Miss Callaghan Comes To Grief

As he walked upstairs to Henry's office Jay searched his mind to find any reason why he might be called on the mat, but he couldn't think of a thing. There was that little business about the extra expenses last week, but surely Henry wasn't going to crib about that. Maybe he was getting sore about the way Jay belted Mendetta in the Rayson trial, but then he'd passed the copy himself.

He shook his head. “Well, well, let's see what's bitin' the old guy.”

He pushed open the frosted−panel door and walked in. Henry, a big fat man in his shirt−sleeves, was pacing up and down his small office. His cigar hung in tatters from his teeth. He looked up and glared at Jay.

“Shut the door!” he barked. “You've been a long time coming.”

Jay lounged over to an arm−chair and sat down. He hung his legs over one of the arms and shut his eyes.

“I'm sorry, Chief,” he said; “I came as fast as I could.”

Henry continued to pace up and down, ferociously chewing his tattered cigar. “What do you know about Gerry Hamsley?” he barked suddenly.

Jay shrugged. “Oh, he's a nice kid. He dances at Grantham's joint. Gigolobut a better type of the usual breed.”

“Yeah?” Henry planted himself in front of Jay. “A better type, hey? Well, let me tell you that guy has started somethin' that will mean my job and yours as well.”

Jay opened his eyes. “You don't say,” he said. “What's it all about?”

“The little swine tried to rape Poison's wife last night.”

“What?” Jay sat up, his face startled, then he remembered Mrs. Poison and suddenly began to laugh. He lay limply in his chair and howled with laughter. Henry stood over him, his face black with fury.

“Shut up, you coarse−minded Mick!” he yelled. “There's nothing to laugh about. Do you hear me? Shut up!”

Jay mopped his eyes. “I'm sorry, Chief, but damn it, you ain't swallowin' a yam like that? Gee! Is it likely?

She's old enough to be his mother, an' she's as fat an' as ugly as an elephant.”

Henry snarled, “Want me to phone Poison and tell him that? He's been on to me. My God! You ought to have heard him. He's in a terrible way.”

“Well, what's behind it? You know as well as I, all that's bull. What's he want you to do?”

Henry struck the air with his clenched fists. “He wants Hamsley on a plate. He wants Grantham's joint closed down. He's yelling murder, an' he's got blood in his eye.”

Just then the phone rang. Henry looked at it doubtfully. “That's him again, I bet,” he said, lifting the receiver off gingerly.

From where Jay sat he could hear a sudden bellow come over the line. Henry winced and nodded to Jay.

“Yes, Mr. Poison. Sure, Mr. Poison. I quite understand, Mr. Poison.”

Jay grinned. It did him good to see his chief sweat. “Why, yes, Mr. Poison. He's here now. I'll tell him to come to the phone.” Henry looked at Jay with a grim little smile.

Jay waved his hands frantically, but Henry handed him the phone. “Mr. Poison wants you,” he said, and stood, mopping his face.

This was the first time that Jay had ever spoken to the proprietor of the St. Louis Banner. “Ellinger here,” he said.

Something exploded in his ear and he hurriedly removed the receiver. Holding it almost at arm's length, he could plainly hear Poison's roar. “Ellinger? You the guy I pay each week to be my crime reporter?”

“Yes, that's right.”

“Say sir when you speak to me, you young cub!” Poison bawled.

Jay grinned at Henry. He pursed his mouth and made silent rude signs. “Yes, Mr. Poison,” he said.

“Get after Grantham, do you hear? I want everything you can find about him. Get after that swine Hamsley. I'm going to close down the 22nd Club and I'm going to break Hamsley. I want action. Get out now and do something. Now give me Henry.”

Jay handed the phone back to Henry and sat back fanning himself with his hat.

Henry listened for a few moments with an agonized look on his face, and then the line went dead. He hung up gently. “The guy's crazy,” he said miserably. “He's been on to the D.A.'s office. He's been on to the police.

They can't do anything. Grantham's in the clear. His joint's respectable.”

Jay scratched his head. “Why doesn't he give Hamsley in charge?”

Henry came round the desk and pounded the top of Jay's chair. “For the love of God, don't say a word about Mrs. Poison. No one's to know about that. Poison only told me because I flatly refused to touch Hamsley. I'm not supposed to have told you.”

Jay grinned uneasily. “Sure, if that yarn got around, Poison would be laughed out of town. Surely, he doesn't believe it?”

Henry shrugged. “Of course he doesn't. It's the old cow that's causin' the trouble. Poison's scared to death of her. She's after Hamsley's bloodand you'd better find out why.”

“Listen,” Jay pleaded. “I'm a crime reporter. What you want is a nice private dick, not me. Let's get Pinkerton on the job. He'll turn up the dirt quick, an' we'll all be happy.”

Henry scowled at him. “You heard Poison. Go out an' get busy. Don't come back until you've got something.”