“I don’t have to do that, Mr. Slocum,” said Murdock angrily. “I could take you down to Headquarters, you know.”
“You want to arrest me?” snapped Slocum. “Go ahead and see what happens.”
Murdock shook his head. Slocum was a Hollywood tradition. You don’t arrest a Hollywood tradition offhand, especially not if the tradition has several million dollars behind him.
Murdock said, “I suggest you telephone your lawyer, Mr. Slocum. I’m afraid I will have to ask you a few questions later on!”
“Fine! I’ll be in my office.” Slocum slammed out of the room, throwing a dirty look at Oliver Quade as he passed.
A woman’s sobbing in the other room reached the inner office as Tommy tore out. Quade moved toward the door. Murdock headed him off. “Just a minute!” he said.
Quade spoke out of the corner of his mouth. “I helped you out of a tight spot a minute ago,” he reminded. “Saved your face.”
Murdock reddened. “Yeah, but I want a word with you in a minute.” He was looking past Quade into the other room. Suddenly, he stepped around and went through the door. Quade followed.
A girl with gorgeous blonde hair was slumped in a chair, sobbing. A tall, clean-cut looking young fellow in his middle twenties, stood over her, awkwardly patting her hair.
“There, there, Thelma!” he was saying. “It’s tough, but nothing you can do about it!”
“What’s your name?” Lieutenant Murdock asked of the young fellow.
“Paul Clevenger,” was the reply. “And this is Miss Thelma Wentworth.”
The girl looked up and Quade inhaled softly. It was the beautiful girl he had encountered in this very room a minute before he had discovered the dead body of Stanley Maynard. The girl whose face had been so pale and who had evidently been so frightened. Her cheeks were tear-stained now, but fright was still in her eyes.
She was Thelma Wentworth, glamor girl. Christopher Buck had mentioned her name in connection with Stanley Maynard and Tommy Slocum — and Willie Higgins, former Public Enemy Number One!
She saw Quade now and her damp handkerchief went up to her face. “Oh, it’s too horrible!” she sobbed. “I can’t believe it.”
Lieutenant Murdock cleared his throat and Oliver Quade stepped unobtrusively out into the corridor. He sauntered down to Slocum’s office and went in. Slocum was seated behind his desk. He stopped biting his fingernails when he saw Quade. “You Judas!” he spat.
Quade grinned. “No, Mr. Slocum, I was getting myself in solid with Lieutenant Murdock. I told him something the M.E. would have told him inside of three minutes. I saved his face for him and he’ll remember it later — when I’m working for you.”
“You’ll never work for me,” declared Slocum.
“Oh, but you’ve forgotten. You hired me to be Desmond Dogg’s voice tomorrow.”
“Forget it. Foghorns are a dime a dozen.”
Quade shook his head. “You know there isn’t another voice like mine in all Hollywood. You picked it yourself. By the way, do you remember how you happened to hear it?”
“How could I help hearing it? You roared loud enough out there on the street.”
“Then you must have heard most of my pitch — the questions the people asked me, which, you’ll remember I answered correctly.”
“Yeah, sure. Trick stuff.”
“No, it wasn’t trick stuff. I can answer any question anyone can put to me. I’m the Human Encyclopedia.”
Slocum sneered. “All right, Human Encyclopedia, clear out. I’ve got work to do.”
Quade said, “Mr. Slocum, what do you know about Willie Higgins?”
Tommy Slocum jumped to his feet. “Willie Higgins!” he cried. Then he caught himself. “Higgins? That’s the gangster who’s serving time on Alcatraz Island, isn’t it?”
“He finished his term last week,” replied Quade. “Sit down, Mr. Slocum. You don’t have to be afraid of me. I’m working for you, remember?”
Slocum sat down and stared at Quade.
Quade went on: “You don’t have to answer any of my questions, but by this time it must be obvious to you that you’re in a jam. Stanley Maynard was murdered in your studio, just before he started a million-dollar suit against you. He’d already employed one of the highest priced private detectives in the country to acquire certain evidence against you. So, what is the District Attorney going to say when he learns all that?”
Slocum said bitterly, “You cheap, loud-mouthed book agent!”
Quade’s nostrils flared. “Listen, Slocum, you make the best movie cartoons in the business. You know your stuff. But I know mine. I’m the greatest book salesman in the country. I’m broke today, yes. But I’ve made fortunes selling books! I can make them again, if I want to. You call me loud-mouthed; what the hell are you? Because you’ve had some success, you can bellow at some people and get away with it. But you can’t call me names. I’ve got more knowledge in my little finger than you have in that swelled head of yours.”
Slocum suddenly chuckled. “That’s the first time anyone has told me off in ten years!”
“You had it coming, then!” snapped Quade.
“Yeah, sure!” agreed Slocum affably. “I don’t mind it at all.” He sighed. “For ten years I’ve worked like a dog. Everyone’s fought me, tried to cut my throat. I’ve had to yell and fight them…. How’d you like to work for me, steady?”
“I wouldn’t work for anyone, steadily. I like to move around, see things and people. I’ve spent fifteen years reading the encyclopedia from cover to cover, not once but four times. And I’ve got a trained memory. That stuff outside this morning, it wasn’t faked. I can answer any question anyone can ask me.”
“What was the first motion picture cartoon?”
“Krazy Kat,” replied Quade.
Slocum’s eyes narrowed. “Any question, you said. All right. I was raised on a farm, so I know this one. Maybe it’s not fair, but you said any subject. How many breeds of domestic turkey are there?”
“Six. Bronze, Bourbon Red, Narragansett, White Holland, Slate and Black.”
Slocum’s mouth fell open. “I thought that one would get you. Even the average turkey raiser doesn’t know how many different breeds there are.”
“I know. Now, Slocum, what do you know about Willie Higgins?”
Slocum winced. “You get back to that. Well, I’m not going to answer you.”
“Christopher Buck’s going to ask you that same question.”
“That long-legged lug who calls himself a detective?”
“Yes. And let me repeat, don’t underestimate Buck. He’s conceited, egoistic and publicity mad. But he’s got a very fine detective agency in the East and a good many men who underestimated him are in various penitentiaries. I’ve had dealings with Buck before.”
Slocum bit his nails again.
Quade said, “And what is Thelma Wentworth to you?”
“Damn!” swore Slocum. “What’s she got to do with this?”
“You slammed out of Maynard’s office too quick to see her. She was in the outer room with a man named Paul Clevenger. She was crying.”
Slocum’s eyes blazed. “The fool! Why’d she come around at a time like this? She’ll get smeared all over the papers.”
“She was here earlier,” Quade said. “Before you got on the scene. Before I found Maynard, she came out of his office!”
Slocum choked. “Quade, I want you to do something for me. I’ll pay you plenty. What do you say?”
“That’s what I’ve been getting at, Mr. Slocum. Murdock isn’t going to tackle you just now, but he’ll report to the D.A. and he’ll get after you. And with Buck on the other side spilling things you’re going to have to have some mighty good answers.”
“I know,” said Slocum. “I’ve known that for fifteen minutes. Moody, my lawyer, will have to stall the D.A. for a while until you deliver.”