12 Chinks and A Woman

     Lindsay raised his head and looked at her, “I guess I shouldn't have asked him,” he said helplessly; “but my little girl means a lot to me.”

     Paula opened her bag and took out a flat note-book. “Give me the facts,” she said. “I can't promise anything, but I might be able to persuade him.”

     The heavy eyes lit up a little hopefully. “I can do that,” he said huskily. “What facts do you want?”

     In the lounge outside, Fenner followed Grosset to a quiet corner and sat down with him. He was very watchful and distrusting.

     Grosset was smooth, just a shade too smooth. He flicked open a thin gold cigarette-case and offered it to Fenner. He then lit the two cigarettes with a gold lighter.

     Fenner said dryly, “You guys live well.”

     Grosset said, “I don't think we've run into you before.” He crossed his legs, showing black-and-white check socks. “I've checked your license. You were the guy who made so much money out of the Blandish kidnapping case. That was when you were a down-at-heel investigator new on the job. You got a lucky break and you pulled out of Kansas and put up a plate here. That's right, isn't it?”

     Fenner forced a long stream of smoke down his nostrils. “You're tellin' the story,” he said; “you've got it right up to now.”

     Grosset looked wise. “You've been in New York six months. You don't seem to have done much in that time.”

     Fenner yawned. “I pick an' choose,” he said indifferently.

     “We got a pretty hot tip about you this morning.”

     Fenner sneered pleasantly. “Yeah? So hot you sent some bulls out to haul me in and they went away with fleas in their ears.”

     Grosset smiled. “Since then, we've looked over the block,” he said. “We've found a murdered Chinaman in an empty office near yours.”

     Fenner raised his eyebrows. “What you squawking about? Want me to find who killed him for you?”

     “The tip we got this morning was about a dead Chinaman who was to be found in your office.”

     “Ain't that sad? What happened? Did they plant him in the wrong room?”

     Grosset dropped his cigarette butt into the ash-tray. “Listen, Fenner, you and I don't have to fight. I'll put my cards on the table. That Chink had been dead thirty-six hours. The tip was clumsy and we guessed it was a plant, but we had to look into it. Well, we're interested in this Chinaman. We want to get a line on him. Suppose you give us your angle of this?”

     Fenner scratched his nose. “Brother,” he said, “I feel like I want to beat a drum in the Salvation Army after that speech. If I knew a thing about it, I'd tell you. If that Chink meant anything to me I'd give it to you fast, but he doesn't. I've never had a Chink in my office. I've never set eyes on your dead Chink, and I hope to God I never will.”

     Grosset looked at him thoughtfully. “I've heard you were like that,” he said gloomily. “You like to run on your own and then turn the whole thing over to us after you've got it sewn up. All right, if that's the way you want to play it, go ahead. If we can help you, we will, but if you get into trouble, we'll crack down on you so hard you'll think the Empire State building is on your neck.”

     Fenner grinned and got to his feet. “All set?” he said. “If you're through, I got some work to do.”

     Grosset nodded. “Hang around, Fenner; I'll be seeing you again before long.” He jerked his head at his two watchdogs, and the three of them walked out of the lobby.

     Paula came out of the cocktail lounge and caught up with Fenner as he moved to the exit. He said, “Where have you been?”

     “Listen, Dave,” she said, “I've been talking to Mr. Lindsay. I've got a record of what's been happening to his daughter. Why don't you have a look at it?”

     Fenner regarded her with a cold eye.

     Listen, not another word about Lindsay and his daughter. I ain't interested, I've never been interested, and I never will be interested. I've got enough on my mind to last me a lifetime.”

     “Considering the size of your mind, it doesn't surprise me,” Paula said coldly, and followed him out into the street.

     Back in the office, Fenner went straight to his desk and sat down. He lit a cigarette and shouted to Paula. “Come on in, Dizzy.”

     Paula slid through the door and sat down at his elbow, her pencil poised over her note-book. Fenner shook his head. “I ain't dictating,” he said. “I want you to keep me company.”

     Paula folded her hands in her lap. “Okay,” she said. “'I'll be your stooge.”

     Fenner brooded. “Maybe I could get an angle if I turned that money over to the cops to track up. I should be lettin' 'em in if I did. Grosset is worried about the Chink. He'll keep his eye on me. Anythin' I do is goin' to be shared with that bright boy.”

     “Why not? He might find the girl for you if you let him have a chance.”

     Fenner shook his head. “I'm still playin' hunches,” he said. “Somethin' tells me that the cops are best outta this.”

     Paula glanced at the clock. It was getting on to five. “I've got some work to do,” she said. “You won't get anywhere right now.”

     Fenner said impatiently, “Stick around, stick around. Ain't you on my payroll no more?”