“Huh?”
“Unless you know of some quicker way to get an electric typewriter with executive type face and carbon ribbon. No, you go out by yourself and fetch it back; I’ve got telephoning to do.”
He frowned. “I’m beginning to see what you plan to do. But, Belle, this is crazy. This is fantastically dangerous.”
She laughed. “That’s what you think. I told you I had good connections before we ever teamed up. Could you have swung the Mannix deal alone?”
“Well . . . I don’t know.”
“I know. And maybe you don’t know that Master Insurance is part of the Mannix group.”
“Well, no, I didn’t. And I don’t see what difference it makes.”
“It means my connections are still good. See here, Chubby, the firm I used to work for used to help Mannix Enterprises with their tax losses . . . until my boss left the country. How do you think we got such a good deal without being able to guarantee that Danny boy went with the deal? I know all about Mannix. Now hurry up and get that typewriter and I’ll let you watch an artist at work. Watch out for that cat.”
Miles grumbled but started to leave, then returned. “Belle? Didn’t Dan park right in front of the house?”
“Why?”
“His car isn’t there now.” He looked worried.
“Well, he probably parked around the corner. It’s unimportant. Go get that typewriter. Hurry!”
He left again. I could have told them where I had parked but, since they did not ask me, I did not think about it. I did not think at all.
Belle went elsewhere in the house and left me alone. Sometime around daylight Miles got back, looking haggard and carrying our heavy typewriter. Then I was left alone again.
Once Belle came back in and said, “Dan, you’ve got a paper there telling the insurance company to take care of your Hired Girl stock. You don’t want to do that; you want to give it to me.”
I didn’t answer. She looked annoyed and said, “Let’s put it this way. You do want to give it to me. You know you want to give it to me. You know that, don’t you?”
“Yes. I want to give it to you.”
“Good. You want to give it to me. You have to give it to me. You won’t be happy until you give it to me. Now where is it? Is it in your car?”
“No.”
“Then where is it?”
“I mailed it.”
“What?” She grew shrill. “When did you mail it? Who did you mail it to? Why did you do it?”
If she had asked the second question last I would have answered it. But I answered the last question, that being all I could handle. “I assigned it.”
Miles came in. “Where did he put it?”
“He says he’s mailed it . . . because he has assigned it! You had better find his car and search it-he may just think he actually mailed it. He certainly had it with him at the insurance company.”
“Assigned it!” repeated Miles. “Good Lord! To whom?”
“I’ll ask him. Dan, to whom did you assign your stock?”
“To the Bank of America.” She didn’t ask me why or I would have told her about Ricky.
All she did was slump her shoulders and sigh. “There goes the ball game, Chubby. We can forget about the stock. It’ll take more than a nail file to get it away from a bank.” She straightened up suddenly. “Unless he hasn’t really mailed it yet. If he hasn’t I’ll clean that assignment off the back so pretty you’ll think it’s been to the laundry. Then he’ll assign it again. . . to me.”
“To us,” corrected Miles.
“That’s just a detail. Go find his car.”
Miles returned later and announced, “It’s not anywhere within six blocks of here. I cruised around all the streets, and the alleys too. He must have used a cab.”
“You heard him say he drove his own car.”
“Well, it’s not out there. Ask him when and where he mailed the stock.”
So Belle did and I told them. “Just before I came here. I mailed it at the postbox at the corner of Sepulveda and Ventura Boulevard.”