Kept Women Can’t Quit

“Right now,” I said, “I’m trying to find the murderer of Standley Downer. I was in a position to make some pretty good progress when you came barging in and upset the apple cart.”

“Phooey!” Bertha said. “I got here just in time. When a babe like this starts talking about what she used to win the bathing beauty contest, you’re in the first stages of a trance.

“Tell me what you want out of this bitch and I’ll get it.”

I said, “She worked for the Mizukaido Importing Company. She became friendly with Carl Christopher of the firm of Christopher, Crowder and Doyle, who are big cutlery distributors, among other things.

“Evelyn started going out with Carl. When a very interesting development in steel carving knives came along, Evelyn told the importing company she thought she could interest Christopher, Crowder and Doyle.

“She did.”

“When it came time to select a Miss American Hardware for the New Orleans convention, with a lot of newspaper publicity, some Hollywood screen tests, some television appearances and all that goes with it, Evelyn decided she’d been working long enough. She put the bug on her friend, Carl Christopher. He told her to have some bathing beauty shots made and sent in to the nominating committee. He also told her she’d better have them made on the Coast and better have a Coast address so it wouldn’t appear that he was pulling for one of his friends.

“As nearly as I can put two and two together, Evelyn went to her grateful Japanese friends in the importing company and they put her in touch with Takahashi Kisarazu at the Happy Daze Camera Company.

“Now then, I was just going to take it from there when you burst in and—”

“And a damn good thing I did,” Bertha said. “She was getting ready to give you the full treatment. Give a babe like that an hour alone with an impressionable little bastard like you and you wouldn’t be worth a damn.

“Now I’ll take over and—”

The phone rang.

Before Bertha could reach it, Evelyn had picked it up, said, “Hello... I have company at the moment—” Her voice showed sudden enthusiasm. “Why, yes, Inspector Hobart,” she said. “I’ll be only too glad to see you. There are some people here, but I think they’re just leaving. Why don’t you come on up? There is someone with you? Well, that’s wonderful... No, no, not at all. I’ll be glad to see you. Come on up.”

She stood there at the phone, smiling. I figured Bertha could take care of herself. I knew I was going to have my hands full taking care of myself. I shot out the door, dashed down the corridor, went into the vacant room where I’d planted the suitcases, locked the door, and waited.

It was a job just sitting there and waiting. I could hear my heart pounding. I heard the elevator doors clang. I heard steps in the corridor.

I waited for a while for things to quiet down, then I took the two suitcases, ran to the door marked STAIRS, dashed down three flights of stairs, then rang for the elevator and came down in my bell boy uniform, carrying the two suitcases out through the lobby to the front.

The clerk slammed his palm down on a bell and yelled, “Front!” Then yelled, “Boy! Oh, boy!... hey, you!”

I put the two suitcases down.

“Take Mr. Jackson to 813,” he said. “Unless you—”

I looked at the man who had given the name of Jackson. It was none other than my friend, Jasper Diggs Calhoun, of Los Angeles. He didn’t recognize me in the bell boy uniform, standing there with the suitcases.

I said, “I’m taking them out to a guest who’s waiting for a cab in the front,” I said.

“Oh, all right,” the clerk said. He turned to Calhoun and said, “Just a moment, Mr. Jackson. I’ll have another boy here.”

The clerk slammed his palm down on the bell. “Front!” he called.

I picked up the two suitcases, then went out to the sidewalk. Fortunately there was a cab there. I handed the suitcases to the cab driver. He stowed the suitcases, then stood there waiting expectantly for a guest to come out.

I jumped in the cab and said, “I’m delivering the suitcases to an apartment straight down the street.”

We got away from there, down the street and around the corner. There were no red lights, no sirens, no whistles, nothing.

I heaved a sigh of relief.

I told the cabbie to wait in front of the apartment house. I delivered the suitcases to the apartment and told Bernice and Ernestine that it might be just as well if they failed to remember anything that had happened. I changed my clothes in the bathroom, gave Bernice the uniform I’d worn, went back to the cab and had the driver take me out to within about five blocks of the Ocean Beach Hotel.

I walked down through the alley, reconnoitered the fire escape, grabbed the end of the cord, pulled the section of iron stairway down to its lowest position, jumped up, caught the iron rail and hoisted myself up to the stairs. I untied the light rope, wrapped it around my body and climbed the fire escape.

I got to the floor I wanted, slipped in through the window and went down to the room Hazel had rented.