Miss Callaghan Comes To Grief

The driver shook his head. “You'd never make it,” he said; “they wouldn't let you in.”

“Who said? They'll let me in all right. I know the guy there.”

“That on the level? Could you get me in too, boss?”

“Sure. I could get anyone in there. Don't stand around usin' up air. Get to it.”

Franklin was asleep when they got to the morgue. Phillips hauled him into the hot street and stood supporting him. He said to the driver, “What are you goin' to do with the heap?”

“I guess I'll leave it here. It'll be all right.”

They stumbled into the morgue, making a considerable row. The attendant was reading a newspaper behind a counter that divided the room from the vaults. He looked up, startled.

Phillips said, “Hyah, Joe, meet a couple of buddies.”

Joe laid down his newspaper. “What the hell's this?”

“We're spendin' the night here,” Phillips said. “Just look on us as three stiffs.”

Joe climbed to his feet. His big fleshy face showed just how mad he was. “You're all drunk,” he said. “You better scram outta here. I ain't got time to horse around with you boys now.”

The driver began to edge towards the door, but Phillips stopped him. “Listen, Joe,” he said; “who was the swell dame I saw you with last night?”

Joe's eyes popped. “You didn't see me with no dame last night,” he said uneasily.

Phillips smiled. “Don't talk bull. She was a dame with a chest that oughta have a muzzle on it, an' a pair of stems that cause street accidents. Gee! What a jane!” He turned to the other two. “You ain't seen nothin' like it. When I thought of that guy's poor wife, sittin' around at home doin' nothin', while this runt goes places with a hot number like that, I tell you, it got me.”

Joe undid the counter−bolt and pulled back the little door. “Okay,” he said wearily, “go on down. It's a goddam lie, an' you know it, but I ain't takin' chances. The old woman would just like to believe that yarn.”

Phillips grinned. “Down we go, boys,” he said.

They followed him down a long flight of marble steps. At the bottom there came to them a faint musty odour of decomposition. As Phillips pushed open a heavy steel door the pungent smell of formaldehyde was very strong. They all entered a large room.

The sudden icy atmosphere was almost too violent after the outside heat.

Franklin said, “Jeeze! There's hoar frost formin' on my chest hairs.”

On one side of the room were four long wooden benches. Round the other three walls were rows of black metal cabinets.

Phillips said, “If you don't think about it you'd never know there were a lotta stiffs in those cabinets. I like comin' here. I jest sit around an' cool off, an' it don't worry me at all.”

The driver took off his greasy cap and began twisting it in his hands. “That where they keep the corpses?” he said, his voice sinking to a whisper.

Phillips nodded. He went over to one of the benches and laid down. “That's right,” he said. “You don't have to think about that. Just settle down an' go to sleep.”

With his eyes on the cabinets the driver sat down gingerly. Franklin stood hesitating.

“I wonder if Joe would stand for me phonin' my girl friend to come on down,” Phillips said sleepily. He shook his head. “No, I guess he wouldn't stand for it.” He sighed a little and settled himself more comfortably.

“Franky, put that light out, will you? It's tryin' my eyes.”

Franklin said, “If you think I'm goin' to stay here in the dark, you're crazy. This place gives me the heebies.

I don't mind stayin' here so long as I can see those cabinets, but in the darkwhy, hell, I'd be thinkin' they might be gettin' out an' lookin' me over.”

Phillips sat up. “What you mean, gettin' out? How the hell can a stiff do a thing like that?”

“I'm not sayin' that they'd do it. I'm sayin' what I think they might be doin'.”

“Don't be a nut.” Phillips swung his feet off the bench and got up. “Now I'll show you somethin'. Let's have a look at some of these guys.”

Franklin backed away. “I don't want to see them,” he said hurriedly. “This burg's spooky enough without lookin' at corpses.”

Phillips went over to the cabinet and pulled out a drawer. It slid out silently on the roller−bearings. In the drawer was a big negro; his pale pink tongue lolled out of his mouth and his eyes seemed to be bursting out of his head. Phillips hastily slammed the drawer shut. “That guy was strangled,” he said shakily. “Let's try another or I'll dream about him.”

The driver edged close, but Franklin went over and sat on the bench. Phillips pulled another drawer open.

An elderly man, his face covered with a good half−inch stubble of beard, came into view.

“You wouldn't think he was dead, would you, boss?” the driver said.

Phillips shoved the drawer to. “Naw,” he said, “he looks like he was stuffed.” He walked over to the other side of the room. “Let's have a look at some of the dames.”

The driver's face brightened. “That's an idea, boss,” he said. “Can you unwrap 'em?”

Phillips looked over at Franklin. “For Gawd's sake, did you hear that?” he said. “This gaul wants to see some Paris pictures.”