Figure it Out For Yourself

She eyed them the way a small child eyes Santa Claus's sack, and opened the door.

'Come on in. I don't care who you are, but those berries certainly make my palms itch. Sure it's information you want?'

I stepped past her into a room a little larger than 23, and much more pleasant and comfortable. There was a divan, a settee, two armchairs, a couple of expensive Chinese rugs on the grey fitted carpet and a bowl of red-and-yellow begonias on a table in the window recess.

I put my hat down on a chair and said I was sure it was information I wanted.

She held out a white hand with dark red, polished nails.

'Let's have half. It's not that I don't trust you, but it's a good principle. You can have a drink if you like, or coffee.'

I gave her one of the ten-dollar bills, thinking this case was costing me plenty. I seemed to be spending the entire morning giving my money away.

She folded the bill and hid it in her brassiere as I said a Scotch would adequately meet the case.

She wasn't niggardly about it. She gave me the bottle and glass and told me to help myself.

'Give me a second to get my coffee.'

By the time she was back I was two drinks ahead of her.

She set a tray on the table near her and flopped on the settee, showing me a pair of long, slender legs that might have given me ideas if my head wasn't already full of ideas of a different kind. Seeing the direction of my studied stare, she flicked the wrap into place and raised her eyebrows.

'What are you: a private dick or something?'

'Something like that. Not quite, but it'll do.'

'I knew it. As soon as I saw you, I knew you weren't the usual prowler. You've got nice eyes. Sure you wouldn't like a little fun?'

I started to make a courteous speech, but she stopped me with a wave of her hand and a wide, friendly grin.

'Forget it, honey, I was only kidding. It's not often I get a good-looking man in here who doesn't start climbing up the wall immediately the door shuts. It's a novelty, and I like it. What do you want to know?'

I made a third drink.

'The subject of the inquiry is Gracie Lehmann. Do you know her?'

Miss Dreadon's face hardened.

'For crying out loud! You're not wasting good money to find out about her, are you?'

The Scotch had set me up. In fact it was so good it nearly, set me up on my ear.

'I'm working for a client who's in trouble with the police. Gracie could have cleared him. No other reason.'

'Well, go and ask her. Why come to me?'

'I doubt if she's going to be much help now. She's dead.'

She started and spilt some coffee on her bare knee, she swore softly under her breath, put down the coffee cup and wiped her knee with her handkerchief.

'Must you say things like that?' Then, as I didn't say anything, but looked at her, she went on, 'You don't mean she's really dead?'

'She's dead all right. I've just been in there. She's hanging at the back of the bathroom door.'

She gave a little shudder, grimaced, gave another little shudder and reached for the whisky bottle.

'She was a stupid little fool, but I didn't think she'd be that stupid. The trouble with her was she couldn't leave reefers alone.'

'I guessed that. I could smell the stuff in the room.' I took out my cigarette case and offered it

She took one and we lit up, then she poured a shot of whisky into her coffee and drank it.

'Now I've got the jitters,' she confessed. 'I hate hearing things like that.'

'Did you see her last night?'

'Yes; I'm always running into her.'

'When?'

'Oh, when I went out to dinner she was coming in, and we met again on the stairs when I returned. She must have gone out again while I was having dinner. We both came in together.

'What time was this?'

Miss Dreadon suppressed a yawn, not very successfully.

'It was late. About three-thirty I guess. I didn't particularly notice, but it was plenty late enough.'

'Was she alone?'

She shook her head.

'Oh no. She had a man with her as usual. What they can see in that dirty little ...' She broke off, frowning. 'Oh well, I'd better not talk like that now she's dead.'

'What was he like?'

'Much too good for her. The kind of man I'd go for in a big way: like Clark Gable. Not like him in looks, but his style.'

'How was he dressed?'

'He had on a snappy number in fawn flannel suiting, a white felt hat and a hand-painted tie. He wore big doughnut sized sun-glasses. I guess he put those on in case any of his friends spotted him going in with her. The tricks men get up to.'

I was sitting on the edge of my chair now, trying very hard to keep calm.

'Did he have a thin, black moustache and hard, lean face?'

'Certainly he had. Do you know him?'

'I ran into him coming down the stairs this morning.'

'This morning?' Her eyes opened very wide. 'But if she's dead...?'

'Yeah. She's been dead some time. I'd make a guess and put it at about eight hours.'

'You mean she went into the bathroom and hanged herself while he was in the other room?'