Rico felt sweat start out on his forehead at the thought. If Baird was dead, then the hope of laying his hands on Kile’s fifteen grand was dead, too.
He finished his whisky, went over to the cellarette and made another. Then he lit a cigar and sat down at his desk again. There was nothing more he could do. Every petty crook in town was searching for Baird. Rico had offered a reward for reliable news of Baird, but so far no one had claimed it.
After he had finished his second whisky he decided he would take a turn in the restaurant. It was getting on for midnight, and it was time he showed himself. He went over to a vase of carnations, selected one, stuck it in his button-hole and surveyed himself in the mirror. In spite of his bald head, his pitted complexion and his bloodshot eyes, Rico was quite pleased with his appearance. He adjusted his silk handkerchief, shot his cuffs and turned to the door.
For a moment he stood completely still, scarcely believing his eyes, then with a sharp exclamation, he darted forward, holding out his hand.
‘Baird! Wel , damn it! I was only just this moment thinking about you. Where the hel have you been?’
Baird closed the door and walked across to Rico. He shook hands without enthusiasm, looked Rico up and down and then went over and dropped into the red leather armchair.
‘Get me a drink,’ he said curtly. ‘I need it.’
Rico gave him a quick, anxious glance. Baird was thinner than when he had last seen him, and his face fine drawn. There were smudges under his eyes as if he had been sleeping badly, and he looked surly.
‘I’ve been hunting al over for you,’ Rico said, hurriedly splashing whisky into a glass. ‘Where’ve you been?’
‘Out of town.’
‘Olin’s stil looking for you,’ Rico said, remembering with an anxious pang that Baird was a wanted man. ‘Maybe you shouldn’t have come here.’
Baird made an impatient gesture.
‘You don’t have to get steamed up. I’ve seen Olin.’
Rico stiffened.
‘You mean you’ve talked to him? When?’
‘Gimme that drink, can’t you?’ Baird snarled. ‘I’ve been at headquarters al the goddamn afternoon.’
Rico put the whisky on the desk by Baird’s hand and sat down.
‘What happened?’
Baird drank half the whisky, put the glass down and drew in a slow, deep breath. He reached out and helped himself to a cigarette from Rico’s box, lit it and stretched out his long legs.
‘I got myself a cast-iron alibi,’ he said. ‘Olin couldn’t bust it, so I walked out.’
‘You mean they haven’t anything on you?’ Rico asked eagerly.
‘They never had anything on me,’ Baird said, and his hard mouth twisted into a jeering grin. ‘No one ever saw me. They tried to pin the Bruce killing on me, but they hadn’t any proof. As soon as I could get around again I went up to New York and fixed myself an alibi. I’ve got a lot of friends in New York. Six of them swore I was with them the night Jean Bruce was knocked off. I and my lawyer took their statements to Olin. There was nothing he could do about it.’
Rico drew in a deep breath of relief.
‘That’s fine!’ he said, rubbing his hands. ‘That’s terrific! You’re free to operate again?’
‘Sure,’ Baird said indifferently. ‘Did you get rid of that bracelet?’
Rico nodded.
‘I didn’t get much for it, but I was lucky to find a buyer.’
‘Don’t talk crap,’ Baird said roughly. ‘If the stuff’s good there are always buyers.’
‘What happened to you? There was some talk you were shot.’
Baird stared across the desk at Rico.
‘I was. I was laid low for a couple of weeks. I had a pretty close call.’
‘How did you get away from them?’ Rico asked, his eyes popping.
‘I holed up with a girl,’ Baird said, and rubbed his hand across his eyes. ‘She looked after me.’ He frowned down at the desk. ‘The damnedest thing that’s ever happened to me.’
‘Who was she?’ Rico asked. ‘Talk about luck! Was she pret
He finished his whisky, went over to the cellarette and made another. Then he lit a cigar and sat down at his desk again. There was nothing more he could do. Every petty crook in town was searching for Baird. Rico had offered a reward for reliable news of Baird, but so far no one had claimed it.
After he had finished his second whisky he decided he would take a turn in the restaurant. It was getting on for midnight, and it was time he showed himself. He went over to a vase of carnations, selected one, stuck it in his button-hole and surveyed himself in the mirror. In spite of his bald head, his pitted complexion and his bloodshot eyes, Rico was quite pleased with his appearance. He adjusted his silk handkerchief, shot his cuffs and turned to the door.
For a moment he stood completely still, scarcely believing his eyes, then with a sharp exclamation, he darted forward, holding out his hand.
‘Baird! Wel , damn it! I was only just this moment thinking about you. Where the hel have you been?’
Baird closed the door and walked across to Rico. He shook hands without enthusiasm, looked Rico up and down and then went over and dropped into the red leather armchair.
‘Get me a drink,’ he said curtly. ‘I need it.’
Rico gave him a quick, anxious glance. Baird was thinner than when he had last seen him, and his face fine drawn. There were smudges under his eyes as if he had been sleeping badly, and he looked surly.
‘I’ve been hunting al over for you,’ Rico said, hurriedly splashing whisky into a glass. ‘Where’ve you been?’
‘Out of town.’
‘Olin’s stil looking for you,’ Rico said, remembering with an anxious pang that Baird was a wanted man. ‘Maybe you shouldn’t have come here.’
Baird made an impatient gesture.
‘You don’t have to get steamed up. I’ve seen Olin.’
Rico stiffened.
‘You mean you’ve talked to him? When?’
‘Gimme that drink, can’t you?’ Baird snarled. ‘I’ve been at headquarters al the goddamn afternoon.’
Rico put the whisky on the desk by Baird’s hand and sat down.
‘What happened?’
Baird drank half the whisky, put the glass down and drew in a slow, deep breath. He reached out and helped himself to a cigarette from Rico’s box, lit it and stretched out his long legs.
‘I got myself a cast-iron alibi,’ he said. ‘Olin couldn’t bust it, so I walked out.’
‘You mean they haven’t anything on you?’ Rico asked eagerly.
‘They never had anything on me,’ Baird said, and his hard mouth twisted into a jeering grin. ‘No one ever saw me. They tried to pin the Bruce killing on me, but they hadn’t any proof. As soon as I could get around again I went up to New York and fixed myself an alibi. I’ve got a lot of friends in New York. Six of them swore I was with them the night Jean Bruce was knocked off. I and my lawyer took their statements to Olin. There was nothing he could do about it.’
Rico drew in a deep breath of relief.
‘That’s fine!’ he said, rubbing his hands. ‘That’s terrific! You’re free to operate again?’
‘Sure,’ Baird said indifferently. ‘Did you get rid of that bracelet?’
Rico nodded.
‘I didn’t get much for it, but I was lucky to find a buyer.’
‘Don’t talk crap,’ Baird said roughly. ‘If the stuff’s good there are always buyers.’
‘What happened to you? There was some talk you were shot.’
Baird stared across the desk at Rico.
‘I was. I was laid low for a couple of weeks. I had a pretty close call.’
‘How did you get away from them?’ Rico asked, his eyes popping.
‘I holed up with a girl,’ Baird said, and rubbed his hand across his eyes. ‘She looked after me.’ He frowned down at the desk. ‘The damnedest thing that’s ever happened to me.’
‘Who was she?’ Rico asked. ‘Talk about luck! Was she pret
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