Dog Show Murder by Frank Gruber

Author:Frank Gruber [Gruber, Frank]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781784085148
Publisher: Head of Zeus Ltd
Published: 2013-10-04T19:23:00+00:00

Renfrew shrugged. “I don’t know, but I imagine so, now that you tell me Bill was his brother. Come to think of it, it was right after Bill went to jail that Peters began getting his money.”

Quade looked thoughtfully at Renfrew for a moment. Then he said, almost casually, “Would it surprise you to know that Wesley Peters got his money from Jessie Lanyard by blackmailing her? Threatening to tell Bill Demetros her whereabouts.”

Renfrew’s mouth fell open and his eyes bulged. If he had known those facts about Wes before, he was a good actor, Quade thought. “Lord!” gasped Renfrew. “I never dreamed that about Wes. But come to think of it, that’s why he was always running out to Westfield. He pretended to me he had some pals out there.”

“And that is why you went out there? To learn who his friends were?”

Renfrew’s mouth clamped tightly shut. And his bulging eyes suddenly narrowed to slits. “What are you trying to do? Spring something on me?”

“I’m trying to get information, that’s all.”

“Yeah? Well, get to hell out of here!” snarled Renfrew. “I’ve said the last word to you. Beat it!”

“Don’t get tough, fella!” cut in Charlie Boston. “I used to eat a couple of poets and playwrights for breakfast every morning.”

Renfrew backed away from Boston. But Quade held out a hand toward his pal. “We’ll let him alone, Charlie, for a while. Let’s go.”

Outside Quade said to Boston. “I got Peters’ address. He used to live near here, on Christopher Street. Let’s take a look at his place.”

They didn’t get into Peters’ apartment, however, for the very good reason that a hard-boiled policeman, who was marked in it, wouldn’t listen to reason or financial coercion. Christopher Buck had sold the New York Police on Bill Demetros.

Quade and Charlie climbed into the flivver, started off. As the traffic light turned red at the corner, a squat, dark-complected man stepped out of a doorway, crossed the sidewalk and stepped on the running-board of the flivver.

“All right, boys,” he said. “Drive around the corner and park the buggy.”

“Ah,” said Quade, “you’re Bill Demetros?”

“Yep. I been following you around since you left Renfrew’s joint. I knew you’d get around there and to my brother’s place sooner or later.”

The lights turned green. Demetros rode around the corner with Quade and Boston. The latter, his nostrils flaring, looked inquiringly at Quade. Quade shook his head.

They climbed out of the car. “You came to town looking for me, didn’t you?” asked Demetros, as they walked together up the street. The gangster kept his right hand in his coat pocket, a fact that Quade had noted from the moment Demetros appeared.

“Yes,” replied Quade. “And I guess we had better luck than the cops.”

Demetros raised his eyebrows. “Luck? All right, in here.” He pointed to a short flight of stairs, which led to a saloon just below the level of the sidewalk.

There were two customers and a bartender in the saloon. The three looked at Demetros and his “guests” and went on with their conversation.

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