Mrs. MacTaggart came trotting back, looking like a plump little lamb in her woolly white dressing gown, gray hair standing out in little curls; she handed him an overgenerous supply of rye in a juice glass.
'Get that down you, man,' she said in her soft Scots burr. 'You're doing nobody any good getting yourself fagged to death so you can't think proper. It's a caution, imagine you two traveling more than three thousand miles since this morning.
You'll get that down and you'll both be going to bed.
And,' she added to Alison severely, 'you will not be up at the crack of dawn worrying about that poor young thing in there, her man at death's door and her carrying. She'll sleep in, all the pills you gave her, and I'll see to her when she wakes.'
Alison smiled at her wanly and said, 'You're a tower of strength, Mairi. I don't know what we'd do without you. She even remembered Silver Boy, Luis-”
'Somebody's needed to keep a little common sense. Why wouldn't I? When Mrs. Dunne fetched the wee boy here and told me of it, of course I would think of Mrs. Hackett's cat. And that Bertha was here by then, so I just ran over in Miss Alison's car-knowing you wouldn't mind it, mo croidhe -and took him to Dr. Stocking's where he'll be safe until we can sort matters out. And you'd best take the man and put him into his bed, achara, or he'll fall to sleep where he sits.'
It had been a long, long day. But he wouldn't sleep, not with Art
…
He shook his head muzzily. The rye had hit his empty stomach like a small bomb. He thought vaguely, Passing the love of women… He hauled himself up to his feet. 'What would we do without you, Mairi? I haven't even said hello to you… The twins O.K.? That's good… Dejelo paras manana… It's got to be all right, hasn't it? Alison-'
'Come on, darling, bed. You look like death. Mairi-'
'You'll not be fussing. I'll see to everything. The wee boy's snug asleep in his cot by my own bed. You see to your man. They're troublesome creatures to love,' said Mrs. MacTaggart, 'and often enough bringing sorrow on us, but nought to do about that but the best we can.'
In the big master bedroom Mendoza flung off his clothes carelessly. The whiskey-damn the whiskey-had turned his mind numb; he couldn't think.
El Senor, the miniature lion, had officially retired on the foot of the bed hours ago, and gave them a very cold green glare for disturbing him at this hour. 'Senor Malevolencia!' said Mendoza sleepily. 'Alison-'
'Here, let me help you.'
'Don't be silly. Quite all right. Alison, you talk to Angel, tomorrow. Find out what he said before he left- anything he told her about those cases. Explain-'
'Yes, Luis. All right'
He wouldn't sleep, because there was Art… Passing the love of women… But he slept, his last conscious thought that it was good to be home, to feel Alison's warmth close, and to feel the warm heavy weight of four cats at the foot of the bed.
He was in his office at eight o'clock Sunday morning, shaved and tidy in gray Italian silk with the newest discreet dark tie, mustache newly trimmed, back to civilization and the job.
The hospital said, No change.
He had read Hackett's notes, and he had read Traffic's official report on the Ford. He was now listening to Palliser, who had found Margaret Corliss in her apartment last night.
'… said she'd been out shopping and visiting friends, and hunting a new job. Maybe natural. But there's something offbeat there, I can't put a finger on it but-'
'You haven't interpreted Art's notes. Maybe we can, with a little cerebration,' said Mendoza. 'I want to see that office. She said he hadn't been to see her?'
'That's right. She was home alone all that evening, nobody came to see her.'
'Really. Poor girl. And she ought to be home alone at this hour too. Jimmy.' He got up and went to the door. 'Call that Corliss woman, tell her to be home at one-thirty, I'll drop by to see her then… Here's one thing,' he added to Palliser. 'His wife told Art that about the time Nestor graduated from his chiropractic course he had a legacy. Which he used to fit out his very classy new office. She said to me last night he hadn't any relatives. Suppose you check that out-where'd the legacy come from? Fond godfather maybe? I'd just like to know. I'd also like to know something about Andrea Nestor's background. And the background of that Telfer at the hotel.'
'Well, all right,' said Palliser. He sounded a little surprised. 'My own thought was, if we can find out something definite about who Hackett did see Friday night-'
Mendoza stabbed out a cigarette, his tenth this morning, and laughed sharply. ' Eso cae de su peso. Sure. But how do we pin it down for sure? Margaret Corliss says he didn't call on her-so if she's lying, how do we know? Ask the neighbors if they heard her doorbell ring? If they saw a 1957 Ford parked on the block?'
'Well, hell, I know, but-'
'We've committed ourselves,' said Mendoza, 'to the premise that he got something very definite on somebody-real evidence. Enough for an arrest right then, maybe. On the Slasher, or on the Nestor thing. And that X knew it and took steps right then to stop him passing it on. All right. Nobody involved is going to hand us the information for the asking. Anybody who says right away, ‘Why, yes, he was here'-like Mrs. Nestor-ten to one hadn't a thing to do with it. But we don't know how many places he'd been, because we don't know for certain what time he went over the cliff-or how long he'd been tied up before. ?Como no? The only definite thing we're going to get is by following both of these up hard and heavy-get the Slasher, find out all about Nestor's taking off-and then we can put the finger on who sent Art over that cliff and why. And don't tell me it's the long way round. We'll be looking everywhere, but that's how it looks to me right now.'
'Sense,' said Dwyer laconically; he had just come in. 'What chores do I get?'
'You work through the rest of Nestor's address book. Split it with Glasser-Nestor knew the hell of a lot of people. John, you look for the legacy. I'll be seeing Corliss and the Elgers. Who's on day shift? Let Galeano check into Telfer. And why in hell didn't somebody spot the one clue on the Slasher you were handed free gratis? Jimmy can check that out-'
'What? What clue?' asked Palliser blankly.
'?Porvida! ” said Mendoza. 'I caught that one as soon as I read the statements! I'm surprised Art didn't pick it up. Estupidos -the silver dollar! That bar where, evidently, the Slasher got talking to Number Three-Theodore Simms. He had two straight whiskeys and paid with a silver dollar and two dimes. How recently have any of you seen a silver dollar?'
'My God,' said Palliser. 'I never thought- Of course you don't much any more. Only-'
'Only!' said Mendoza. 'Exactly. All this Goddamned inflation. We'd all be a damned sight smarter to feel like that, hard money or nothing. But the fact remains, where do you see silver dollars these days? Can any of you smart detectives tell me?' Glasser and Scarne had come in now, were listening silently.
'God's sake,' said Dwyer. 'Vegas. For the high-priced one-arm bandits.'
'All right,' said Mendoza. 'Where else? I'll tell you. Up north. Through the gold country-anywhere from Sacramento down through the San Joaquin-inland. All those conservative rural types who like the feel of the hard money. So let's find out if any more bars down around Second and Third have taken in any silver dollars lately, and if anybody remembers anything about the fellow handed them over, if so. And let's also send out some inquiries in the direction of Vegas and up north.'
'On what?' asked Glasser. 'I don't see--'
'?Ignorante! ' said Mendoza irritably. 'Art saw that. It's in the cards our Slasher hasn't gone off the rails so sudden. That our Number One in that hotel wasn't his Number One. Let's ask, anyway. Whether Vegas, or any place up north, has had some mysterious knifings-lately, or last year, or any time. Just for fun.'
'Oh,' said Palliser. 'Yes, I see that. But-'
'?Largo de aqui! Let's get busy and work this thing! Jimmy, get busy on all that-'8
'Will do,' said Sergeant Lake.
'And the rest of you, out! John, where's Nestor's appointment book?'
