A door opened. A man stepped purposefully into the room.
The manager waved his hand.
“I’ll let you discuss that with McGovern, of the Secret Service. You probably don’t know it, but we’ve been flooded with clever counterfeits here the last week. McGovern has been waiting on call.”
Ken turned to meet the man’s eyes.
McGovern smiled, and the smile was frank.
“If you can tell me where you got it, that’s all I need to know,” he said. “One look at you’s enough to convince me you’re no counterfeiter.”
Ken smiled in return, then let the smile fade.
“Look here,” he said, “this bill came from a client. I have an idea certain interests would like to frame something else on that client and his wife. The man is dead. The wife isn’t — yet. I don’t want to play into any frame-up...”
The other smiled, waved his hand.
“Just a formality, but you’ll have to tell me. You’re dealing with the Federal Secret Service now. You won’t find any political frame-ups with us. As a matter of form, would you mind letting me see the rest of your money?”
Ken laughed, reached in his coat, took out his wallet.
That wallet felt strangely bulky. He stared at it. It wasn’t his wallet. It was crammed with currency. He made a move as though to put it back in his pocket. The Federal man whipped down a swift arm.
“Here,” he said, “none of that. Acting funny ain’t going to help you.”
He grabbed the wallet, opened it, whistled.
There was a moment of silence.
“That,” said Ken, “is not my wallet. I demand that the waiter who brought me in here be called. I want to have him searched. He slipped this wallet into my pocket and took mine out. He’s a professional dip, and this is a plant.”
The lip of the Federal man curled.
“Yeah,” he said. “How often I’ve heard that one! You’ve got to come along. Want to go quietly, or would you rather make a fuss?”
Ken stared at the wallet.
“I’ll go quietly if you’ll pick up that waiter and take him along, too,” said Ken.
The Federal turned to the manager.
“Who was it?” he asked.
“Frank,” said the manager.
“Get him,” said the Federal, “In the meantime I’ll take this guy along in a cab. Come on. You can tell your story where it’ll be appreciated. They don’t pay me to listen, only to do things.”
Ken went out through, the cabaret.
The man in the dinner coat, who wore the white carnation, was looking at his watch with an air of finality. Ken walked rapidly so that he was a step or two ahead of McGovern. There were couples standing on the floor. Many of the tables were vacant. The music stopped when Ken was some twenty feet from the table occupied by the man in the dinner coat who wore the white carnation. There was a perfunctory spatter of applause and then couples stood, waiting, staring at the orchestra expectantly.
Ken Corning raised his voice and called over his shoulder to McGovern: “This is just a frame-up, because I’ve got some evidence in that Parks murder case.”
McGovern spoke in an even, ominous tone. “Shut up!” he said.
Ken Hashed a glance to the man who wore the white carnation. He was signaling a waiter for his check. There was nothing on his face to indicate that he had heard what Ken had said; or hearing, was in anywise concerned with it. The orchestra struck up an encore. As the couples started to twine and twist to the strains of the dance, Ken flashed a glance at McGovern, then at the man who wore the white carnation. The man was handing the waiter a bill, The waiter was pushing an oblong of pink pasteboard at him from which had been figured the items of the check. The man pushed away the pasteboard, made a sweeping gesture with his hand as though to indicate that the waiter should keep the change. Staring at Ms face, it was impossible for Ken to tell whether the man had hurried his exit because Ken was leaving, or whether he had simply grown tired of waiting, and decided to knock off for the day.
Behind him, McGovern said: “Get your hat and coat and don’t try any funny business.”
Ken moved up to the checking stand. A girl with a beautiful face flashed him a smile that was meant to be dazzling, but was only mechanical, took the square of pasteboard which he handed her and pushed Ken’s hat out over the counter.
The man who wore the white carnation in his dinner coat had evidently found some people he knew. He was chatting with them, a young man of about thirty, and a red-haired woman who could not have been over twenty-three. As he chatted, he reached up and plucked the white carnation from the dinner jacket, dropped it to the floor and stepped on it.
Ken said to McGovern: “Can I talk with you? Will you listen to reason?”
McGovern said: “Sure, I’ll listen to any guy who wants to talk; only remember that anything you say will be used against you.”
Ken lured him over to the far corner of the checking counter and said: “All right now, listen. I told you that this thing was a frame-up because I was a witness in the Parks case. You don’t seem to be interested.”
McGovern said. “Why should I be interested? That’s a state case, I’m a Federal. You tell me where you got this counterfeit money from and where the plates are and I’ll sit here and listen to you until daylight. But if you’ve got anything to say on the Parks case you can tell it to the state authorities — I’m not interested.”
Ken fixed his eyes on McGovern and said: “Listen, suppose that I could show you that this man Parks had something on the administration and was going to keep Dike from accepting the position of Superintendent of the Water Department? Suppose I could show you that Carl Dwight is mixed up with Dike; that, in place of being enemies, those two fellows are working hand in glove regardless of all this newspaper talk about Dike wanting to clean up the graft...”
McGovern took his arm above the elbow and gave him a push.
“Listen, guy, I told you I wasn’t interested in all that stuff. Are you going to tell me where you got the plates or where you’ve got the rest of this queer cached?”
Ken Corning’s eyes narrowed.
“Okey,” he said, “I tried to give you the breaks and you wouldn’t listen. Now I’ll take a look at your credentials before I leave this place.”
McGovern grinned easily and dropped his right hand to the side pocket.
“Gee,” he said, “you sure are full of alibis and stalls. Come on and let’s get going. This is all in the day’s work with me and I want to get home and get my beauty sleep. You can stall all night, but you can’t keep me from taking you to jail and booking you on a charge of possession of counterfeit money. If you want my authority, here it is.”
Ken felt something hard prodding against his ribs. He glanced down to where the right hand of McGovern was holding the gun concealed by the right-hand side pocket of his coat. He said: “Oh, it’s like that, is it?”
McGovern said: “Yes, guy, it’s like that. You’re going to take it and like it. Get started out of here. You’ve got counterfeit money in your possession and there are witnesses that you tried to pass if. You can either go quietly or you can get your insides blown out right here. Which is it going to be?”
Ken grinned and said: “Under the circumstances, I guess I’ll go quietly.”
McGovern said: “Now you’re talking sense. You can’t gain anything by talking any other way. I’m on the square and I’m going to take you in, but I ain’t going to stand here all night and listen to a lot of hooey and I ain’t going to have you pull any smart aleck stuff on me. Get started!”