12 Chinks and a Woman

on his way up who’s interested in you. I’ll take care of him. What’s your name?”

“Marian Daley,” she said. Then she swallowed and went on hurriedly: “Where shall I go?”

Paula came in, pulling on her gloves. Fenner nodded. “Go with Miss Dolan,” he said. “Go down the back way. You’ll be okay now. Don’t get scared any more.”

Marian Daley gave him a timid little smile. “I’m glad I came to you,” she said. “You see, I’m in a lot of trouble. It’s my sister as well. What can she want with twelve Chinamen?”

Fenner blew out his cheeks. “Search me,” he said, leading her to the door. Maybe she likes Chinamen. Some people do, you know. Just take it easy until I see you tonight.”

He stepped into the passage and watched them walk to the elevator. When the cage shot out of sight he wandered back into the office. He shut the door softly behind him and went over to his desk. He opened the top drawer and took out a .38 police special. He was playing hunches. He put the gun inside his coat and sat down behind the desk. He put his feet up again and shut his eyes.

He sat like that for ten minutes or so, his mind busy with theories. Three things intrigued him. The six thousand dollars, the weals on the girl’s back and the twelve Chinamen. Why all that dough as a retainer? Why didn’t she just tell him that someone had beaten her up instead of stripping? Why tell him twelve Chinamen? Why not just say, ‘What did she want with Chinamen’? Why twelve? He shifted in his seat. Then there was the guy on the phone. Was she fresh from a nut farm after all? He doubted it; She had been badly scared, but she was normal enough. He opened his eyes and glanced at the small chromium clock on his desk. She had been gone twelve minutes. How long would this guy take to come up?

As he was thinking, he became aware that he was not concentrating as he should. Half his mind was listening to someone whistling outside in the corridor. He moved irritably and brought his mind back to the immediate problem. Who was Marian Daley? Obviously she was a rich girl of the upper crust. Her clothes must have cost a nice pile of dough. He wished the guy outside would stop whistling. What was the tune, anyway? He listened. Then very softly he began to hum the mournful strains of Chloe with the whistler.

The haunting tune held him, and he stopped humming and listened to the fluting sound, beating out the time with his index finger on the back of his hand. Then he suddenly felt a little chilled. Whoever was whistling was not moving. The low penetrating sound kept at the same degree of loudness, as if the whistler was standing outside his door, whistling to him.

Fenner took his feet off his desk very softly and eased the chair away gently. The mournful tune continued. He put his hand inside his coat and felt the butt of the .38. Although there was only one entrance to his office, and that was through the outer office, he had an exit in his own office, which he kept locked. This door led to the back entrance of the block. It was from outside this exit that the whistling was coming.

He walked to the door and softly turned the key in the lock, carefully keeping his shadow from falling on the frosted panel. As he eased the door handle and gently began to open the door, the whistling stopped abruptly. He stepped out into the corridor and looked up and down. There was no one about. Moving fast, he went to the head of the staircase and looked down into the well. The place was deserted. Turning, he walked the length of the corridor and looked down the well of the other flight of stairs. Still nothing to see.

Pushing his hat on to the bridge of his nose, he stood listening. Faintly, he could hear the roar of the traffic floating up from the street, the whine of the elevators as they raced between floors, and the persistent ticking of the big clock above his head. He walked slowly back to his office and stood in the open doorway, his nerves a little tense. As he went in and shut the door, the whistling started again.

His eyes went very bleak and he walked into the outer office, the .38 in his hand. He stopped just in the doorway and grunted. A small man in a black shabby suit sat hunched up in one of the big padded chairs reserved for visitors. His hat was pulled so far down that Fenner could not see his face. Fenner knew by just looking at him that he was dead. He put the gun into his hip pocket and moved nearer. He looked at the small yellow bony hands that rested limply in the man’s lap. Then he leant forward and pulled the hat off the man’s head.

He was not a pleasant sight. He was a Chinaman all right. Someone had cut his throat, starting just under his right ear and going in a neat half-circle to his left ear. The wound had been stitched up neatly, but just the same, the Chinaman was quite a nightmare to see.

Fenner blotted his face with his handkerchief. “Quite a day,” he said softly.

As he stood, wondering what the hell to do next, the telephone began to ring. He went over to the extension, shoved the plug in and picked up the receiver.

Paula sounded excited. “She’s gone, Dave,” she said. “We got as far as the Baltimore and then she vanished.”

Fenner blew out his cheeks. “You mean someone snatched her?”

“No. She just took a runout on me. I was fixing up her room at the desk, turned my head, saw her beating it for the exit, and by the time I got into the street she’d gone.”

“What about the dough?” Fenner said. “That gone too?” “That’s safe enough. But what am I going to do? Shall I come on back?” Fenner looked at the Chinaman. “Hang around the Baltimore and buy yourself a lunch. I’ll come on out when I’m through. Right now I’ve got a client.”

“But, Dave, what about the girl? Hadn’t you better come now?” Fenner was inclined to be impatient. “I’m runnin’ this office,” he said shortly. “Every minute I keep this guy waitin’ he gets colder and colder, an’ believe me, it ain’t with rage.” He dropped the receiver into its cradle and straightened ,up. He looked at the Chinaman unemotionally. “Well, come on, Percy,” he said. “You an’ I gotta take a walk.”

Paula sat in the Baltimore lounge until after three o’clock. She had worked herself up to a severe tension when, at quarter past three, Fenner came across the lounge fast, his eyebrows meeting in a heavy frown of concentration and his eyes hard and frosty. He said, pausing just long enough to pick up her coat lying on a vacant chair beside her, “Come on, baby, I wanta talk to you.”

Paula followed him into the cocktail lounge, which was almost empty. Fenner led her to a table at the far end of the room, opposite the entrance. He took some care to pull the table away from the wall, so that he could sit facing the swing-doors.

“Are you usin’ booze as perfume these days,” he said, sitting down, “or do you think we can get some hard liquor in this joint?”

“That’s a nice crack,” Paula said: “what else can a girl do in a place like this? I’ve only had three pink ladies. What’s the idea? I’ve been sitting on my fanny for three hours now.”

Fenner beckoned to a waiter. “Don’t say ‘fanny’. It’s vulgar.” He ordered two double Scotches and some ginger-ale. He sat with his back turned to Paula and watched the waiter order the drinks and bring them all the way back. When the waiter had set them down he reached out and poured one of the doubles into the other glass, filled the empty glass half full of ginger-ale and pushed it over to Paula. “You gotta watch your complexion, Dizzy,” he said, and poured half the neat Scotch down his throat.

Paula sighed. “Well, come on,” she said impatiently, “let me in on the ground floor. I’ve been out of circulation for three hours.”

Fenner lit a cigarette and leant back in his chair. “You’re quite sure Miss Daley walked out on you without any persuasion?”

Paula nodded. “It was like I told you. I went up to the desk and started making arrangements for a room. She was standing behind me. I took off my glove to sign the book and I felt sort of lonely. I looked round and there she was drifting into the street. She was on her own and moving fast. By the time I’d got through the revolving door she’d gone. I tell you, Dave, I got a nasty shock. What was worrying me more than anything was I’d got all that money on me. I guess you were nuts to have given it to me.”

Fenner grinned unpleasantly. “You don’t know just how smart I was, baby,” he said. “I guess I did myself a nice turn sending you out with that dough. Anyway, go on.”

“I went back to the hotel, asked for an envelope, put the money in and gave it to the cashier to hold.’ Then I shot out into the street and had a look round; didn’t get anywhere, so I phoned you.”

Fenner nodded. “Okay. If you’re sure she ran out without some guy pushin’ her to it, we’ll let it ride for a moment.”

Paula said, “I’m positive!”

“Now let me tell you somethin.’ There’s somethin’ mighty phony about this business. Someone planted a dead Chink in the outer office after you’d gone, and tipped the cops.”

Paula sat up. “A dead Chink?”'”