Read Online The Glass Key by Dashiell Hammett - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Dashiell Hammett
Tags: Crime
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in the largest of the red-plush chairs. The fourth envelope he opened was similar to the one the District Attorney had shown him. It contained a single sheet of paper bearing three typewritten sentences without salutation or signature:
Did you find Taylor Henry's body after he was dead or were you present when he was murdered?
Why did you not report his death until after the police had found the body?
Do you think you can save the guilty by manufacturing evidence against the innocent?
Ned Beaumont screwed up his eyes and wrinkled his forehead over this message and drew much smoke from his cigar. He compared it with the one the District Attorney had received. Paper and typing were alike, as were the manner in which each paper's three sentences were arranged and the time of the postmarks.
Scowling, he returned each to its envelope and put them in his pocket, only to take them out again immediately to reread and re-examine them. Too rapid smoking made his cigar burn irregularly down one side. He put the cigar on the edge of the table beside him with a grimace of distaste and picked at his mustache with nervous fingers. He put the messages away once more and leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling and biting a finger-nail. He ran fingers through his hair. He put the end of a finger between his collar and his neck. He sat up and took the envelopes out of his pocket again, but put them back without having looked at them. He chewed his lower lip. Finally he shook himself impatiently and began to read the rest of his mail. He was reading it when the telephone-bell rang.
He went to the telephone. "Hello… Oh, 'lo, Paul, where are you?… How long will you be there?… Yes, fine, drop in on your way… Right, I'll be here."
He returned to his mail.
5
Paul Madvig arrived at Ned Beaumont's rooms as the bells in the grey church across the street were ringing the Angelus. He came in saying heartily: "Howdy, Ned. When'd you get back?" His big body was clothed in grey tweeds.
"Late this morning," Ned Beaumont replied as they shook hands.
"Make out all right?"
Ned Beaumont showed the edges of his teeth in a contented smile. "I got what I went after-all of it."
"That's great." Madvig threw his hat on a chair and sat on another beside the fireplace.
Ned Beaumont returned to his chair. "Anything happen while I was gone?" he asked as he picked up the half-filled cocktail-glass standing beside ti-me silver shaker on the table at his elbow.
"We got the muddle on the sewer-contract straightened out."
Ned Beaumont sipped his cocktail and asked: "Have to n-make much of a cut?"
"Too much. There won't be anything like the profit there ought to be, but that's better than taking a chance on stirring things up this close to election. We'll make it up on the street-work next year when the Salem and Chestnut extensions go through."
Ned Beaumont nodded. He was looking at the blond man's outstretched crossed ankles. He said: "You oughtn't to wear silk socks with tweeds."
Madvig raised a leg straight out to look at the ankle. "No? I like the feel of silk."
"Then lay off tweeds. Taylor Henry buried?"
"Friday."
"Go to the funeral?"
"Yes," Madvig replied and added a little self-consciously: "The Senator suggested it."
Ned Beaumont put his glass on the table and touched his lips with a white handkerchief taken from the outer breast-pocket of his coat. "How is the Senator?" He looked obliquely at the blond man and did not conceal the amusement in his eyes.
Madvig replied, still somewhat self-consciously: "He's all right. I spent most of this afternoon up there with him."
"At his house?"
"Uh-huh."
"Was the blonde menace there?"
Madvig did not quite frown. He said: "Janet was there."
Ned Beaumont, putting his handkerchief away, made a choked gurgling sound in his throat and said: "M-m-m. It's Janet now. Getting anywhere with her?"
Composure came back to Madvig. He said evenly: "I still think I'm going to marry her."
"Does she
Did you find Taylor Henry's body after he was dead or were you present when he was murdered?
Why did you not report his death until after the police had found the body?
Do you think you can save the guilty by manufacturing evidence against the innocent?
Ned Beaumont screwed up his eyes and wrinkled his forehead over this message and drew much smoke from his cigar. He compared it with the one the District Attorney had received. Paper and typing were alike, as were the manner in which each paper's three sentences were arranged and the time of the postmarks.
Scowling, he returned each to its envelope and put them in his pocket, only to take them out again immediately to reread and re-examine them. Too rapid smoking made his cigar burn irregularly down one side. He put the cigar on the edge of the table beside him with a grimace of distaste and picked at his mustache with nervous fingers. He put the messages away once more and leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling and biting a finger-nail. He ran fingers through his hair. He put the end of a finger between his collar and his neck. He sat up and took the envelopes out of his pocket again, but put them back without having looked at them. He chewed his lower lip. Finally he shook himself impatiently and began to read the rest of his mail. He was reading it when the telephone-bell rang.
He went to the telephone. "Hello… Oh, 'lo, Paul, where are you?… How long will you be there?… Yes, fine, drop in on your way… Right, I'll be here."
He returned to his mail.
5
Paul Madvig arrived at Ned Beaumont's rooms as the bells in the grey church across the street were ringing the Angelus. He came in saying heartily: "Howdy, Ned. When'd you get back?" His big body was clothed in grey tweeds.
"Late this morning," Ned Beaumont replied as they shook hands.
"Make out all right?"
Ned Beaumont showed the edges of his teeth in a contented smile. "I got what I went after-all of it."
"That's great." Madvig threw his hat on a chair and sat on another beside the fireplace.
Ned Beaumont returned to his chair. "Anything happen while I was gone?" he asked as he picked up the half-filled cocktail-glass standing beside ti-me silver shaker on the table at his elbow.
"We got the muddle on the sewer-contract straightened out."
Ned Beaumont sipped his cocktail and asked: "Have to n-make much of a cut?"
"Too much. There won't be anything like the profit there ought to be, but that's better than taking a chance on stirring things up this close to election. We'll make it up on the street-work next year when the Salem and Chestnut extensions go through."
Ned Beaumont nodded. He was looking at the blond man's outstretched crossed ankles. He said: "You oughtn't to wear silk socks with tweeds."
Madvig raised a leg straight out to look at the ankle. "No? I like the feel of silk."
"Then lay off tweeds. Taylor Henry buried?"
"Friday."
"Go to the funeral?"
"Yes," Madvig replied and added a little self-consciously: "The Senator suggested it."
Ned Beaumont put his glass on the table and touched his lips with a white handkerchief taken from the outer breast-pocket of his coat. "How is the Senator?" He looked obliquely at the blond man and did not conceal the amusement in his eyes.
Madvig replied, still somewhat self-consciously: "He's all right. I spent most of this afternoon up there with him."
"At his house?"
"Uh-huh."
"Was the blonde menace there?"
Madvig did not quite frown. He said: "Janet was there."
Ned Beaumont, putting his handkerchief away, made a choked gurgling sound in his throat and said: "M-m-m. It's Janet now. Getting anywhere with her?"
Composure came back to Madvig. He said evenly: "I still think I'm going to marry her."
"Does she
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