around, a flat white automatic coming out from under his coat. Parker and Handy both fired again, and the automatic sailed into the air as he toppled backward into the grave Menlo had only half dug.
Menlo, again moving faster than any fat man should, threw himself off to the side and rolled over against the side wall. But when there weren't any more shots, he got to his feet cautiously. His white shirt was a sweaty, dirty mess, his black trousers rumpled and baggy. He was barefoot, and his face and hands were also covered with dirt. He stood peering towards the stairs until Parker and Handy moved towards him, and then suddenly he smiled. "Ah!" he said. "How glad I am I did not pause to kill you at poor Clara's."
"Let's go," Parker said.
"So soon? But I have not yet expressed my appreciation. You have saved my life!"
"We'll talk later, what do you say?" Handy added.
Menlo looked around at the three scattered bodies. "There is much in what you say," he said. "Have you dealt with the chauffeur?"
"We won't have to. Come on."
"Most certainly."
Parker went first, and then Menlo, with Handy last. They filed upstairs to the kitchen, and as Parker reached for the storm door, Menlo said, "Please! Would you take me away in such a condition?"
"You can wash up later," Handy said.
"But my shoes! My coat! My personal possessions!"
"Come on," said Parker.
"Let him get his stuff," Handy said. "What the hell?"
"You watch him, then."
"Sure."
Parker waited in the kitchen. They were gone two minutes by the kitchen clock, and when they came back Menlo was wearing shoes and a topcoat. The topcoat was too tight for him, making him look like somebody on a Russian reviewing stand. He was carrying a black attachй case covered with good leather.
Parker pointed at it. "What's in there?"
"I checked it," Handy said. "Just clothes and a flask."
"And a toothbrush," Menlo added. His face was still dirty, and when he smiled he looked like the fat boy in a silent movie comedy. "I am most proud of my teeth."
"Let's go."
They went out the back way and down the block to their car. Parker got behind the wheel, and Handy and Menlo sat in back. "Where do we go from here?" Handy asked.
"Back to the hotel."
"What if they come looking there again?"
Parker shook his head. "The only ones who looked were Menlo's people. And Menlo doesn't have people any more. Do you, Menlo?"
Menlo smiled again with mock wistfulness, and spread dirty hands. "Only you," he replied. "My two newly found friends."
Parker started the car. When they crossed the intersection, the Continental was still waiting out front the lights on, the motor running, the chauffeur deeply immersed in the Star.
3
BETT Harrow stretched lazily and got up off the bed. "It's about time you came home. Three-thirty in the morning. Who are these nice people? And what happened to that man's face?"
Parker said, "Get the hell out of here."
"Daddy sent me for a progress report, sweetie. All that money spent and not one word from you. He got nervous. Fifty thousand dollars is fifty thousand dollars."
"An axiom, my dear," said Menlo, smiling and advancing, his hand extended. "You have stated what is possibly the ultimate truth. I am Auguste Menlo, yours to command." She gave him her hand, smiling, and he bent low over it, kissing it.
"Sit down, fat man, and shut your face," Parker said, "Bett, tell your father I'll see him when I'm done. Now get out of here."
Menlo shrugged prettily, smiling his quixotic smile. He had a way of moving as though he were making fun of his weight. "I must obey," he said to Bett. "Your friend has just saved my life. The least I owe him is obedience."
He sat down on the chair with the broken arm, crossed his ankles, and discovered the damage. "I had expected better from American hotels," he said, frowning.
Bett strolled casually towards the door, detouring slightly to cross close to Parker. "I know you must have important things to discuss," she said. "We can talk
Menlo, again moving faster than any fat man should, threw himself off to the side and rolled over against the side wall. But when there weren't any more shots, he got to his feet cautiously. His white shirt was a sweaty, dirty mess, his black trousers rumpled and baggy. He was barefoot, and his face and hands were also covered with dirt. He stood peering towards the stairs until Parker and Handy moved towards him, and then suddenly he smiled. "Ah!" he said. "How glad I am I did not pause to kill you at poor Clara's."
"Let's go," Parker said.
"So soon? But I have not yet expressed my appreciation. You have saved my life!"
"We'll talk later, what do you say?" Handy added.
Menlo looked around at the three scattered bodies. "There is much in what you say," he said. "Have you dealt with the chauffeur?"
"We won't have to. Come on."
"Most certainly."
Parker went first, and then Menlo, with Handy last. They filed upstairs to the kitchen, and as Parker reached for the storm door, Menlo said, "Please! Would you take me away in such a condition?"
"You can wash up later," Handy said.
"But my shoes! My coat! My personal possessions!"
"Come on," said Parker.
"Let him get his stuff," Handy said. "What the hell?"
"You watch him, then."
"Sure."
Parker waited in the kitchen. They were gone two minutes by the kitchen clock, and when they came back Menlo was wearing shoes and a topcoat. The topcoat was too tight for him, making him look like somebody on a Russian reviewing stand. He was carrying a black attachй case covered with good leather.
Parker pointed at it. "What's in there?"
"I checked it," Handy said. "Just clothes and a flask."
"And a toothbrush," Menlo added. His face was still dirty, and when he smiled he looked like the fat boy in a silent movie comedy. "I am most proud of my teeth."
"Let's go."
They went out the back way and down the block to their car. Parker got behind the wheel, and Handy and Menlo sat in back. "Where do we go from here?" Handy asked.
"Back to the hotel."
"What if they come looking there again?"
Parker shook his head. "The only ones who looked were Menlo's people. And Menlo doesn't have people any more. Do you, Menlo?"
Menlo smiled again with mock wistfulness, and spread dirty hands. "Only you," he replied. "My two newly found friends."
Parker started the car. When they crossed the intersection, the Continental was still waiting out front the lights on, the motor running, the chauffeur deeply immersed in the Star.
3
BETT Harrow stretched lazily and got up off the bed. "It's about time you came home. Three-thirty in the morning. Who are these nice people? And what happened to that man's face?"
Parker said, "Get the hell out of here."
"Daddy sent me for a progress report, sweetie. All that money spent and not one word from you. He got nervous. Fifty thousand dollars is fifty thousand dollars."
"An axiom, my dear," said Menlo, smiling and advancing, his hand extended. "You have stated what is possibly the ultimate truth. I am Auguste Menlo, yours to command." She gave him her hand, smiling, and he bent low over it, kissing it.
"Sit down, fat man, and shut your face," Parker said, "Bett, tell your father I'll see him when I'm done. Now get out of here."
Menlo shrugged prettily, smiling his quixotic smile. He had a way of moving as though he were making fun of his weight. "I must obey," he said to Bett. "Your friend has just saved my life. The least I owe him is obedience."
He sat down on the chair with the broken arm, crossed his ankles, and discovered the damage. "I had expected better from American hotels," he said, frowning.
Bett strolled casually towards the door, detouring slightly to cross close to Parker. "I know you must have important things to discuss," she said. "We can talk
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