Ned Beaumont said, "'Lo, Walt," and by turning slightly towards the door escaped the necessity of either taking or pointedly ignoring the shorter man's proffered hand. "Let's get out of this racket."
Ivans said something that was blurred by the din of metal driving metal into wood and they went to the open door by which Ned Beaumont had entered. Outside was a wide platform of solid timber. A flight of wooden steps ran down twenty feet to the ground.
They stood on the wooden platform and Ned Beaumont asked: "You know one of the witnesses against your brother was knocked off last night?"
"Y-yes, I saw it in the p-p-paper."
Ned Beaumont asked: "You know the other one's not sure now he can identify Tim?"
"N-no, I didn't know that, N-ned."
Ned Beaumont said: "You know if he doesn't Tim'll get off."
"Y-yes."
Ned Beaumont said: "You don't look as happy about it as you ought to."
Ivans wiped his forehead with his shirt-sleeve. "B-b-but I am, N-ned, b-by God I am!"
"Did you know West? The one that was killed."
"N-no, except that I went to s-see him once, t-to ask him to g-go kind of easy on T-tim."
"What'd he say?"
"He wouldn't."
"When was that?"
Ivans shifted his feet and wiped his face with his sleeve again. "T-t-two or three d-days ago."
Ned Beaumont asked softly: "Any idea who could have killed him, Walt?"
Ivans shook his head violently from side to side.
"Any idea who could've had him killed, Walt?"
Ivans shook his head.
For a moment Ned Beaumont stared reflectively over Ivans's shoulder. The clatter of the nailing-machines came through the door ten feet away and from another story came the whirr of saws. Ivans drew in and expelled a long breath.
Ned Beaumont's mien had become sympathetic when he transferred his gaze to the shorter man's china-blue eyes again. He leaned down a little and asked: "Are you all right, Walt? I mean there are going to be people who'll think maybe you might have shot West to save your brother. Have you got-?"
"I-I-I was at the C-club all last night, from eight o'clock t-t-till after t-two this morning," Walter Ivans replied as rapidly as the impediment in his speech permitted. "Harry Sloss and B-ben Ferriss and Brager c-c-can tell you."
Ned Beaumont laughed. "That's a lucky break for you, Walt," he said gaily.
He turned his back on Walter Ivans and went down the wooden steps to the street. He paid no attention to Walter Ivans's very friendly "Good-by, Ned."
Additional pieces of mail had been put with those already on the table by his door. He hung up his hat and overcoat, lighted a cigar, and sat down with his mail in the largest of the red-plush chairs. The fourth envelope he opened was similar to the one the District Attorney had shown him. It contained a single sheet of paper bearing three typewritten sentences without salutation or signature:
Did you find Taylor Henry's body after he was dead or were you present when he was murdered?
Why did you not report his death until after the police had found the body?
Do you think you can save the guilty by manufacturing evidence against the innocent?
Ned Beaumont screwed up his eyes and wrinkled his forehead over this message and drew much smoke from his cigar. He compared it with the one the District Attorney had received. Paper and typing were alike, as were the manner in which each paper's three sentences were arranged and the time of the postmarks.
Scowling, he returned each to its envelope and put them in his pocket, only to take them out again immediately to reread and re-examine them. Too rapid smoking made his cigar burn irregularly down one side. He put the cigar on the edge of the table beside him with a grimace of distaste and picked at his mustache with nervous fingers. He put the messages away once more and leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling and biting a finger-nail. He ran fingers through his hair. He put the end of a finger between his collar and his neck. He sat up and took the envelopes out of his pocket again, but put them back without having looked at them. He chewed his lower lip. Finally he shook himself impatiently and began to read the rest of his mail. He was reading it when the telephone-bell rang.
He went to the telephone. "Hello… Oh, 'lo, Paul, where are you?… How long will you be there?… Yes, fine, drop in on your way… Right, I'll be here."
He returned to his mail.
"Late this morning," Ned Beaumont replied as they shook hands.
"Make out all right?"
Ned Beaumont showed the edges of his teeth in a contented smile. "I got what I went after-all of it."
"That's great." Madvig threw his hat on a chair and sat on another beside the fireplace.
Ned Beaumont returned to his chair. "Anything happen while I was gone?" he asked as he picked up the half-filled cocktail-glass standing beside ti-me silver shaker on the table at his elbow.
"We got the muddle on the sewer-contract straightened out."
Ned Beaumont sipped his cocktail and asked: "Have to n-make much of a cut?"
"Too much. There won't be anything like the profit there ought to be, but that's better than taking a chance on stirring things up this close to election. We'll make it up on the street-work next year when the Salem and Chestnut extensions go through."
Ned Beaumont nodded. He was looking at the blond man's outstretched crossed ankles. He said: "You oughtn't to wear silk socks with tweeds."
Madvig raised a leg straight out to look at the ankle. "No? I like the feel of silk."
"Then lay off tweeds. Taylor Henry buried?"
"Friday."
"Go to the funeral?"
"Yes," Madvig replied and added a little self-consciously: "The Senator suggested it."
Ned Beaumont put his glass on the table and touched his lips with a white handkerchief taken from the outer breast-pocket of his coat. "How is the Senator?" He looked obliquely at the blond man and did not conceal the amusement in his eyes.
Madvig replied, still somewhat self-consciously: "He's all right. I spent most of this afternoon up there with him."
"At his house?"
"Uh-huh."
"Was the blonde menace there?"
Madvig did not quite frown. He said: "Janet was there."
Ned Beaumont, putting his handkerchief away, made a choked gurgling sound in his throat and said: "M-m-m. It's Janet now. Getting anywhere with her?"
Composure came back to Madvig. He said evenly: "I still think I'm going to marry her."
"Does she know yet that-that your intentions are honorable?"
"For Christ's sake, Ned!" Madvig protested. "How long are you going to keep me on the witness-stand?"
Ned Beaumont laughed, picked up the silver shaker, shook it, and poured himself another drink. "How do you like the Francis West killing?" he asked when he was sitting back with the glass in his hand.
Madvig seemed puzzled for a moment. Then his face cleared and he said: "Oh, that's the fellow that got shot on Achland Avenue last night."
"That's the fellow."
A fainter shade of puzzlement returned to Madvig's blue eyes. He said: "Well, I didn't know him."
Ned Beaumont said: "He was one of the witnesses against Walter Ivans's brother. Now the other witness, Boyd West, is afraid to testify, so the rap falls through."
"That's swell," Madvig said, but by the time the last word had issued from his mouth a doubtful look had come into his eyes. He drew his legs in and leaned forward. "Afraid?" he asked.
"Yes, unless you like scared better."
Madvig's face hardened into attentiveness and his eyes became stony blue disks. "What are you getting at, Ned?" he asked in a crisp voice.
Ned Beaumont emptied his glass and set it on the table. "After you told Walt Ivans you couldn't spring Tim till election was out of the way he took his troubles to Shad O'Rory," he said in a deliberate monotone, as if reciting a lesson. "Shad sent some of his gorillas around to scare the two Wests out of appearing against Tim. One of them wouldn't scare and they bumped him off."
Madvig, scowling, objected: "What the hell does Shad care about Tim Ivans's troubles?"
Ned Beaumont, reaching for the cocktail-shaker, said irritably: "All right, I'm just guessing. Forget it."
"Cut it out, Ned. You know your guesses are good enough for me. If you've got anything on your mind, spill it."
Ned Beaumont set the shaker down without having poured a drink and said: "It might be just a guess, at that, Paul, but this is the way it looks to me. Everybody knows Walt Ivans's been working for you down in the Third Ward and is a member of the Club and everything and that you'd do anything you could to get his brother out of a jam if he asked you. Well, everybody, or a lot of them, is going to start wondering whether you didn't have the witnesses against his brother shot and frightened into silence. That goes for the outsiders, the women's clubs you're getting so afraid of these days, and the respectable citizens. The insiders-the ones that mostly wouldn't care if you had done that-are going to get something like the real news. They're going to know that one of your boys had to go to Shad to get fixed up and that Shad fixed him up. Well, that's the hole Shad's put you in-or don't you think he'd go that far to put you in a hole?"
Madvig growled through his teeth: "I know damned well he would, the louse." He was lowering down at a green leaf worked in the rug at his feet.
Ned Beaumont, after looking intently at the blond man, went on: "And there's another angle to look for. Maybe it won't happen, but you're open to it if Shad wants to work it."
Madvig looked up to ask: "What?"
"Walt Ivans was at the Club all last night, till two this morning. That's about three hours later than he ever stayed there before except on election- or banquet-nights. Understand? He was making himself an alibi-in our Club. Suppose"-Ned Beaumont's voice sank to a lower key and his dark eyes were round and grave-"Shad jobs Walt by planting evidence that he killed West? Your women's clubs and all the people who like to squaw-k about things like that are going to ti-mink that Walt's alibi is phony-that we fixed it up to shield him."
Madvig said: "The louse." He stood up and thrust his hands into his trousers-pockets. "I wish to Christ the election was either over or further away."
"None of this would've happened then."
Madvig took two steps into the center of the room. He muttered, "God damn him," and stood frowning at the telephone on the stand beside the bedroom-door. His huge chest moved with his breathing. He said from the side of his mouth, without looking at Ned Beaumont: "Figure out a way of blocking that angle." He took a step towards the telephone and halted. "Never mind," he said and turned to face Ned Beaumont. "I think I'll knock Shad loose from our little city. I'm tired of having him around. I think I'll knock him loose right away, starting tonight."
Ned Beaumont asked: "For instance?"
Madvig grinned. "For instance," he replied, "I think I'll have Rainey close up the Dog House and Paradise Gardens and every dive that we know Shad or any of his friends are interested in. I think I'll have Rainey smack them over in one long row, one after the other, this very same night."
Ned Beaumont spoke hesitantly': "You're putting Rainey in a tough spot. Our coppers aren't used to bothering with Prohibition-enforcement. They're not going to like it very much."
"They can do it once for me," Madvig said, "without feeling that they've paid all their debts."
"Maybe." Ned Beaumont's face and voice were dubious still. "But this wholesale stuff is too much like using a cyclone shot to blow off a safe-door when you could get it off without any fuss by using a come-along."
"Have you got something up your sleeve, Ned?"
Ned Beaumont shook his head. "Nothing I'm sure of, but it wouldn't hurt to wait a couple of days till-"
Now Madvig shook his head. "No," he said. "I want action. I don't know a damned thing about opening safes, Ned, but I do know fighting- my kind-going in with both hands working. I never could learn to box and the only times I ever tried I got licked. We'll give Mr. O'Rory the cyclone shot."