Dashiell Hammett
The Glass Key
I.The Body in China Street
Green dice rolled across the green table, struck the rim together, and bounced back. One stopped short holding six white spots in two equal rows uppermost. The other tumbled out to the center of the table and came to rest with a single spot on top.
Ned Beaumont grunted softly—'Uhn!'—and the winners cleared the table of money.
Harry Sloss picked up the dice and rattled them in a pale broad hairy hand. 'Shoot two bits.' He dropped a twenty-dollar bill and a five-dollar bill on the table.
Ned Beaumont stepped back saying: 'Get on him, gamblers, I've got to refuel.' He crossed the billiard- room to the door. There he met Walter Ivans coming in. He said, ''Lo, Walt,' and would have gone on, but Ivans caught his elbow as he passed and turned to face him.
'D-d-did you t-talk to P-p-paul?' When Ivans said 'P-p-paul' a fine spray flew out between his lips.
'I'm going up to see him now.' Ivans's china-blue eyes brightened in his round fair face until Ned Beaumont, narrow of eye, added: 'Don't expect much. If you could wait awhile.' -
Ivans's chin twitched. 'B-b-but she's going to have the b-b-baby next month.'
A startled look came into Ned Beaumont's dark eyes. He took his arm out of the shorter man's hand and stepped back. Then a corner of his mouth twitched under his dark mustache and he said: 'It's a bad time, Walt, and—well—you'll save yourself disappointment by not looking for much before November.' His eyes were narrow again and watchful.
'B-b-but if you t-tell him—'
'I'll put it to him as hot as I can and you ought to know he'll go the limit, but he's in a tough spot right now.' He moved his shoulders and his face became gloomy except for the watchful brightness of his eves.
Ivans wet his lips and blinked his eyes many times. He drew in a long breath and patted Ned Beaumont's chest with both hands. 'G-g-go up now,' he said in an urgent pleading voice. 'I-I'll wait here f-for you.'
Ned Beaumont went upstairs lighting a thin green-dappled cigar. At the second-floor landing, where the Governor's portrait hung, he turned towards the front of the building and knocked on the broad oaken door that shut off the corridor at that end.
When he heard Paul Madvig's 'All right' he opened the door arid went in.
Paul Madvig was alone in the room, standing at the window, with his hands in his trousers-pockets, his back to the door, looking through the screen down into dark China Street.
He turned around slowly and said: 'Oh, here you are.' He was a man of forty-five, tall as Ned Beaumont, but forty pounds heavier without softness. His hair was light, parted in the middle, and brushed flat to his head. His face was handsome in a ruddy stout-featured way. His clothes were saved from flashiness by their quality and by his manner of wearing them.
Ned Beaumont shut the door and said: 'Lend me some money.'
From his inner coat-pocket Madvig took a large brown wallet. 'What do you want?'
'Couple of hundred.'
Madvig gave him a hundred-dollar bill and five twenties, asking: 'Craps?'
'Thanks.' Ned Beaumont pocketed the money. 'Yes.'
'It's a long time since you've done any winning, isn't it?' Madvig asked as he returned his hands to his trousers-pockets.
'Not so long—a month or six weeks.'
Madvig smiled. 'That's a long time to be losing.'
'Not for me.' There was a faint note of irritation in Ned Beaumont's voice.
Madvig rattled coins in his pocket. 'Much of a game tonight?' He sat on a corner of the table and looked down at his glistening brown shoes.
Ned Beaumont looked curiously at the blond man, then shook his head and said: 'Peewee.' He walked to the window. Above the buildings on the opposite side of the street the sky was black and heavy. He went behind Madvig to the telephone and called a number. 'Hello, Bernie. This is Ned. What's the price on Peggy O'Toole? Is that all? . . . Well, give me five hundred of each. . . . Surem betting it's going to rain and if it does she'll beat Incinerator. . . . All right, give me a better price then. . . . Right.' He put the receiver on its prong and came around in front of Madvig again.
Madvig asked: 'Why don't you try laying off awhile when you hit one of these sour streaks?'
Ned Beaumont scowled. 'That's no good, only spreads it out. I ought to've put that fifteen hundred on the nose instead of spreading it across the board. Might as well take your punishment and get it over with.'
Madvig chuckled and raised his head to say: 'If you can stand the gaff.'
Ned Beaumont drew down the ends of his mouth, the ends of his mustache following them down. 'I can stand anything I've got to stand,' he said as he moved towards the door.
He had his hand on the door-knob when Madvig said, earnestly: 'I guess you can, at that, Ned.'
Ned Beaumont turned around and asked, 'Can what?' fretfully.
Madvig transferred his gaze to the window. 'Can stand anything,' he said.
Ned Beaumont studied Madvig's averted face. The blond man stirred uncomfortably and moved coins in his pockets again. Ned Beaumont made his eyes blank and asked in an utterly puzzled tone: 'Who?'
Madvig's face flushed. He rose from the table and took a step towards Ned Beaumont. 'You go to hell,' he said.
Ned Beaumont laughed.
Madvig grinned sheepishly and wiped his face with a green-bordered handkerchief. 'Why haven't you been out to the house?' he asked. 'Mom was saying last night she hadn't seen you for a month.'
'Maybe I'll drop in some night this week.'
'You ought to. You know how Mom likes you. Come for supper.' Madvig put his handkerchief away.
Ned Beaumont moved towards the door again, slowly, watching the blond man from the ends of his eyes. With his hand on the knob he asked: 'Was that what you wanted to see me about?'
Madvig frowned. 'Yes, that is—' He cleared his throat. 'Uh—oh— there's something else.' Suddenly his diffidence was gone, leaving him apparently tranquil and self-possessed. 'You know more about this stuff than I do. Miss Henry's birthday's Thursday. What do you think I ought to give her?'
Ned Beaumont took his hand from the door-knob. His eyes, by the time he was facing Madvig squarely again, had lost their shocked look. He blew cigar-smoke out and asked: 'They're having some kind of birthday doings, aren't they?'
'Yes.'
'You invited?'
Madvig shook his head. 'But I'm going there to dinner tomorrow night.'
Ned Beaumont looked down at his cigar, then up at Madvig's face again, and asked: 'Are you going to back the Senator, Paul?'
'I think we will.'
Ned Beaumont's smile was mild as his voice when he put his next question: 'Why?'
Madvig smiled. 'Because with us behind him he'll snow Roan under and with his help we can put over the whole ticket just like nobody was running against us.'
Ned Beaumont put his cigar in his mouth. He asked, still mildly: 'Without you'—he stressed the pronoun —'behind him could the Senator make the grade this time?'
Madvig was calmly positive. 'Not a chance.'
Ned Beaumont, after a little pause, asked: 'Does he know that?'
