plizze, my time is waluable.”
Mr. Layton said: “What’s cooking?”
“What do you mean, cooking?”
“Was that a suicide note in that box today?”
“I don’t know. The Sharf took it. You’ll have to ask him.”
“You see Ethel?”
“What were you doing, trying to kid me? Hinting around that she knew something? She’s just a pretty girl that wants little job in pictures. So, I’ve given her a job. Tomorrow she goes to Hollywood, and tonight she won’t come here. So plizze, am busy man.”
“Getting tough, hey?”
“Not tough, only busy.”
“She didn’t like it, how you treated her.”
“What did you say?”
“She thought three grand wasn’t much for what she knew. She thought considering how much it’s worth to you, you didn’t take that liberal, friendly attitude she’d been hoping for. She thought you acted in quite a tightwad way, and she’s hurt.”
“How do you know what she thought?”
“That’s not her with Benny.”
“What? They went to the picture show. He called me—”
“That’s her girl friend. Right now, she’s having a ride in my car. She likes my car. She likes me. And she’ll be right where I want her when the time comes. However, since you’re busy—”
“What do you want, ha?”
“I asked you something.”
“You mean this note?”
“Yeah. Start talking.”
“I’m pretty sure it’s a suicide note. The Sharf, he didn’t open the note, when I gave it to him. He took it to give Sylwia, but it should be suicide note.”
“Fellow, it better be a suicide note.”
“Plizze, plizze. It will be.”
“If you had your policies here, so accidentally on purpose they could get burned, it would end my interest in the case. But since you haven’t, and the verdict at tonight’s inquest is going to determine my liability, I don’t take chances. I’m telling: it better be a suicide note.”
“Plizze. Wait only.”
“Then O. K.”
Mr. Layton returned to Mr. Gans and the lawyer. Dmitri went over and stood looking unhappily into a juke-box. Mr. Pease, the prosecutor, drifted over to Mr. Britten. “Cy, did you notice something just now?”
“Not particularly.”
“An objectionable party by the name of Layton was in my office this afternoon, representing an insurance company. He wanted a special autopsy and all but demanded I charge Sylvia Shoreham with murder. Now he just went into a huddle with Dmitri Spiro. You know, these insurance companies go too far. I wouldn’t ask much to rap that bird over the knuckles for obstructing justice.”
“He was in to see me too.”
“Oh yeah?”
“I had him followed.”
“ ... What for?”
“Just a hunch. He had another talk with Spiro, before this one. Out here at the Domino, for a half hour this afternoon. But before that he met a girl that deals blackjack out here, and then later, after he met his boss at the plane and they got a lawyer over to the hotel, he met the girl again, and they went up to his apartment, and you’ll notice she’s not here.”
“What are you getting at, Cy?”
“Something funny about this case.”
“You don’t mean it’s my case?”
“You heard about the sister?”
“I didn’t attach much importance to her.”
“They found her. Dead.”
“What?”
“Couple of hours ago.”
“Say, I think I’ll stick around.”
Sylvia arrived on the stroke of ten, a fur coat over her black dress, a small black hat with veil giving her face a wan, pale look. With her was Mr. Daly, the lawyer who had obtained her divorce. The Sheriff, who had been in the office with Mr. Flynn, the undertaker, and a deputy now came out. It was the deputy’s question to the undertaker about shipment of the Shoreham body that informed the correspondents of the second fatality in the case, and at once they crowded around him, asking questions. He put up his hand: “I don’t know any more than you do. Shoreham’s been to the mortuary and made formal identification of both bodies. Now the
Mr. Layton said: “What’s cooking?”
“What do you mean, cooking?”
“Was that a suicide note in that box today?”
“I don’t know. The Sharf took it. You’ll have to ask him.”
“You see Ethel?”
“What were you doing, trying to kid me? Hinting around that she knew something? She’s just a pretty girl that wants little job in pictures. So, I’ve given her a job. Tomorrow she goes to Hollywood, and tonight she won’t come here. So plizze, am busy man.”
“Getting tough, hey?”
“Not tough, only busy.”
“She didn’t like it, how you treated her.”
“What did you say?”
“She thought three grand wasn’t much for what she knew. She thought considering how much it’s worth to you, you didn’t take that liberal, friendly attitude she’d been hoping for. She thought you acted in quite a tightwad way, and she’s hurt.”
“How do you know what she thought?”
“That’s not her with Benny.”
“What? They went to the picture show. He called me—”
“That’s her girl friend. Right now, she’s having a ride in my car. She likes my car. She likes me. And she’ll be right where I want her when the time comes. However, since you’re busy—”
“What do you want, ha?”
“I asked you something.”
“You mean this note?”
“Yeah. Start talking.”
“I’m pretty sure it’s a suicide note. The Sharf, he didn’t open the note, when I gave it to him. He took it to give Sylwia, but it should be suicide note.”
“Fellow, it better be a suicide note.”
“Plizze, plizze. It will be.”
“If you had your policies here, so accidentally on purpose they could get burned, it would end my interest in the case. But since you haven’t, and the verdict at tonight’s inquest is going to determine my liability, I don’t take chances. I’m telling: it better be a suicide note.”
“Plizze. Wait only.”
“Then O. K.”
Mr. Layton returned to Mr. Gans and the lawyer. Dmitri went over and stood looking unhappily into a juke-box. Mr. Pease, the prosecutor, drifted over to Mr. Britten. “Cy, did you notice something just now?”
“Not particularly.”
“An objectionable party by the name of Layton was in my office this afternoon, representing an insurance company. He wanted a special autopsy and all but demanded I charge Sylvia Shoreham with murder. Now he just went into a huddle with Dmitri Spiro. You know, these insurance companies go too far. I wouldn’t ask much to rap that bird over the knuckles for obstructing justice.”
“He was in to see me too.”
“Oh yeah?”
“I had him followed.”
“ ... What for?”
“Just a hunch. He had another talk with Spiro, before this one. Out here at the Domino, for a half hour this afternoon. But before that he met a girl that deals blackjack out here, and then later, after he met his boss at the plane and they got a lawyer over to the hotel, he met the girl again, and they went up to his apartment, and you’ll notice she’s not here.”
“What are you getting at, Cy?”
“Something funny about this case.”
“You don’t mean it’s my case?”
“You heard about the sister?”
“I didn’t attach much importance to her.”
“They found her. Dead.”
“What?”
“Couple of hours ago.”
“Say, I think I’ll stick around.”
Sylvia arrived on the stroke of ten, a fur coat over her black dress, a small black hat with veil giving her face a wan, pale look. With her was Mr. Daly, the lawyer who had obtained her divorce. The Sheriff, who had been in the office with Mr. Flynn, the undertaker, and a deputy now came out. It was the deputy’s question to the undertaker about shipment of the Shoreham body that informed the correspondents of the second fatality in the case, and at once they crowded around him, asking questions. He put up his hand: “I don’t know any more than you do. Shoreham’s been to the mortuary and made formal identification of both bodies. Now the
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