The Crimson Clue by George Harmon Coxe

Author:George Harmon Coxe
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Head of Zeus Ltd

Chapter 13

WHEN Kent Murdock got back to the office things were still quiet so he told Spencer to go out and get his dinner.

‘Take your time’, he said. ‘I’ve got nothing to do.’

He reconsidered the statement after Spencer left and found it to be an exaggeration. He had plenty to do; just how much he realized when he opened a drawer and took out the thick sheaf of negatives he had exposed at the Canning reception.

He had to make albums. He had to buy albums before he could make them and he had to have a dozen more copies of each print. But first he had to print up each negative so Pat could make her final selection. He could not ask a staff man to help him either because this was an outside job and he was the lad who was stuck with it.

Reluctantly, but no longer able to put off with good conscience the beginning of the job, he took the negatives into the printing room and got to work, first rolling up his sleeves and then donning an apron to protect his trousers. He did not keep track of time but worked steadily, making one eight-by-ten glossy print after another, fixing, washing, putting them through ferrotyper and drier, and none too happy about the job of developing that someone had done for him. He quit when his feet got tired and his back began to develop annoying kinks. He was about three-quarters finished then, and when he looked at his watch he saw that it was twenty after seven.

He realized then that he was hungry and, his present mood calling for a good dinner in pleasant surroundings, he went out and walked five fast blocks to a restaurant just off Stuart Street which had excellent food and no menu. You were told what you could have on that particular night—usually lobster and chicken, and either steak or roast beef—and you told the waiter and that was that.

The hat-check girl gave him her customary smile and he waited in the dimly lit entrance while the headwaiter took care of the couple ahead of him. At the far end of the low-ceilinged room a piano player was working with a light touch which, along with the acoustical properties of the padded walls, kept the music soft and seldom interfered with one’s conversation. The bar was in an alcove on the left but even here the talk was quiet and restrained.

‘Ah, Mr. Murdock.’ The headwaiter bowed. ‘Alone tonight?’ He turned, taking in the room with a glance, and spoke to the captain who had come up behind him. ‘Table twenty-one for Mr. Murdock.’

Murdock followed the captain to the right, and down along the row of leather-covered banquettes, seeing here and there someone he knew but continuing on until, close by, a man’s voice called to him.

‘Hey, Kent!’

Murdock stopped. When he turned to glance back he saw Sydney French and Vivian Keith at one of the larger tables. French was beckoning and shoving over on the leather seat to make room.

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