Inspector Queen’s Own Case

“Well, you’ll be able to sleep here without getting cholera, but that’s about all,” Jessie grumbled. “Fast? A nurse does everything fast. Did you get that man Finner?”

“Finally, after about a dozen calls. He’ll be in all afternoon, he said. I didn’t fix a time, Jessie, because I don’t know how long you’ll take getting settled.”

“Forget about me. I can’t get into Gloria’s place until four-thirty or a quarter of five, anyway. She’s on an eight-to-four case.”

“But she’s going away tomorrow!” he said, astonished.

“Nurses don’t live like people. Let me wash some of this grime off, and I’ll be right with you to tackle Mr. Finner.”

“You’re going to tackle some lunch at the Biltmore first. With cocktails.”

“Oh, wonderful. I’m hungry as a wolf.”

“I thought I was the wolf,” he said gaily.

“There are she-wolves, aren’t there?”

He found himself whistling like a boy to the homey sound of splashing from the bathroom.

The building was on East 49th Street, an old-timer six stories high with a clanky self-service elevator. His name was on the directory in the narrow lobby: Finner, A. Burt 622.

“Jessie, let me do most of the talking.”

“As if I’d know what to say!” Then Jessie thought of something. “I wonder, Richard...”

“What about?” he asked quickly.

“When we drove out to that rendezvous near Pelham the morning we picked up the baby, Finner drove right up behind where we were parked. I’d gone along to take charge of the baby. Finner may recognize me.”

“Not likely, but I’m glad you remembered to tell me.” He looked thoughtful. “All right, we’ll use it just on the chance. And, Jessie.”

“Yes?” Her heart was beginning to thump.

“It’s going to cut some corners for us if Finner thinks I’m still with the Department. Don’t act surprised if I make like a police officer.”

“Yes, sir,” Jessie said meekly.

Six-twenty-two was on the top floor at the other end of the corridor from the elevator. The corridor had dirty tan walls, and there was a smell of old floor polish and must.

The old man smiled at her, then suddenly opened the door.

A. Burt Finner half rose behind the desk in the small office, scowling.

“Come in, Miss Sherwood,” Richard Queen snapped. “It’s all right, he won’t bite you. He’s an old dog at this game, aren’t you, Finner?”

Jessie stepped into the office gingerly. She did not have to act scared. She was.

The fat man crashed back in his swivel chair. As far as Jessie could recall, he was wearing the same wrinkled blue suit and sweaty white shirt he had driven up in that morning near Pelham. The dingy office was stale with his odor. There was nothing in the room but a burn-scarred metal desk, a sad-looking imitation leather chair, a costumer leaning to one side with a dirty felt hat hanging from it, an old four-unit filing cabinet with a lock, and the swivel chair creaking under Finner’s weight. No rug, nothing on the walls but a large calendar put out by a baby foods company showing a healthy-looking infant in a diaper. The blind on the single window was limp and streaked. The walls were the same grubby tan shade as the corridor, only dirtier.

Richard Queen shut the door, took Jessie by the arm, and steered her over to the unoccupied chair.

“Have a seat, miss,” he said. He looked coldly at the fat man. “Now.”

“Wait a minute.” A. Burt Finner’s little pale-blue eyes went from Jessie to the old man and back to Jessie. He seemed puzzled. My face looks familiar to him, Jessie thought, but he can’t place it. She wondered why she was so nervous. He was just a fat man, not at all dangerous-looking. Maybe it’s his professional relations with women, she thought. He doesn’t leer; he’s seen it all. “What is this? Who are you people?”

“I phoned you two-three hours ago,” the old man said. “Remember the $64,000 word I dropped, Finner?”

“What word?”

“Humffrey.”

The moon face widened. “Oh, yes. And I told you I didn’t know what you were talking about.”

“But to drop in, anyway, you’d be here all afternoon.” Richard Queen stared at him with contempt. “Well, here we are, Finner. You’re up to your fat face in real jam this time, aren’t you?”

“Who are you?” Finner asked slowly.

“The name is Queen.” He brought out a small flat leather case and flipped it open. A gold shield glittered for a moment in the sunshine struggling through the dusty window.

Finner blinked.

The old man put the case back in his pocket.

“Inspector’s shield,” Finner said. “Well, well, this is a real pleasure, Inspector. And this lady is—?”

The pale eyes turned on Jessie again. Jessie tried not to fumble with her skirt.

“Don’t you recognize her, Finner?”

“No.” The fat man was worried. He immediately broke into a smile. “Should I, Inspector?”

“I’d say so,” Inspector Queen remarked dryly, “seeing that she’s the baby nurse who was in the Humffrey car that day.”

“What car, what day, what baby?” Finner asked amiably. “And that about somebody named Humffrey. I don’t know anybody named Humffrey.”