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| "I suppose Miss Payne's fingerprints were on the pistol," said Solaire |
He was hard to get but harder to hold. Everybody Knew Dan Solaire-from the Park Avenue debutantes to the hard-boiled boys at Centre Street. Whereever he was things happened - dangerous. exciting. inexplicable things Why?
Hard to Get
Hard to Get
by Aruthur Somers Roche Author of “Penthouse”
Illustrations by Haddon Sundblom
In the First Installment:
DAN SOLAIRE, gay connoisseur of pleasant living, was at the end of his rope. He had wasted his fortune but he would not go to work; he would not marry lovely Lyn Torrance for her money, and most emphatically he would not take the pay of Dagan, the crooked gambler who held his IOU for twenty-eight thousand. He had, indeed, struck Dagan for suggesting it.
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| carelessly. "There weren't any," answered Hanrahan. |
But before he dropped out of the life that had known him, he would make one last defiant gesture. Lyn Torrance wanted him to give Dagan a large sum of her money on behalf of her cousin Tom, whom the gambler was blackmailing. Solaire decided to save the money for her by cornering Dagan in the latter's private office in the International Club, forcing him to give up the two checks Tom had forged.
Simple, if everything broke right. However, the gods of chance decreed that as Solaire tiptoed toward the door of the gambler's office he should hear a faint report-and throw the door open on a tragic scene. Upon the floor lay Dagan. Against the wall stood Lisle Payne, English actress. On the floor between them was a smoking automatic.
"I didn't do it," the girl whispered. She admitted quarreling with Dagan, who had plotted with the Broadway producer, Banker, to have her lose at roulette. But she insisted that she had been looking out of the window when she heard the shot. She had turned to find the gambler murdered, apparently with the pistol she habitually carried in her handbag!
Obviously, no one could be expected to believe such a story. Yet somehow Solaire did believe it.
"You'll have to hide. Go down that fire escape and straight to my apartment. I'll see you when the police let me go."
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| "Why did you come here?" asked Solaire. "Isn't it enough that I am here?" returned Lisle Payne. She smiled tremulously. "Tonight you were the most gallant man I ever met!" continued on page 110 |
THE DOGLIKE brown eyes of Blunt were fearful as he admitted Solaire into his apartment. His fingers shook as he assisted Solaire with his overcoat.
"Miss Payne is waiting for you," he said.
Solaire looked at him. "Did she tell you her name?"
"No, sir. She just let herself in with your key and called to me. She told me you had sent her here and said for me not to mention that she was here."
"You recognized her?"
"Never saw her in my life, sir," replied Blunt. "You never saw her; she didn't tell you her name. But you know it," said Solaire. "You're psychic, eh?"
"I've been listening to the radio, Mr. Solaire. There was a news flash ten minutes ago. The announcer said that Carl Dagan, the gentleman with whom you quarreled this afternoon, had been shot."
Solaire's hard blue eyes narrowed. "You must have done a little peeping, Blunt."
Blunt colored. "I heard him fall, Mr. Solaire, and I looked in. I saw that you were in no difficulty, so I didn't come into the room."
"What would you have done if I'd been on the floor?"
"I'd have come in," said Blunt. "Good man!" said Solaire. "Well, go on. What else did the radio tell you?"
"It said that you had been waiting to see Mr. Dagan, and that the police had questioned you, but that you had been permitted to leave. The announcer said that Miss Lisle Payne, the English actress, was the last person with Mr. Dagan in his office. He said that a small English automatic pistol had evidently been the weapon with which Dagan had been killed. He said the pistol had been found lying on the floor beside Dagan's body. He said that Miss Payne had not left Dagan's office in the usual way, but had evidently gone down an enclosed fire escape. He said the police were searching for Miss Payne but had not found her up to the moment of his announcement."
"So you guessed that the young lady waiting for me is Miss Payne, eh?"
"The young lady seemed nervous. The announcer said she had black hair and brown eyes," explained Blunt.
"Well, what have you done about it?" demanded Solaire.
"Done about it, sir?" Blunt's face expressed surprise.
"A murder has been done," said Solaire. "The police are looking for a young woman. The young woman is in my apartment. Concealing a fugitive wanted for a major crime is a serious offense. You might well be charged with being an accessory after the fact. You could avoid such a danger by calling up police headquarters."
"Yes, Mr. Solaire. Mrs. Barton telephoned half an hour ago to ask where you were."
"Really? And why did Mrs. Barton care where I was?"
"I can only imagine that her interest would arise from the fact that you were dining with her tonight," replied Blunt.
"Was I? I completely forgot it, Blunt. That's unforgivable. You should have told her that I'd been taken ill and gone to the doctor. What did you tell her?" "I made it the dentist, sir. That seemed more reasonable. Miss Payne is in your bedroom, sir."
Solaire walked through the living room. He grinned as he hesitated before the bedroom door; having to knock on the door of his own room was amusing.
"Come in," a cool voice called.
He opened the door and entered the room. Lisle Payne sat in a chair by a window. She looked up at his entrance.
"They kept you a long time," she said. "What did they do?"
There was no tremor in her voice. Her brown eyes, flecked with golden points, were courageous as they met his.
"They questioned me at length. What was I doing there? Had I seen you?"
"And you told them?" she interposed.
"I told them that I'd seen you. There were plenty of people there to testify that I'd been sitting with you. There were plenty to testify that you had not emerged from the anteroom."
"Of course," she conceded.
"They asked if I'd talked to you. I told them that we'd merely discussed the uncertainties of roulette."
"They think I killed him?"
"They found a pistol on the floor - a woman's gun; English. You're English; you're a woman; you obviously went down the fire escape."
"And they're looking for me?"
"What else?"
She made no reply.
"It isn't too late, you know, to surrender to the police and tell them that story of self-defense," he said.
"I thought you believed me when I told you that I didn't kill him," she retorted.
Beneath her level gaze he flushed. "I do believe you. But the more I think about it, the more I know that no one else will believe it. I think you'd have a better chance if you surrendered."
"And lied?"
He shrugged.
"I thought you were going to try to find out who killed him."
He avoided her eyes now: "I did say so, and I meant it. And I'll do it. But what chance there is-"
"You think there's none," she charged.
"Dagan is found dead. You were the last one in the room with him before he died. Your pistol is on the floor. One bullet had been fired from it. What are the chances?"
"I don't know. I only know that I didn't fire the pistol. I didn't take it out of my bag."
"Who else could have taken it? Did you put the bag down while you were playing roulette?"
"Not that I remember. I had it in my lap. In the ladies' dressing room I put it down, but no one touched it."
He stared at her. He had found himself immune from feminine charm. There had been, of course, fleeting affairs. But no woman had ever made such an impression on his heart that it had refused to pump blood to his brain. Had this woman so affected him emotionally as to rob him of logic?
He frowned as he asked himself this question. She was lovely, but that wasn't it. She had charm, but that wasn't it. It was simply that something about her rang true. Despite the evidence against her, he could not believe that she had killed Dagan.
"When did you put the pistol in your bag?" he asked.
In her brown eyes appeared puzzlement. "Why, I don't remember."
"Then you can't be sure it was in your bag this evening, can you?"
"But it's always there," she stated.
"Why do you carry the damned thing?" he cried. "Why should a girl like you carry a gun?"
"I gamble a lot. I go alone to gambling houses. Sometimes they aren't very nice places, and sometimes I win. Once I was held up-two years ago, in London. I've carried the pistol ever since."
"But you couldn't swear that it was in your bag tonight?
"NO, I COULDN'T. Nor could I swear that it wasn't in my bag. I just don't remember transferring it from the bag I carried this afternoon. But of course I did transfer it, just as I transferred my lipstick." She rose suddenly to her feet.
"Where are you going? he asked.
"I don't know. But I can't stay here."
"Why not?"
"You said this evening you'd bet a million dollars on my innocence, but not your life. If they find me here, you'll be in serious trouble, won't you?"
"Where do you intend to go? Don't you know you haven't a chance of evading the police?"
From her parted lips came a faint sigh of despair. "I know that, but I can't stay here."
"Try to go somewhere else," he said gruffly. "What about something to eat?"
She nodded assent. Solaire rose and went to the butler's pantry.
"What did police headquarters say?" he asked Blunt.
"The line was busy," replied Blunt. Amazingly, he chuckled.
"Miss Payne is hungry. Can you whip up something in a hurry?"
"I've been preparing something. In the dining room?"
Solaire shook his head. "If someone came in - Better serve it on a tray in my bedroom."
"Very good, sir," said the servant.
Food and a glass of wine brought color to Lisle Payne's cheeks. At the conclusion of her meal, she lighted a cigaret and looked thoughtfully at Solaire.
"You're an extraordinary man, aren't you, Mr. Solaire?"
"I wouldn't know. You're an extraordinary girl, aren't you?"
"Am I? An extraordinarily foolish girl. But you-chivalry isn't dead, apparently."
He tried to mask his embarrassment by lighting a cigaret. "I just want you to get a break. You wouldn't get one if the police picked you up."
"What sort of break will you get if the police find me here?" He laughed reassuringly. "Why should they find you here? Unless the starter or the elevator man noticed you."
"I got off three floors above this and walked down," she said. "And I left my taxi two blocks from here and walked the rest of the way."
He nodded approvingly. "We'll have to chance that the elevator man doesn't remember you when he reads the paper tomorrow morning."
"What would they do to you if I were found here?" she asked.
"You're not to think about that," he said. "You're to stay here."
"But I haven't any things," she objected.
"You can manage for one night. I'll get things in the morning. Or maybe something will turn up."
"Turn up? What can possibly turn up? Will the man who opened that door from the fire escape and shot Dagan-will he confess?"
"We won't think about that now," he said soothingly. As he sought for words of reassurance, Blunt spoke to him from the doorway.
"Inspector Hanrahan is calling."
"In response to your telephone call?" asked Solaire.
"The line has been busy all the time," said Blunt.
The girl stared at the butler, and then at Solaire. "You sent for-" "Don't be silly." Solaire interrupted her frightened speech. "You stay here. Don't make any noise."
He walked past Blunt, went through the living room. At the threshold of the reception room he glanced back. Blunt had already closed the bedroom door. Solaire looked into the reception room.
"Inspector Hanrahan?"
A beefy man appraised him with cold eyes. "Mr. Solaire?"
Solaire nodded. "Won't you come in here?" He led the way into the living room. "Drink?" he asked, when the inspector had seated himself.
HANRAHAN nodded. Blunt walked through the living room, and at the door to the dining room Solaire spoke to him.
"Highballs," he said. He offered the inspector a cigar.
Hanrahan accepted it, applied a light to it and puffed a cloud of smoke. "Say, Mr. Solaire," he began. "I thought I'd have a talk with you about this Dagan matter."
"Fire away," laughed Solaire.
Blunt entered, and Solaire mixed two drinks. He handed one to Hanrahan, who sipped it appreciatively. Then he put the glass down.
"There's a lot of things you told Lieutenant Wrigley. I'd like to go over with you," he said. "And there's some things you didn't discuss with him that I'd like to ask you about. Dagan held your IOU for twenty-eight thousand. I found it in his pocketbook. You gave it to him last night."
"Correct," said Solaire.
"He came to see you this afternoon, didn't he? What about?"
"About the IOU," said Solaire.
"You mean he wanted to collect?"
"What else?"
"But you didn't take it up. He had it on him when he died."
"I was going to give him a check tonight," said Solaire.
"You were going to give him a check tonight? On what bank?" "The Warranty," replied Solaire.
"I happen to know you haven't got anything like twenty-eight grand in the Warranty."
"How long have you been keeping tabs on me, inspector?"
"LIEUTENANT WRIGLEY is a good man. While he examined the witnesses who found the body, I did a little scouting. Now, about this bank account of yours. You're sure that if you'd given a check to Dagan it would have been good?"
"Why not ask the Warranty in the morning?" countered Solaire.
"Don't worry; I will," said Hanrahan. He replenished his glass. "How long have you known Lisle Payne?"
"Never saw her until this evening," replied' Solaire.
"Was she upset when you were talking to her outside Dagan's office?"
"No more than anyone is who has had a bad session at the wheel."
"Didn't seem desperate?"
"Not in the least."
"You wouldn't have figured that she was about to step into another room and give a guy the works?"
"Never in this world," said Solaire.
"And you didn't hear the gun go off?"
"I think I did," replied Solaire. "But I paid no attention to it; I thought it was a backfire from the street."
"And you got tired waiting and told one of Dagan's men to tell him that you couldn't wait any longer. That's how the murder was discovered, eh?"
"That's it," said Solaire.
"Did Miss Payne tell you why she wanted to see Dagan?" Solaire shook his head.
"She didn't open her handbag while she was with you?"
"Not that I remember," replied Solaire.
"So you couldn't swear that gun -the gun that killed Dagan -was in her bag while she talked with you?" "
I couldn't swear either way," said Solaire. "Why the question? What difference does it make whether I was the gun or not?"
"It makes a lot of difference," said Hanrahan. "You see, I've been up to Miss Payne's hotel. I've talked with her maid. Her maid says that Miss Payne owned a Webley automatic. The maid swears that her mistress had only the one gun. She says that this evening she forgot to put the Webley in Miss Payne's bag. She showed me the Webley; took it out of a bag her mistress had been carrying this afternoon. That's why it would help a lot if you'd happened to see a gun in Miss Payne's bag."
"But she was in Dagan's office. She went out -so Lieutenant Wrigley seemed to think -by way of the fire escape."
"Oh, it's open and shut. But just the same, it's a swell idea to have all the evidence possible."
Solaire hoped the thumping of his heart was not audible. Lisle Payne swore that she had not shot Dagan. He had accepted her statement as true in spite of all the facts that seemed to maintain she was a grotesque liar. And now a tiny bit of evidence had come along that might be corroborative of her tale.
"I suppose her fingerprints were on the pistol," he said carelessly.
"There weren't any fingerprints on it. Was she wearing gloves when you talked with her?"
"Certainly not," said Solaire.
"Well, she might have put a pair on, or she might have wiped the gun with her handkerchief. Anyway, she beat it out of that office, and it's going to be a tough job for her to explain why she did that."
"It would have been just as tough if she stayed there, wouldn't it?"
"Tough either way," said Hanrahan. He rose heavily to his feet. "Hope you ain't sore because I asked a lot of questions. You know, in a case like this, us cops have to get all the dope. The girl did it- there isn't any question about that- but still we want to cover all the angles."
Solaire walked with him to the door of the apartment.
"I wouldn't be leaving town for a few days," said Hanrahan. "We'll be needing you."
"I'll be here," said Solaire lightly.
He walked from the reception room through the living room and opened the bedroom door, this time forgetting to knock. Lisle Payne was sitting by the window.
"Has he gone?" she asked.
He nodded. "Your pistol was a Chubley, wasn't it?"
She shook her head. "A Webley," she corrected him.
"Then you had two?"
"No. Only one-the Webley. Why?"
"You said that pistol on the floor of Dagan's office was yours."
"Well?" She stared at him.
"The gun that killed Dagan was a Chubley."
For a moment the full meaning of his words did not penetrate her consciousness. Then excitement brought golden gleams to her brown eyes.
"Then it wasn't my pistol. I just thought- it was the same size -mine was missing from my bag-" She rose. "I don't need to hide. They can't arrest me now. They'll know I didn't--"
Gently he placed his hands on her shoulders and forced her to sit down again. "What's to prevent your having had two pistols? You were the last person in Dagan's office. You can't testify that anyone came in from the fire-escape door. You ran away-"
"You made me!" she blazed.
"Inspector Hanrahan told me it would have been just as bad if you'd stayed." "I suppose so. But Mr. Solaire, you don't have to take me on faith now. Now you know that someone else opened that door and fired at Dagan."
"I know it- but what about a jury?"
"But don't they have to prove I owned that weapon? If they are unable to prove that--"
"You might spend months in jail waiting."
"But I can't hide here," she protested. "While you were out there talking to the inspector, Mr. Solaire, I did a lot of thinking. They'd put you in jail if they discovered you were hiding me. If they- convicted me, they might sentence you to jail, too. I couldn't permit that."
"A while ago you preferred killing yourself to going to jail," Solaire reminded her.
"I know. I was shocked, overcome. But I've had time to think. And now that you tell me it wasn't my Webley that killed Dagan- All the time I had an idea that someone might have stolen my gun and that I couldn't prove it- but if it isn't my gun, they can't convict me."
"They might," he told her.
"I'll have to take my chances on that. I can't let you take the risk of hiding me."
"But I want to take that risk!" he cried.
"You mean that chivalry compels you?"
"I mean nothing of the sort. I wouldn't do it for any other woman in the world. But for you-"
She touched his hand. "I couldn't let you suffer for your kindness to me."
"So I suppose you're going to walk out of here and give yourself up to the first policeman you see."
"I think so. How many days can I hide here? Suppose it were weeks, even? In the long run I'd be discovered."
"But during those days or weeks the police would find out who really killed Dagan."
"Why? How? Convinced that I did it, why should they bother to prove that I didn't?"
"But I'll prove that you didn't!" he cried.
"How?" she asked.
He stared at her blankly. "I don't know-yet," he replied slowly. "I haven't had time to plan."
"What makes you think you could plan?"
"Well," he said lamely, "there must be something that could be done. I could engage a detective. My Lord, it's like asking a man what he'd do if he were cast ashore on a desert island. You don't know what you'll do. You'll do what turns up."
SHE SHOOK her head gently. "But what could turn up in a matter like this? You can't imagine anything, and neither can I. Mr. Solaire, I'm going to give myself up. It's the only wise thing to do. I'm innocent. I didn't think I had a chance of proving I was innocent, but if it wasn't my pistol that killed Dagan, then I have a chance. But the longer I stay away, the guiltier I will seem."
Women were, to Solaire, charming bundles of flesh. He always treated them as delightful companions, not as he would treat men. But here was a girl who could face a major crisis with the same clear- sighted will that he would have expected of a superior type of man.
"Let's get our stories straight," she said. "I don't wish to involve you in this affair. You didn't enter Dagan's office. Stick to that. I shall tell the truth, leaving out of my story any mention of you. I was looking out the window when I heard a shot. I turned, saw Dagan on the floor and saw a weapon beside him. Because it was a small automatic I assumed that it was mine, although I had not taken my pistol from my bag.
"I thought that I would be accused of the murder, because I had had business quarrels with Dagan. In panic I ran down the fire escape. No" -her eyes narrowed- "I didn't get really panic-stricken until I had run down the fire escape. Because I ran down those stairs thinking I might catch the murderer, who must have gone down after firing the shot.
"There, Mr. Solaire, I shall depart from the truth. Then, not having caught the murderer, not having seen him, panic attacked me. I realized that I'd be accused of shooting Dagan, so I fled. But thinking it over convinced me that the wisest thing was to surrender . . . What do you think of it?" .
"I think you're mad," he told her. "You'll be jailed, held for trial-"
"That's better than becoming a fugitive. I think I'll leave now, Mr. Solaire."
He stared at her, rage at his own impotence stifling speech. Here was a charming girl involved in a tragedy which must at best expose her to a stay in prison and to scandal, and at worst might lead her to the electric chair. And he, Dan Solaire, who had always considered himself able to control any situation that confronted him, was unable to offer any advice. He had told her that he would try to prove her innocence; had said that he would hire detectives. Well, this last he could still do, he told himself self-contemptuously. He could use Lyn Torrance's money to aid another girl.
"Your father would be doubly proud of you if he could see you now, Dan Solaire," he said to himself.
The telephone intruded upon his bitter self-condemnation. The clear voice of Lyn Torrance came across the wire. "I've been with Uncle Frank's wife," she said. "Haven't had a chance to call you up before. And my maid- I just got home- tells me that the radio says that Dagan was killed tonight and that you were there. Tell me, did you settle that matter?"
"I couldn't," he replied.
"And you haven't seen Tom?"
"No, I haven't. Hasn't he been at his home?" , ,
"No. And his stepmother is bitter. She's whining that he shows her no consideration. I'm sick of her. She married Uncle Frank for his money; has been maneuvering five years to get all his money; alienated him from his son Tom, and now is pretending a broken heart. I hate hypocrisy. If I came over, would you mix me a drink?"
"Why-er-" He hesitated.
"OR WOULD I intrude? Now I insist on coming. For years I've wanted to see the sort of girl that would intrigue you. Is one of them there now?"
"Such a question argues indecency of thought," he said'. "Doesn't it! Dan, get rid of her, whoever she is. I have the blues. I loved Uncle Frank. Just to be with his scheming widow is enough to give me the horrors, and I don't want to go home. Chase your girl friend away and entertain me."
"Why, there isn't any girl friend," he told her.
"Then don't tell me you're tired and want to go to bed. Besides, I want to hear about the murder. I want you to tell me all about that fascinating creature, Lisle Payne. I'll be there in ten minutes."
The receiver clicked even as he uttered futile protests. He hung up to meet the inquiring gaze of Lisle Payne.
"A friend of mine. I couldn't stop her. She's coming over." He stared at her, frowning. "You'd better go into Blunt's room and stay there until she's gone."
She shook her head. "I'm going to go downstairs, get in a taxi and drive to police headquarters."
"I'm not going to let you give yourself up!" he cried.
Her sweet chin became stubborn. "I don't think you can prevent me," she said. She held out her hand. "You're grand, Mr. Solaire. I couldn't be more grateful. But I'm leaving."
"He recognized her inflexibility of purpose. Somehow, the strength of her will made him feel that his own was weak.
"And you're not to take me to a taxi," she said. "You've been very kind, Mr. Solaire. I'm not going to involve you further in my troubles. I'll go down the stairs and hope that no one recognizes me. Good-by, and thanks."
Coolly she gave him her fingers, pressed his own, and walked through the living room. At the outer door she waved away his stumbling protests. Then she was gone. Solaire walked to the table which still bore the ingredients for highballs, and was mixing himself a second when Lyn Torrance arrived.
She had been through a harassing afternoon and evening, but the cold January air had brought color to her satiny skin, and her gr,ay eyes sparkled. "Has the reason for your reluctance to receive me departed, or is she still here?" .
"She's departed," said Solaire heavily.
She permitted him to relieve her of the fur coat that enveloped her. Sinking into a chair, she lighted a cigaret and stared at him with eyes that held amusement in their gray depths.
"So there was one 'here? Why didn't you keep her? I'd like to see the type of girl that could entrance Hard-to-Get Solaire. What is she like, Dan? No, don't tell me. I don't want to be too jealous."
She accepted the drink he handed her. Slowly she sipped it. "Tell me what happened tonight," she said.
"I was waiting outside Dagan's office. Lisle Payne, the English actress, was closeted with him. I got tired waiting, and one of Dagan's men knocked on the door to tell Dagan that I was in a hurry. There was no answer, so he opened the door. Miss Payne was gone, and Dagan was dead."
"I hope she isn't guilty," said Lyn. "I met her in London last year. She's not at all the sort to do a thing like that. I wonder where she's gone. It looks bad, her running away. Dan, what did you do about Tom?"
"Nothing. I had an idea. I was going to hold up Dagan and get Tom's checks away from him without paying a cent. Then -he was killed. Lyn, I owed Dagan twenty-eight thousand. He had my IOU. He called on me this afternoon, and we quarreled. I struck him. He offered me a job with him; said he'd cancel my debt if I'd persuade my friends to gamble at his crooked wheels.
"Then, after you phoned, I called him up and told him that I'd accept his job. I wanted a chance to get him alone. But Inspector Hanrahan found my IOU in Dagan's pocketbook. He knew I had no money in the bank. I told him I had made a deposit this afternoon by mail."
"Had you?" she asked.
He shook his head. "I hadn't."
"Won't the inspector discover that you didn't tell the truth?"
"Unless I mail a check now. I have your check, Lyn."
She nodded thoughtfully. "But I don't understand. Of course," she said swiftly, "you may use that check as you like. Only, when I sent it over to you, you didn't intend to use part of it to pay your own debt to Dagan, did you?"
"Of course not," he said, flushing.
"Then why do you want to use it now?"
"I'm sorry I suggested it," he said stiffly. "Of course I won't use it."
"Of course you will, you ninny!" she cried. "I'm just trying to figure you out, Dan. Why does Dagan's death make you want money in the bank? I don't think you intended to use my money for your own debts. That isn't like you, Dan. And you weren't rattled because an inspector of police questioned you about a matter of which you knew nothing." She put her glass on the table beside her and leaned forward in her chair. "Dan, you were rattled because something was on your mind. What was it?"
"Don't be absurd," he said.
"Where is my check?" she asked.
From an inner pocket he produced it and handed it to her. She got up from her chair, walked to a desk, picked up a pen and wrote on the back of the check, "For deposit." She brought the check to Solaire.
"Sign your name," she ordered.
"I don't want your money," he said.
"Are you going to be a liar to Inspector Hanrahan? Don't be an ass, Dan. Sign."
"You're swell, Lyn. I feel like-"
"Sign," she interrupted.
HE WROTE his name beneath the words she had written. She returned to the desk and addressed an envelope to the Warranty Bank. Then she rang a bell, and Blunt appeared.
"Mail this at once," she said, handing him the envelope. She turned back to Solaire. "Dan, when you told the inspector you’d made a deposit, you told him that because your mind was busy with something else. You were ruined, but ruin wouldn't make you borrow money from a girl. Something got into your brain and made you forget your scruples. What was it? Are you going to tell me?"
"All right; I'll tell you," said Solaire. He talked for five minutes steadily. Not once did she interrupt him. But when he had finished she spoke.
"So that was it? She was in your bedroom, and the police inspector was here. You hadn't had time to make up a story. You didn't want to tell Hanrahan that you were waiting to see Dagan on my account- or rather, on Tom's account. It was easier to tell a story that would sound true than an outright lie. I understand. But I don't understand, Dan Solaire, how you let that girl leave here."
"I couldn't keep her;" said Solaire.
"The Dan Solaire I thought I knew could have kept her!" cried Lyn. "She's in a cell now, probably. You told her you'd help her; told her that you believed in her- and then, a couple of hours later, you permit her to give herself up."
"What else could I have done?"
"I don't know, but the Dan Solaire I used to know would have done something. Good night, Dan."
"Lyn, you can't leave me feeling like this." .
She looked at him coldly. Listening to her, Solaire could imagine himself being cross-examined by a great attorney. But looking at her, recognizing the contempt that somehow accentuated her charm and beauty, he could only realize that a lovely woman had suddenly drawn a line through his name. This noon he had not loved her. But now . . . He wondered. This noon, she had loved him. But now . . . Again he wondered.
"Can't I?" she blazed. "Lisle Payne could leave you. So can I. No, don't take me home. I don't want you to."
Solaire, over the rim of his highball glass, looked at the door through which she had passed. There was woman! Sometimes illogical, unreasonable; but again, too reasonable, too mercilessly logical. He put the glass down.
Lyn was right. A better man would have done something. The fact that he couldn't think of anything merely proved that he was not a better man . . . Once again the telephone interrupted his savage appraisal of himself.
"Mr. Solaire? Wilhelmina Nillson. You haven't forgotten Willy-Nilly, have you? What about giving New York's best girl reporter an exclusive interview?"
"On what subject?" asked Solaire.
"On how it feels to talk with a lovely actress just before she commits a murder."
"No, thanks," said Solaire.
"Well, I've done what my city editor told me to do. And now that you've turned me down, there's something you ought to know."
"Yes?"
"I'm in Mike and Ike's place. You know- over on Fifty-fourth Street. And a friend of yours is getting himself terribly plastered. Young Tom Torrance. I've seen you with his cousin lots of times. This isn't the safest place in the world for a lad like Torrance. Maybe you ought to send someone around to take care of him. You know, his father died today, and it looks pretty rotten for him to be getting cockeyed."
"I'll come myself," said Solaire.
"Fine. Maybe I'll get that interview after all," she laughed.
MIKE AND IKE'S had thrived in the days before Repeal, and some of its illegal prosperity still lingered. Solaire stood on the threshold of the smoky, crowded room, trying to pick out the face of young Torrance. Miss Nillson, the Globe's pretty reporter, called to him. She was seated in a booth, at the moment alone.
"Your boy friend staggered out two minutes ago," she informed him.
"Why didn't you hold him?" asked Solaire.
"Who? Willy-Nilly, weight one-ten in her you-knows? I couldn't hold him with charm- one of my few failures; the lad is too cockeyed to recognize sex in its most alluring form- and I lack the muscle. Anyway, some friend of his came in and took him away."
"Who was it?" asked Solaire.
"A yegg named Lorber. You know, sort of a partner of Carl Dagan. And what he's doing out tonight I wouldn't know. You'd think with all the publicity the International Club is going to get that Lorber would be closeted with a lawyer. But hell, he should worry! The Payne girl gave herself up an hour ago, and I don't suppose the police can shut down on a club just because an English actress bumps off the owner. But when young Torrance sobers up, give him a talk. He runs around with too tough a mob for a lad of his class. He'll find himself in a jam one of these days."
Inwardly Solaire assented. It was quite possible that young Torrance was finding himself in a jam this very moment. Why did Lorber, who had been blackmailing Lyn's cousin, lead the boy out of this place tonight?
"He is a little wild," he conceded.
"A little? A lot, you mean. But I guess he's okay. He seemed willing to go with Lorber. And now that you're here, why not buy a drink for your favorite journalist?"
A waiter paused at the booth.
"What will it be?" asked Solaire.
"Scotch," she said. "Are you in a pleasant mood? The office got hold of me here and suggested I get an interview with you."
"Does the office always phone a bar when you’re needed?"
"Only this one," she smiled. She had a very attractive smile. "I write a lot of my stuff here and send it down by messenger. I live next door. I have the cunningest apartment. Would you like to see it?"
"You brazen little devil," he chuckled.
"You hard-to-get man," she laughed.
The waiter brought their highballs.
"On the level, wouldn't you talk?"
"Certainly I wouldn't. And I think it's all a lie about Torrance."
"No, I wasn't lying. Torrance was here. I suppose I could have phoned you again that he had left, but I thought you were probably on your way by then. And perhaps I did have an idea that you'd tell me your impression of Lisle Payne."
"Well, I won't," he said. "You're a nice kid, Willy. Give me a break. I'm due for a lot of publicity, but you layoff, will you?"
"I'll let you alone, Mr. Solaire," she promised. "Not leaving?"
"Had a hard day," he said. "Thanks for telling me about young Torrance. I hope he's okay."
"So do I. Well, good night."
Solaire stood up and looked down at her. She was a very pretty girl, roguish-eyed and merry of mouth. "This stuff will get you sooner or later," he said.
She shook her head. "Not Willy. When I need it, I never touch it. It's a swell rule. Don't give interviews to anyone else, will you?"
"I won't," he promised.
Outside the drinking place he paused. Lyn Torrance's contempt had hurt more than he would have cared to admit. He was inefficent, incapable of mastering a situation. He hadn't even managed to arrive at Mike and Ike's in time to take charge of Lyn's cousin.
Solaire flushed. From a girl who was frankly contemptuous of him, whose love for him had turned into distaste, he had been forced -or thought he had been forced -to accept financial favor. He could never look Lyn in the eye again. Suddenly it came to him that there could be no deprivation in life equal to the loss of Lyn. At least he could try to do this much for her: he could find Torrance and take care of him.
That started another train of thought. Lorber had been blackmailing Torrance; he was the last person to be looking after Lyn's cousin now. On impulse, Dan turned toward the International Club. Perhaps the police had closed it, but there was a chance that it would be open.
As he approached the Broadway corner where the club was situated, he passed the fire-escape door through which Lisle Payne had made her escape earlier in the evening. He stopped and tried the knob. As he had expected, it did not turn. The door was locked on the outside. Then anyone who came up that inside fire escape would have to unlock the door from the outside.
Of course, such a person might have come from the interior of the club and hidden himself on the staircase. But if he hadn't done this, he must have possessed a key to unlock the door from the street. It would be interesting to know who possessed keys to that door.
"Not closed?" he asked the starter.
The man shook his head. "I think the cops have closed up the roulette, but not the restaurant. You'd think Lorber would have the decency to shut down the joint. But not him. The murder of his partner has brought a big crowd and all he thinks of is dough."
"You aren't afraid for Your job, are you?" smiled Solaire.
The starter shook his head. "I got me a job in Miami for the rest of the winter. I should worry about Lorber."
Solaire mounted the stairs and surrendered hat and coat to the checkgirl.
"Back again, Mr. Solaire?"
"Just thought I'd look in," said Solaire. He walked into the restaurant and the head waiter greeted him.
"Alone, Mr. Solaire?"
Solaire nodded. "The murder hasn't hurt business," he said, looking over the crowded tables.
"I wish we had one every night," said the head waiter. "I don't mean that, exactly. It's too bad about Mr. Dagan, but it's brought the crowd."
"It's a wonder the police didn't close the place."
"The lieutenant in charge wanted to, but Mr. Lorber called up somebody downtown and fixed it up."
Solaire sat down at a table several yards from the crowded dance floor. "Lorber here now?"
The head waiter shook his head. "He got a phone message a little while ago and went out in a hurry. He hasn't come back."
"Don't know where he went, do you?" asked Solaire. From a waistcoat pocket he drew a bill.
"Maybe I could find out," said the head waiter.
He departed, to return in less than a minute.
"Someone called him up from Mike and Ike's place," he said. "He wouldn't like it if he thought I told anyone his business."
"He won't have any reason to think so," said Solaire. "Bring me a highball."
As a waiter served the drink, the general dancing ceased and the floor show began for the third and last time that night. The soubrette sang her first number directly to Solaire, but she might as well have been singing to a statue. He hardly heard her voice; was barely aware of her.
Tonight, Lorber's employer or partner had been killed. Lorber must have been busy pulling wires in order to keep the International Club open. He should have been extremely upset by the tragedy. Yet he had found time to respond to a telephone summons from a disreputable bar a few blocks away. Was it coincidence that young Tom Torrance happened to be in that bar? Or had Lorber been called to Mike and Ike's in order that he might take Torrance away with him?
What did Lorber want with Tom? The boy had been threatened before Dagan's death. Was Lorber threatening him again?
THE SOUBRETTE ceased crooning, and the chorus retired to the wings.
"A fresh highball, sir?"
Solaire looked up into the face of a waiter. The waiter glanced meaningly at the table. Solaire looked down and saw a scrap of paper by his glass. Carelessly he placed his hand over the paper.
"Yes, bring me another," he said.
The waiter had been furtive, as though he feared someone would see that he had delivered a message to Solaire. So the latter was cautious as he glanced at the brief note.
"Mr. Solaire," he read, "please come to Room 211, Hotel Shenandoah, after the show tonight. Important."
The note was penciled. There was no signature. Solaire put the paper in his pocket. As the waiter returned with a highball, Solaire whispered to him.
"Who sent the note?"
"The Lacey kid. You know, the little redhead in the chorus."
Solaire placed a twenty-dollar bill on the table. "What's the racket?"
"I don't know. She's not tough. I think she has something to say to you."
"I gathered that myself. Any idea what it's about?"
"Listen, Mr. Solaire, I don't know nothing and I don't want to know nothing. If you want to meet her, okay. If you don't, it's still okay. What do I tell her?"
"Tell her I'll be there," said Solaire.
He knew the girl to whom the waiter referred. Her personality made her stand out from the rest of the chorus. She looked quite young. Solaire studied her as the chorus returned for another number. Of course, it might be an invitation to an ordinary rendezvous, but somehow Solaire didn't think so.
The Lacey girl must know that he had been in the anteroom when Dagan was killed. Her message must have something to do with that.
He waited until the last number was over. Then he pushed back his chair, called the waiter, gave him a bill and sauntered out of the restaurant. He retrieved his hat and coat from the pretty checkgirl and descended to the street.
"Taxi, Mr. Solaire?" asked the starter.
Solaire shook his head. "Where's the Hotel Shenandoah?" he asked.
The starter eyed him curiously. "Fifty-first Street. Chorus-girl hotel. A nice place for you to keep away from."
"I guess you're right," laughed Solaire. Then he asked: "You didn't happen to see that actress come out the fire-escape door tonight, did you?"
The starter shook his head. "It's around the corner, Mr. Solaire."
"Of course. Anyone ever enter the club through that door?"
The starter stared at him. "Sure. Sometimes Mr. Dagan went upstairs that way. When he didn't want people in the restaurant to see him. At least, that's how I always figured it."
"Anyone else have a key to that door?" asked Solaire.
"Not that I know of," said the starter.
Solaire handed the man a coin and walked slowly north toward Fifty-first Street. The night wind, January though it was, whistled not too unpleasantly. Its cold breath seemed to clarify his mental processes.
This was a silly thing he was doing. Men had been known to get into embarrassing difficulties because they embarked on adventures like this.
Only theirs had been sentimental -if the word could stretched in its meaning -embarkations. His was nothing of that sort. He thought the Lacey girl had something else on her mind.
HE WALKED up to Fifty-ninth Street, stopped at a restaurant and killed time with some scrambled eggs and coffee. Then, when he felt certain the girl would have had plenty of time to remove her stage costume, get dressed for the street and return to her hotel, he left the lunch room and walked down to Fifty-first Street. There he turned left, and in a moment was in the lobby of the Shenandoah.
"Is Miss Lacey in?" he asked a clerk. The clerk stared at him. "You a friend of hers?"
"I wanted to see her," said Solaire.'
"You newspapermen certainly get your tips quick, don't you?" said the clerk.
Solaire sensed something. "Yes," he said. "What's the trouble?"
"As if you didn't know!" jeered the clerk. "Somebody bumped her off half an hour ago as she was leaving the International Club. What a lucky joint that is! Two killings in the same night. And I suppose you want to look at her room. Well, lads from two other papers have beaten you to it. They've skinned her room of every picture in it, if that's what you want."
"Yes," said Solaire dully, "I guess that's what I wanted."
If newspapermen had already arrived at the Shenandoah, the police would not be far behind. Solaire turned and walked out to the street. A police car rounded the corner and stopped before the hotel. Solaire's face was half hidden by his cupped hands as he lighted a cigaret.
He walked to Broadway and turned south. A few blocks down the street a crowd was milling in front of the International Club.
Solaire hesitated at the next corner. For reasons best known to herself-rea- sons that would perhaps never be known to anyone else-a chorus girl had sent Solaire a note gnitnioppa a rendezvous. Now she was dead. "Bumped off," the clerk at the Shenandoah had said. Whether by bullet or knife or bomb he had not explained, assuming that Solaire knew the manner of her taking off. That assumption was due to a previous one: that Solaire was a reporter.
But if the police had arrived while Solaire was asking for the girl, questions might have been put to him. Not that Solaire couldn't answer them, but perhaps his answers would not have sounded convincing. The police would want to know why the Lacey girl had written him a note requesting an engagement. They would want to know why Solaire, who didn't know the girl, had attempted to keep the appointment.
Solaire couldn't have answered this question. He had decided that the chorus girl's message must have something to do with Dagan's death. But no one else would understand how he had arrived at this decision. It would be assumed that Solaire had kept a vulgar date.
Lisle Payne had surrendered to the police. Unless she broke down and told about Solaire's part in her flight, there could be no thought that he was concerned in the killing of Dagan. But he had been close to the scene. Now a girl who had sent him a mysterious note had figured in tragedy. If the fact that Lisle Payne's pistol had not killed Dagan caused the police to seek another culprit, Solaire might be the chosen victim.
Of course, that was absurd. He could extricate himself from any such difficulty. But the extrication meant unpleasant notoriety. The sensible thing was to go home. He had gone to the International Club in the hope that he would find young Torrance. He hadn't done so. Bed was indicated.
Only-and this thought kept him from starting home- the waiter at the International would doubtless have told the police that the murdered girl had sent a note to Solaire. If he went home he would merely find the police waiting for him to question him. He might as well get the questioning over with at once.
As he walked down the street the brilliance of the electrical displays struck him as spurious. The turn of a switch and all this brilliance would be gone. It was as artificial as the gayety of the street. It was like the mechanical smile of a courtesan paid for her amiability. Death, violent death, had stalked two victims tonight, but the street showed no sign of tragedy.
Police were driving the curious away from the entrance to the International Club as Solaire arrived there. But a sergeant who advanced threateningly upon Solaire lost his belligerency as he recognized the new arrival at the scene.
"Hello, Mr. Solaire. Another swell shooting here. You're out late tonight."
Many times in his peregrinations along Times Square Solaire had seen Sergeant Mulchay.
"I dropped in here a while ago. I was in a lunch room getting a snack when I heard someone say there had been another killing here. I was curious."
Through the entrance came several waiters, among them the man who had handed Solaire the note from the Lacey girl. He came close to Solaire, paused and buttoned his overcoat about his throat. From the side of his mouth he spoke.
"No use shooting off my face. I didn't mention that note, Mr. Solaire, and I won't." He moved on.
"Do they know who did the killing?" asked Solaire. Officer Mulchay had moved away, pushing pedestrians along, but now he returned to Solaire's side.
"No, we don't," he admitted. "According to what we've gathered, she stepped into a taxi and somebody shot her. She fell on the sidewalk, and the taxi raced off. That's all we know."
SOLAIRE SHRUGGED. He said good night to the officer and walked to the curb to halt a passing taxi. A heavy hand fell on his shoulder, and he turned to see Hanrahan's red face.
"What are you doing here, Mr. Solaire?"
"Just going home," said Solaire.
"Where have you been?" asked Hanrahan.
"Just now? At a lunch room, getting a bite. Heard someone say there'd been another killing here and walked down. Just curious."
"That all?" asked Hanrahan.
"What else could it be?" countered Solaire.
"I don't know. That's why I'm asking you."
Solaire stared at him. "Well, what do you want?"
Solaire had been close to the killing of Dagan. Solaire was lingering in the neighborhood of this second killing. Solaire was a ruined wastrel. But after all, he was Daniel Solaire, ruined or not. Hanrahan's eyes dropped.
"If I want to talk to you I'll be able to find you," he muttered.
"Any time," said Solaire.
He stepped into the taxi that had arrived at the curb and gave the driver his address. As he rode home through the deserted streets he berated himself for having gone down to the International Club. Even if Hanrahan learned that the Lacey girl had sent a note to Solaire, he would hardly be crazy enough to think that Solaire had had anything to do with her death. But the circumstance would arouse interest on the part of the police. Now, because Hanrahan had seen him outside the club, the inspector might become annoying.
Then Solaire defended himself. How could he have known that the waiter would not tell the police about the note that he had delivered? And why didn't the waiter speak of it? Why had he assured Solaire that he would say nothing?
Dan was still pondering this question as he reached the door of his apartment. He withdrew his hand from a pocket. His key was gone. Then he remembered that Lisle Payne had not given it back to him.
Blunt was the heaviest sleeper in the world. Nothing short of an earthquake could arouse him. So Solaire rang the elevator bell, and when the car appeared at the landing asked the operator to tell the night superintendent to send up his pass key. Two minutes later, he entered his apartment.
He took off his hat and coat and walked into his living room. He lighted a cigaret and sat down. A moment later, the telephone bell rang. He rose and went to the instrument; lifted the receiver to his ear.
"Hello," he said.
"Dan? This is Lyn."
Involuntarily he glanced at the clock on the mantel. What was Lyn doing up at this hour? "What's the matter?" he asked.
"Dan! They've arrested Tom."
"Arrested him? What for?"
"For killing Dagan!" she cried.
"Killing Dagan?" Solaire was incredulous. "The police must be insane."
"It's Tom who's insane. Dan, he confessed."
"Confessed? How could he confess? Lyn, are you in your right mind?"
"I wish I weren't, but I am. Peter Iglehart, Uncle Frank's lawyer, just tele- phoned me. He was down at the Tombs or wherever they put prisoners. He said he just got there. Tom sent for him. He gave himself up about an hour ago. Dan, I'm insane with horror."
"You want me to come over, Lyn?"
"No. I wanted- just to talk to you. To know that somebody- you know."
"Of course I do, you poor child. And if there's anything I can do-"
"I know, Dan; but there's nothing. Peter assured me that he would do the best he could for Tom. He hadn't seen him yet, but he wanted to warn me that reporters would be calling on me." "How does he know Tom confessed?"
"Oh, the police told him. He must have done so. They let Miss Payne go."
"Let her go?"
"Shortly after she gave herself up. How could they hold her? Tom admitted that he killed Dagan. Dan, come to see me in the morning."
"Of course I will," he said.
"And Dan, the things I said to you tonight- I didn't mean them."
"It wouldn't matter. For heaven's sake, with what you've got on your mind, don't worry about my feelings."
"But I do worry about them."
"Don't be silly!" he scolded.
"All right. Good night, Dan."
Slowly he hung up the receiver. He had had more than his usual allotment of liquor, but he needed another drink now. He walked through the dining room to the butler's pantry. He procured whisky, soda and ice and returned to the living room. And as he was mixing a drink, someone spoke from the bedroom.
"Mind making one for me, too?"
The glass almost fell from his hand as he turned to see the lovely figure of Lisle Payne framed in the doorway. She was dressed as she had been earlier that night, but her frock was slightly rumpled and her pale skin was flushed as though with sleep. He stared at her.
"What on earth are you doing here?" he asked.
Lazily she advanced into the room. "The springs of speech will do better if they're oiled with a drink," she smiled.
Mechanically he fixed a drink. She sat down on the couch beside him.
"I didn't kill Dagan," she said. Over the rim of her glass her eyes twinkled.
"I knew that," he said.
"But the police know it now," she said.
He nodded. "I just heard over the telephone that Tom Torrance had confessed and that they had let you go. But why did you come here?"
"Isn't it enough that I am here? Some men never question the gifts the gods provide. Are you the doubting, timorous kind that wants to know why?"
"I'm afraid I am," he replied.
She smiled. "A score of reporters followed me as I left police headquarters. I knew they'd besiege my hotel, and I had a key to your apartment, where they'd never think to look for me. My taximan was clever. He managed to dodge the cars that followed us. He brought me here. I can get some peace here. The police tell me that I'll be needed as a witness; that I mustn't leave New York. I don't know what I can testify to, but they want me at hand. I can't bear going back to my hotel, where every bellboy and waiter will be eying me curiously. Besides"-her smile grew tremulous-"I like it here. Tonight you were the kindest, the most gallant man I ever met. Do you possess only one kind of gallantry?"
She swayed toward him. All manner of delectable things seemed to be promised by her eyes and lips.
Next month-A midnight phone call is responsible for Dan Solaire's presence at the scene of a third murder
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