'Well, what have you got?' Adams asked, opening his eyes. Donovan was having to make an effort to suppress his excitement.
'A description of a guy who could have done it,' he said. 'He was seen leaving the building around two o'clock and he was in a hurry.'
'Most guys would be in a hurry to leave this joint,' Adams said.
'I've checked back. None of the girls had a guy with them last night answering this one's description. That must mean he came to see Carson. Doc say when she died?'
'Around half-past one.'
'Then he could have done it.'
'Doesn't follow. He might have come up here, found her dead, and got out in a hurry.'
A soft buzzing noise made both men look up. The sound came from the telephone bell. Donovan went over to the bell and stared at it.
'Look at this: someone's deadened the bell.'
Adams picked up the receiver.
Donovan turned to watch him. He saw Adams frown, then he said, 'This is Lieutenant Adams, City Police, talking. Who are you?'
Donovan heard a click on the line and Adams hung up, shrugging.
'One of her mashers, I guess,' Adams said. 'He certainly got off the line in a hurry.'
Donovan snatched up the receiver, called the operator and said urgently, 'This is the police. Trace that call and snap it up.'
Adams stared at him his eyes disapproving.
'What's the idea? You don't imagine the killer's going to call this number, do you?'
'I want to know who called,' Donovan said obstinately.
The operator broke in. 'The call came from the Eastern National Bank: from a pay booth.'
'Thanks, sister,' Donovan said, and hung up.
He went back to the telephone bell.
'Did she muffle the bell or did the killer?' he said.
Raising his voice, Adams called Fletcher.
'Did you check the telephone bell for prints?' he asked, as Fletcher came to the door.
'Yeah. It's clean.'
'Didn't you see the bell was muffled ?'
'Sure, but I didn't think anything of it.'
'You wouldn't,' Adams said in disgust. 'No prints at all?'
Fletcher shook his head.
'Looks like the killer did it,' Donovan said. 'She would have left a print.' Adams waved Fletcher away.
'Better find out if anyone heard the bell ring during the evening.'
'I'm going down to the bank,' Donovan said. 'I want to find out if anyone spotted that caller.'
'What the hell for?'
'This girl didn't work the streets. She had regulars. Guys who recommended her. I want to talk to as many of them as I can find. One of them might be this guy in the grey suit.'
Adams shrugged.
'Okay: you might do worse.'
Donovan hurried out of the room. As he ran down the stairs, be was thinking at last he was getting a break. That's all he asked for. Given a little luck, he might crack this case, and men he would spit in Adams' right eye.
III
Police Commissioner Paul Howard sat behind his big mahogany desk, a cigar between his strong white teeth, his hard weather-beaten face worried.
Howard was fifty-one. He was an ambitious man, climbing laboriously up the political ladder, hoping soon to be made a judge and later a senator. He was well in with the political machine, willing to do as he was told, providing the rewards were adequate. He was in a good position to grant favours, and had acquired considerable wealth from the financial tips he had received for turning a blind eye to the corruption and racketeering running rife through the present Administration.
In an armchair by the window, Captain of Police Joe Motley sat with his legs outstretched, a cigar between his fingers, and his flabby, purplebloomed face expressionless.
Motley was Howard's brother-in-law, the only reason why he remained Captain of Police.
When Howard first took over office, Motley realized his own job was in jeopardy. Motley had no interest in the police force. He was a racing man, but his position was a useful one and he had no intention of losing it. He was a judge of character, and it didn't take him long to discover Howard's weakness for young, attractive girls.
