THE THIN MAN by Dashiell Hammett

“Still sounds all right,” I said, “except, as you say, about the marriage, and even that could be all right.”

“Uh-huh, and what difference does it make anyways? So comes the winter and the bank-roll’s getting skinny and he’s getting ready to take a run-out on her with the last of it, and then she says maybe they could come back to America and tap Wynant for some more. He thinks that’s fair enough if it can be done, and she thinks it can be done, so they get on a boat and–”

“The story cracks a little there,” I said.

“What makes you think so? He’s not figuring on going to Boston, where he knows his first wife is, and he’s figuring on keeping out of the way of the few people that know him, including especially Wynant, and somebody’s told him there’s a statute of limitation making everything just lovely after seven years. He don’t figure he’s running much risk. They ain’t going to stay here long.”

“I still don’t like that pant of his story,” I insisted, “but go ahead.”

“Well, the second day he’s here–while they’re still trying to find Wynant–he gets a bad break. He runs into a friend of his first wife’s– this Olga Fenton–on the street and she recognizes him. He tries to talk her out of tipping off the first wife and does manage to stall her along a couple days with a moving-picture story he makes up–what an imagination that guy’s got!–but he don’t fool her long, and she goes to her parson and tells him about it and asks him what she ought to do and he says she ought to tell the first wife, and so she does, and the next tinie she sees Jorgensen she tells him what she’d done, and he lights out for Boston to try to keep his wife from kicking up trouble and we pick him up there.”

“How about his visit to the hock-shop?” I asked.

“That was part of it. He says there was a train for Boston leaving in a few minutes and he didn’t have any dough with him and didn’t have time to go home for some–besides not being anxious to face the second wife till he had the first one quieted down–and the banks were closed, so he soaked his watch. It checks up.”

“Did you see the watch?”

“I can. Why?”

“I was wondering. You don’t think it was once on the other end of that piece of chain Mimi turned over to you?”

He sat up straight. “By God!” Then he squinted at me suspiciously and asked: “Do you know anything about it or are you–”

“No. I was just wondering. What does he say about the murders ‘now? Who does he think did them?”

“Wynant. He admits for a while he thought Mimi might’ve, but he says she convinced him different. He claims she wouldn’t tell him what ‘she had on Wynant. He might be just trying to cover himself up on that. I don’t guess there’s any doubt about them meaning to use it to shake him down for that money they wanted.”

“Then you don’t think she planted the knife and chain?”

Guild pulled down the ends of his mouth. “She could’ve planted them to shake him down with. What’s wrong with that?”

“It’s a little complicated for a fellow like me,” I said. “Find out, if Face Peppler’s still in the Ohio pen?”

“Uh-huh. He gets out next week. That accounts for the diamond ring. He had a pal of his on the outside send it to her for him. Seems they were planning to get married and go straight together after he got out, or some such. Anyways, the warden says he saw letters passing between them reading hike that. This Peppler won’t tell the warden that he knows anything that’ll help us, and the warden don’t call to mind anything that was in their letters that’s any good to us. Of course, even this much helps some, with the motive. Say Wynant’s jealous and she’s wearing this other guy’s ring and getting ready to go away with him. That’ll–” he broke off to answer his telephone. “Yes,” he said into it. “Yes. . . What? . . . Sure. . . . Sure, but leave somebody there. . . . That’s night.” He pushed the telephone aside. “Another bum steer on that West Twentyninth Street killing yesterday.”

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