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Roy Glashan's Library
Non sibi sed omnibus
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Mystery, April 1935, with
"Life In The Raw"
"WELL, I hope you're satisfied," said Fred Maier sorely. He was in one of his most difficult moods. Complexes working overtime.
Edda Manby looked around her. It was a little gin clinic on East Houston Street with tables against the walls and a small square of linoleum in the middle for dancing. Three-man orchestra; piano, saxophone and drums playing torch songs in dead-march time. There was a furtive look about the customers that made Edda shiver slightly—but she wasn't going to let Fred see that.
"More than satisfied," she answered calmly. "What did you bring me here for?"
"You're always wanting to see life," said Fred. "Well, here it is. In the raw."
"I like it better cooked," said Edda. "Let's go back to the Conradi-Windermere."
"Oh, let's make the most of it now we're here. This is the real thing. Not like those joints uptown where they provide alleged gunmen as dancing partners to give the Park Avenue dames a thrill. This is a place where a real tough guy can bring his doll. Nice to see them off duty."
"Swell!" said Edda dryly. When Fred got off on this line, it only made him worse to argue.
"They say that this is the secret hang-out of Monk Eyster. King of the post-repeal liquor ring. New York's public enemy number one. These gangsters look up to him as a kind of god. I suppose he has a room upstairs where he holds his court every night."
"Rather unhealthy here for people like us," Edda suggested.
"Oh, you're perfectly safe when you're with me."
She said nothing.
"You like to make out that I'm a kind of tame man," said Fred bitterly. "Well, here you have the wild variety. Look 'em over."
She did so.
"Parasites!" Fred went on. "Never did an honest day's work in their lives. They like to make out that it's the dangerous life which attracts them. All stuff! My brother's on a big construction job in the West Virginia mountains. He needs men to drive his trucks. Plenty of danger in that job. Could you get one of these brave boys to take it? Not on your life!"
"You can't prove it by me," said Edda mildly.
"Take that lad across the floor," said Fred; "there's the real flashy type of gunman. I swear his clothes fit him better than mine do. What is he?—Jewish? Italian? Irish?—or a combination of all three? I suppose you would probably call him a handsome lad."
"In his way," said Edda, "like a bear."
"Exactly! And I'm a sheep."
"If you insist on it," she murmured.
"Wouldn't you like to meet him?" he demanded.
"No. I prefer my bears behind the bars... Besides, he's fully engaged."
"She hardly measures up to him," said Fred.
Opposite them the young man with the bold, cruel glance was addressing a girl across the table with blasting contempt. She was a thin, pretty little dummy all dressed up like Pain's Fireworks. Her eyes were fixed on her companion's face with a crushed and adoring look.
"I suppose that's the way a girl likes to have a man treat her," said Fred with extreme bitterness.
"Not my type," said Edda.
When the dark, heavy young man finished what he was saying to the girl, he coolly jerked his head toward the door of the room. She got up without a word, and hanging her head to hide the springing tears, crossed the dancing floor and left the room.
"Brute!" muttered Fred.
"Well," said Edda, "sex is a battle."
For some reason the remark infuriated Fred. As the bear looked gloweringly around the room and fixed his glance on Edda, Fred got up muttering something about "showing her" and went over to him. Presently they returned together. The insolent dark eyes were fixed on Edda.
"Mr. Sanner, Miss Manby," said Fred.
"Dance?" asked Sanner with an air of indifference.
Edda could not take a dare like that from Fred. She got up with an equal air of indifference and let Sanner swing her away. They left Fred sitting at the table with a painful sneer fixed on his face. Funny how a man could insist on punishing himself!
Sanner held her close. He danced marvelously, like an Argentinian, dragging his feet a little. He was a big man; and his arms and back under the smart double-breasted jacket were banded with steel.
"They call me Torpedo Sanner," he said casually.
"Oh yes?"
"Did you send him over to fetch me?"
"No. It was his own notion."
"What's the idea? I'm not the sort of a guy that a fellow introduces his doll to."
"Well, he was sore."
Against her breast, Edda was aware of an ominous hard lump. Drawing away a little and slipping her hand down, she felt the outline of a stubby automatic under his coat. He grinned infernally.
"My pal, my sweetheart, my meal ticket," he murmured. "She goes wherever I go."
"Over your heart?"
"Sure. That's where I draw quickest."
Edda said nothing.
"Like the idea?" he asked.
"Sure!" she said coolly. "Every woman adores danger. But I don't know if you're the real thing, or just a fake."
He laughed briefly.
Nothing more was said while the music lasted. When they stopped he said coolly:
"You got to stay with me now."
"Nothing doing," said Edda. "I leave a place with the man who brings me."
"I'll fix him," said Sanner grinning. "I got three or four friends here. Hahvahd will never know what struck him."
"Five against one!" said Edda. "Is that your notion of fair play?"
"Hooey!" he said contemptuously. "What's fair play to me? I get what I want in the easiest way. I'd be a fool not to, wouldn't I?"
"All right," she said, "but I'm not going to stand for it."
"What you going to do about it? You're the doll I been looking for. You're mine now. Anyhow, for the evening."
Edda felt a chill as if a trickle of ice water had run down her spine. What had Fred's folly got her into? The orchestra started to play an encore, and they went on dancing.
"So I come up to specifications," she said, stalling for time. "I'd like to know what they are."
"I got to go to a swell party uptown, and I want a doll to take with me who can measure up to the place, see? The real thing; Fifth Avenue mansion and all. That floozy I asked to meet me here, Cheese! she looked crummy. So I gave her the gate. I'll take you now."
"Not unless you take Fred, too."
"Don't make me laugh, girl. It brings on the hiccups. Me and my friends will use Fred for an oily mop to freshen up the floor!"
Edda looked into his stony, grinning face and saw that he was capable of it. But she kept her flag up. "Even here I guess a girl has got some say as to the man she is going with," she answered coolly.
"What I say goes in this joint," retorted Sanner. "I'm known here. There ain't ten men together here would stand up to me."
Edda set her jaw. "All right. If there's going to be a fight I fight on Fred's side, and you can beat us up together!"
He held her away from him for a moment, laughing devilishly in her face. "By God! I believe you would, too!"
Edda let it rest there. They danced for a while in silence.
"Look," he said finally, "I don't take dictation from a woman, but I'm willing to compromise."
"How?"
"If you'll do a sneak out of here with me while the music's playing, nobody will touch Freddy. He can sit here waiting for you to come back until he grows whiskers."
"And if I refuse?"
Sanner grinned. "Me and my friends will play football with Hahvahd. I hate the slick Johnny anyhow, just because he's here with you. It would be a pleasure to me to maul him."
Edda hesitated. She thought: Fred got me into this, but I've got to get myself out of it, and him too! She said: "All right. I'll go. I have no choice."
"Okay!" said Sanner, holding her close.
The music stopped. At a curt nod from Sanner the leader started to play a second encore. Fred Maier sat at his table scowling at them sorely. What a fool to give himself away like that! thought Edda. Some men never learn.
Down at the rear of the dancing floor there was a door opening on a stairway that led up to the street floor. As they came opposite it, Sanner steered Edda through.
There were so many dancing couples between they could not see Fred, hence Fred could not see them. Sanner urged her swiftly through. Four of his friends made a screen around them; all of a type; young, well-dressed, wary, trained to a finish. They handed Sanner his hat and coat, and Edda her green velvet evening wrap, on the run.
"What name you want to give at this party?"
"My own name," Edda said, surprised.
He shrugged. "Suits me!" To one of his friends he said: "Dap, phone and tell them Miss Edda Manby is bringing Mr. Skinner. I gave you the number."
"Okay, Tim."
The four young men were looking her up and down admiringly. Sanner took hold of her elbow, and shoved her out through the door.
"Why shouldn't I give my own name?" she demanded.
"You never know," he said.
Edda thought: Oh, well, I'll give him the slip first chance I see.
Sanner hailed a taxi. It was a bona fide taxi, and Edda entered it without hesitation. He gave a number on Fifth Avenue in the Eighties. So far so good.
As soon as they got under way, he attempted to embrace her. Edda put her arms up between them. "Nothing doing," she said.
"How you going to stop me?" he asked, grinning.
"I'll put up a fight. If I get all mussed up you can't take me to a swell party."
He released her, grinning still. "You're a smart Bertha, all right. However, there's plenty time."
"Give me a cigarette," said Edda. "Why all the mystery? You've got to give me the set-up, or I won't go into the house."
"Perfectly simple," said Sanner coolly. "Ever hear of Miss Mildred Bevans?"
"The actress? Surely!"
"Well, it's her house. She's giving the party. She's a friend of mine, she's fallen for me, see? But for certain reasons she can't ask her boy friends to the party."
"Is she married?"
"Yes... no... I don't know. What difference does it make?"
"Who pays the rent of the Fifth Avenue mansion?"
Sanner grinned. "I don't know."
"She isn't prominent enough in her profession to rate it."
"Sure. Somebody pays the rent. So she just asks her girl friends. And the girls bring the boys. That's why I phoned your name up. You're bringing me, see? Naturally she doesn't want any crashers."
All this was a little too glib, but Edda let it pass. Her curiosity was aroused.
They really entered a Fifth Avenue mansion, a tall, narrow marble-fronted house, a little old-fashioned now, but still grand. There was a red carpet across the sidewalk and a peppermint striped awning. And it really was Miss Mildred Bevans who greeted them at the head of the stairway. Edda had seen her on the stage. Beautiful woman but no great shakes as an actress; red hair skillfully brightened with peroxide.
She was a little surprised by Edda's style; surprised and resentful. Her jealous eyes flew from Edda's face to Sanner's. What was there between these two, they asked. Her voice dripped sugar syrup.
"So glad to see you, darling! How sweet of you to come. Introduce me to your friend."
"Mr. Skinner, Miss Bevans," murmured Edda, suppressing the desire to grin.
Other guests were behind them, and they moved on. Edda saw, in the way Mildred Bevans' eyes followed Sanner, that she was hard hit. It was an intriguing situation. She gave up the idea of slipping away. Fred would have to take it.
The whole second floor of the house had been cleared for dancing except a small room at the side where a bar had been set up. Sanner paused in front of it and ordered Alexanders. Edda looking over the company, saw that it included a number of well-known men; Sam Siebert the theatrical manager; Lou Deane the big real estate operator, Frederic Coulson the screen star, and so on. The women were mostly beautiful unknowns.
When the drinks came, Sanner toasted her with his infernal grin: "To crime!"
Edda said, to draw him: "I won't drink it with you."
"What the heck!"
"With anybody else it's a joke. You're a fool for crime."
"Cheese! I never thought you'd start preaching at me. Pretty as you are!"
"I'm not religious," she said. "I'm a beauty-lover. You're so darn handsome I can't bear to think of it being locked in a cell!"
"Aah!" he drawled. "See any fuzz on my chin?"
Just the same she marked the smirk of gratified vanity.
"Ever taken the rap?" she asked.
"Twice. Been convicted three times."
"You'll soon land there again, little one. Nobody can beat it."
"Not me!" he swaggered. "On a fourth conviction it's life. They'll never take me alive."
"What's the good of being dead?"
"A short life and a merry one!"
"Old stuff, boy! I'm for a long life and a merry one!"
Sanner tossed off his drink. "Well, now you're here," he said with his damnable insolence, "fluff along and enjoy yourself, kid."
"Just like that?" asked Edda, running up her eyebrows.
"Aah!" he drawled. "I got obligations here."
She had no notion of allowing herself to be shipped so easily. Not until she could see the bottom of this situation. "Do you like that red-headed woman better than me?"
"She's business and you're pleasure, kid. I'll see you later."
Edda staged a feminine pout, and slipped her arm through Sanner's. "You brought me here and you got to stand by me. I don't know a soul."
"Aah, ain't no trouble for you to get yourself a fellow."
"Well, dance with me just once."
Sanner with a bad grace allowed himself to be led out on the dancing floor. It was a big party but the long suite of rooms gave the dancers plenty of space. The famous Dan Dixon's orchestra was stationed near the rear windows. Somebody with a jam roll was paying for this. Sanner had turned sullen and wouldn't talk. Clearly, his plans were being interfered with. But he had rhythm in his bones. If Fred could only dance like this, thought Edda.
In the middle of the rooms Mildred Bevans was standing in an arched opening leading into the hall. Several men surrounded her. She was twitching a big green feather fan exactly like an angry cat with its tail. Her jealous eyes were following Sanner. Edda thought: She's got it bad. He's using her somehow.
At the front of the room Sanner stopped. "Too damn hot," he muttered.
They dropped on a little sofa. The window beside them was open. Edda saw from Sanner's sulky scowl that an explosion was coming. She turned on the chatter-tap in order to divert it as long as possible. He ignored what she was saying. He kept glancing down into the street. Edda looked too—without appearing to. Presently she saw an old touring car with the top down buzzing up the avenue. In it were the four quiet little gunmen; Dap and the others. They looked up at the windows.
Sanner glanced at her to see if she was looking. She wasn't. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him make a little signal to his friends, meaning: Not yet! Edda's skin prickled all over. Murder afoot! A moment later the thought came to her: And whatever happens I will be an accessory to it. She felt a little sick. The touring car passed again, going the other way.
Sanner turned on her: "For God's sake, are you going to hang onto me all night?"
That revived her. Edda's first maxim dealing with a man was: Always go him one better! "How dare you speak to me like that?" she cried running up the old eyebrows. "You cub! Does your limited vocabulary include the word cub? That's what you are. A mass of conceit with a schoolboy mentality; showing off and talking big to impress the little kids! Go get a drink and see if that will put you in a better humor!"
Clearly no woman had ever spoken to Sanner like that. His eyes goggled at her; his mouth opened. He was so astonished that he got up without another word and went away to the bar.
When she had thus got him out of sight for the moment, she rose and crossed the room to where Mildred Bevans was standing. Edda's smile was honeyed. "Darling!" she murmured as she came within earshot.
"Darling!" said Mildred, looking daggers.
Pressing past the men who rounded her, Edda kissed her and murmured in her ear: "I must speak to you alone!"
Mildred glanced at her sharply, hesitated, made up her mind. "Downstairs," she murmured, turning on the smile. And to the men: "Please excuse us for a moment."
On the street floor she led Edda into a little reception room alongside the front door. She turned off the smile. "What do you want?" she asked brutally.
Edda could be brutal too. "What do you know about the young fellow who brought me here tonight?"
Mildred tried the woman-of-the-world smile, but it was labored. "A handsome boy," she said airily. "What more need one know?" Under Edda's steady gaze her voice suddenly scaled up. "What do you know about him?" she demanded.
"Nothing. He picked me up in a dive on East Houston Street an hour ago."
"A dive!"
"He's a professional crook," Edda went on undisturbed. "He is carrying a gun in the breast pocket of his coat and another on his hip. He has come here tonight 'on business' which means robbery or worse."
"Has he quarreled with you?" sneered Mildred, turning her diamond bracelet.
"That's neither here nor there," said Edda. "He has four confederates running up and down the street in front in a touring car. He just signaled to them. You can probably see the car if you look out of the window."
Mildred weakened. "I can't believe it!" she murmured.
"Well, that's up to you. If you don't take action, I reckon there'll be blood to wipe up on your beautifully polished floors."
Mildred rapidly went to pieces. "Oh my God! What can I do!" she murmured, squeezing her hands together.
"Draw his teeth," said Edda. "You have plenty of men servants about. If you can't trust them, I'll undertake to find men among the guests to disarm him."
"No! No! No!" wailed Mildred. "I can't have any trouble! Leave it to me! I'll get him out of the house."
"You'll find him in the bar," said Edda.
Mildred ran up the stairs. Edda waited, so as not to be seen returning with her. She peeped through the window curtains. The touring car buzzed up the avenue again.
When she returned upstairs a nice-looking young man was standing in the archway. "Swell party," he said for an opening.
"Swell," said Edda. "Look here, put me wise like a sport. I don't want to drop any bricks. Who pays the rent for this shebang?"
"I thought everybody knew that," said the young man. "It's Armand the restaurateur."
"Thanks," said Edda, moving on.
"I say, will you dance?"
"Sorry, I'm engaged for this one."
Armand! Like everybody in the know, Edda was acquainted with this famous figure around town. Proprietor of several of the smartest speakeasies during the drought, he now owned the restaurant of the moment. His earnings were said to be princely. So this was his private life!
She moved through the rooms looking for Mildred and Sanner. Not to be seen anywhere. She wondered if they had gone upstairs. There was a cord stretched across the stairs at the bottom to signify that the bedrooms were not included in the party. Necessary nowadays. Before going up, she tried the conservatory in the rear of the dancing rooms. The orchestra blocked the French windows that opened into it and not many guests took the trouble to get through.
Under a screen of palms in the corner of the conservatory she saw a man's patent leather shoes and the hem of a woman's dress. She maneuvered until she was able to see to whom they belonged. It was Sanner and Mildred seated on a bench. Mildred had fallen back lost to the world in the young man's arms. Their lips were pressed together. They didn't see Edda.
Edda went back into the dancing rooms. So that's how she gets him out of the house! She longed to be out of the whole ugly business now. Get out, and let it ride, she said to herself. It's not your affair. But she couldn't. That ugly phrase "accessory before the fact" nagged her. The thing to do was to phone somebody she knew on the police force.
When she looked around for a servant to lead her to a phone, she saw one coming toward her; a young fellow with an embarrassed look. "Is this Miss Manby?" he asked.
"Yes."
"Would you mind stepping out into the hall with me, Miss?"
"What for?"
"I have something to say to you."
"Why not say it here?"
"Please step outside, Miss."
Edda got a little hot. "Say it here!"
"If you please, Miss, if you please..." he stammered. "I have been instructed to ask you to leave the house."
"Well!" said Edda smiling broadly, "By whom?"
"Miss Bevans, Miss."
So this was the outcome! "And if I should refuse to obey this polite request?" asked Edda.
"Oh, don't do that, Miss! Don't do that!" the man murmured in distress. "I should be obliged to... obliged to..." He stuck.
"Obliged to put me out?" said Edda. "Calm yourself, I'm going peaceably."
She went slowly down the stairs, the servant following. She would have to telephone from outside. The victim evidently was a guest who had not yet arrived. Suppose he comes while I'm telephoning, she thought, and her horrid anxiety was redoubled. Damn! It would still be my fault! Somehow, I've got to stall for a while.
When she entered the ladies' dressing-room, the man servant waited in the hall. Inside, there was an attentive maid making play for a tip. "Leaving so early, Miss?" she asked.
"Well, I've seen everybody," said Edda. "And I must go on to another party."
"Monsieur Armand hasn't come yet."
A light broke on Edda. She thought fast. "I'm sorry to miss Armand," she said. "If I thought he was on his way here, I could wait a few minutes."
"I could telephone to the restaurant and find out, Miss." There was a phone in the room.
"Please do," said Edda. "If he hasn't left yet ask him to come to the phone and I'll speak to him."
While the maid phoned, Edda picked up somebody's long white gloves, and very slowly drew them on and smoothed them. The maid hung up, saying:
"He's just left."
"Well, it isn't far," said Edda. "I'll wait."
She engaged the maid in friendly conversation. The latter was charmed by her affability.
There was a knock on the door, and the man servant stuck his head in. "Shall I call a taxi for you, Miss?" he asked suggestively.
Edda was still smoothing the gloves.
"Don't bother, thanks," she drawled. "I'll pick one up."
In a minute or two there was a ring at the door bell. Edda went out into the hall. Armand entered the house, a large, handsome man with a manner both suave and wary. He was attended by two well-dressed, hard-looking men friends.
"Monsieur Armand, I must speak to you!" said Edda a little breathlessly.
He backed away, startled. Instantly the two "friends" blocked Edda off. One of them patted her expertly all over. He said quietly: "Unarmed, Boss."
"What do you want?" demanded Armand.
Edda said softly: "There's danger upstairs."
The three men exchanged glances. Armand said, opening the door into the reception room: "Come in here."
Edda had kept an eye on the gaping man servant in the background. "Better bring him, too," she said. "He might spread an alarm."
One of the men jerked his head toward the open door, and the servant slunk through it. They followed him in.
"Who are you?" asked Armand of Edda.
She gave her name. "Of course, I'm only one of hundreds who patronize your restaurant. Mr. Fred Maier took me."
"I know him. Go on."
"There is a plot to get somebody in this house tonight."
Armand laughed grimly. "Ha! it might be me!... What do you know?"
Edda told her story swiftly. Some feeling of loyalty to her sex prompted her to soft-pedal Mildred's part in it. She did not mention the kiss. Mildred was bound to lose her rent-payer, anyhow.
Armand swore savagely in French. "Me faire cocu avec l'apache!" But he was a self-controlled man. He cut it short. "Ever hear of this Sanner, Butch?" he demanded of one of his men.
"No, Boss. But Monk has dozens in his pay. This must be a new chump. His first murder job."
"Well, go up and get him."
The two went out. The man servant remained standing in the corner, scared half out of his wits.
Armand patted Edda's hand. "Good girl!" he said. "I shan't forget you. I been looking for this. Hence the bodyguard. But the skunk would have got me in spite of them, because I felt safe in this house.... It's the big Gee of the bootleg ring who is back of this. I keep a restaurant. I sell a lot of liquor, and like everybody else I've been buying it from the ring. But I can afford to go along with the government now. I'm organizing an association of all the restaurant keepers, and we are pledging ourselves to buy nothing but stamped goods. That's why this d.... b....—excuse my language—is out to get me."
They had left the door open. The music was playing languorously; a pleasant murmur of voices floated down the stairway. Edda listened with nerves stretched like banjo strings. But there was very little disturbance. A slight scuffle followed by the noise of Sanner being hustled down the stairs. They were twisting his arms until it brought the sweat out on his face. They thrust him into the little room. He caught sight of Edda and cursed her.
"So it was you ratted on me!"
"Ratted?" said Edda. "I like that! I made no deal with you to do a murder!"
The guests were pressing down the stairs all agog with curiosity. Edda had a glimpse of the sick white face of Mildred, just showing at the top. She was leaning back against the wall, half fainting. The music was still playing. Edda thought: A heavy price to pay for gangster love!
From the doorway of the little room Armand addressed the crowd on the stairs with good-humored contempt. "Go back to your dancing, folks. This is nothing. Just a little sniper who was sent here to smoke me because I am determined to conduct my business according to law!"
The crowd broke into loud applause. Only Mildred did not applaud. Armand's contempt overcame his good humor. "Go back and have your fun while you can," he cried. "I'm paying for it, ain't I? But understand—whoever hears me—after tonight not a damned cent!" He slammed the door.
The two men released their hold of Sanner. He stood with his back against the wall panting, his eyes darting this way and that. All the swagger had gone out of him. Just a desperate boy, faced by a life sentence. But he had not whined.
Edda's heart softened dreadfully. As Armand started for the door, she said sharply: "What are you going to do?"
"Send for the police," he said.
"Don't do that!"
"Why not?"
"There are three convictions standing against him. It will mean life."
"So much the better," said Armand turning the handle.
"He's not your real enemy. He's only a hired gunman."
"I know that. I know who hired him, too. But I have no legal proof. The police have ways of forcing him to talk."
"The police will get nothing out of him. Look at him. It's his code."
"Well, it will be a satisfaction to put him behind the bars anyhow." Armand opened the door—then closed it again. "Wait a minute!"
"Have you changed your mind?" asked Edda, staring.
"Yes," he said with a grim smile. "I've got a better idea.... If he was sent up for life it would make a martyr of him, and every member of his gang would be out to get me in revenge.—That's part of their code, too. Well, I'm obliged to lead a public life. Whatever I do, I can't insure myself against a chance shot. One of them would probably get me in the end."
Armand came back thoughtfully chewing his cigar. "But if I let him go," he went on, debating the matter with himself, "that would be something they couldn't understand. A gesture of contempt. And my God! what publicity for me if I handle it right. 'Armand, attacked by a gunman, coolly sets him free!' It would bring the restaurateurs on the run to sign up with the association. And if the association is a success Monk Eyster is sunk!"
Going to the window, he peeped between the curtains. "His friends are waiting for him by the curb," he said with a chuckle "Take him into the hall, boys, and let him go!"
They opened the room door. Sanner hung back. "Don't send me out empty-handed," he muttered hoarsely. "Give me one of my guns. If I go out there licked... they'll think I sold them out!"
Armand and his men laughed in his face. "That's up to you, fellow!"
Edda saw that he was saved from one danger only to be plunged into a worse. "Wait!" she said quickly. I'll get rid of them." To Butch who was nearest her, she said with her best smile: "Be a sport. When I run out, give me five seconds, then come to the door and holler after me. Don't come out on the pavement or you may get shot."
"Okay, lady," he answered grinning. "If you will have it!"
To Sanner she said: "When I'm gone, take a taxi to the Hotel Marston and wait for me."
She ran out of the house as if in wild agitation, slamming the door after her. As she came out from under the awning, Butch pulled the door open again, and stood there bawling: "Stop that woman!"
A man on the back seat of the touring car rose up with a submachine gun in his hand. Passersby ran wildly for cover. Butch retreated inside the door, slamming it. There was no shooting. Edda sprang on the running-board and was hauled inside the car.
"Quick! Quick! Get away from here!" she gasped.
Automatically the driver let in his clutch, and they leaped into motion. "Where's Tim?" they all asked at once.
Edda covered her face with her hands. "They got him! They got him!" she sobbed.
"Aah! The — fell down on his job!" one snarled.
"No!" cried Edda. "Somebody had tipped Armand off. They were laying for him. He had no chance to draw! They are telephoning the police!"
"Cheese! There'll be a general alarm out in a couple of minutes!" growled the driver. "This doll is dangerous to us!"
"Oh, let me down anywhere! Anywhere!" gasped Edda. "I'll find cover!"
They turned the first corner, sped across Park, Madison and Lexington against the lights, and roared through a quiet block to Third Avenue. Turning North, they barely stopped beside the curb, unceremoniously thrust Edda out, and went on. They disappeared under the elevated railway.
Edda, still gasping with excitement, began to grin. She could scarcely believe that she was there, safe, sound, free to go home to bed. A taxi appeared. Hailing it, she gave the driver the name of her hotel. She settled back in the cushions, grinning still.
As she approached the Marston her driver slowed up. There was a taxi ahead of him. Tim Sanner got out, paid the man, and hustled inside. She presently followed him. She had to borrow her cab fare from the night clerk. Sanner stood by, biting his fingers. The relief with which he greeted her appearance was in sharp contrast to his contemptuous manner at the beginning of the evening.
Edda led him into a little parlor off the lobby. Sanner made haste to pull down the blind over the front window.
"Well, what's to be done with you now?" said Edda.
He merely scowled, and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. The bear was tamed.
"Reckon you've had enough of murder as a profession," she said dryly.
"Aah," he growled, "I never had no chance to go straight. Thrown out on the streets when I was a kid."
"Every man is entitled to one chance. Can you drive a car?"
"Sure!"
"Then I'll get you a job. After that it's up to you."
"Got to get out of town," he muttered.
"This is a West Virginia job."
"Got no money for the fare. You got any money?"
"Bless you, I never have any money. But I can borrow."
Picking up the telephone, she called Fred Maier's apartment. When he answered she said sweetly: "This is Edda."
A snort of indignation over the wire. "Where are you?"
"Safe at home, honey."
Fred exploded then. So like a man! Useless to argue with him. But he should pay for the damage he had caused. All she said was: "You introduced him to me."
"I didn't expect you to go out with him!"
"Well, it's a long story. I'll tell you when I see you.... Got any money on you?"
"Money. What the deuce!... Well, about seventy-five dollars."
"Come right over, honey, and bring it with you. Better bring your checkbook too. They'll cash a check for you here on my say-so. I've got a good man to drive a truck for your brother.... And Fred, throw a suit, a shirt and a tie in a suit-case and bring it with you. He's bigger than you, but it will have to do.... And Fred, have you got my pocketbook?"
Very sullenly. "Yes."
"Oh, thank you so much!"
"Now look here, Edda! What does all this mean? You have a cheek if you ask me! After treating me like this...."
She let him run on. When he had relieved his mind somewhat, she said pleasantly: "Yes, I know, honey, but the point is, you must let me know if you're not coming over, so I can call somebody else."
A note of alarm crept into his voice. "Sure, I'll be over with the money and the pocketbook."
Edda smiled and hung up.
Roy Glashan's Library
Non sibi sed omnibus
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