chances. As you say, it’s not worth tangling with the mob for nothing. Organized crime is the F.B.I.’s business, not ours.”
It didn’t work. At least it didn’t work immediately. The threat of being turned out on the street, unprotected against syndicate vengeance, didn’t bring either of them rushing forward to trade valuable information in exchange for a safe place to stay. I nodded to Charlie Devlin, and she led them away. When the door had closed, I turned back to the phone.
“Okay, sir, I’m alone,” I said. “I just wanted them to hear that much of the conversation. I hoped it might persuade them to give us a little help, but either they actually don’t know anything worth telling, or Warfel scares them more than I do.”
“So I gathered.” Mac hesitated, far away on the other side of the continent, and asked with professional caution: “What is the status of your telephone?”
“Our friends assure me that the room and phone are safe as Fort Knox.”
“Indeed? Such confidence is touching. But they do seem to be giving you adequate cooperation.”
“Yes, sir,” I said. “Reluctant but adequate.”
“This Mr. Warfel apparently put on quite a show for you. Can you suggest a motive?”
“Yes, sir,” I said, “but first I’d like to drop a few names and descriptions into the hopper. I presume you’re already digging up what’s known on Warfel himself—there should be plenty-—but he had two tough gents in his immediate ménage when I saw him, one called Jake and the other nameless. There was also a lousy driver he called Willy, and a guy sitting in the lounge in my motel reading a paper. Then there’s a slinky blonde called Roberta Prince, Warfel’s current house pet. She’s either a dancer or an acrobat or both. Also Lionel McConnell, known as Arthur Brown, known as The Basher; and of course the imitation redhead. And you might as well check out my lady colleague while you’re at it, the girl they seem to have assigned to me here, Miss Charlotte Devlin, called Charlie for short…”
He pounced on that. “Do you suspect this Miss Devlin? Of what?”
“Of nothing, really,” I said. “But the Blaine girl was kind of surprised to see her. Maybe she was just surprised at seeing a woman—that’s what I figured at first—but maybe she had some reason for being surprised to see that particular woman. If so, I’d like to know why. Anyway, if I’m going to be working with Devlin, I’d kind of like to know what her record looks like. I mean, what can I count on her for and what can’t I? And has she been doing any work recently that brought her in contact with the Warfel ménage? I mean, maybe her people had some reason for assigning her to me other than pure friendship and cooperation. Could they have an interest in Warfel that might conflict with ours?”
“That would be difficult to determine at this point, since we don’t know exactly what our interest is,” Mac said slowly. “Very well, I’ll try to investigate, although it will be ticklish business. Give me what you have on the rest and I’ll set the machinery in motion…” It took a little while for me to describe all the individuals concerned for the tape recorder some three thousand miles away. When I was through, Mac said, “Now what, exactly, are your ideas about Warfel?”
I said, “I figure he must have been trying to cover for the real murderer, who must be somebody important enough to give him orders or rich enough to hire him. I’m no expert on the operations of the syndicate, but I gather it’s willing to cater to just about any human weakness. That presumably includes murder. If you happened to shoot somebody, and knew the right people in the right underworld circles, they might just furnish you with a fall guy or two if the price was right.”
Mac said thoughtfully, “Of course, there’s also the possibility that Warfel himself killed Ruby, or had her killed, and then offered up these
It didn’t work. At least it didn’t work immediately. The threat of being turned out on the street, unprotected against syndicate vengeance, didn’t bring either of them rushing forward to trade valuable information in exchange for a safe place to stay. I nodded to Charlie Devlin, and she led them away. When the door had closed, I turned back to the phone.
“Okay, sir, I’m alone,” I said. “I just wanted them to hear that much of the conversation. I hoped it might persuade them to give us a little help, but either they actually don’t know anything worth telling, or Warfel scares them more than I do.”
“So I gathered.” Mac hesitated, far away on the other side of the continent, and asked with professional caution: “What is the status of your telephone?”
“Our friends assure me that the room and phone are safe as Fort Knox.”
“Indeed? Such confidence is touching. But they do seem to be giving you adequate cooperation.”
“Yes, sir,” I said. “Reluctant but adequate.”
“This Mr. Warfel apparently put on quite a show for you. Can you suggest a motive?”
“Yes, sir,” I said, “but first I’d like to drop a few names and descriptions into the hopper. I presume you’re already digging up what’s known on Warfel himself—there should be plenty-—but he had two tough gents in his immediate ménage when I saw him, one called Jake and the other nameless. There was also a lousy driver he called Willy, and a guy sitting in the lounge in my motel reading a paper. Then there’s a slinky blonde called Roberta Prince, Warfel’s current house pet. She’s either a dancer or an acrobat or both. Also Lionel McConnell, known as Arthur Brown, known as The Basher; and of course the imitation redhead. And you might as well check out my lady colleague while you’re at it, the girl they seem to have assigned to me here, Miss Charlotte Devlin, called Charlie for short…”
He pounced on that. “Do you suspect this Miss Devlin? Of what?”
“Of nothing, really,” I said. “But the Blaine girl was kind of surprised to see her. Maybe she was just surprised at seeing a woman—that’s what I figured at first—but maybe she had some reason for being surprised to see that particular woman. If so, I’d like to know why. Anyway, if I’m going to be working with Devlin, I’d kind of like to know what her record looks like. I mean, what can I count on her for and what can’t I? And has she been doing any work recently that brought her in contact with the Warfel ménage? I mean, maybe her people had some reason for assigning her to me other than pure friendship and cooperation. Could they have an interest in Warfel that might conflict with ours?”
“That would be difficult to determine at this point, since we don’t know exactly what our interest is,” Mac said slowly. “Very well, I’ll try to investigate, although it will be ticklish business. Give me what you have on the rest and I’ll set the machinery in motion…” It took a little while for me to describe all the individuals concerned for the tape recorder some three thousand miles away. When I was through, Mac said, “Now what, exactly, are your ideas about Warfel?”
I said, “I figure he must have been trying to cover for the real murderer, who must be somebody important enough to give him orders or rich enough to hire him. I’m no expert on the operations of the syndicate, but I gather it’s willing to cater to just about any human weakness. That presumably includes murder. If you happened to shoot somebody, and knew the right people in the right underworld circles, they might just furnish you with a fall guy or two if the price was right.”
Mac said thoughtfully, “Of course, there’s also the possibility that Warfel himself killed Ruby, or had her killed, and then offered up these
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