“Mr. Willsson.”
“Well, that certainly is fine,” he congratulated the old man. “You saved a lot of people a lot of troubles, including me. Pack him out, boys,” he said to the four men behind him.
The two in uniform picked Yakima Shorty up by legs and arm-pits and went away with him, while one of the others gathered up the blackjack and a flashlight that had been under the body.
“If everybody did that to their prowlers, it would certainly be fine,” the chief babbled on. He brought three cigars out of a pocket, threw one over on the bed, stuck one at me, and put the other in his mouth. “I was just wondering where I could get hold of you,” he told me as we lighted up. “I got a little job ahead that I thought you’d like to be in on. That’s how I happened to be on tap when the rumble came.” He put his mouth close to my ear and whispered: “Going to pick up Whisper. Want to go along?”
“Yeah.”
“I thought you would. Hello, Doc!”
He shook hands with a man who had just come in, a little plump man with a tired oval face and gray eyes that still had sleep in them.
The doctor went to the bed, where one of Noonan’s men was asking Willsson about the shooting. I followed the secretary into the hail and asked him:
“Any men in the house besides you?”
“Yes, the chauffeur, the Chinese cook.”
“Let the chauffeur stay in the old man’s room tonight. I’m going out with Noonan. I’ll get back as soon as I can. I don’t think there’ll be any more excitement here, but no matter what happens don’t leave the old man alone. And don’t leave him alone with Noonan or any of Noonan’s crew.”
The secretary’s mouth and eyes popped wide.
“What time did you leave Donald Willsson last night?” I asked.
“You mean night before last, the night he was killed?”
“Yeah.”
“At precisely half-past nine.”
“You were with him from five o’clock till then?”
“From a quarter after five. We went over some statements and that sort of thing in his office until nearly eight o’clock. Then we went to Bayard’s and finished our business over our dinners. He left at half-past nine, saying he had an engagement.”
“What else did he say about this engagement?”
“Nothing else.”
“Didn’t give you any hint of where he was going, who he was going to meet?”
“He merely said he had an engagement.”
“And you didn’t know anything about it?”
“No. Why? Did you think I did?”
“I thought he might have said something.” I switched back to tonight’s doings: “What visitors did Willsson have today, not counting the one he shot?”
“You’ll have to pardon me,” the secretary said, smiling apologetically, “I can’t tell you that without Mr. Willsson’s permission. I’m sorry.”
“Weren’t some of the local powers here? Say Lew Yard, or–”
The secretary shook his head, repeating:
“I’m sorry.”
“We won’t fight over it,” I said, giving it up and starting back toward the bedroom door.
The doctor came out, buttoning his overcoat.
“He will sleep now,” he said hurriedly. “Someone should stay with him. I shall be in in the morning.” He ran downstairs.
I went into the bedroom. The chief and the man who had questioned Willsson were standing by the bed. The chief grinned as if he were glad to see me. The other man scowled. Willsson was lying on his back, staring at the ceiling.
“That’s about all there is here,” Noonan said. “What say we mosey along?”
I agreed and said, “Good-night,” to the old man. He said, “Goodnight,” without looking at me. The secretary came in with the chauffeur, a tall sunburned young husky.
The chief, the other sleuth–a police lieutenant named McGraw– and I went downstairs and got into the chief’s car. McGraw sat beside the driver. The chief and I sat in back.
“We’ll make the pinch along about daylight,” Noonan explained as we rode. “Whisper’s got a joint over on King Street. He generally leaves there along about daylight. We could crash the place, but that’d mean gun-play, and it’s just as well to take it easy. We’ll pick him up when he leaves.”