The Hard-Boiled Detective: Stories From Black Mask Magazine 1920-1951 by Howard Ruhm

Author:Howard Ruhm [Ruhm, Howard]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 039472156X
Publisher: Vintage Books
Published: 1976-12-31T21:00:00+00:00

(February 1938)

LEG MAN

ERLE STANLEY GARDNER

Mae Devers came into my office with the mail. She stood by my chair for a moment putting envelopes on the desk, pausing to make little adjustments of the inkwell and paper weights, tidying things up a bit.

There was a patent-leather belt around her waist, and below that belt I could see the play of muscles as her supple figure moved from side to side. I slid my arm around the belt and started to draw her close to me.

“Don’t get fresh!” she said, trying to pull my hand away, but not trying too hard.

“Listen, I have work to do,” she said. “Let me loose, Pete.”

“Holding you for ransom, smile-eyes,” I told her.

She suddenly bent down. Her lips form a hot circle against mine—and Cedric L. Boniface had to choose that moment to come busting into my office without knocking.

Mae heard the preliminary rattle of the door-knob, and scooped up a bunch of papers from the desk. I ran fingers through my hair, and Boniface cleared his throat in his best professional manner.

I couldn’t be certain whether I had any lipstick on my mouth, so I put my elbow on my desk, covered my mouth with the fingers of my hand and stared intently at an open law book.

Mae Devers said, “Very well, Mr. Wennick, I’ll see that it gets in the mail,” and started for the door. As she passed Boniface, she turned and gave me a roguish glance, as much as to say, “Now, smartie, see what you’ve got yourself into.”

Boniface stared at me, hard. His yellowish eyes, with the bluish-white eyeballs, reminded me of hard-boiled eggs which had been peeled and cut in two lengthwise. He was in a vile humor.

“What was all the commotion about?” he asked.

“Commotion?” I inquired raising my eyes, but keeping my hand to my mouth. “Where?”

“In here,” he said.

Mae Devers was just closing the door. “Did you hear anything, Miss Devers?” I asked in my most dignified manner.

“No, sir,” she said demurely, and slipped out into the corridor.

I frowned down at the open law book on the desk. “I can’t seem to make any sense out of the distinction between a bailment of the first class and a bailment of the second class.”

That mollified Boniface somewhat. He loved to discourse on the academic legal points which no one else ever gave a damn about.

“The distinction,” he said, “is relatively simple, if you can keep from becoming confused by the terminology. Primarily, the matter of consideration is the determining factor in the classification of all bailments.”

“Yes, sir,” I said, my voice muffled behind my hand.

Boniface stared at me. “Wennick,” he said, “there’s something queer about your connection with this firm. You’re supposed to be studying law. You’re supposed to make investigations. You’re a cross between a sublimated law clerk and a detective. It just happens, however, that in checking over our income tax, I find that the emoluments which have been paid you during the past three months would fix your salary at something over fifteen thousand dollars a year.

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