«But you told me he had them,» I said. «You were quite sure of it. Henry is a very durable character. It would be just like him to hide the pearls somewhere, having no fear of what the police might do to him, and get another position and then after perhaps quite a long time, retrieve the pearls and quietly leave this part of the country.»
Ellen shook her head impatiently in the darkness of the porch. «Walter,» she said sharply, «you are hiding something. You could not have been sure and you would not have hit Henry in that brutal way, unless you had been sure. I know you well enough to know that.»
«Well, darling,» I said modestly, «there was indeed another small indication, one of those foolish trifles which the cleverest men overlook. As you know, I do not use the regular apartment-house telephone, not wishing to be annoyed by solicitors and such people. The phone which I use is a private line and its number is unlisted. But the calls I received from Henry’s confederate came over that phone, and Henry had been in my apartment a great deal, and I had been careful not to give Mr. Gandesi that number, because of course I did not expect anything from Mr. Gandesi, as I was perfectly sure from the beginning that Henry had the pearls, if only I could get him to bring them out of hiding.»
«Oh, darling,» Ellen cried, and threw her arms around me. «How brave you are, and I really think that you are actually clever in your own peculiar way. Do you believe that Henry was in love with me?»
But that was a subject in which I had no interest whatever. I left the pearls in Ellen’s keeping and late as the hour now was I drove at once to the residence of Mr. Lansing Gallemore and told him my story and gave him back his money.
A few months later I was happy to receive a letter postmarked in Honolulu and written on a very inferior brand of paper.
Well, pal, that Sunday punch of yours was the money and I did not think you had it in you, altho of course I was not set for it. But it was a pip and made me think of you for a week every time I brushed my teeth. It was too bad I had to scram because you are a sweet guy altho a little on the goofy side and I’d like to be getting plastered with you right now instead of wiping oil valves where I am at which is not where this letter is mailed by several thousand miles. There is just two things I would like you to know and they are both kosher. I did fall hard for that tall blonde and this was the main reason I took my time from the old lady. Glomming the pearls was just one of those screwy ideas a guy can get when he is dizzy with a dame. It was a crime the way they left them marbles lying around in that bread box and I worked for a Frenchy once in Djibouty and got to know pearls enough to tell them from snowballs. But when it came to the clinch down there in that brush with us two alone and no holds barred I just was too soft to go through with the deal. Tell that blonde you got a loop on I was asking for her.
YRS. as ever,
HENRY EICHELBERGER (Alias)
P. S. What do you know, that punk that did the phone work on you tried to take me for a fifty cut on that C note you tucked in my vest. I had to twist the sucker plenty.
Yrs. H. E. (Alias)
NEVADA GAS
ONE
Hugo Candless stood in the middle of the squash court bending his big body at the waist, holding the little black ball delicately between left thumb and forefinger. He dropped it near the service line and flicked at it with the long-handled racket.
The black ball hit the front wall a little less than halfway up, floated back in a high, lazy curve, skimmed just below the white ceiling and the lights behind wire protectors. It slid languidly down the back wall, never touching it enough to bounce out.
George Dial made a careless swing at it, whanged the end of his racket against the cement back wall. The ball fell dead.
He said: «That’s the story, chief. 12 — 14. You’re just too good for me.»
George Dial was tall, dark, handsome, Hollywoodish. He was brown and lean, and had a hard, outdoor look. Everything about him was hard except his full, soft lips and his large, cowlike eyes.
«Yeah. I always was too good for you,» Hugo Candless chortled.
He leaned far back from his thick waist and laughed with his mouth wide open. Sweat glistened on his chest and belly. He was naked except for blue shorts, white wool socks and heavy sneakers with crêpe soles. He had gray hair and a broad moon face with a small nose and mouth, sharp twinkly eyes.
«Want another lickin’?» he asked.
«Not unless I have to.»
Hugo Candless scowled. «Okey,» he said shortly. He stuck his racket under his arm and got an oilskin pouch out of his shorts, took a cigarette and a match from it. He lit the cigarette with a flourish and threw the match into the middle of the court, where somebody else would have to pick it up.
He threw the door of the squash court open and paraded down the corridor to the locker room with his chest out. Dial walked behind him silently; catlike, soft-footed, with a lithe grace. They went to the showers.
Candless sang in the showers, covered his big body with thick suds, showered dead-cold after the hot, and liked it. He rubbed himself dry with immense leisure, took another towel and stalked out of the shower room yelling for the attendant to bring ice and ginger ale.
A Negro in a stiff white coat came hurrying with a tray. Candless signed the check with a flourish, unlocked his big double locker and planked a bottle of Johnny Walker on the round green table that stood in the locker aisle.
The attendant mixed drinks carefully, two of them, said: «Yes, suh, Mista Candless,» and went away palming a quarter. George Dial, already fully dressed in smart gray flannels, came around the corner and lifted one of the drinks.
«Through for the day, chief?» He looked at the ceiling light through his drink, with tight eyes.
«Guess so,» Candless said largely. «Guess I’ll go home and give the little woman a treat.» He gave Dial a swift, sidewise glance from his little eyes.
«Mind if I don’t ride home with you?» Dial asked carelessly.
«With me it’s okey. It’s tough on Naomi,» Candless said unpleasantly.
Dial made a soft sound with his lips, shrugged, said: «You like to burn people up, don’t you chief?»
Candless didn’t answer, didn’t look at him. Dial stood silent with his drink and watched the big man put on monogrammed satin underclothes, purple socks with gray clocks, a monogrammed silk shirt, a suit of tiny black and white checks that made him look as big as a barn.
By the time he got to his purple tie he was yelling for the Negro to come and mix another drink.
Dial refused the second drink, nodded, went away softly along the matting between the tall green lockers.
Candless finished dressing, drank his second highball, locked his liquor away and put a fat brown cigar in his mouth. He had the Negro light the cigar for him. He went off with a strut and several loud greetings here and there.
It seemed very quiet in the locker room after he went out. There were a few snickers.
It was raining outside the Delmar Club. The liveried doorman helped Hugo Candless on with his belted white slicker and went out for his car. When he had it in front of the canopy he held an umbrella over Hugo across the strip of wooden matting to the curb. The car was a royal blue Lincoln limousine, with buff striping. The license number was 5A6.
The chauffeur, in a black slicker turned up high around his ears, didn’t look around. The doorman opened the door and Hugo Candless got in and sank heavily on the back seat.
«’Night, Sam. Tell him to go on home.»
The doorman touched his cap, shut the door, and relayed the orders to the driver, who nodded without turning his head. The car moved off in the rain.