The Whispering Master

Chapter Six

The maid had knocked three times and had been told each time that Sam was still abed. The fourth time around she didn’t bother to knock. She just let herself in with her passkey. Sam pulled the bedcovers up to his chin.

“I’m still in bed!”

“I got eyes, ain’t I?” the maid retorted. “But I cleaned every room on this floor and now I’m gonna clean this one, or else...”

“Just leave some towels,” Sam said.

“I ain’t comin’ back later,” the maid warned.

“It’s all right,” Sam said. “You c’n pass up the cleanin’ this time. I’m not feeling so well and my roommate told me to stay in bed.”

The maid sniffed, but left the towels and went off. Sam got out of bed and went to the window. Someone was taking flashlight pictures in the room across the air shaft.

The door resounded to a heavy fist. Sam bounded back into bed. “What is it?”

A man opened the door. “This is the day we disinfect,” he said.

“Go ’way,” Sam cried. “Can’t you see I’m still in bed?”

“I know, but we on’y do this once a month and if we pass up one time the bugs get too thick. I gotta do it today, or else...”

“Get outta here!” Sam snarled.

The disinfectant man stood his ground until Sam threw back the bedcovers and got to his feet. The disinfectant man took one look at Sam’s size and beat it, slamming the door urgently.

Two minutes later the waiter came to retrieve the breakfast dishes and banged the dirty dishes around when he failed to find a tip on the tray.

Five minutes later the houseman knocked; he wanted to do the bi-weekly vacuuming. Sam sent him off mumbling to himself. He had been gone about four minutes, when somebody knocked again. Sam swore a mighty oath and heedless of consequences, strode trouserless to the door. He whipped it opened.

“What the hell’s going on here today?” he roared.

Eddie Miller looked up at him. “Hello, Mr. Cragg,” he said, easily.

“You, Eddie,” Sam snapped. “Is this the Grand Central Depot, or something? Everybody and his uncle and aunt have been banging on this door today.”

“Well, the people have to do their work...”

“Even when a guest don’t want them in his room?”

“This is a dump, Mr. Cragg. It ain’t like one of the big hotels where they have their own staff. We get the disinfectant people in from outside. They only come once a month and give the joint a quick once-over. This hotel don’t encourage guests to stay in their rooms all day. Uses up electricity and such...”

“But I’m sick today. Can’t a sick man stay in his bed if he wants to?”

“You don’t look sick.”

Sam returned to the bed and sat down on it. He forced a hollow cough. “I may have to stay in bed all day.”

Eddie came into the room, glancing into the bathroom as he passed. He even tried a peek into the closet, but the door was closed to within an inch or so. Eddie leaned against the wall near the closet.

“Look, Mr. Cragg, my job ain’t a lot of fun. It’s scheming all day long to squeeze a dime or a quarter out of some tightwad guest. You got to work just as hard around here for a thin dime as you’d have to in a big hotel for a buck. The only fun is when you and Mr. Fletcher are here and you’re broke, which is the only time you’re here. It’s fun when Mr. Fletcher works over Peabody, damn his guts. I’m on your side, you know, but I like to know what’s going on.”

“Nothing’s going on.”

“A guest was murdered here today and you’re in on it.”

“We are not!”

“Then why’d Mr. Fletcher try to pump me when he left the hotel?”

Sam leaped to his feet. “He promised me he wasn’t going to get mixed in anything.”

Eddie Miller reached out his left hand, slipped the fingers into the crack of the closet door and eased the door open.

“Also, how come you aren’t dressed yet today? It’s twelve o’clock and—” Eddie peered into the empty closet.

“I told you I’m sick.”

“You’ve never been sick a day in your life.” Boldly Eddie Miller swung open the closet door. “Where’s your suit?”

“It’s down at the tailor’s... getting pressed...”

“That’s a helluva note,” said Eddie. “Keeping a guest waiting like this.” He started across the room. “I’ll call ’em and tell ’em what’s what.”

Sam Cragg snatched the phone away from Eddie’s reaching hand. “I just called them a minute ago.”

“I’ll call ’em again.”

“Cut it out, Eddie,” Sam snarled.

Eddie’s eyes suddenly lit up. “So that’s how he raised the dough this morning!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“The ten bucks Mr. Fletcher paid on the rent. He hocked your suit, didn’t he?”

Sam reseated himself on the bed and groaned. “Peabody was gonna lock us out this noon.”

Eddie Miller drew a deep breath. “That’s one of the best ones I’ve ever heard — he pawned your suit and now you’ve got to stay in bed until he makes a stake. Boy, oh, boy!”

“Keep your trap shut about it,” Sam snapped.

“Oh, don’t worry about me, Mr. Cragg. I only wish you’d tell me how he gets the money when he does make the stake.”

“He’s out now, trying to put the bite on the fellow from who we buy our books.”

“How come he didn’t do that before pawning your suit?”

“He tried — Mort wasn’t around.”

There was a knock on the door, a gentle, but determined knock. Eddie Miller looked questioningly at Sam. The latter shrugged and called:

“Come in!”

The door opened and Susan Fair stepped into the room. Sam took one glance at her and threw himself into the bed, dragging the covers up over his chest.

“For the love of...”

“My name is Susan Fair,” the girl said. “You’ve... heard... about my sister?”

Sam looked in alarm at Eddie Miller. The bell captain eased himself gently past Susan. “Excuse me, Miss,” he said, smoothly, “I’ve got to leave...”

He went out, closing the door and leaving Sam and Susan Fair alone. Susan came forward. “My sister was murdered,” she said stiffly.

“Yeah, I know,” Sam said.

Susan looked past Sam through the window, across to the room where her sister had met her doom. “You were her closest neighbor,” she said. “You must have seen a lot of her these past few weeks, when...” She stopped.

“I never talked to her,” Sam said.

“But living so close, with the windows... you couldn’t have helped but look across now and then.”

“Yeah, sure. I saw her through the window, lots of times. Only...”

“Yes?”

“Well, Johnny and me — we ain’t been doin’ much with girls lately...”

“Johnny is your roommate? I understand there are two of you living here?”

“Yeah. Johnny’s my sidekick. We been together for years.”

“I’m sorry you’re ill.”

“Oh, I ain’t... I mean, yeah... I ain’t feelin’ so good, so I thought I’d stay in bed today.”

Susan Fair seated herself on the threadbare mohair-covered chair. “My sister and I were very close, until she came to New York a year ago. She had a beautiful voice.”

“Yeah? I never heard her sing.”

“She wrote that she was doing very well,” Susan Fair continued, “but her letters became fewer and fewer and it seemed to me lately that she — she was holding things back. So I came here.” She stopped, while her lips were pressed tightly together. Then she said softly: “I was too late... too late, by minutes...”

Sam cleared his throat awkwardly. “Your sister was a good-lookin’ babe, uh, I mean girl.”

“She was beautiful! And she was... good...”