THE GLASS KEY by Dashiell Hammett

She rose and said, “You’re ridiculing me,” without resentment.

When she had gone Ned Beaumont lay back on his pillows and stared at the ceiling with glittering eyes until the nurse came in.

The nurse came in and asked: “What have you been up to now?”

Ned Beaumont raised his head to look sullenly at her, but he did not speak.

The nurse said: “She went out of here as near crying as anybody could without crying.”

Ned Beaumont lowered his head to the pillow again. “I must be losing my grip,” he said. “I usually make senators’ daughters cry.”

4

A man of medium size, young and dapper, with a sleek, dark, rather good-looking face, came in.

Ned Beaumont sat up in bed and said: “‘Lo, Jack.”

Jack said, “You don’t look as bad as I thought you would,” and advanced to the side of the bed.

“I’m still all in one piece. Grab a chair.”

Jack sat down and took out a package of cigarettes.

Ned Beaumont said: “I’ve got another job for you.” He put a hand under his pillows and brought out an envelope.

Jack lit his cigarette before he took the envelope from Ned Beaumont’s hand. It was a plain white envelope addressed to Ned Beaumont at St. Luke’s Hospital and bore the local postmark dated two days before. Inside was a single typewritten sheet of paper which Jack took out and read.

What do you know about Paul Madvig that Shad O’Rory was so anxious to learn?

Has it anything to do with the murder of Taylor Henry?

If not, why should you have gone to such lengths to keep it secret?

Jack refolded the sheet of paper and returned it to the envelope before he raised his head. Then he asked: “Does it make sense?”

“Not that I know of. I want you to find out who wrote it.”

Jack nodded. “Do I keep it?”

“Yes.”

Jack put the envelope in his pocket. “Any ideas about who might have done it?”

“None at all.”

Jack studied the lighted end of his cigarette. “It’s a job, you know,” he said presently.

“I know it,” Ned Beaumont agreed, “and all I can tell you is that there’s been a lot of them–or several of them–in the past week. That’s my third. I know’ Farr got at least one. I don’t know who else has been getting them.”

“Can I see some of the others?”

Ned Beaumont said: “That’s the only one I kept. They’re all pretty much alike, though–same paper, same typewriting, three questions in each, all on the same subject.”

Jack regarded Ned Beaumont with inquisitive eyes. “But not exactly the same questions?” he asked.

“Not exactly, but all getting to the same point.”

Jack nodded and smoked his cigarette.

Ned Beaumont said: “You understand this is to be strictly on the qt.”

“Sure.” Jack took the cigarette from his mouth. “The ‘same point’ you mentioned is Madvig’s connection with the murder?”

“Yes,” Ned Beaumont replied, looking with level eyes at the sleek dark young man, “and there isn’t any connection.”

Jack’s dark face was inscrutable. “I don’t see how there could be,” he said as he stood up.

5

The nurse came in carrying a large basket of fruit. “Isn’t it lovely?” she said as she set it down.

Ned Beaumont nodded cautiously.

The nurse took a small stiff envelope from the basket. “I bet you it’s from her,” she said, giving Ned Beaumont the envelope.

“What’ll you bet?”

“Anything you want.”

Ned Beaumont nodded as if some dark suspicion had been confirmed. “You looked,” he said.

“Why, you–” Her words stopped when he laughed, but indignation remained in her mien.

He took Janet Henry’s card from the envelope. One word was written on it: Please! Frowning at the card, he told the nurse, “You win,” and tapped the card on a thumb-nail. “Help yourself to that gunk and take enough of it so it’ll look as if I’d been eating it.”

Later that afternoon he wrote:

MY DEAR MISS HENRY–

You’ve quite overwhelmed me with your kindness–first your

coming to see me, and then the fruit. I don’t at all know

how to thank you, but I hope I shall some day be able to more

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