Free SSC (1950) Six Deadly Dames by Frederick Nebel Page A

looked up from a ledger.
    “Hello,” Donahue said.
    “Hello,” the man said.
    “Are you running this place now?”
    “Yeah.”
    “Ike's brother?”
    “Yeah.”
    “Benny?”
    “Sure.”
    Donahue smiled. “I'm Donahue.”
    “Yeah? You're the guy came in here the other day-”
    “I'm the little boy. Now hold on, kid. Don't get hot and bothered. You'd like to find out who murdered your brother, wouldn't you?”
    “What's that to you?”
    “Maybe I can turn the trick. Now forget I was going to punch him in the jaw. I lost my temper, that's all. I'm sorry, too. You forget it and maybe we'll get somewhere.” The man shrugged. “Go ahead: Spill it.”
    “Okey. When you came in here to open up, I suppose things were not in order. Was anything lying on the floor? I mean, was anything spilled?”
    “As far as I can make out, nothing was swiped.”
    “I know. But was anything lying on the floor? Watch parts. Anything.”
    “Well, there was some parts scattered on the work desk in the back room.”
    “Let's look at 'em.”
    Benny grumbled, but led Donahue into the back room. He pointed to a tray. “These things were scattered on the desk. I put 'em back.”
    “What's this?”
    “Lady's wristwatch. I guess Ike was fixing it.”
    “Yeah. All the parts here?”
    Benny looked at a tag. “It needed a main spring.”
    “Is that all?”
    “That's all it says.”
    Donahue got down on his knees, lit a match and searched under the desk. Two fingers of his right hand slipped into his vest. Then he lit another match, searched some more, and finally stood up, asking:
    “What's this?”
    “Looks like a watch stem. Guess it belongs to that watch.”
    Donahue picked up the small watch, inserted the stem. It fitted flush with the frame of the watch. He stood back, stroking his jaw.
    “Well,” he said, “another blind alley, but worth a chance. Thanks, Benny.”
    Outside, he hopped a taxicab. Fifteen minutes later he walked in on Asa Hinkle. Hinkle was putting on his hat.
    “I see no blood, Donny.”
    “Don't lose hope. I'm going to get a good meal under my belt and then I'm going after Tubba Klem.”
    Hinkle dropped his smile. “That certain.”
    “I dropped in Tubba's place this afternoon. He was out. I looked around and I found the smallest watch stem you ever saw. It was jammed in the gum sole of Tubba's spare shoes. Tubba came in and we talked about the weather. Then I went down to the hockshop. The stem fitted a watch there.”
    “Listen, Donny; you'd better get a flock of cops-”
    “No! They'll blow him apart. I just want to put him out temporarily.”
    “For God's sake, Donny, that guy's a killer!”
    “That's tabloid talk, boss. But if he gets me, here's his address.” He bent over the desk, writing.
    “Donny, it's suicide-”
    “Said he hysterically.”

V
    DONAHUE WENT TO the Italian joint in West Tenth Street for a spaghetti feed and a bottle of ink. He took on a whiskey sour at the bar, then went into the side room, saw Libbey, the journalistic drunk, in one corner and chose another. It was one of those times when Donahue wanted to be alone.
    “Why the tall millinery?” yelled Libbey:
    “Hello, Libbey.” Donahue spread a napkin, said to the waiter, “Spaghetti and the works.”
    “Oke.”
    “I always thought you were a conceited, high-hat-” yelled Libbey, good-naturedly.
    “Oh-ho!” softly.
    Donahue froze on his chair.
    The woman again.
    She sauntered through the door, passed Libbey's table and sat down at one six feet on his right. He eyed her with the dazed look of a sot. She was stunning in a dark cloche hat, a dark tailored suit and a white blouse with black vertical stripes.
    Donahue was moving one leg from beneath the table, reaching with his right hand for his hat. The waiter came with a menu.
    Donahue clipped, “Gus!”
    The waiter came over, and Donahue muttered, “That jane's looking for me. She'll ask for me. Tell her I don't come in here.”
    “Oke.”
    She ordered a gin