Beginning with a Bash. Phoebe Atwood Taylor
and I greatly doubt if the police would do much more than snicker at us, and not very politely. But North’s house—that’s a different thing. I particularly want to interview that maid of his. She seems to be a garrulous sort, if the inspector quoted her correctly.”
“But what would a maid know about the hammer, or Volume Four?”
“Nothing, perhaps. On the other hand, from the information about North’s comings and goings which she presented the inspector over the telephone, I should judge it would be worth our while to chat with her.”
“I still don’t see why,” Dot said a little obstinately.
“I want to know more about that book,” Leonidas said as they alighted from the street car. “I am consumed with curiosity concerning that volume. I want to know if North ever owned it, and why, if he did, it left his possession. Why he wanted it so badly now. Why that Italian wanted it—”
“That’s enough,” Dot said. “Just let this slow freight mind of mine rest there.”
It was just quarter to eight when they mounted the front steps of North’s small ivy-covered suburban home. After several minutes of waiting, a girl appeared to answer their ring.
She was scantily clad in a blue figured négligée and blue satin mules from which the worn feather boa trimmings were beginning to separate; they trailed forlornly a few inches behind her. Dot wasn’t sure, but she thought she heard Leonidas murmur something about Sadie Thompson.
From the girl’s look of surprise, it was evident that Dot and Leonidas were not the visitors she had expected. With one hand she gripped her robe more tightly about her, and with the other she made some attempt to smooth out her damp black curls. Dot guessed that she had just emerged from the bath tub.
“Er—is this Professor North’s?” Leonidas asked politely.
“Yeah, but he ain’t here. He’s out. Won’t be back till late tonight. He’s getting his dinner in Boston, he is.”
“You’ve not heard from—that is, about him?”
“Nope. I went out around half-past five and just came back a few minutes ago. I got tonight off.”
“Oh. Thank you. I—”
“Say,” the girl said suddenly, “he didn’t ask you two to have dinner with him, did he? He often forgets about things like that.”
“No. Oh, no.”
The girl sighed her relief. “Thank God. Say, want me to catch him for you? He’d ought to be at the City Club around now, if he ain’t changed his plans.” She opened the door hospitably and Leonidas and Dot walked into the minute front parlor.
“You are the maid?” Leonidas asked. He was sure she was, but on the other hand the girl was much more at home than most of the domestics with whom he had come in contact.
“Yeah. I’m Gerty McInnis. I’ll go call the City Club. He always tells me where he’s going so’s I can phone him about people he’s asked here and forgot about, and things like those. Awful absent-minded, the professor is. When his sister’s here, she looks after him, but she’s in California, thank God. You—”
“Just a moment. I’m afraid we’re letting you get the wrong impression,” Leonidas said. “Is it—is it possible that you have not heard what has happened to Professor North?”
“No, what’s wrong? Did he go walking by a red light and get run over again?”
“You recall, possibly, a man calling about Martin Jones this afternoon?”
“Yeah. So what?”
“Well, shortly before that, Professor North had been found dead. Killed. In a Boston bookstore.”
“Killed, huh? Who done it?” Gerty’s self composure was admirable.
“They’ve arrested Martin Jones.” Leonidas told her the whole story briefly.
“So they pinched Jones, huh? They’re crazy. Well, well. It’s like them cops.”
“You take this very calmly,” Leonidas remarked.
“My brother’s Bat McInnis,” Gerty announced, as though that explained everything. “You heard of Bat, ain’t you? He’s head of the McInnis mob. I’m sort of used to people being bumped off. My oldest brother got taken for a ride two years ago next week. You’d ought to of seen the funeral. Well, here today and gone tomorrow, as Bat always says. Wonder should I ought to let his sister know? North’s, I mean. Anyway,” she concluded cheerfully, “I won’t have to stay here any longer, and that’s a help.”
“Why?” Dot wanted to know. Gerty, with her husky voice, savoir faire and gangster relations, had made a decided hit with Dot. “Why? Don’t you like it here?”
“Not much! But Bat, he says I got to work and be decent. It’s a lot of hooey. Bat, he thinks heaven’ll protect the working girl, but I could tell him a thing or two! You tell me why a maid should have any more chances to be decent than anyone else! But Bat, he don’t see it that way. He says I can’t go running around with any of his gorillas, and if I lived with him, I would. So since ma died, he’s made me work. Says he can’t take the time to look after me himself. I wonder should I tell Bat about all this?”
The negligee was getting out of hand. She jerked her shoulders and hips convulsively and somehow covered herself again. Dot looked at Leonidas to see what his reactions to Miss McInnis were. He appeared to be enjoying himself thoroughly.
“I guess,” Gerty went on, “I won’t call Bat until tomorrow, not unless he hears of it and comes around. Always checking up on me. You’d think I was one of his joints. I’m going out tonight with my boyfriend, and Bat—well, I guess I won’t tell him until tomorrow anyway. Say, did you just come to break this news to me, or did you want something special?”
“I did want to know something about North,” Leonidas admitted, “but if you’re in a hurry to go out, I won’t—”
“No hurry. What is it?”
“It’s about a book North was hunting—”
As he reeled off the title, Gerty’s expression became absolutely wooden. Too wooden entirely, for up till now, up to the mention of Volume Four, her face had mirrored every emotion she felt. Now it was blank. Gerty apparently knew something about Volume Four, but it was equally apparent that she was going to maintain her poker face and express complete ignorance of the book.
“Now I wonder,” Leonidas went on, “if you ever heard Professor North—”
The front doorbell rang, and Gerty departed to answer it.
“She knows the hell of a lot,” Dot whispered.
“She does,” Leonidas returned.
“Aw, Freddy,” Gerty’s voice was wafted in to them. “Aw, Freddy, you shouldn’t ought—say, get out of that doorway, you dumb kluck! Bat’s got someone hanging around—”
The front door shut abruptly. After an expressive silence, Gerty re-entered the parlor.
Dot and Leonidas all but jumped out of their chairs.
Behind her was the Italian who had asked for Volume Four that afternoon!
Recognition was mutual. The Italian began to back out of the room.
“Wait!” Leonidas ordered. “Wait just a moment, please!”
“What you want, huh?”
For a moment the two men eyed each other.
“That book you wanted,” Leonidas began, “is—”
“Found it?”
“No. But North did. And whoever killed him in our store this afternoon stole it—”
“Who