alone when he went up to Madeleine's apartment. Two of the help told the police that another man went upstairs with Jack. They never did see him come down. The police had me over there last night. It seems I'm not the man.”
“Did you hear a description?”
“They were careful that I didn't. They shouldn't have too much trouble finding out.”
“You think you know?”
“I know that as of ten o'clock this morning I started minding Max Stitt's business, and his only.”
“Did I tell you Palmer made me an offer for the piece?” Johnny asked casually.
“Palmer did? Palmer? He wouldn't pay a quarter to see an elephant roller-skate. Something wrong there. He stole his money young, and he's been a cautious type ever since. If he ever knew one-tenth the uses to which Claude put his money-“
“What I hear, him an' Faulkner are goin' to school on it.”
Max Stitt laughed, a harsh, unmusical sound. “Faulkner,” he said disparagingly. “That warmer Bruder?”
“He seems to get around with the redhead.”
“She's using him.”
“You were a little rough on her a while back.”
“She told you that?” Stitt looked surprised, then smiled wisely. “She didn't tell you. You saw. So she's using you, too.” He stood up behind the desk. “I showed her that no woman uses Max Stitt.” He lifted the magnum and held it to the light. “Empty. And I've talked myself sober.” His light-colored eyes considered Johnny. “Yesterday it wouldn't have been like this, Killain. Tomorrow it won't be. All I want is to be left alone.” He stubbed out his cigar with finality. “Sorry to rush you, but I'm locking up.”
He removed a heavy key ring from the center drawer of his desk and followed Johnny to the front door. Johnny was already on the cement walk outside when Max Stitt spoke again. “Don't turn your back on that redhead. Take it from a man who knows.”
The click of the lock in the door sounded as Johnny turned. Stitt waved from behind the glass, and disappeared.
Johnny shrugged, and continued on down the walk.
Johnny stood in the lobby of the Hotel Alden with the receiver of the house phone to his ear and listened to it ring a dozen times with no response. He gave up, finally, and recradled it. He thought it over a moment, undecided. He would have liked to talk to Jules Tremaine.
“Ah-sir?”
Johnny half turned at the low-voiced inquiry at his elbow, He looked at the skinny, balding little man in rusty blue suit and frayed-collared, pin-striped shirt who stood nervously dry-washing his hands.
“Talkin' to me, Jack?” Johnny inquired.
“Please,” the man said softly. He was not looking at Johnny. “I'm the clerk at the cigar counter. If it's Mr. Tremaine you're looking for, follow me over there.” He was moving away before he had completed the sentence, his gait a stiff-kneed trot.
Johnny watched him as he moved in behind the stand across from the mail desk, picked up a feather duster and energetically attacked a magazine rack. A glance around the lobby disclosed no one taking an interest in the exchange.
Johnny gave him a couple of moments before he followed. “Couple cigars. Somethin' bigger'n a perfecto.”
“Yes, sir,” the clerk said clearly. His bald head flashed as he stooped to remove boxes from the cigar case. “We have three or four excellent blunts, if you'd just have a look-” Slim white hands opened boxes and displayed cigars. “Tremaine?” the man asked without moving his lips. Six feet away, Johnny thought, the voice must be inaudible.
“Yeah.” Johnny fingered a well-shaped blunt from a box and held it up to the light. “Where is he?”
“The police took him away. Two hours ago.” This guy should have been a ventriloquist, Johnny thought. Looking right at him you couldn't see his lips move. “I'll take three of these.” He put the cigars in his jacket pocket and waited for his change. “Thanks, Jack.”
“Thank you, sir.” The faintest possible stress was on the pronoun. The clerk returned to his dusting.
Johnny moved away from the stand. Tremaine picked up by the police? Could Tremaine have been the second man the apartment help insisted had gone up to Madeleine Winters' apartment with Jack Arends? Tremaine in Madeleine Winters' apartment? Johnny shook his head. He couldn't see it. Not the way Tremaine felt about her. Unless-
He headed for the phone booths. Eddie Lake was the man to handle this. In the yellow pages he ran a thick forefinger down the “L's,” then stepped inside a booth and dialed. “Eddie?” He listened impatiently to a voice explaining nasally that it was empowered to deputize for Eddie. “Put Eddie Lake on the line,” Johnny demanded. “Eddie? Johnny Killain.”
“Well, well, well,” a bright voice chirped. “The bear that walks like a man. How much, bail? What's the charge?”
Johnny grinned. “You think I'm in trouble, Eddie?”
“Do I hear from you if you're not?” the tenor piped injuredly. “Six months an' never a word.”
“I been a little busy. So catch me up. Tell me everything you learned in the six months. It won't take long,” Johnny gibed.
“I'll tell you everything we both learned,” Eddie Lake said sharply. “That won't take any longer.”
“Same old Eddie,” Johnny said, laughing. “Quick on th' trigger. Listen.” He turned serious. “Grab one of your shysters an' get over to the precinct an' spring a boy by the name of Jules Tremaine. Residence is the Hotel Alden. He was scooped a couple hours ago.”
“Is it bailable?”
“I doubt there's a charge. I think they're goosin' him on general principles.”
“Anything I should know?”
“A monied party got dusted off the other night. I think they're tryin' to put this boy close to the scene.”
“That's a little bit more than general principles. If they do, my money's no good.”
“You get him out before they do. He's not the type to talk quick an' easy. Bring him up to the Alden. I'll be in the lobby. How long will it take?”
“Not so very if you didn't keep me hanging on the phone answering foolish questions. If I spring him at all. I'll see you.”
Johnny smiled as he hung up. He headed for a lobby chair and sank down into one that commanded a full view of the front entrance. By the time he had taken out and lit up one of his recently purchased cigars, the smile had been replaced by a scowl.
He was remembering the evening he had picked up Gloria Philips at the Spandau office for their dinner date. The redhead had locked up. Jules Tremaine had not been there.
Johnny frowned down at the wreathed blue smoke curling from the cigar ash. Could it actually have been Tremaine with Arends up in the blonde's apartment?
He had time to consider another problem that had been tickling at his consciousness for some time. Where could Claude Dechant have hidden a thirty-pound object measuring eighteen by fifteen inches? Hidden it well enough to escape the eager beavers whose sole idea was its recovery?
Knowing Dechant, he probably wouldn't trust it too far away from him, yet Max Stitt, who should have known Dechant and his ways better than any of them, had been unable to find it.
If you believe him, Killain. If you believe him.
Johnny sighed, stretched out his legs and settled down to wait grimly for part of the answer, at least, to be delivered to him.
If Tremaine had been in Madeleine Winters' apartment with Jack Arends, Johnny wanted a few words with Jules Tremaine.
Dan Marlowe
The Fatal Frails
