“Nobody ever does,” he complained, ignoring the question he had interrupted. “Get your clothes on.” He held a hand out to her. “Better let me take care of the junk.”
She hesitated, then slipped the rings from her fingers and dropped them into his hand.
“Shake it up,” he said. “I ain’t had breakfast yet.” He went out and shut the door.
She dressed hurriedly in the clothes she had taken off a short while before, though she did not again put on the one stocking she had worn down from Brazil’s house. When she had finished, she went quietly, with a backward glance at the closed door, to the window, and began slowly, cautiously, to raise the sash.
The tired-faced huge man opened the door. “Good thing I was peeping through the keyhole,” he said patiently. “Now come on.”
Fan came into the room behind him. Her face was very pink; her voice was shrill. “What’re you picking on her for?” she demanded. “She didn’t do anything. Why don’t you—”
“Stop it, stop it,” the huge man begged. His weariness seemed to have become almost unbearable. “I’m only a copper told to bring her in on a larceny charge. I got nothing to do with it, don’t know anything about it.”
“It is all right, Mrs. Link,” Luise Fischer said with dignity. “It will be all right.”
“But you can’t go like that,” Fan protested, and turned to the huge man. “You got to let her put on some decent clothes.”
He sighed and nodded. “Anything, if you’ll only hurry it up and stop arguing with me.”
Fan hurried out.
Luise Fischer addressed the huge man: “He too is charged with larceny?”
He sighed. “Maybe one thing, maybe another,” he said spiritlessly.
She said: “He has done nothing.”
“Well, I haven’t neither,” he complained.
Fan came in with some clothes, a blue suit and hat, dark slippers, stockings, and a white blouse.
“Just keep the door open,” the huge man said. He went out of the room and stood leaning against an opposite wall, where he could see the windows in the bedroom. Luise Fischer changed her clothes, with Fan’s assistance, in a corner of the room where they were hidden from him.
“Did they catch him?” Fan whispered. “I do not know.”
“I don’t think they did.”
“I hope they did not.”
Fan was kneeling in front of Luise Fischer, putting on her stockings. “Don’t let them make you talk till you’ve seen Harry Klaus,” she whispered rapidly. “You tell them he’s your lawyer and you got to see him first. We’ll send him down and he’ll get you out all right.” She looked up abruptly. “You didn’t cop them, did you?”
“Steal the rings?” Luise Fischer asked in surprise.
“I didn’t think so,” the blonde woman said. “So you won’t have to—”
The huge man’s weary voice came to them: “Come on—cut out the barbering and get into the duds.”
Fan said: “Go take a run at yourself.”
Luise Fischer carried her borrowed hat to the looking-glass and put it on; then, smoothing down the suit, looked at her reflection. The clothes did not fit her so badly as might have been expected.
Fan said: “You look swell.”
The man outside the door said: “Come on.”
Luise Fischer turned to Fan. “Goodbye, and I—”
The blonde woman put her arms around her. “There’s nothing to say, and you’ll be back here in a couple of hours. Harry’ll show those saps they can’t put anything like this over on you.”
The huge man said: “Come on.”
Luise Fischer joined him and they went toward the front of the flat.
As they passed the living-room door Donny, rising from the sofa, called cheerfully: “Don’t let them worry you, baby. We’ll—”
A tall man in brown put a hand over Donny’s face and pushed him back on the sofa.
Luise Fischer and the huge man went out. A police-department automobile was standing in front of the house where Brazil had left his coupe. A dozen or more adults and children were standing around it, solemnly watching the door through which she came.
A uniformed policeman pushed some of them aside to make passageway for her and her companion and got into the car behind them. “Let her go, Tom,” he called to the chauffeur, and they drove off.
The huge man shut his eyes and groaned softly. “God, I’m
They rode seven blocks and halted in front of a square red brick building on a corner. The huge man helped her out of the automobile and took her between two large frosted globes into the building, and into a room where a bald fat man in uniform sat behind a high desk.
The huge man said: “It’s that Luise Fischer for Mile Valley.” He took a hand from a pocket and tossed her rings on the desk. “That’s the stuff, I guess.”
The bald man said: “Nice picking. Get the guy?”
“Hospital, I guess.”
Luise Fischer turned to him: “Was he—was he badly hurt?”
The huge man grumbled: “I don’t know about it. Can’t I guess?”
The bald man called: “Luke!”
A thin, white-mustached policeman came in.
The fat man said: “Put her in the royal suite.”
Luise Fischer said: “I wish to see my lawyer.”
The three men looked unblinkingly at her.
“His name is Harry Klaus,” she said. “I wish to see him.”
Luke said: “Come back this way.”
She followed him down a bare corridor to the far end, where he opened a door and stood aside for her to go through. The room into which the door opened was a small one furnished with cot, table, two chairs, and some magazines. The window was large, fitted with a heavy wire grating.
In the center of the room she turned to say again: “I wish to see my lawyer.”
The white-mustached man shut the door and she could hear him locking it.
Two hours later he returned with a bowl of soup, some cold meat and a slice of bread on a plate, and a cup of coffee.
She had been lying on the cot, staring at the ceiling. She rose and faced him imperiously. “I wish to see —”
“Don’t start that again,” he said irritably. “We got nothing to do with you. Tell it to them Mile Valley fellows when they come for you.”
He put the food on the table and left the room. She ate everything he had brought her.
It was late afternoon when the door opened again. “There you are,” the white-mustached man said, and stood aside to let his companions enter. There were two of them, men of medium height, in dull clothes, one thick- chested and florid, the other less heavy, older.
The thick-chested, florid one looked Luise Fischer up and down and grinned admiringly at her. The other said: “We want you to come back to the Valley with us, Miss Fischer.”
She rose from her chair and began to put on her hat and coat.
“That’s it,” the older of the two said. “Don’t give us no trouble and we don’t give you none.”
She looked curiously at him.
They went to the street and got into a dusty blue sedan. The thick-chested man drove. Luise Fischer sat behind him, beside the older man. They retraced the route she and Brazil had taken that morning.
Once, before they left the city, she had said: “I wish to see my lawyer. His name is Harry Klaus.”
The man beside her was chewing gum. He made noises with his lips, then told her, politely enough: “We can’t stop now.”
The man at the wheel spoke before she could reply. He did not turn his head. “How come Brazil socked him?”
Luise said quickly: “It was not his fault. He was—”
The older man, addressing the man at the wheel, interrupted her: “Let it alone, Pete. Let the D.A. do his own
