LITMIR.BIZ

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the tangle of crossings at mid-Michigan Street and on up to the bridge spanning the St. Joseph River, then over the river to Leeper Avenue.

      It was quiet and residential. The buildings of the University of Notre Dame stood not too far away, a stately group against the summer night sky with a church spire and a great golden dome dominant.

      I glanced at Joanne Kilvert. She had been very quiet for a long time.

      She was sound asleep. Just like a kid.

      I drove along steadily with one eye on the neat painted houses. I remembered Jack’s place vaguely, but recognised the house as soon as the headlight beams picked it out. A pang of something, maybe envy, hit me as I saw the trim house and its neat lawn.

      It looked like it belonged to somebody and somebody belonged to it.

      Why the hell didn’t I have a comfortable house, a nice wife, and a nine-to-six job? Settling down would be great.

      I hit the brakes, shaking off the feeling with the action.

      I had no squawks coming. I had wanted to be a private dick. From starting out in a back room, I’d wound up with a worldwide investigation outfit. I didn’t want to be another solid citizen. I already was what I wanted to be—a shamus, but a shamus par excellence, I hoped.

      The jerk of the brakes wakened Joanne. She sat up quickly and looked about in slight alarm.

      “Relax. You’re with friends,” I told her as I stepped out of the car.

      The sidewalk was still wet after the rain. There was a fresh scent from the nearby trees.

      I walked up the pathway, mounted the three or four steps to the Kays’ porch, and hit the doorbell. Deep in the soul of the house there was a buzz which ceased when I took my thumb from the bell-push.

      Through the frosted glass of the door I saw a bloom of light as someone opened a door in the interior of the house. The bulk of a figure loomed against the light and a light illuminated the hallway as a switch snapped. The door opened and Jack Kay stood there, blocky, with a crew-cut, and wearing the kind of clothes a man can loaf around in. There were house slippers on his feet.

      “Tear yourself away from that television set, you’re entertaining tonight,” I said. There was a hollowness to the words, the joviality was forced. I wasn’t sure I was doing the right thing in bringing Joanne here.

      Jack Kay’s features settled into a wide grin of surprise and he hit me a playful blow in the stomach.

      “Lantry, you old scoundrel! Come in!”

      I jerked my thumb towards the coupe standing at the kerb.

      “I have somebody with me—a girl.”

      Jack put his hands on his hips and looked at me steadily.

      “I detect a certain furtive tone,” he said. “Can it be that you finally got married and are suffering from henpeck malady? Or are you eloping with somebody?”

      I grinned at Jack’s easy-going joshing. This was him all over.

      “Look, Jack, this is to do with a case,” I confided. “It’s something I got into by accident when I was driving up from Florida. I was on my way to see you anyway, but I gave this kid a ride and found she’s on the run from Athelstan Shelmerdine’s mob. She wasn’t one of his crowd—don’t get that idea; she’s been doing some slick detective work on her own. She’s the sister of Kilvert, the guy who was killed in Chicago some time back.”

      “Arthur Kilvert, the trade union guy?”

      I nodded.

      “She has something on the Shelmerdine crowd that can break them for keeps, that’s why she’s on the lam.” I went on to give him a quick outline of the story behind Joanne Kilvert. Jack gave a low whistle of surprise. “Right now, she’s about all in. Maybe a spell with decent folks in respectable surroundings will help her along. She’s got guts and she’s held out well, but she’s weary and she’s been soaked to the skin.”

      “Well, bring her in,” he invited. “You know us. Our friends and friends of our friends always welcome,” he turned towards the hallway and bellowed: “Hey, Beth. It’s Mike Lantry and a friend. Break out the coffee-pot!”

      I heard a squeak of surprise from Beth, somewhere deep in the house, as I walked down the pathway towards the car.

      I brought Joanne Kilvert back along the walk. Beth Kay, slim and dark, was standing in the doorway with her husband.

      “Long time no see,” she called cheerfully to me.

      Joanne Kilvert was shy and self-conscious, trying to smooth out the creases in her rain-stained skirt, and straighten the crumpled jacket of her summer costume.

      Also, she had the sniffles.

      I introduced everybody. Joanne was still a little troubled. I guess Jack must have given Beth a very brief and whispered outline of the set-up while I was helping the girl out of the car, for she put Joanne at ease at once in her matter-of-fact way.

      “Cold coming,” she observed. “Hot bath is what you need, honey, then some hot coffee. Finest cure in the world.” Beth put her arm around Joanne’s waist and shepherded her into the house. I was glad to see the girl afforded this womanish tenderness; it would help a lot after my own ham-fisted way of dealing with the damsel in distress.

      Jack ushered me into the lounge while the two disappeared upstairs. He settled me on the davenport, produced scotch and glasses, and fisted a generous drink into my hand.

      “So you’re fighting the Shelmerdine organisation,” he murmured as he seated himself in an easy chair. “It’s a big team to lick, Mike.”

      “I know it,” I replied. “I got into this by accident, Jack, but if ever anyone needed backing up, it’s that kid. I’ll stick close by her until I can get her to safety where the Shelmerdine crowd can’t hurt her or her folks. I’m putting my Chicago office on to this Shelmerdine guy—we’ll get those papers into the hands of the Crime Commission, and I’m sticking around the Midwest until we do.”

      “Where do you intend sending the girl?” he asked. “Anywhere within a big radius of Chicago will hardly be safe with the Shelmerdine organisation on her tail.”

      “I half thought of New York—yes, I think I’ll put her on a train for New York tomorrow and phone Lucy, my secretary, to meet her and look after her for a while. In fact, I’ll put a call through from here to Lucy’s apartment and one to Walt Toland, my Chicago agency chief. I’ll tip Walton off about this set-up, and put those papers the girl took in the mail to him as soon as I can. I guess the U.S. Mail is as safe a place as anywhere for documents as red hot as those.”

      Jack’s face clouded. He shook his head gloomily.

      “Sorry about the phone—it’s kaput. We had a freak storm here this evening and lightning hit the power-line for this whole neighbourhood, I guess every phone in this section of the city is out of action.”

      I grunted.

      “I guess it’ll keep until tomorrow, I’ll use a public telephone somewhere around the city.”

      Beth came into the room.

      “Your protégée is wallowing in hot water…,” she began.

      “You can say that again,” I cut in with an attempt at humour.

      “Scat!” said Beth. “She’s wallowing in hot water and she tells me she has a change of dress in her grip out in the car. Don’t sit around drinking whisky, go get her grip—and put your car in the garage while you’re about it.”

      I jumped, remembering the grip with those incriminating papers out in the car. Although Joanne had clutched hold of that grip as though it owed her money previously, I guessed her good manners jibbed at walking into the house of total strangers with it in her hand.

      I went out

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