The Thin Man

21

Nora made a place for me between her and Dorothy in the taxicab. “I want some coffee,” she said. “Reuben's?”

I said, “All right,” and gave the driver the address.

Dorothy asked timidly: “Did his wife say anything?”

“She sent her love to you.”

Nora said: “Stop being nasty.”

Dorothy said: “I don't really like him, Nick. I won't ever see him again—honestly.” She seemed pretty sober now. “It was—well, I was lonesome and he was somebody to run around with.”

I started to say something, but stopped when Nora poked me in the side.

Nora said: “Don't worry about it. Harrison's always been a simpleton.”

“I don't want to stir things up,” I said, “but I think he's really in love with the girl.”

Nora poked me in the side again.

Dorothy peered at my face in the dim light. “You're—you're not— You're not making fun of me, Nick?”

“I ought to be.”

“I heard a new story about the gnome tonight,” Nora said in the manner of one who did not mean to be interrupted, and explained to Dorothy, “That's Mrs. Edge. Levi says . . .” The story was funny enough if you knew Tip. Nora went on talking about her until we got out of the taxicab at Reuben's.

Herbert Macaulay was in the restaurant, sitting at a table with a plump dark-haired girl in red. I waved at him and, after we had ordered some food, went over to speak to him.

“Nick Charles, Louise Jacobs,” he said. “Sit down. What's news?”

“Jorgensen's Kelterman,” I told him.

“The hell he is!”

I nodded. “And he seems to have a wife in Boston.”

“I'd like to see him,” he said slowly. “I knew Kelterman. I'd like to make sure.”

“The police seem sure enough. I don't know whether they've found him yet. Think he killed Julia?”

Macaulay shook his head with emphasis. “I can't see Kelterman killing anybody—not as I knew him—in spite of those threats he made. You remember I didn't take them very seriously at the time. What else has happened?” When I hesitated, he said: “Louise is all right. You can talk.”

“It's not that. I've got to go back to my folks and food. I came over to ask if you'd got an answer to your ad in this morning's Times.”

“Not yet. Sit down, Nick, there's a lot I want to ask you. You told the police about Wynant's letter, didn't—”

“Come up to lunch tomorrow and we'll bat it around. I've got to get back to my folks.”

“Who is the little blonde girl?” Louise Jacobs asked. “I've seen her places with Harrison Quinn.”

“Dorothy Wynant.”

“You know Quinn?” Macaulay asked me.

“Ten minutes ago I was putting him to bed.”

Macaulay grinned. “I hope you keep his acquaintance like that—social.”

“Meaning what?”

Macaulay's grin became rueful. “He used to be my broker, and his advice led me right up to the poor-house steps.”

“That's sweet,” I said. “He's my broker now and I'm following his advice.”

Macaulay and the girl laughed. I pretended I was laughing and returned to my table.

Dorothy said: “It's not midnight yet and Mamma said she'd be expecting you. Why don't we all go to see her?”

Nora was very carefully pouring coffee into her cup.

“What for?” I asked. “What are you two up to now?”

It would have been hard to find two more innocent faces than theirs.

“Nothing, Nick,” Dorothy said. “We thought it would be nice. It's early and—”

“And we all love Mimi.”

“No—o, but—”

“It's too early to go home,” Nora said.

“There are speakeasies,” I suggested, “and nightclubs and Harlem.”

Nora made a face. “All your ideas are alike.”

“Want to go over to Barry's and try our luck at faro?”

Dorothy started to say yes, but stopped when Nora made another face.

“That's the way I feel about seeing Mimi again,” I said. “I've had enough of her for one day.”

Nora sighed to show she was being patient. “Well, if we're going to wind up in a speakeasy as usual, I'd rather go to your friend Studsy's, if you won't let him give us any more of that awful champagne. He's cute.”

“I'll do my best,” I promised and asked Dorothy, “Did Gilbert tell you he caught Mimi and me in a compromising position?”

She tried to exchange glances with Nora, but Nora's glance was occupied with a cheese blintz on her plate. “He—he didn't exactly say that.”

“Did he tell you about the letter?”

“From Chris's wife? Yes.” Her blue eyes glittered. “Won't Mamma be furious!”

“You like it, though.”

“Suppose I do? What of it? What did she ever do to make me—”

Nora said: “Nick, stop bullying the child.”

I stopped.