Murder on the Rocks. Talmage Powell

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СКАЧАТЬ one hand. As I watched, he leaned a little farther and kissed her. Her free hand reached up and rumpled his hair. The man smiled and kissed her again. I knew what Paul Sewall looked like, and this was not her husband.

      I leaned on the buzzer and waited. No footsteps, no response. I pushed it again and this time I heard a man walking toward the door. He stopped just on the other side and called, “Who’s there?”

      “Delivery boy.”

      A pause. “We aren’t expecting anything. Who the hell are you?”

      “Not much of anybody, really, but you might open the door. Or failing that, tell Iris her hired hand’s come back. With news.”

      The footsteps went away. I peeked through the window and saw him talking to Iris. Suddenly she sat up, brushed back her hair, and began arranging her skirt. He walked back to the door, the snub chain rattled, and the door swung inward.

      “Come in,” he said grudgingly. “I didn’t know Iris was expecting anyone. She didn’t tell me.”

      “Does she usually?”

      As I walked past him his face was ugly. I heard the door close. Turning to the windows, I pulled the drape cord and the curtains glided across the front windows. To Iris I said, “That isn’t really for me, honey, you understand.”

      “How careless of me,” she said. “I won’t make that mistake again, but ordinarily the neighborhood’s free of Peeping Toms.”

      “Perfectly understandable. You and the night and the music, and what’s a body to do?” I felt a little giddy. The wine fumes from the Hotel Flora, perhaps.

      I turned and looked at her guest. He was stockily built, handsome in a weak sort of way, and his eyes were smoldering. Dark eyes and not quite enough chin. His ears stood out from the side of his head like the boy in the saloon picture captioned Me Worry? Not really as bad but I could see it was a standing problem.

      I said, “Somehow, during the course of our afternoon chat, I got the impression that our business was on the confidential side. If my impression was wrong he’s welcome to listen. Otherwise, shall we hold it to a twosome?”

      She looked up languidly. “Tracy,” she said, “would you mind leaving us for a little while?”

      He grunted and began walking toward the front door.

      “Have a jar of Yogurt and a few pushups,” I called. “It’ll take about that long.”

      “You go to hell,” he snarled, then the door closed.

      I turned back to Iris. She leaned forward, butted her cigarette, and lighted a fresh one. “Now would you mind terribly just saying what you have to say? Unless you just make a specialty of inconvenient entrances.”

      I went over to the wall and rapped on it. “Thick,” I said. “Solid. But I’ll speak softly in case Peter Rabbit’s listening.”

      “Do that,” she said, and began to laugh. It made her face even more fetching. When the laughter ended she said, “You might as well sit down. I have the feeling this may take a little time.”

      “Very little.”

      “You don’t seem to get along with Tracy.”

      “I’m just not the neighborly sort. I wouldn’t lend him a jigger of Cointreau if his prize soufflé depended on it.”

      “There’s that side of him, yes,” she said, “but any number of women know the other—to their cost.”

      I let that one drift while I took her money out of my pocket. “The ride’s over,” I said. “You’d better get yourself the law.” I let the money fall on the chow table.

      Her face went white. “What’s happened?”

      “He’s dead. Deader than Jeff Davis. On his bed in a Chinatown flop. The Hotel Flora.”

      “How? When did it happen?”

      “Last night. Today. Who the hell knows? Morph poisoning. Or heroin. An overdose, Iris. And it takes a big jolt of hop to kick a junkie all the way. You forgot to tell me Silvio used the needle.”

      Her voice was dull. “I didn’t know.” She stared down at the money. “So you’re all through? You’re walking out?”

      I sat down on the sofa. Someone’s highball was on the chow table. I picked it up and drained it. “Death changes everything, Iris. So far as the chase went I was with you all the way. If Silvio took the emerald, he’s dead. He can’t give it back and no one can make him talk. Not even the U. S. Marines.”

      She raised her face and stared at me. “You didn’t find the emerald?”

      Glancing down at the two five-hundred-dollar bills, I flicked one with my index finger. “The search had already been made. The room looked like a henhouse after a long night with the foxes. If the emerald was ever there, it’s gone now.”

      “Someone took it from him.”

      “You’re jumping at conclusions. Someone ripped the room apart looking for it. The emerald or something else. Maybe Silvio’s private cache of happy dust. To a junkie a find like that would be a pearl beyond price.”

      Her left thumb was tapping against the edge of the cushion jerkily. She became aware of it and glanced down but the thumb kept on tapping. “The police—do they know?”

      “Not through me,” I told her. “We’re holding out on them—me and the PI who found Silvio for me. Silvio’s prints are on file—from visa applications at the Department. His body will be found, probably by tomorrow. By evening he’ll be identified.” I got up from the sofa, slowly and a little unsteadily. “That’s how much time your father has to make other plans regarding the emerald. At that, it may be an overestimate.”

      “He’ll be ruined,” she said.

      “He’s a diplomat,” I said. “Your father didn’t get to be an ambassador without knowing how to handle himself. There may be some tense days ahead but I wouldn’t get all distraught over what’s likely to happen to him.” I took a deep breath to steady myself. “That’s my last piece of advice, Iris, and it costs nothing. Oh, yes, there were some minor expenses. Fifty dollars to the PI for finding Silvio and then keeping his mouth shut. Mail me a check sometime. The taxi fares and the buck to the desk clerk I’ll charge off to business expenses next April.”

      She looked up at me, making an effort to gather herself together. After a while she said, “There’s nothing that could persuade you to keep searching for the emerald?”

      “Look,” I said earnestly, “I’m not a detective, a strong-arm boy, or even a cop. I’m just a reasonably competent counselor on Federal tax problems. If you have any next spring I’ll be glad to have your business. As for the emerald, I never heard of it. If a man’s lying dead in a doghouse in Chinatown, nobody’s told me and I don’t want to be told. Monday morning when i read about it in the papers it’ll come as a complete surprise. So in answer to, your question, the reply is nothing. Nothing at all.”

      She uncoiled from the sofa and her arms СКАЧАТЬ