Miss Callaghan Comes To Grief

Benny's face was white and his eyes looked wild. “No, you're not,” he said, speaking through clenched teeth. “She wasn't slaved. I've seen her. It was a trick. She's livin' with some guy at the St. Louis Hotel. I even spoke to her, but she cut me dead. Wouldn't even look at me.”

Jay stiffened to attention. “You're sure of this?” he demanded.

“Think I'd make a thing like that up?” Benny said, looking at him with hurt, angry eyes. “Of course I'm sure. She's livin' with that guy in luxury. That's what she's always wanted. She was always bellyachin' about doin' the washin' and lookin' after the apartment. Now she's got what she wants. The dirty little chippy.”

“You may be misjudging her, Perminger,” Jay reminded him. “She might have to be there.”

Benny sneered. “Don't talk bull. I tell you I spoke to her. She just looked through me. She could have got away if she wanted to. She was by herself. I followed her to the hotel. I found out from the porter all about them. The guy's name's Cruise. She's posin' as his wife.”

Jay sat down limply. He felt the ground had been cut from under him. “Who is this guy Cruise?” he asked.

Benny shrugged. “I don't know, an' I don't care. I ain't goin' to start anythin' with him. If that's the life she likes, she can have it. I'm through with her.”

Jay got slowly to his feet. He felt that it was only wasting time. He said, “Well, I'm sorry, Perminger. It's tough,” and shook hands.

Out in the street he paused before getting into his car. On the face of it it looked as if the whole of the business had fallen to pieces. The only thing he had to go on was Fletcher's testimony, and Fletcher was dead.

He got in the car and engaged the gears.

Who was this Cruise? Had he anything to do with Grantham? Could it be possible that Perminger's wife had really gone off with him and had made up the note about going to police headquarters? It didn't seem likely. There was something wrong there. He made up his mind abruptly to take a look at Cruise. If he looked all right, then he'd try some other angle, but if he didn't, then he'd keep a watch on him.

He drove over to the St. Louis Hotel and parked. He knew the house dick and went straight to his little office.

The house dick was resting his feet and reading the newspaper. He glanced up as Jay came in.

“Hyah, Harris,” Jay said, shaking hands. “How you makin' out?”

Harris was a little plump guy, who lived in a bowler hat. He shook hands suspiciously. “Well, what is it this time?” he said. “I haven't been bothered by you for months.”

Jay grinned at him. “I've been covering the Tammany Hall trial. Too bad that guy got off.”

Harris grunted. “They'll get him the next time, you see,” he said. “Now what do you want? I'm busy.”

“All right, all right, keep your shirt on.” Jay grinned at him. “Can you give me a line on a guy named Cruise who hangs out here?”

Harris's little eyes opened. “Aaah!” he said. “Now, I was wonderin' when you boys were goin' to get on to him. What makes you ask?”

Jay shrugged. “Curiosity. I've never seen the guy, but I've heard about him.”

Harris wasn't to be drawn. “What have you heard?” he asked, looking cunning.

Jay knew there was only one short cut to getting anything out of Harris. Reluctantly he took out his roll and thumbed off ten bucks. He dangled the notes in front of Harris's nose. “No questions,” he said.

Harris grinned and grabbed the notes. He tucked them in his vest pocket. “Well,” he said, “I don't like him.

I don't like the mob he has up in his suite. I don't like the dame who lives with him.”

Jay waited patiently.

“For one thing,” Harris went on, “no respectable guy associates with the kind of hoods that go up there.

I've had my eye on him ever since he moved in. He's a mean−lookin' guy himself. I'll swear the dame ain't his wife. She acts sortta strange. She's scared of him. Three punks see him every day. They drive up in the staff elevator. You ought to see the way one of them dresses. Still, they pay all right and we've got nothing against them, but I'm watching 'em.”

This sounded promising to Jay. He said, “Can I get a room on their floor, Harris?”

“Like that, is it?” Harris looked interested. “Yeah, I guess that could be arranged. Shall I fix it?”

Jay nodded. “Another thing. Maybe this guy's got a record. Suppose you get his prints?”

Harris sneered. “Talk sense. I can't do a thing like that.”

Jay took out his silver cigarette−case. “Take this up to him. Push it into his hands. Tell him you found it outside his apartment and you think it's his. Then bring it back and let me have it. I'll take it to the F.B.I. for a test.”

Harris gaped at him. “Jeeze,” he exclaimed, “that's smart!”

He took the case from Jay and got up. “I'll see him right away. You wait here.”

He came back again after some time, his fat face beaming. “That's a laugh,” he declared. “You've lost your case. He took it all right, said it was his, gave me a buck for my trouble and shut the door in my face.”