk with Pedro’s body inside. In the movie, Pedro is demoted from his implausible position as owner of the apartment house to janitor.

The ending in the movie version is also altered slightly. Lum Kee still saves Nora’s life, but again a measure of plausibility is added. Instead of holding Nora out the window, David pulls a gun and holds it to her head. Lum Kee pitches his hat into David’s face, covering his eyes, and the gun is forced from David’s hand. The joke about Lum Kee liking his brother’s girl rather than his brother remains, and David is taken in custody by Lieutenant Abrams.

Most of the dialogue in the movie was supplied by the screenwriters, Albert Hackett and Frances Goodrich. Hammett’s contribution was plot and mood.