Detective Fiction Weekly. Vol. 104, No. 4, August 22, 1936

Which was a swell example of feminine logic for you, if there ever was one. Even so, I couldn’t rig up much of an answer to it. “There has to be a garbage-man,” I said, “there has to be a street-cleaner, there has to be a detective. They spoil the pretty picture for you I know, little sister. But it wouldn’t be so very pretty without them, either!”

We were working on each other, irritating each other, like only two people who think a hell of a lot of each other can do.

“I’m glad, now, that I haven’t told Frank what you are. I suppose he’ll find out anyway sooner or later—”

“Sooner — or later,” I agreed.

Why, the kid was actually ashamed of me! Because I was no Romeo, because I didn’t blend well with the golden daydreams of her honeymoon. My head went down a little lower between my shoulders, perched there on the topmost rail, and I closed my eyes thoughtfully for a minute. A Boardwalk cop came along just then and motioned me off, so I palmed my badge at him and snarled “Scram!” with unnecessary roughness.

“Where is His Nibs?” I said to her.

“He dropped in at the hotel barbershop to get a shave.”

“Doesn’t shave himself, does he?” I commented.

She didn’t answer. Instead she flared, “I have a very peculiar hunch that it’s more than a coincidence, your being down here at the same time we are! What was all that rigamarole about a file last night on the phone? What have you got in the back of your head, what are you trying to do to us anyway? There was whispering going on outside our door all night last night, as though — as though we were being watched! Frank’s already informed them we’re leaving before tonight, and you can’t blame him. We’re going out of there right today!”

I tensed a little without, I hope, showing it. “Where’s he taking you, got any idea?”

“He’s rented the cutest little two-family house out in Ventnor — furnished.” She began to thaw out again. “He took me over to look at it this morning. Solidly built, such thick doors and windows, no one can get in—”

I thought, “And no one can get out either — in a hurry — maybe that’s the idea.”

“We’re staying down here, you know. Frank’s had an offer of a better job, and he’s sent for his things—”

“This house.” That was all that interested me. “Two-family, you say?”

“The other half isn’t occupied. Most of the summer-people have left already. It’s off by itself, absolute privacy. We got it dirt-cheap, too—”

“It has a telephone, of course?”

“No, what would we need one for? We don’t know anyone down here.”

I took a deep breath and said to myself, “Well, here goes! I’ve wasted enough time.” I looked her square in the eyes and said, slowly, “I haven’t told you, have I, about this guy I’m down here after?”

“Must you?” she said coldly.

“He’s a woman-strangler. Normal part of the time, a dangerous homicidal maniac at certain other times. He always marries them before he— He’s married six already. The name of the last one was Linda Regan.”

“Ritchie, shut up!” she said horrified. I went right on.

“He can’t stand the sight of sharp implements, with cutting edges. He can’t stand the sight of blood. Are you listening? He doesn’t shave himself.” I gave her a mild sort of third-degree, went back and started the whole thing over, like a phonograph-record. Beating it in, pounding it in. “The name of the last one was Linda Regan. Linda Regan. He can’t stand the sight of sharp implements. Sharp implements. He doesn’t shave himself. Doesn’t shave himself.” I stopped a minute, then I said: “We don’t know what he looks like. He’s at large down here. Mom’s not well, Betty, not at all well. I think you better come back to town with me—” I could tell her the rest on the train, or after we got home. “She wants to see you.” And I reached out my hand to help her out.

I expected anything — but not what I got. She reared up in the chair all right — but not with the help of my hand. She stood up in it full-length, and her face was white — but not with fear or shock — with rage, almost with loathing. She swung her own hand back and slapped me with all her might across the face. It stung like a whip. Then again, and then once more. Three times, with every ounce of energy in her. The crowd around stopped to look, and then to listen.

“You lying, filthy-minded — flat-foot! There’s not a spark of manhood in you! Coming to me when his back is turned like this, with your slimy hints and insinuations! You meant him just now, didn’t you, only you didn’t have the courage to come right out and say so! And you call yourself a brother! The rotten profession you’re in has gone to your head, you’re sick in your own mind, you can’t see good in anyone any more! You’re not worth the little finger of the man I’m married to! And you expect me to listen to you, yet; doing this to me the very day of my wed—!” She was having her hands full keeping the tears back, but she was managing to.