“Yes,” he said into it. “Yes. . . What? . . . Sure. . . . Sure, but leave somebody there. . . . That's night.” He pushed the telephone aside. “Another bum steer on that West Twentyninth Street killing yesterday.”
“Oh,” I said. “I thought I heard Wynant's name. You know how some telephone voices carry.”
He blushed, cleared his throat. “Maybe something sounded like it—why not, I guess. Uh-huh, that could sound like it—why not. I almost forgot: we hooked up that fellow Sparrow for you.”
“What'd you find out?”
“It looks like there's nothing there for us. His name's Jim Brophy. It figures out that he was making a play for that girl of Nunheim's and she was sore at you and he was just drunk enough to think he could put himself in solid with her by taking a poke at you.”
“A nice idea,” I said. “I hope you didn't make any trouble for Studsy.”
“A friend of yours? He's an ex-con, you know, with a record as long as your arm.”
“Sure. I sent him over once.” I started to gather up my hat and overcoat. “You're busy. I'll run along and —”
“No, no,” he said. “Stick around if you got the time. I got a couple things coming in that'll maybe interest you, and you can give me a hand with that Wynant kid, too, maybe.”
I sat down again.
“Maybe you'd like a drink,” he suggested, opening a drawer of his desk, but I had never had much luck with policemen's liquor, so I said: “No, thanks.”
His telephone rang again and he said into it: “Yes. . . . Yes. . That's all right. Come on in.” This time no words leaked out to me.
He rocked back in his chair and put his feet on his desk. “Listen, I'm on the level about that silver fox farming and I want to ask you what you think of California for a place.”
I was trying to decide whether to tell him about the lion and ostrich farms in the lower part of the state when the door opened and a fat redhaired man brought Gilbert Wynant in. One of Gilbert's eyes was completely shut by swollen flesh around it and his left knee showed through a tear in his pants-leg.
28
I said to Guild: “When you say bring 'em in, they bring 'em in, don't they?”
“Wait,” he told me. “This is more'n you think.” He addressed the fat red-haired man: “Go ahead, Flint, let's have it.”
Flint wiped his mouth with the back of a hand. “He's a wildcat for fair, the young fellow. He don't hook tough, but, man, he didn't want to 'come along, I can tell you that. And can he run!”
Guild growled: “You're a hero and I'll see the Commissioner about your medal right away, but never mind that now. Talk turkey.”
“I wasn't saying I did anything great,” Flint protested. “I was just—”
“I don't give a damn what you did,” Guild said. “I want to know what he did.”
“Yes, sir, I was getting to that. I relieved Morgan at eight o'clock this morning and everything went along smooth and quiet as per usual, with not a creature was stirring, as the fellow says, till along about ten minutes after two, and then what do I hear but a key in the lock.” He sucked in his lips and gave us a chance to express our amazement.
“The Wolf dame's apartment,” Guild explained to me. “I had a hunch.”
“And what a hunch!” Flint exclaimed, practically top-heavy with admiration. “Man, what a hunch!” Guild glared at him and he went on hastily: “Yes, sir, a key, and then the door opens and this young fellow comes in.” He grinned proudly, affectionately, at Gilbert. “Scared stiff, he looked, and when I went for him he was out and away like a streak and it wasn't till the first floor that I caught him, and then, by golly, he put up a tussle and I had to bat him in the eye to tone him down. He don't look tough, but—”
“What'd he do in the apartment?” Guild asked.
“He didn't have a chance to do nothing. I—”
“You mean you jumped him without waiting to see what he was up to?” Guild's neck bulged over the edge of his collar, and his face was as red as Flint's hair.
“I thought it was best not to take no chances.”
Guild stared at me with angry incredulous eyes. I did my best to keep my face blank. He said in a choking voice: “That'll do, Flint. Wait outside.”
The red-haired man seemed puzzled. He said, “Yes, sir,” slowly. “Here's his key.” He put the key on Guild's desk and went to the door. There he twisted his head over a shoulder to say: “He claims he's Clyde Wynant's son.” He laughed merrily.
Guild, still having trouble with his voice, said: “Oh, he does, does he?”
“Yeah. I seen him somewhere before. I got an idea he used to belong to Big Shorty Dohan's mob. Seems to me I used to see him around—”
“Get out!” Guild snarled, and Flint got out. Guild groaned from deep down in his big body. “That mugg gets me. Big Shorty Dolan's mob. Christ.” He shook his head hopelessly and addressed Gilbert: “Well, son?”
Gilbert said: “I know I shouldn't've done it.”
“That's a fair start,” Guild said genially. His face was becoming normal again. “We all make mistakes. Pull yourself up a chair and let's see what we can do about getting you out of the soup. Want anything for that eye?”
“No, thank you, it's quite all right.” Gilbert moved a chain two or three inches towards Guild and sat down.
“Did that bum smack you just to be doing something?”
“No, no, it was my fault. I—I did resist.”
“Oh, well,” Guild said, “nobody likes to be arrested, I guess. Now what's the trouble?”
Gilbert looked at me with his one good eye.
“You're in as bad a hole as Lieutenant Guild wants to put you,” I told him. “You'll make it easy for yourself by making it easy for him.”
Guild nodded earnestly. “And that's a fact.” He settled himself comfortably in his chair and asked, in a friendly tone: “WThere'd you get the key?”
“My father sent it to me in his letter.” He took a white envelope from his pocket and gave it to Guild.
I went around behind Guild and looked at the envelope over his shoulder. The address was typewritten, Mr. Gilbert Wynant, The Courtland, and there was no postage stamp stuck on it.
“When'd you get it?” I asked.
“It was at the desk when I got in last night, around ten o'clock. I didn't ask the clerk how long it had been there, but I don't suppose it was there when I went out with you, or they'd have given it to me.”
Inside the envelope were two sheets of paper covered with the familiar unskillful typewriting. Guild and I read together:
Dear Gilbert:
If all these years have gone by without my having communicated with you, it is only because your mother wished it so and if now I break this silence with a request for your assistance it is because only great need could make me go against your mother's wishes. Also you are a man now and I feel that you yourself are the one to decide whether or not we should go on being strangers or whether we should act in accordance with our ties of blood. That I am in an embarrassing situation now in connection with Julia Wolf's so-called murder I think you know and I trust that you still have remaining enough affection for me to at least hope that I am in all ways guiltless of any complicity therein, which is indeed the case.
I turn to you now for help in demonstrating my innocence once and for all to the police and to the world with every confidence that even could I not count on your affection for me I nevertheless could count on your natural desire to do anything within your power to keeji unblemished the name that is yours and your sister's as well as your Father's.
