“Eleanor, can’t you see it? For some reason the big boy wanted Evans out of the way. Remember my telling you that Evans hired me as a bodyguard? He told me he expected trouble in Boone and I was to stick around to keep him out of it. In some manner he got wise to what was going on, expected the big shot to pull something pretty. Evans probably had bodyguards here in Croyden as well.
“Well, the big shot did pull a pretty one. He convinced Leonore that Evans was ditching her. That note I can’t explain. But it is the only hitch. He convinced Leonore and left the thing up to her temper. Afterwards she came to him and he put her to bed. No — I take back one thing. The note isn’t the only hitch. A doctor told me there was no trace of dope in Leonore. So why did she get out of bed and fall in the lake?”
“I think you’re wrong, wrong.”
“I don’t think so. Some of the pieces are missing, but I don’t think so. She didn’t fall in the lake. She was pushed in because she was on too hot a spot for his comfort.”
“No, no,” Eleanor objected.
“How can you say
“But
My house fell in. If that particular gentleman was in Croyden at midnight, and he could have been had he left the barn immediately after I did, he was here for the purpose of establishing an alibi. An alibi for a crime he couldn’t have committed. Oh hell, it was as mixed up as before.
“I quit, Eleanor. I can’t think straight any more. I’m going back home. I still think it was — that man. You see, he found out I had been talking with Leonore. He didn’t like it a damned bit. He was probably afraid she might have said something that I could follow up. He knows how easily I can get information out of nothing. He did something... something to cause her to fall in the lake. Leonore was the only person who could put him on a spot in regard to Evans’ death. Your evidence, my evidence, nothing but hearsay. Leonore told you this, Leonore told me that. What Leonore told you, in court, isn’t worth a damn. No one but Leonore could harm him. He hasn’t touched you, nor me, but she is dead.”
“No,” Eleanor cried bitterly, “Mr. Swisher wouldn’t do that!”
Mr. Swisher.
I got my hat and helped her off the couch. She went with me to the door.
“Eleanor,” I turned back just outside her door, “for your own safety I wouldn’t mention my visit. Not to Ashley or the big boy or anyone. Whether
She nodded silently. Outside in the street an auto horn beat out a shave-and-haircut tattoo.
“And one more thing. I wasn’t lying to you when I said Leonore was my friend. Did anyone tell you where she is buried?”
She shook her head, as silently.
“I ordered her funeral. I own a piece in the Boone City Cemetery. Lot 260. If you like, you can have the deed to the piece.”
“You paid for it...?”
“I did. I—” behind me the street door opened. Eleanor looked past my shoulder and her face pinched in fear.
“Quick,” I whispered. “Wipe off the tears.” She did. I listened to the footsteps coming up the stairs behind me.
“Do you folks,” I asked in a changed voice, “have the rent of this apartment? How much is it?” I pointed at the For Rent sign with a finger. She followed the finger, and fought hard to control the fear rising up in her.
“No sir,” she said gamely. “You’ll have to see the manager in the theatre, downstairs.”
“What’s it like in there?” I asked garrulously.
“I believe the door is open sir,” she told me.
I walked over to it and turned the knob. It was. I pushed it open and stepped into the empty apartment.
I said over my shoulder without turning my head, “Thanks, lady,” and partly closed the door behind me.
She waited in her door for the man coming up the steps. I walked to the center of the first empty room and stamped on the floor, testing it. Then I knuckled the plastered walls and said “ummmm” when no fine powder fell away beneath my hand.
I was well into the apartment and out of the line of sight when the newcomer reached Eleanor’s door. I heard him pat her familiarly, and they went into the apartment together, closing the door behind them. I continued my inspection of the vacant apartment without hearing a word from the other side of her door. Finally I went out and clumped down the stairs.
Liebscher met me at the street door. He was tugging at something in his pocket and the jokes were absent from his lips. When he saw me he exploded a pent-up breath.
“Brother,” he confided, “I thought you was a goner!”
Passersby turned to watch us as we sprinted for his car.
Liebscher got the car out of the parking space, jockeyed around a stalled streetcar and shot towards town as fast as he dared, speed laws considering. The ramshackle appearance of his jitney belied the power under the hood.
