Wigmore hung up the telephone, pressed the buzzer for his secretary, and said: “Get that Ellen Hanley questionnaire into Doctor Carr’s office right away.”
Evelyn Rane, attired in the most filmy of negligees, lounged in the Ninety-first Street apartment smoking a cigarette. From time to time she looked at the watch on her left wrist, and frowned. Once she stood up, examined herself approvingly in front of the mirror, stood between the mirror and the window so that the light from the window, filtering through the thin silk, showed in frank outline the curved contours of her body.
She was smoking her third cigarette when the buzzer exploded into sound.
She promptly pressed the electric door release, gave herself one last look in the mirror, pinched out the cigarette, and when she heard a tap on the panels of the door, opened it a bare three inches.
“Why, Gil Best!” she exclaimed, “you’re not due here for half an hour. I wasn’t expecting you until I got some clothes on.”
“I’m half an hour late,” the detective said.
“Why it can’t be. My watch must have stopped.”
He frowned. “Come on, Bright Eyes, quit stalling and let me in.”
“But I’m not dressed.”
“You’ve got something on, haven’t you?”
“Yes, but I wasn’t exactly dressed to receive company.”
Best muttered an exclamation, pushed the door open, walked in and sat down.
“I just this minute got out of a bath,” Evelyn Rane said.
Best walked across to the davenport, sat down, stared approvingly at Evelyn Rane, then shifted his eyes from the steady insistence of her frank gaze.
“How did you come out?” he asked.
“Like I told you over the telephone. O.K.”
“Did they fall for it?”
“Hook, line and sinker.”
“What happened?”
“I met the guy who looks like a motion-picture parson.”
“That’s Wigmore.”
“Yes.”
“What did he do?”
“Had me kick and stretch and flex my joints. Then he called a doctor.”
“A guy named Carr?”
“Yes.”
“He’s their regular stand-by. What did Carr do?”
She tittered and said: “He led up to it by degrees. He was interested. I was just an unsophisticated little girl. He and his office nurse went over me with a fine tooth comb, then he got suspicious and telephoned Wigmore. Wigmore sent in the questionnaire. They asked me to sign my name and write some stuff about my history, then finally the doctor came out and asked me if I’d been in an automobile accident. I told him no, that the only accident I’d referred to in the questionnaire was a street car accident where I’d received a slight strain to the ankle, but no broken bones. That was what you told me to say, wasn’t it?”
“Yes. Did they fall for it?”
“It made a commotion.”
“What happened?”
“The office was turned upside down. They were as busy as bees in a hive. They made me sign my name at least a dozen times, and watched me to see that I wasn’t slipping anything over on them. I sold them on the idea that they’d got the questionnaire from the wrong woman. Wigmore was so mad that he damn near died. I heard him get on the telephone and fire the woman investigator who had tricked Ellen Hanley into submitting the questionnaire.”
“So then what?”
“So then after the commotion had died down, I pretended to become very indignant and threatened to sue the whole outfit for damages because they had tricked me and trifled with me. I told them I saw it all now, that it was all a plant, and I accused Doctor Carr of faking the whole examination so that he could get my clothes off and paw me over. You should have seen his face when I pulled that one. It was as red as a boiled beet.”
“So then what?”
“So then they offered me a job at a hundred dollars a month. I laughed at them. They offered me a job at a hundred and fifty.
“I demanded five hundred for a cash settlement, and then I pulled a fast one.”
“What was it?”
Evelyn Rane glanced coyly at the eager detective as she continued. “I reached out and picked up the questionnaire off Doctor Carr’s desk and stuck it in my purse. I told them I was going to save it for evidence.”
“Good girl.”
“I could see,” she went on, “that the thing that bothered the doctor the most, was the talk about professional intimacies. I spread it on thick.”
“Did they make a settlement?”
“No, they wouldn’t make a cash settlement. They offered me a job.”
Best held out his hand. “Where’s the questionnaire?” he said.
She crossed to the table, opened her purse, took out a folded paper, handed it to the detective.
Best read it over. As he read, he shook his head lugubriously.
“The damn little fool,” he said.
He shoved the questionnaire into his pocket. “They got your address?”
“Yes.”
“They’ll be checking up on you.”
“I know it.”
“Think you can bluff it out all right?”
“Sure.”
“Don’t let them get your fingerprints.”
“Think I was born yesterday? They’re frightened now — afraid that they’re going to run into a damage suit.”
“They may have been for awhile,” Best said, and grinned, “but when Wigmore gets to figuring out that the net result of all this business was that he lost the questionnaire which was his biggest piece of evidence against Ellen Hanley, he’ll smell a pretty big rat. They’ll come around and check you up. If they find you’re not Ellen Hanley, they’ll probably talk about arresting you for larceny of the paper.”
“Larceny my eye,” she said, “I folded it up right in front of their noses, and I’ve still got that charge of unprofessional conduct against Doctor Carr.”
“That bothered them?” Best asked.
“That bothers them.”
Best got to his feet, reached for his hat.
“Aw stick around awhile, Gil, you’re not going.”
Gil Best pointed to the ashtray with the two cigarette stubs, the third half-smoked cigarette. “Next time,” he said, “that you just get out of a bath, don’t smoke two and a half cigarettes while you’re waiting for the bell to ring.”
He moved toward the door.
Evelyn Rane came after him like a tiger. The silk negligee flowed out behind her, her face white, her eyes dark with rage.
“Damn you, Gil Best,” she said, “what are you insinuating? What kind of a girl do you think I am? I don’t have to put up with your dirty cracks just because—”
He opened the door, turned back to look at her, and smiled approvingly. “A damn good line,” he said. “Save it for the boys from the Airline Stageways.”
When he had closed the door, she stood staring at it for several seconds, then ran to the davenport, flung herself down on her face and sobbed, long-drawn, convulsive sobs that shook every inch of her frame.
Chapter Four
Shyster Trap
Gilbert Best’s secretary imitated the cooingly sweet notes of the telephone operator.
“Long-distance call for Mr. Samuel C. Wigmore,” she said. “Is Mr. Wigmore there?”
“Yes,” said a feminine voice. “Who’s calling?”
“A party named Manning. Will you put Mr. Wigmore on the line?”
“Is Mr. Manning on?”
“Yes.”
“Very well. Hold the line.”
A moment later, Wigmore’s voice said cautiously: “Hello, what is it?”
Best, seated on the edge of his desk, with a French telephone held to his ear, said in a strained voice: “You know who this is, Mr. Wigmore.”