“Just push it to the rear of the top shelf, but you really shouldn't. You might-”
“Nothin' to it.” He tossed two more boxes of books aloft, made piles of the remaining loose ones and disposed of them in two more trips. “There,” he said, dusting off his hands.
“Thank you,” she said, smiling. “You're certainly energetic, aren't you? And strong.” Cool gray eyes took him in, lingering on his leather jacket. Her eyes left him at the sound of voices approaching in the outside corridor.
Two men in coveralls entered, a short, wiry man in the lead. He looked blank at sight of the empty table. “How in the hell-? Excuse me, Miss Burger. I hope you didn't move those books yourself. I went to get Billy here to help with the boxes.”
“Help arrived from an unexpected source,” Jessamyn Burger said.
The wiry man glanced at Johnny. “He put 'em up there by himself? Naah, I packed those things myself. I know what they weighed.” He took another look at Johnny. “He really did?”
“He really did, Fred. Thanks just the same.”
Fred and his helper shuffled out. In the doorway, Fred turned for another look before he left.
“You know you've really spoiled his day,” Jessamyn Burger smiled. “I really do thank you, Mr.-?”
“Killain,” Johnny supplied. “Did you know Carl Thompson is dead, Miss Burger?”
Her smile vanished. “Dead? Where? When?”
“He was killed in my hotel room in New York. A thousand dollars of my money is missing. I'm tryin' to get it back.”
“Wait,” she said quickly. “Wait. You're going too fast for me. Carl Thompson killed? In your room? Why was he there?”
“Oh, he'd come lookin' for help on some crazy scheme he'd cooked up,” Johnny said indifferently. “I didn't pay too much attention. I came back to the room an' found him dead an' my money gone. He claimed he'd been tossed around by someone up here. I figured if the people he was afraid of gave him the big bounce they had my money. I want it back.”
“But why on earth come to me with such a-such a wild story!” Her expression was one of wide-eyed vacuity. “I simply don't understand.”
“I met Jim Daddario a couple of blocks away from my place last night. I'm curious about him. I heard you could tell me about Jim Daddario.”
The wide-eyed expression had vanished as quickly as the smile had previously. “You really do have more than a fair share of nerve, don't you, Mr. Killain?” Icicles sprinkled every syllable. “There is nothing I care to discuss with you, now or later.”
“Look at it this way-you know somethin', I know somethin',” Johnny suggested. He watched her full lips purse doubtfully. “I know you can't talk to me here but how about dinner tonight? I wouldn't be dressed like this.”
She looked at him as though unexpectedly seeing him in another dimension. “Really-” Even white teeth gnawed at her pouting lower lip. “I don't know-I don't see-are you sure you want to?”
He gave her a big smile. “You damn right I'm sure.”
“Well-” She appeared to be trying to get herself organized. “Would eight o'clock be too late?”
“Just tell me where I meet you,” Johnny said promptly.
“I think right at the restaurant would be best,” she said hurriedly. “Mollinson's. The food's quite good.”
“Mollinson's at eight.” He smiled at her again. “Wear something pretty. Not that you need it.”
Down the spiraling stairway and out through the hushed main floor he carried in his mind the picture of Jessamyn Burger's high booming color. The dinner would be no hardship.
CHAPTER IV
On the granite library steps Johnny stopped to light a cigarette. A heavy push from behind sent him reeling. The cigarette flew from his hand and he staggered down three or four steps before recovering his balance. Another stiff push nearly upset him again as he turned to see what had happened. He stared at a slim, dark, handsome- looking man standing on the step above him. The man grinned and pushed Johnny again, deliberately.
Belatedly, Johnny recognized the dark man as the one who had been in the Manhattan suite with Micheline Thompson and Jim Daddario. Savino. Tommy Savino. Had this little pimp followed him all the way up here from New York? If he had, it left Killain with plenty of egg on his face. “What's the matter with you?” Johnny demanded at another push. Only the first one had moved him. Still smiling, Savino said nothing. He stepped down onto Johnny's level as if to push again, changed his mind and swung his left hand. It caught Johnny on the ear, more of a slap than a punch, but it stung.
The man's left arm started up again, and Johnny reached for it. He checked himself immediately. That's what he wants, he told himself. He's looking for trouble. This is his town.
He evaded the left hand with a head movement. Savino's fixed smile took on a jeering aspect at Johnny's checked grab for his arm. He kicked Johnny heavily in the right shin. A hot, glowing coal ignited in Johnny's stomach. There was nothing openhanded about the right hand smash with which he hit Savino flush in the sneering mouth, knocking him flat on his back on the steps.
The dark man scrambled to his knees like a snarling wildcat, the corners of his mouth dribbling blood. His right hand darted to his left wrist. Johnny stepped in close and picked him up bodily. He carried Savino to a wall buttress and stood him up against it with a knee in his back to hold him there. Unhurriedly, Johnny worked the left arm around behind the struggling body and beneath the loose-flowing jacket sleeve found a knife holster strapped to the forearm.
Savino cursed luridly as Johnny removed a deadly-looking six-inch blade from the holster. He was disappointed to find no bone in the handle as there had been in the knife that had killed Carl Thompson. Johnny placed the blade against the stone buttress and applied pressure until it snapped off close to the hilt.
“Ye're under arrest,” a voice rambled from behind him. “Both of you. Fightin' in public.” Johnny turned. Sap in hand, a hulking patrolman stood watchfully, feet planted wide apart. Johnny removed his knee from Savino's spine. The slim man whirled but the policeman spoke hastily. “None of that, now. We'll settle it at the stationhouse. March on out to the curb.”
Johnny looked at the high, narrow, boxlike body of the vehicle pulled up out in front. It had two steps up from the back and no windows. A twenty-year-out-of-date Black Maria that appeared without being summoned. Here comes trouble, Killain, Johnny told himself. It looked as though Carl Thompson had known what he was talking about.
They walked through the rim of a gathering crowd to the police van. Johnny got in first and went at once to the front end and stood with his back to the wall. Savino followed him, and the patrolman lumbered on last. He looked at Johnny up in the front. “Sit down, you,” he said sharply, and turned to close and latch the van doors.
Johnny stayed where he was. The instant the staring faces of the people outside were shut out, Savino charged, the patrolman a stride behind. Johnny grabbed Savino and held him out at arm's length, using him as a buffer against the sap in the policeman's big hand. “Get him, Collins,” Savino grunted, writhing in Johnny's hands. Johnny tightened his grip and Savino swore hoarsely. Behind him Patrolman Collins prowled ineffectually, trying to get at Johnny past the barrier of Savino's body. Their heavy breathing filled the van.
A sharp left turn staggered them up against the wall. The van slowed and Collins smothered a remark under his breath. As it stopped he hung the sap back on his belt, opened the back doors and stepped down. Johnny half- threw Savino at the doors and he staggered out into a sunlit yard. Johnny followed cautiously and found himself in a hollow square of public buildings with thousands of windows looking down upon the open space. He relaxed for the first time in minutes. This kind of trouble didn't usually come in the open and the sunlight.
The driver swung down off the front seat, a folded canvas stretcher under his arm. His stolid expression turned foolish at sight of all three of his passengers on their feet. He hurriedly stuffed the stretcher back inside the van.
Back entrance double-doors were spaced at regular intervals around the square. A blue light marked Police Headquarters. “Get inside,” Patrolman Collins said curtly. His hands were empty. A raging Savino almost sprinted to the door. Johnny moved quickly to keep him within reach. Savino might be allied with the police but he was still Johnny's passport. The moment Johnny was maneuvered into laying a hand on the police rather than on Savino the
