Black Mask (Vol. 22, No. 2 — Mary 1939)

“Slocum’s on the spot,” said Buck. “You know that. When I left the studio the D. A. was just about to have a warrant sworn out for him, on a first-degree homicide charge.”

“Nuts! He doesn’t dare do that to Slocum, not without evidence.”

“I’m cooperating with the D.A.,” said Buck.

“What for? Your client’s dead. Los Angeles County isn’t going to pay you the kind of fees you’re used to.”

“I’ve got another client.”

Quade looked sharply at Buck. “Who?”

“Thelma Wentworth.”

Quade’s eyes barely flickered toward the telephone, but Buck caught it. “Ha! So you were talking to her!”

Quade said tightly, “So she’s not your client. You’re lying. Look, Buck, you drew a rather crude picture this morning. Around Slocum, Maynard, the Wentworth girl and Willie Higgins.”

“You can see the picture though, can’t you? Maynard’s been knocked off. Maybe they won’t indict Slocum for that, just yet, but they will when I get through. I need just one little thing. When I get that—”

“And that little thing is—”

Buck grinned wolfishly. “The same thing Slocum wants you to get from Willie. Look, Quade, we’re both after the same thing. Why don’t we corner Willie together, then compromise, take the biggest fee and split?”

“Nuts!”

Buck coughed. “By the way, Lieutenant Murdock will be up to talk to you in a few minutes.”

“You told him where I was? Thanks, Buck. I’ll snitch on you, some time.”

“Oh, I didn’t do it. It was my operator, I’m afraid. Well, so you’re not with me?”

“No, Buck, I’m not.”

Buck uncoiled himself. “Lieutenant Murdock says you were the one who found Stanley Maynard.”

He took two strides toward the door and ducked out.

The Human Encyclopedia paced the floor for a minute, then went to the door. He was stepping out of the elevator in the lobby, when Lieutenant Murdock reached out and caught his arm. “I was going up to see you, Quade!”

“I was just going out.”

“I won’t take more’n a couple of minutes,” the lieutenant said, walking to the divan in the corner of the lobby. As he sat down Quade observed a man across the lobby watching them covertly over the top of an open newspaper. Buck’s man, no doubt.

Murdock said, “I understand you were the first to see Maynard.”

Quade shrugged. “The first you know of. Someone else might have gone into Maynard’s office after he was killed.”

“That sounds as if you think someone else had been in before you.”

“Not necessarily. I mean a half-dozen people could have gone in and out of his office and decided the best thing to do was keep mum.”

Murdock’s mouth twisted out of shape. “Dr. Lang said Maynard had died about twenty minutes before he examined the body. That would place the time pretty close to when you found his body. What were you going in to see Maynard about? I understand you’re not connected with the studio.”

“Oh, but I am. Slocum hired me just this morning.”

“Doing what? Buck claims you’re a book agent.”

“Ordinarily I am. I travel the highways and byways, selling books where I can, studying nature—”

“Nix on that stuff,” Murdock said crossly. “Answer my question. Why’d Slocum hire you?”

“To bark for him! The next time you hear the voice of Desmond Dogg on the screen, that, Lieutenant, will be me!”

Murdock’s face was comical to see. “You — the voice of Desmond Dogg!”

“What’s funny about that? Walt Disney dubs in the voice for Mickey Mouse and Rudy Ising is the growl you hear when the big bad bear gets mad.”

“I’ll be damned!” said the lieutenant. “Well, did you see anyone go in or come out of Maynard’s office?”

“Nope,” said Quade.

“Well,” Murdock got up, “listen, Quade, don’t leave Hollywood suddenly. I may think of some more questions to ask you later.”

“Any time, Lieutenant, any time.”

The lieutenant left the hotel. Quade sauntered over to the newsstand. Out of the corner of his eye he watched the man with the newspaper.

He grinned slowly, then suddenly headed for the side door of the hotel. He jumped through and rushed to the corner, forty or fifty feet away, made a quick left turn and popped into the Hollywood Boulevard entrance.

Inside the lobby he moved swiftly to a telephone booth and, leaving the door partially open so the lights would not go on, called the Consolidated Studios.

“General office,” he said. “Mr. Quade calling Lou Gould.”

“Sorry,” was the reply. “Mr. Gould waited for your call, but finally he and Miss Wentworth had to leave.”

Quade hung up and came out of the booth. He went to the Hollywood entrance, where a man was talking to the doorman. “Tell Buck I lost you,” he said as he passed.

The shadow gulped.

Quade walked a couple of blocks and entered a drug store. As he skimmed through a telephone directory he saw Buck’s operator getting a drink at the soda fountain.