I went back to my table; the drink was there but the sandwich not yet. They always make you wait at least an hour for food in a night club, so you'll drink more meanwhile.

  The floor show was starting and I turned to watch what little I could see of it from the bad table I had. Or at least I pretended to watch it. I was really thinking about the number four-twenty and trying to make some sense out of it. I couldn't. It could be or mean a lot of things, but no one thing seemed any more likely than another.

  Estelle came over and stood leaning against the post that blocked my view of the orchestra and I watched her instead of the floor show. She was better to look at anyway. I began to wonder how late she had to work tonight.

  And I wondered, too, why she pretended to ignore me and not to know me, after introducing me to Augie Grane at the Blackstone. Once she'd done that, she might as well talk to me here. Especially since we'd practically ruled out Augie and Toby as suspects anyway. She wasn't looking at me, but she must have read my mind, because just as I was thinking that, she came over to my table. She put her tray down on the floor beside the chair across from me and sat down. She smiled at me and said, “Hi, Eddie.”

  “You said that once,” I told her. “On paper. Shall I write you a note back, or can I just say 'hi'?”

  “But not in that tone of voice. Are you mad at me, Eddie?”

  “Not exactly,” I said. “In fact, maybe I love you a little bit. And I don't mind the note business if you want to play. But why did you introduce me to Augie this afternoon?”

  “Because it didn't matter, Eddie, and I wanted to show you that. He's nice. I like him. And he didn't have a thing to do with your uncle.”

  “How do you know? Did he you tell you?”

  “As a matter of fact, yes, Eddie.” She leaned forward across the table. “Honest, Eddie, it's all right.”

  “I suppose it is,” I admitted. “Bassett tells me Augie's a good guy and is in the clear, and Bassett generally knows what he's talking about. But I'm curious why you talked to him about it? What did you have to gain?”

  “I didn't at first, Eddie. Not until after we saw you at the Blackstone. I came here this afternoon and asked for a job and Mr. Dagon wasn't here—he or Augie do the hiring—and they sent me in to see Augie.”

  “Do you mean Mr. Grane? Sounds like you know him pretty well.”

  “I do, Eddie. I mean—I don't mean anything wrong. He's really nice and I like him and he seems to like me. I don't know, we had just hit it off right away. He told me I was too beautiful to be a waitress—that's what I applied for—and that they needed a cigarette girl because theirs had just left to get married or something and did I want that. He told me that I'd make twice as much as a cigarette girl because nearly always when someone buys cigarettes they just give you a dollar bill and don't want change.”

  “Especially if you don't give them any,” I said.

  She laughed. “Oh, I'm supposed to offer change. I didn't, just to get your goat.” I said, “Never mind my goat. Get back to why you told Augie Grane whatever you told him.”

  “Don't sound so cross, Eddie. When I said all right, I'd be a cigarette girl, he told me I'd need an evening gown or two and wanted to know if I had them, and I had to admit that I didn't—not ones good enough to wear here, anyway. So he said he'd advance me the price of two of them and I could pay him back out of my earnings. He took me around to Saks and helped me pick out two; this one was a hundred and a quarter and the other one was only a hundred. Like it?”

  “It's gorgeous. But won't it take you a long time to pay for them.”

  “Oh no, Eddie. I don't get any salary here, but I'll be making over a hundred a week just in tips. Why, I've made fifteen dollars already tonight and this is just a Thursday night, and it isn't over yet. I'll probably average twenty a night, six nights a week, and I'll pay back fifty a week and still have about seventy left and I'll have the two gowns paid for in a month or so. And I'll probably buy a new gown an average of once a month after that, but I'll still be way ahead.”

  “You're figuring on keeping the job then?”

  “Why not, Eddie? It's more money than I ever made before. I might still decide to go back to the carney next spring, but I can't now anyway—it's September and too late in the season—but by that time I'll have a nice stake saved up. I was thinking of modeling, but this is easier and I think I like it better.”

  I couldn't see any holes in it, although I didn't like it somehow. But she'd got off the track again about telling me why she'd told Augie, and I reminded her.

  “Oh,” she said. “Well, after we'd bought the gowns, we went to the Blackstone for a drink. We'd been there about half an hour before you came. And by that time, I knew Augie well enough, Eddie, that I was sure he wasn't a murderer or a kidnaper or anything. So I thought it over while you and whoever you were with—”

  “That was Frank Bassett,” I said. “Captain, Homicide Department.”

  “While you and he were having a drink, I thought it over, and when you started to leave I decided to introduce you.”

  I said, “I guess it doesn't matter. But I still don't see what you had to gain.”

  “I guess I just wanted you to meet Augie because I liked him. Anyway after you left he repeated the name Hunter and said that the police had just been asking him about a man named Hunter. And he went ahead and told me all about it, and it all fitted exactly what you'd told me and I could see that he wasn't in the slightest guilty about it or he wouldn't have been talking that way about it.

  So I told him the truth about who you were and about why I'd taken the job. And he laughed and said that was all right with him as long as I made a good cigarette girl and all he wanted to know was would I stick to the job. And I told him I would, if it turned out I made as much in tips as he said I would. And I will, judging from thus far tonight. A little more, maybe. He said I'd make at least a hundred and, from tonight, I'm guessing at least a hundred and twenty.”

  “Have you met Toby Dagon?” I asked her.

  “Just slightly. I don't like him. He gives me the creeps. And Augie said he doesn't like him personally either, but that he's a good manager for the numbers game—I take it that Dagon really runs it and Augie just backs it financially and doesn't handle the details at all.”

  I said, “Everybody seems to like Grane. Nobody seems to like Dagon. I guess everybody can't be wrong.”

  “While we were eating—Augie took me to dinner after we'd had a few drinks—I asked Augie whether this Dagon could have had anything to do with your uncle. He said no. He said the police had asked him what he'd been doing at four o'clock, so he guessed that was the time of the disappearance or whatever. And that if that's right, he knows Toby didn't do it because Toby was doing some business in Gary yesterday afternoon and he knows Toby was still there at half past four because he talked to him on the phone then, long distance. And besides, he says Toby Dagon wouldn't have any reason to have anything against your uncle. They just met casually that once in Starlock's office.”

  It occurred to me that I might be able to establish one more alibi and—if Estelle gave it—one I could be really sure of. I asked, “How long were you and Augie together after I saw you around six o'clock tonight?”

  “Why, about two hours, I guess. It must have been another half hour before we went to eat, and then we spent at least an hour eating and then we came over here and made sure the gowns had been the delivered—

  That was more than enough for an alibi on Karl Dell's murder, I thought. And then it suddenly came to me that Estelle didn't even know about Karl.

  I told her, and it hit her hard, harder than I'd thought. After I'd finished she sat there white and shaken.

  I said, “I'm sorry, 'Stelle; I should have broken it more gently, I guess. I didn't know you especially liked Karl.”

  “I—I didn't, Eddie. I don't mean I disliked him. I was out with him a couple of times, three, I guess—once dancing and twice to shows, but we were just friends. But—

  “But what, 'Stelle?”

  “Your uncle, Ed. I guess all along I've been hoping that this didn't amount to anything; that it was just a joke of some kind, that he was all right somewhere and would come back and explain it. I was sure of it, Eddie. But now—

  I patted her hand and wished I could think of something encouraging to say. I couldn't.

  I felt that way myself. I guess that in my case trying to solve the problem as a problem, to figure out what had happened, had kept me from thinking too much that Uncle Am must be dead.

  She said, “I want a drink, Eddie. Will you buy me one?”

  I caught my waiter's eye and ordered two drinks for us. Estelle downed hers and a little of her color came back. She said, “Thanks, Eddie. Before I forget, Augie wants to see you.”

  “To see me?” I asked. “What about? If he doesn't know anything, as he says he doesn't—”

  I don't know what he wants. He didn't tell me. But he asked if you were coming home tonight, and I told him that I hoped you would. And he said to ask you to him if you did. He's in his office, I guess. I'll show you where.” The waiter brought my club sandwich just then and I told Estelle I'd go to see as soon as I'd finished it. She told me she'd better not sit too long and I should see her when I'd finished eating.

  I did and she led me up some steps to the second floor and along a corridor to a door marked “Private,” and knocked. Augie Crane's voice called out for us to come in and Estelle opened the door.

  She said, “Here's Ed Hunter, Augie.” And to me, “See me again before you go, will you, Eddie? I'd better go back downstairs.” I nodded and went into Augie Crane's office.

  Chapter 11

  AUGIE WAS SITTING BEHIND THE DESK, and I knew the guy sitting on a corner of it must be Toby Dagon. I hadn't met anyone thus far who liked Toby Dagon. I didn't like him either.

  He was younger than Augie Grane, maybe about thirty-five. He was well dressed and wasn't bad looking. I couldn't put my finger on what I didn't like about him. I mean, his eyes weren't too close together; he happened to be smiling and his teeth weren't pointed; there weren't any horns sticking out of his sleek black hair. But I felt uneasy being in the room with him. He was a killer. I can't explain how I knew, but I'd have known even if Bassett hadn't told me.

  Augie said, “Hello, Ed. This is Toby Dagon.” Toby stuck out a hand and I shook it; it wasn't cold or clammy and the handshake seemed genuine, but I was just as glad to let go.

  Augie said, “Sit down, Ed,” and pointed to a chair. Toby said, “You're wasting your time, Augie, but it's okay by me.”

  “You don't have to listen,” Augie said. “You know what I'm going to tell him. And what have we got to lose?”

  Toby shrugged. “Nothing, I guess, but the time you're wasting. And telling people your business.”

  “Everybody knows my business, Toby.”

  Toby stood up. “Okay, Augie. It's a thousand-to-one shot, but thousand-to-one shots pay off sometimes. We've been paying off on them. Well, I'm going to run along and catch that new canary. If you want me for anything, I'll be at the usual table.”

  At the door he said, “Glad to meet you, Hunter,” and then he went on out.

  Augie Grane swiveled his chair around to face me. He pushed a humidor across the desk and said, “Cigar, Ed? Or would you like a drink?”

  “No thanks to the cigar,” I said, “and I'll take a rain check on the drink.” I wondered what he was leading up to.

  He said, “Ed, you're trying to find out what happened to your uncle. Right?”

  I just nodded.

  “And I'm trying to find out what's happening to my numbers business. I think we can help each other.”

  “How?” I asked him. “I mean, according to what you told Frank Bassett, there can't be any connection between the two. Or were you lying to Frank?”

  “Bassett was not frank enough with me, Ed. He told me the only way he was led to me was that talk Toby and I had with Starlock and your uncle in Starlock's office. This afternoon, your friend Estelle told me a little more about it and I learned for the first time the fact that the man who kidnapped your uncle gave a certain room number at the Gresham. I don't believe in coincidence. Do you?”

  “Not too far,” I admitted. “But where's the coincidence? Maybe I'm dumb, but I don't see it.”

  Augie Grane leaned forward across the desk. He said, “I mean that Richard Bergman is here because I sent for him, and I sent for him to handle the very thing I was talking to Starlock and his operative—your uncle, I'm told—about. When Estelle Beck told me that—well, things looked different.”

  I whistled softly. He said, “I'll tell you all about it, but first, how much do you know? Who Bergman is?”

  I told him what we'd learned about that and he said, “That's pretty straight. I've been paying Bergman a hundred a month for almost two years. I don't know why I didn't think of him first when things started to go wrong, but I guess I was dumb. Maybe I was dumber, since numbers is outside the law, to even try to get a detective agency to work on it for me. But when Starlock and one other agency turned me down flat, I suddenly remembered Bergman. And I phoned him and he came right away. And somebody gave his room number when they kidnapped your uncle.” I asked, “How long has—whatever's been going on been going on?”

  “About a month, maybe a little longer. It's cost me about thirty thousand bucks so far. That isn't much, but I don't like it.” I said, “I wouldn't say thirty thousand dollars isn't much.”

  “Ten times that might break me, Ed, but not thirty. And here's another angle. You find out what outfit is gypping me, and I'll gave you five thousand. And cheap at the price.”

  I asked first, “Did you make that offer to my uncle?”

  “No, Ed. I never saw your uncle except that one day at the office. Neither did Toby.”

  I said, “Sorry, but I can't take it. I'm working for Starlock, and he turned the job down. So how can I take it on my own?”

  “You're not taking any job, or even any proposition. I'm not even asking you to work on it. I'm just telling you that if you find out, I'll gave you five grand. Bonus, for free. A Christmas present. What's wrong with that?”

  I didn't see what was wrong with it myself, on those terms. Except that it would be too good to be true. It would mean that Uncle Am and I, adding that much to what we already had, could go ahead and start our own agency. If Uncle Am were still alive, that is.

  I asked, “What makes you think I might find out, without even trying?” He smiled. “Frank Bassett tells me you're a smart kid. Estelle doubles that in spades. She thinks you're brilliant. So I think you might find your uncle, or what happened to him. And I don't think it was any coincidence that Bergman's room number got used. I think when you find the guy who got your uncle, you'll find the guy—or the syndicate—who's costing me a thousand bucks a day.”

  “A guy,” I said. “Not a syndicate.”

  “How do you figure that?”

  “Did Estelle tell you about the Ambrose Collector angle?” I asked. He nodded. I said, “That's why. Somebody with a macabre sense of humor. A syndicate hasn't got a sense of humor. Of course, some other numbers outfit might be back of him, paying him to do whatever he's trying to do.”

  “Smart figuring,” he said. “Well, is it a deal?”

  I didn't want to commit myself that definitely. I wasn't going to digress any from my main point of investigation, I told him, but if it turned out that looking for what I was looking for would lead me to the information he wanted, I didn't see what was wrong with that.

  He said, “Good. We'll have a drink on that. Whiskey?” I nodded and he picked up the phone. It must have been a direct connection with downstairs for he gave the order without giving a number first.

  I said, “If you want me to find the answer, I don't suppose you'll mind my asking questions. First, do you know a Karl Dell?”

  “No. Ought to, if he's in numbers. Is he?”

  “Insurance,” I said, and let it go at that. “Does the number four-twenty mean anything to you?”

  “Ummm, no. Except that it's close to four-eighteen and that's Bergman's room at the Gresham.”

  I hadn't even thought of that angle. Four-eighteen would be along the same corridor as four-twenty. Someone in four-twenty could easily step out to intercept a man heading for four-eighteen. But Uncle Am wouldn't have gone upstairs without asking at the desk, and he hadn't gone to the desk, if the desk clerk was telling the truth. And if the Ambrose Collector had planned to intercept him at that point, he'd have told Starlock, “Have your operative come right up to the room when he gets here.” That wouldn't have sounded suspicious, and in the absence of such a suggestion, people always ask at the desk before they go up to a room. Uncle Am would have, I felt sure.

  But I filed away the idea for later consideration and went back to my questioning. I said, “You told Estelle that Dagon had an alibi—that he was in Gary at the time my uncle was being kidnapped. Do you mind if I check up on that?”

  He shrugged. “Not at all. Can't say I blame you for wanting to. Toby doesn't make a good impression. But it happened that I saved his life once, and got him out of trouble another time, and he's intensely loyal to me. He wouldn't do anything I didn't know about, or have any private motives.”

  “All right,” I said, “but what's his alibi?”

  “He called me long distance at four-thirty. From what little I've learned from Frank Bassett and Estelle Beck, I gathered that the mur—kidnaper would have to be pretty busy for a while from four o'clock on. At least not able to be in Gary at half past.”

  “That's right,” I told him. “But how do you know the call came from Gary. I mean, even if a female voice said 'Gary calling,' it could have been Dagon—with the help of a girl friend—from a phone in the Loop.”

  “Well, I suppose it could, except for one thing. And that is that he wanted some dope that I had to look up, so I called him back. About ten minutes later.”