“That’s hardly the point,” he objected.
She began, “I—” but the buzzer interrupted. Smiling, she arose from the chair and walked to the office door. Lainey was beside his desk, his serious face turned to hers.
“This is the police, Miss Bridges.”
“Come in, come in.” She stepped aside as she had done earlier for the private detective, and Sergeant Wiedenbeck strode into the room. He looked at Home without a flicker of emotion.
“Hello, hot-shot. Did Dr. Saari tell you...?”
“Yeah. I can’t leave town. I’m not. What brings you here?”
“What brought you?”
“Channy. He was a policyholder.”
“So your company has informed me. That’s why I’m here.”
“I leave you,” Horne said, “to the tender mercies of Miss Bridges.”
Miss Bridges smiled upon him in a friendly fashion. “Good-bye, Mr. Horne. I’m sorry I couldn’t be more helpful.”
“My name is Wiedenbeck,” the sergeant cut in. “And helpful or not, Miss Bridges, I’m going to ask you to go over it all again for me. Please.”
Horne looked at the file card he still held in his hand and noted the date of the fox terrier’s injection as being more than eleven months past.
“Here.” He gave the card to Wiedenbeck. “Play around with this. And be sure to read the other side.” He nodded politely to Deebie Bridges and stepped through the door to the office, closing the panel after him. Lainey looked up.
Horne said hello.
The veterinarian responded with, “Hello. I suppose all this has to do with what I read in the morning papers?”
Horne nodded. “You’re clever. Did you know Channy was a client of the hospital? Before you found that card, I mean?”
Lainey shook his head solemnly. “I couldn’t guess why you were here until I saw his name on the file card. And then what I had read in the papers told me half the story.”
“And the other half?”
“Where Miss Bridges fits into it all?”
Home read the eagerness to know in his eyes. He looked behind him at the closed door of the apartment, peered suspiciously under the desk, and asked in a whisper,
“Are we alone?”
“Yes.”
“Promise you’ll keep this quiet?”
“Certainly! I’m a doctor.”
“Well,” the detective confided, “it’s an incredible story but it goes like this: this man Channy was a money-sucking playboy. He lived off rich old women. We suspect he was playing Deebie Bridges and this other unknown woman at the same time. Apparently he had a tip to the effect that Miss Bridges has a pile of money hidden around here somewhere. Bringing his dog for a shot was only a cover-up, an excuse to give him a chance to look around the premises. You know — case the joint!”
“But,” the perplexed doctor cut in, “the dog was ill.”
“Sure. Channy picked it up somewhere and said it was his. So he looks around and finds Deebie Bridges a poor but honest woman. He drops her like a hot potato. No money in it for him. You know what—?”
“What?”
“Until we talked to her, we thought maybe Miss Bridges had killed him in a fit of jealousy.”
“No!” the veterinarian exclaimed. Horne let it go at that.
He picked up an unused envelope lying on the desk, inserted it into the typewriter standing there, and rapidly clicked out a telephone number. Bidding the confused Lainey a pleasant good morning, Horne put the envelope in his pocket and sauntered out into the street.
The man who had been feeding the birds was not in sight.
Five
An inbound streetcar clanging its way through the moderately heavy traffic of Main Street joggled his memory.
Horne continued on to the next corner, waited for a break in traffic and dashed across the street. The car was yet a block away. A clock in a jeweler’s window behind him registered a few minutes of noon. He wondered idly if it was the right time.
Swinging aboard the rear door of the streetcar he gave the conductor a dime and asked him a question.
“Oh, God!” the conductor groaned, “you too?”
“Whaddya mean, me too?”
“Look, bud,” the weary conductor growled, “all morning its been the same thing: did you see her, where did she get on, where did she get off, did she get a transfer? If I told ’em once I told ’em a thousand times, I did not see any redheaded dame get off at Wilsey Street last night. Now, does that answer your question?”
“Nope,” Horne shot back. “She might have been wearing a wig.”
“That’s what they thought, too.”
“Who?”
“The rest of the cops. Say — how come you’re asking me questions? Ain’t you a cop? How come you don’t already know?”
Horne shook his head. “I’m not on the force.” He pulled out his wallet to display the badge. “I’m a private investigator. Handling the insurance angle. My name is Charles Horne.”
“Oh, yeah — I read about’cha in the paper.” He pointed to the bandage. “That where you got nicked? Does it hurt much? Hey, lady, how old is that boy?”
“He’s only eleven. He won’t be twelve ’til next September nineteenth. He’s just big for his age.”
“Well, all right this time, but he’s gotta pay a dime when he’s twelve, see?” The conductor passed the woman and the boy in. He turned back to Horne. “How’d it feel to get blowed up?”
“Like hell,” the detective returned feelingly. “Can’t you remember any woman getting off at Wilsey last night? Maybe someone who acted suspicious?”
“Naw. Look, bud. I work from six at night until after midnight, and I come on again the next morning at five-thirty and work until noon. I see too damned many people to remember one woman!”
“Even a pretty one? With red hair?”
“Even a pretty one with red hair. I heard that boom last night. We was only a few blocks away. The cops asked me if I didn’t remember a woman getting on at Wilsey just before the big bust. I didn’t even remember that.”
“You’re a lot of help!”
“Well, that’s how it is. Step aside, let the lady in. Hold it lady, wait for your change.” He dropped fifteen cents in the girl’s hand and she passed inside. “Now see there, I gave her fifteen cents five seconds ago and right now I can’t tell you what she looked like. See, fella? I just see too many people.”
“How about the motorman? How’s his memory?”
“Big Forry? They asked him lot’sa questions, too, but he couldn’t help them. All he looks at is legs.”
“Legs?”
“Yeah, legs. When he stops and opens the door for ’em to get off, he looks down at their legs to make sure they get off before he starts again. Safety first, y’know.”
“I see what you mean. Well, thanks, anyway.”
“Okay, fella. But next time there’s an explosion you can bet I’ll watch! The cops razzed me plenty.”
Horne got off the streetcar at the safety island and looked back to see if Big Forry was watching his legs. Big Forry wasn’t. The crew was changing shifts with the afternoon men and Big Forry was diligently searching under his seat for an evasive thermos bottle.
The detective turned in at the first public telephone sign and called Dr. Saari’s office.
“Hullo, hard worker. Had lunch?”
“Hello, Chuck. It would be a pleasure.”
“Be there in five minutes. But you’ve got to make a promise...”
“What is it?”
“That you won’t order more than fifty cents’ worth. I’m almost broke.”
“I’ll be glad to pay for it, Chuck.”
“Oh, no you don’t! I have pride. I’ll borrow money from a woman but I won’t let one buy my meals.”