'What did they quarrel about?'
'She and Gilda Dorman used to share an apartment. Yarde fell for Gilda. He broke up the act and Gilda and he went to Los Angeles. She came back after six months alone. Yarde came back a couple of days ago. He came to see Fay. I happened to see him. They had a quarrel. I heard her cursing him. When he left I heard him tell her he would cut her throat.'
Adams removed his hat and ran his fingers through his thick white hair.
'You're sure Gilda went away with Yarde?'
Sweeting nodded.
'Johnny told me. He hated the idea. Yarde's a bad man, Lieutenant: a bad man with women.'
Adams scratched the side of his jaw. This set-up was getting complicated. He would have preferred to tie Johnny to the murder, but if he couldn't do that, Yarde would do nearly as well. In both cases Gilda was hooked up to it, and that meant O'Brien was hooked up in it too.
'Where do I find Yarde ?' he asked.
'He usually hangs out at the Washington Hotel. He could be there, Lieutenant.'
Adams got slowly and stiffly to his feet. This was turning out to be a hell of a night.
'Okay, Raphael. Keep your mouth shut and your legs crossed. Stick right here and don't try to leave town. I may need you for a witness. Play along with me and you won't get into trouble.'
'Yes, Lieutenant,' Sweeting said, and for the first time since Adams had been in the apartment, he began to breathe freely.
As Adams moved to the door, Sweeting went on, 'Excuse me, Lieutenant, but you wouldn't happen to have a spare buck on you? I have my rent to meet tomorrow and I find myself a little short.'
Adams opened the door and went slowly down the stairs as if he hadn't heard his head bent, his brow furrowed in thought.
Sweeting leaned over the banister rail but resisted the temptation of spitting on the Lieutenant's hat. He returned to his room and slammed the
door.
He had to raise some money before tomorrow. For a long time he stood thinking, then his face brightened. Of course! Gilda Dorman! He should have thought of her before. She might part with a few bucks if he called on her. She would probably be interested to know her old lover, Maurice Yarde, was in town. She might be still sentimental about him. She might also be interested to know that Lieutenant Adams thought her brother had killed Fay. The possibilities were endless!
Sweeting glanced at the clock on the overmantel. It was a quarter past eleven. These nightclub singers kept late hours. He might catch her if he hurried.
He went over to the pile of directories, flicked through the pages of one of them and found what he wanted.
'45 Maddox Court,' he muttered. 'That's only five minutes from here.'
He took his hat from the cupboard, placed it at an angle on his head so as to hide his bruised eye, picked up Leo, turned off the lights and hurriedly left his apartment.
III
The Washington Hotel had an unsavoury reputation. It was a-room-bythe-hour-and-no-questions-asked joint, sandwiched between an amusement arcade and a beer shop, facing the river. In its basement, hidden away behind a cleverly constructed sliding panel, was a big room where you could enjoy a pipe of opium if you wanted it and if you could pay for it.
On the top floor were a number of well-furnished rooms which were occupied by the hotel's residents: mostly men just out of prison who were feeling their feet, taking a look around and getting used to their new-found freedom.
The hotel was owned by Sean O'Brien, and Police Captain Motley had taken care that his men didn't worry the management or the residents. The manager, Seth Cutler, short, thick-set and as hard as granite, was startled when he saw Lieutenant Adams coming across the dimly lit lobby. He leaned his elbows on the desk and waited, his eyes watchful.
'Evening, Lieutenant,' he said, when Adams came to rest opposite him. 'Long time no see.'
'Yeah,' Adams said. 'Let me take a look at your register.'
Cutler raised his eyebrows, poked his little finger into his right ear, wiggled it about and then withdrew it and examined his nail to see what he had found.
'Snap it up!' Adams barked, his voice suddenly harsh.
Cutler said, 'Excuse me, Lieutenant, but haven't you come to the wrong joint? This is the Washington. We've got protection.'
'Give me the book!' Adams said.
Cutler raised his shoulders, produced a well-worn, leather-bound book, blew dust off it and laid it on the desk.
The last entry in the book was dated June 19th, 1941.
'It's a wonder you keep in business,' Adams said in disgust. He shoved the book back. 'I'm looking for Maurice Yarde.'
Cutler shook his head.
