Black Mask (Vol. 33, No. 3 — September 1949)

“After that one case of Scotch disappeared,” the captain asked, “did anything else happen to turn up missing, Mr. Regg?”

Timothy Regg shook his bald head. “I thought it was just a bookkeeping error on my part, Captain, but I decided not to take any chances anyway. Although the store hadn’t been broken into the first time, I thought it might be possible that somebody had gotten hold of my keys somehow and had had duplicates made.

“That was just a wild theory, but I bought a burglar alarm anyway and installed it myself — fixed it so a big bell would start bonging like crazy if certain doors in the shop were opened during the night. Not the front door, because then I couldn’t go in myself without disturbing my neighbors.

“Just the stock room door, and also the door of a little cabinet under the counter where I keep my valuable records. But of course,” he added to his somewhat lengthy monologue, “there hasn’t been a tinkle out of that bell so far.”

Dango nodded. Of course. It seemed to him that the burglar alarm had been an unnecessary expense, considering the strong possibility that Mrs. Regg had presented that case of Scotch to Len Lennox as a small token of her affection, but in any event Dango, as an officer of the law, could find no reason to criticize Regg’s efforts to protect his valuable stock against thievery.

When the captain’s phone rang again, after an empty interval, it was Brown with a report on Regg’s little black book.

“He keeps accounts and records in it, that’s all, Captain, but he’s very fussy about it, just as if it contained priceless trade secrets. The story goes he’s always been very strict about his wife having to keep her mitts off it.

“Every one of his neighbors that I’ve talked to has heard him say at one time or another, ‘No, no, Blossom, dear, please, never, never touch my little black book,’ and apparently that’s been going on for years.” Then Brown added a complaint. “It’s no use looking into this guy any deeper, Captain. Apparently he is exactly what he seems to be.”

“And what’s that?” Dango inquired ironically.

“Just an ordinary little guy.”

“I’m not so sure,” Dango retorted.

Disconnecting and staring at Timothy Regg, he felt less and less sure of it. The eyes of this seemingly ordinary little guy were so blue and so bright — and so unreadable.

Dango felt convinced that lots of tricky thinking went on behind them, yet he couldn’t begin to guess what secret thoughts, if any, might be clicking through Timothy Regg’s mind.

“Captain Dango,” Regg said mildly. “I don’t mean to seem unappreciative — but shouldn’t one of your men be finding Blossom pretty soon now? After all, the longer we go on searching for her like this, the more likely it is that something horrible will happen to her before we even get a chance to stop it.”

“We’re doing our best, Mr. Regg,” Dango said, a great uneasiness inside him. “We’re really doing our level best.” But he was haunted every minute by a growing apprehension that his best would somehow not be good enough.

Chapter Three Curiosity Kills

Finally, just after 10:30 p.m., the search for Blossom Regg came to a head. It actually was her blonde head, twinkling over the back of a booth in a downtown tavern, that signalled the end of the hunt for her.

Detective Matt Coombs had been methodically trudging in and out of swank cocktail lounges and back-alley dives all evening, and like many of his fellow woman-hunters had wasted time over more than one big blonde who had turned out to be somebody else. This time his first act was to make sure. He signalled a waitress aside and said, “That babe back there — know her? Name of Blossom Regg?”

The waitress nodded, thereby signalling the pay-off on a long night’s work, and added, “She’s talking to the boss.”

As inconspicuously as possible Coombs faded through the blue-lighted gloom and into the corner where Blossom was seated in the booth with the man named Parker who owned the establishment.

Behind the booth in that secluded corner was a telephone hut. Coombs gratefully eased inside it, noisily closed its folding door, then opened it again very quietly. He was able to overhear the low-voiced exchange between Blossom and the proprietor.

“You’re Len’s best friend,” she was insisting. “He’s got no secrets from you. He’d want you to tell me where to find him. He likes to have me around.”

“Listen, honey,” Parker answered her hoarsely. “The reason you wasn’t able to find me sooner tonight, I was paying a little visit down to police headquarters, see? By request, un’erstand? Down there they kept askin’ me that same question; where’s Len? Honey, I got to tell ya the same thing I told them cops. I just don’t know.”

“Ya can’t hand me that stuff,” Blossom argued. “Have a heart, Parkie. I’m nuts about Len. When he starts headin’ places I wanta head right along with him.”

“Ya got a husband, ain’t ya?” Parker reminded her.