Miss Shumway Waves a Wand (12 page)

Just then the verandah door pushed open, and Whisky came in. “Mexico City?” he growled.

“I haven’t been there since I was a pup. I’ll come along too.”

I shook my head. “Listen,” I said firmly. “I’m not interested in your puppy life. We haven’t room for you and none of us like dogs. If you want to go to Mexico City you make your own arrangements.”

Ansell was staring at the dog in delight. “My goodness! He’s worth a fortune. Of course, he must come with us,” he said.

Whisky eyed him suspiciously. “If you’ve got any ideas of exploiting me,” he snapped, “forget them I’m against any form of sweatshop labour. I’m coming with you because I’m tired of the other dogs in this town. A change will do me good.”

“He talks like a real gentleman, doesn’t he?” Bogle said in awe.

Myra went to the door. “I think I’m going mad,” she said in a firm voice.

Whisky eyed her thoughtfully, “Upon my word that’s a pretty trull,” he said. “Whoever gets her
will
be a lucky dog.”

Myra looked at him, her eyes wide with horror, then she disappeared, slamming the door behind her.

Myra got her way in the end. So we trooped into the
Plaza
, registered for rooms and had another argument about Whisky. At first, the reception clerk wouldn’t hear of him coming into the hotel, but Bogle managed to persuade him.

Whisky got restive while Bogle and the clerk were wrangling, and I was scared that he was going to open his mouth. I knew that if he talked out of turn we’d all be tossed into the Street. I guess he was smart enough to realize that too. In the end, it was agreed that Bogle should have a double room and it would be okay for Whisky to share it with him.

Going up in the elevator, there was a further argument about who was going to pay the hotel bill. The only person—if you can call him a person—who didn’t get excited was Whisky. We were still arguing when we reached the third floor and examined our rooms.

It was finally decided that Juden should be invited to meet the bill and since the others didn’t know Juden this made them happy. I knew that to get money out of Juden was as easy as getting a running commentary on the Santiago handicap from a Tibetian deaf-mute. Anyway, I was tired of arguing.

“I’ll get Juden on the ’phone,” I said. “Suppose we all meet downstairs for dinner, say in half an hour?”

“Make it an hour,” Myra said. “I’m not going to be rushed. I haven’t been in a decent hotel for months and I’m going to make the most of it.” She turned on Bogle. “And for goodness sake, dress yourself up, Samuel, right now you look like something put out for salvage.”

“You don’t look so hot yourself,” Bogle snapped. “There’s nothing about you that’d give a scarecrow an inferiority complex.”

“Break it up,” I said hastily. “We’ll meet downstairs in an hour.”

As soon as I had shut myself in my room, I had a bath, changed and then grabbed the telephone.

Juden didn’t sound glad to hear me. “What the hell have you been doing?” he demanded.

“Maddox’s as mad as a hornet.”

“Never mind about Maddox,” I said. “Get your car and come over to the Plaza fast. I’ve got a sweet surprise package for you. No, don’t ask questions, just come down.”

“Okay,” Juden replied crossly. “But it’s got to be good.”

I laughed. “If only you knew just how good it is,” I said and hung up.

I met Juden in the bar a half an hour later. He came in with the light of battle in his eye and a scowl on his face. “There’s a load of grief piling up for you,” he said, shaking hands in a half-hearted sort of way. “What’s the matter with you? Do you realize that you’ve set Maddox back 25 grand? Right now, he’s spitting rust and steel filings.”

“Take it easy,” I said. “Sit down and reduce steam. Let’s have a drink and be reasonable.” He sat down, but I could see that he’d got a lot on his mind. “Make it a double Scotch,” he said. “I’ve done a full day’s work and I’m not feeling so good.”

When the drinks came, I hitched my chair close to his. “So the girl’s been found, eh?” I said. “And Maddox has had to fork up?”

“That’s it,” Juden said. “The poor old geyser didn’t stand a chance. I tell you parting with all that dough’s broken his heart.”

“He never had a heart,” I said grimly. “The thing that gets his blood circulating is a rock wrapped up in gristle. How did it happen?”

“Well, as far as I know,” Juden returned. “It seems this Shumway bird bounced into Maddox’s office with his daughter early this morning. His story is that she was rescued by a guy called Law Kelly. They brought Kelly with them.

“Maddox wouldn’t play at first, but Kelly seems to be a tough egg. He’d seen the story about the reward and he remembers seeing this Shumway girl with a greaser. He set off right away and didn’t have any difficulty in getting her away from the greaser. Then he grabbed a ‘plane and reached New York this morning. He took her to her father and the trio turned up to collect.

“As I say, Maddox was wild, but Kelly persuaded him to pert. So Maddox’s blaming you for the whole thing.”

“Who’s Kelly?” I asked.

“Why, I guess he’s one of those guys who’s always around when someone’s giving away
25
grand. You know how it is.”

“Meaning you don’t know?”

“Well, I can’t know everyone, can I?”

“Swell,” I lowered half my drink. “Now, we’re getting places. Let me tell you, Kelly’s yarn is a damn lie from soup to nuts.”

“You ask Maddox,” Juden returned grimly. “He’ll tell you whether it’s a lie or not in twenty different languages… all of ‘em bad.”

“You may be interested to hear that Myra Shumway’s upstairs right at this very minute,” I said, emphasising each word by stabbing the air with my finger.

Juden finished his drink and snapped his fingers for the barman. “The girl gets around,” was all he said.

“She hasn’t been to New York,” I said patiently. “She’s been right by my side from the time I told you I’d found her.”

“Has it ever occurred to you that some young woman is kidding the pants off you?”

I thought about this, then I shook my head. “The girl’s Myra Shumway,” I said. “You gave me her picture. Remember?”

Juden opened a brief case, lying by his feet and produced a full plate glossy print. “Take a gander at that,” he said, handing it to me.

There was Maddox looking like a well-fed turtle, another oldish man I hadn’t seen before and Myra. They were standing in Maddox’s office and Maddox was handing Myra a slip of paper. By the glassy smile that Maddox had hitched to his face, there could be no doubt that the slip of paper was the cheque for the 25,000-dollars reward.

I stared at the girl in the photograph. If I hadn’t known that Myra hadn’t been out of Mexico for the past week, I’d have been prepared to take an oath that the girl in the picture was indeed Myra Shumway. There were the same obvious points of similarity. The blonde hair down to her shoulders, half hiding her left eye. The same way of standing and the same way of tilting her head. The features were the same although the expression was a little puzzling. There was a look on her face I had never seen before, but then I’d never seen her receiving a cheque for twenty-five grand and that amount of money is enough to change anyone’s expression.

I handed it back to Juden in bewilderment. “Something’s wrong here,” I said. “I don’t know what it is.” I shrugged helplessly. “When was this photo taken?”

“Eleven o’clock this morning,” Juden said promptly. “It was flown out and I got it this afternoon.”

“At eleven o’clock this morning, Myra Shumway was with me,” I said firmly.

It was Juden’s time to look startled. “Are you drunk?”

“Not with you handling my expense sheet,” I returned bitterly. The berman came over at this moment and Juden ordered a second round. When he had gone away, Juden said, “So she was with you, was she?”

I nodded.

“Yeah,” he said. “But who’s going to believe it? Look, why don’t you admit that you slipped up? Maybe, I can put things right with Maddox. I’m not promising, but…”

“Hold everything,” I said waving my hand to the door.

“Snatch a peep at that.”

Myra was standing by the bar waiting for me to spot her. I’ve told you from time to time that this kid was a looker. I don’t want to keep on at it or you’ll think I’ve got something to sell. But I’ll put this on record. She made anything that Earl Carrol had ever put up to dazzle the tired U.S. business men look like a wallflower in red flannel.

Maybe it was the dress. It was gold lamé and the full skirt was lined with scarlet so that as she moved the scarlet showed in sudden unexpected flashes, making the dress look as if it were on fire. From the knees up, it clung to her curves like a nervous mountaineer.

She practically caused a riot. The men sitting around paused in their conversation like someone had jabbed them with a skewer, while the women radioed hate on a short wave length.

Myra didn’t care. She came over, took the seat I offered her and settled herself with all the self-assurance in the world.

I said, “I’d like you to meet Paul Juden of the Central News Agency. Miss Myra Shumway,” I went on to Juden.

He was like a man cut off at the knees. He managed to get to his feet and when Myra sat down, he collapsed into his chair. But he didn’t seem able to say anything.

“He’s not always like this,” I said to Myra. “As a matter of fact he has a pretty good head on him.”

“So have some umbrellas,” Myra said. “But, it doesn’t mean anything.”

“Now, look, sunshine, don’t let us have any unpleasantness, Juden is suffering from delayed shock He thought you were in New York.”

“I hope we’re not going to have all that all over again,” Myra said.

The barman came over and stood admiring her.

“Something that would resurrect a corpse, please,” Myra said, smiling at him. “Nothing small. Serve it in a brandy glass.”

The barman blinked. “Yes, madam,” he said, and went away.

“I’m going to get tight,” she went on to me in a confidential undertone. “I haven’t been in a decent hotel for months and I haven’t been tight for years. I am pandering to my whims tonight.”

By this time, Juden began making croaking noises. “Twins,” he said feebly. “Twins.”

Myra looked at him with interest. “No wonder you look like such a sad man,” she said.

“Should I congratulate you or buy you a wreath?”

Before I could stop him, he gave her the photograph. There was a long electric silence while she looked at it. Then she turned to me. “Who’s this delightful little blonde trollop?” she asked, pointing with a trembling finger at the girl in the photograph.

“To all intents and purposes,” I said as gently as possible, “it’s you.”

Myra drew a deep breath. “Have you ever seen me wear such an expression on my face as this over-dressed, sex-ridden, over-ripe, two-face hag is wearing?” she demanded, furiously rattling the photograph under my nose.

Even Juden shrank away from her fury.

But like all women, she had hit the nail on the thumb. That was the difference between this girl in the photograph and Myra. Whereas Myra had character, this girl had none. She had that loose, cruel expression on her face that you so often see in the face of a wanton woman. Make no mistake about it, this girl was bad right through, but it wasn’t until it was pointed out to me, that I realized it.

“Take it easy,” I said. “The red light’s showing on your pressure gauge.”

“So this is the hooker who’s impersonating me,” Myra said, controlling herself with an effort.

She studied the photograph intently. “And look at that smug, I’ve-got-the-bone expression on my dear parent’s face. This is some of his work. I’ll make him suffer for this!”

Juden was clawing at his collar nervously. He quite expected that she would turn on him at any moment.

“Well, P. J.,” 1 said. “Do you see how Maddox’s been fooled now?”

“What can we say to him?” Juden groaned. “You know Maddox. The other papers would rib him for weeks. Besides, he wouldn’t believe it.”

“He wouldn’t?” Myra twisted round in her chair so that she faced Juden, who shrank as far away as he could from her. “Don’t you think I could persuade him?”

“You might,” Juden returned feebly. “Yes, I guess with your character you could do pretty near anything.”

“And that’s what I think,” Myra said ominously.

“It’s going to be difficult,” I said, finishing my drink. “If your father says she’s you, you’ll have a hard job convincing anyone.”

The barman brought Myra’s cocktail. There was a lot of it in a large brandy glass. He put it on the table beside her. “It is my own invention, madam,” he said.

Myra picked up the balloon glass and took a long pull from the blue-green liquor. Then she shut her eyes, held her breath and her feet traced quick little patterns on the carpet. When she could speak, she said faintly, “Any smoke escaping from me?”

“You like it, madam?” the barman asked anxiously.

“That is the wrong word,” Myra said, putting the glass on the table and staring at it. “You don’t like a thing like that. A corpse doesn’t like embalming fluid, but it does it good. What do you call it?”

“The breath of a Tiger,” the barman said, not knowing whether to be complimented or not. Myra shuddered. “I’m glad it’s only his breath,” she said. “Somehow, I don’t think I could have managed the tiger itself.”

“If madam does not like it, I will bring her something else,” the barman said, looking hurt.

“I have another specialty which I call the Panther’s spit.”

Myra waved him away. “Some other time perhaps,” she said, and he returned behind his bar with a puzzled expression on his face.

Doc AńselI and Bogle came into the bar. They were wearing tuxedos. Bogle looked like an

Eastside waiter.

“There you are,” Ansell said, drawing up a chair. “We’ve been having a little trouble with Whisky, otherwise we’d’ve been down before.”

I introduced Juden who nodded vaguely.