Hard-Boiled Detectives by unknow

Author:unknow
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 0517060094
Publisher: Gramercy Books
Published: 1992-03-02T21:00:00+00:00

And then I substituted in the original problem and managed to get this—

The Dean inspected it. “There you are,” he said. “East and West are blank—catch-alls for unused letters. The message is ‘Michel made out. Bag Mr. Beck on Zorn Street.’ This paper clipping was our visitor’s death warrant.”

“What does it mean?” I asked.

“It means more devilishness. Probably more fire.”

I started for my coat. “Zorn Street, eh?” He stayed me with his hand. “We’re too late, Ben. I’m sure of that. They’ve got the wind up. It was this clipping that was the object of so strenuous a search here in our bedroom. Yes, Mr. Beck’s delicatessen—or grocery—or whatever it is, has gone up in flames some time ago. These people are desperate. They know we’re hot after them, just relax a bit before we do anything.”

For a few minutes, he was silent. “What irritates me,” he said abruptly, “is the nature of the whole affair. It’s essentially transparent but I can’t seem to unveil it. Believe me, Ben, we’re dealing with one mind—a criminal mind which has put a new twist to an old racket. Let’s see what we know about our quarry. We know, first of all, that his financial returns are so great as to cause him to kill to protect them. To kill at the slightest excuse whenever, and as often, as he feels his profits are in jeopardy. Secondly, in choosing his cipher he gravitated to the bridge column in the newspaper. Not the want ads, for instance, but the bridge column. Dorf and Herb would gravitate to spit-in-the-ocean and red-dog. Thirdly, and most important, I think our criminal mind has had legitimate business training. I can’t explain it to you but the imprint is there, a pattern of routine and systematic attention to detail. Yes, Ben, when we spear him our fish will turn out to be a man of ledgers and accounts.”

“What about this Michel?” I asked. “Who is he? And what do we do about it?”

“Building on the theory of an arson ring, we can suppose Michel to be the fixer—the go-between who makes the arrangements. Who he is, I can’t tell you at this moment. Forget him, Ben. His days are numbered.” The Dean smiled. “You forget him. I won’t. In fact, he’s number one boy on my list.”

The phone buzzed and I answered. “Your offer is accepted!” a voice shouted into my ear. “You’re hired. Get on the case. Now!”

I cupped my hand over the mouthpiece. “Our offer is accepted,” I told the Dean. “It’s Hilliston Keith. He says we’re hired.”

“Tell him it’s twenty thousand now,” the Dean said.

“We’ve made new terms,” I relayed. “Twenty thousand or no soap.” I could clearly hear Keith’s breathing, a sort of fluttery sputter. Finally, he said: “Accepted. Call Mr. Rock.”

I nodded and the Dean shared the receiver with me. “I’m rather busy,” the Dean explained. “So you had better let me do the talking, Mr. Keith. Has the Solidarity in its employ an ex-convict by the name of Sprigsey O’Hare.

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