Walter Ivans jerked his head up and caught Ned Beaumont’s hand in both of his. “B-by G-god that’s white of him!” The china-blue eyes were wet. “B-b-but I wish he could g-get Tim out.”
Ned Beaumont said, “Well, there’s always a chance that something will come up to let him,” freed his hand, said, “I’ll be seeing you,” and went around Ivans to the billiard-room door.
The billiard-room was deserted.
He got his hat and coat and went to the front door. Long oyster-colored lines of rain slanted down into China Street. He smiled and addressed the rain under his breath: “Come down, you little darlings, thirty-two hundred and fifty dollars’ worth of you.”
He went back and called a taxicab.
4
Ned Beaumont took his hands away from the dead man and stood up. The dead man’s head rolled a little to the left, away from the curb, so that his face lay fully in the light from the corner street-lamp. It was a young face and its expression of anger was increased by the dark ridge that ran diagonally across the forehead from the edge of the curly fair hair to an eyebrow.
Ned Beaumont looked up and down China Street. As far up the street as the eye could see no person was there. Two blocks down the street, in front of the Log Cabin Club, two men were getting out of an automobile. They left the automobile standing in front of the Club, facing Ned Beaumont, and went into the Club.
Ned Beaumont, after staring down at the automobile for several seconds, suddenly twisted his head around to look up the street again and then, with a swiftness that made both movements one continuous movement, whirled and sprang upon the sidewalk in the shadow of the nearest tree. He was breathing through his mouth and though tiny points of sweat had glistened on his hands in the light he shivered now and turned up the collar of his overcoat.
He remained in the tree’s shadow with one hand on the tree for perhaps half a minute. Then he straightened abruptly and began to walk towards the Log Cabin Club. He walked with increasing swiftness, leaning forward, and was moving at something more than a half-trot when he spied a man coming up the other side of the street. He immediately slackened his pace and made himself walk erect. The man entered a house before he came opposite Ned Beaumont.
By the time Ned Beaumont reached the Club he had stopped breathing through his mouth. His lips were still somewhat faded. He looked at the empty automobile without pausing, climbed the Club’s steps between the two lanterns, and went indoors.
Harry Sloss and another man were crossing the foyer from the cloakroom. They halted and said together: “Hello, Ned.” Sloss added: “I hear you had Peggy O’Toole today.”
“Yes.”
“For much?”
“Thirty-two hundred.”
Sloss ran his tongue over his lower lip. “That’s nice. You ought to be set for a game tonight.”
“Later, maybe. Paul in?”
“I don’t know. We just got in. Don’t make it too late: I promised the girl I’d be home early.”
Ned Beaumont said, “Right,” and went over to the cloak-room. “Paul in?” he asked the attendant.
“Yes, about ten minutes ago.”
Ned Beaumont looked at his wrist-watch. It was half past ten. He went up to the front second-story room. Madvig in dinner clothes was sitting at the table with a hand stretched out towards the telephone when Ned Beaumont came in.
Madvig withdrew his hand and said: “How are you, Ned?” His large handsome face was ruddy and placid.
Ned Beaumont said, “I’ve been worse,” while shutting the door behind him. He sat on a chair not far from Madvig’s. “How’d the Henry dinner go?”
The skin at the corners of Madvig’s eyes crinkled. “I’ve been at worse,” he said.
Ned Beaumont was clipping the end of a pale spotted cigar. The shakiness of his hands was incongruous with the steadiness of his voice asking: “Was Taylor there?” He looked up at Madvig without raising his head.
“Not for dinner. Why?”
Ned Beaumont stretched out crossed legs, leaned back in his chair, moved the hand holding his cigar in a careless arc, and said: “He’s dead in a gutter up the street.”