Free Tough as Nails: The Complete Cases of Donahue From the Pages of Black Mask by Frederick Nebel

Donahue said, then asked, “What’s your name?”
    “It’s—Adler.”
    “Okey. Now come into the living-room with me.” He took the little old man by the arm and marched him out of the bedroom, across the studio, and into the living-room. “Sit down,” he said briskly, and pointed to a straight-backed chair. When the man seemed not to have heard, Donahue put a hand on either shoulder and pressed the man down into the chair with firm, gentle persistence.
    “Mr. Crosby!” the little man moaned. His face twisted up and a tear fell from each eye.
    Donahue was crouched over him, shaking his shoulder. “Come on, Mr. Adler—snap out of that.”
    “Uh—Mr. Crosby….”
    “I know, I know all about that, but snap out of it. He was probably a good guy, lived here a long time, and you liked him a lot. Okey. But don’t slop all over the place now. You can do that later. But brace up…. Listen. My name’s Donahue. You hear? It’s Donahue. I’m a private cop. You hear me? I said I’m a private cop. Mr. Crosby called up the Interstate this afternoon and asked them to send a cop down. They sent me down. You get all that?”
    Adler sat straight in the chair now blinking through his small spectacles. He sniffled. He gulped. “You’re—a private detective?”
    Donahue slapped the man’s shoulder. “There! You’ve got it now! All right. Now pay attention. You remember when you let me in?”
    “It was eight-thirty.”
    “Okey. There was a man in this room when I came up. He said he roomed with Crosby.”
    “No—nobody roomed with Mr. Crosby.”
    “I know that—now—but I didn’t then. Now what time did you let that man in?”
    “About seven-thirty.”
    “He didn’t give a name, did he?”
    “No. He just snapped, ‘Mr. Crosby.’ Like that. He was a big hard-looking man—”
    “What? I mean, you say he was a big man?”
    “Well, big as you… six feet… heavier than you, though.”
    Donahue’s dark eyes glittered. “All right. He came in at seven-thirty. Now the man in here was a small man, no taller than you. What time did he come in?”
    “I didn’t let anybody in but the big man.”
    Donahue stood up and jammed fists against hips. He looked at the door and said, “This ain’t even funny,” and his upper teeth chewed on his lower lip. Then he looked down at Adler.
    “Mr. Crosby came home from Europe—when?”
    “Monday—three days ago.”
    “Did you ever see or let in a small young man—say about twenty-eight—with hair black as mine only smoother. He has very white even teeth and a pleasant agreeable face. His voice is high but nice on the ear, and it’s a lively voice.”
    “No, I don’t remember. I’m sure I didn’t.”
    “All right. Now how about a woman a little smaller than you, say about twenty-six, with a small face, neat pointed chin, small teeth, and large brown eyes?”
    “Well, I didn’t let a woman like that in. But I came in with mail for Mr. Crosby yesterday and a woman like that was sitting in that leather chair by the fireplace. I think she came over on the boat with Mr. Crosby or met him in Europe or something. He was over there four months, you know.”
    “How old was Crosby?”
    “Maybe thirty he was, and very successful, he was. He made covers for magazines. And he was so cheerful and seemed much younger than he was… like a boy, Mr. Donahue. And he was good to me. He’s lived here for six years, and I’ve been here ten. He used to give me clothes o’ his—lots of them that was almost new. And hats. And I could wear his socks. Sure, it was just yesterday morning he gave me a suit and a couple of hats with London labels and some socks. Ah, poor young feller!” Adler wiped an eye. “Somebody’ll be having to notify his uncle up in Westchester—Mr. Amos Crosby, a fine upstanding old man that loved young Mr. Crosby.”
    Donahue’s voice was low and husky saying, “It was rank murder, Mr. Adler—and somebody was looking for some-thing Crosby