“I know,” Helene said coyly, “but you tell me. You fascinate me.”
“He found the fiddle,” Malone said. “And he knew the fiddle case was in the dressing room. So probably he picked up the fiddle case, discovered that it was heavy, reasoned that the body was in it, and carried it away. Simple, isn’t it?”
“Too simple,” Helene said. “I like the first theory better, that he had X-ray eyes.”
“All right,” Malone said, “then we’ll strike the whole thing off the record, and leave it that he had X-ray eyes. What do you care, anyway? Whatever way it happened, the body won’t be found on the premises, and Jake won’t be in a jam.”
“That’s right,” she agreed. “All our problems are solved, except one. Finding Allswell McJackson a job. Come on, let’s go home so we can get an early start on it.”
They drove Malone to the Loop hotel where he had lived for fifteen years, said good night to him at the door, and started home. Helene settled down comfortably in the driver’s seat, turned into Michigan Avenue, and drove slowly northward through the softly falling snow. Jake moved an inch or two closer, and rested one cheek gently against the smooth fur of her wrap.
“Jake, why did you marry me, really?”
“For your money,” he said promptly. “I’ve told you so a hundred times, and you keep on asking and asking—”
“No Jake, really.”
He sighed. “Because you’re so beautiful, and co smart, and so reasonable, and such a wonderful cook, and don’t bother me with a lot of damn fool questions.”
Three blocks later. “Jake, I’m glad everything turned out as it did. I was afraid for a while we were in for a lot of trouble.”
“So was I. We seem to attract it. Would you have minded?”
“What do you think?”
“I think you’d probably have loved it.”
“So would you, and don’t try to tell me different.”
“If I didn’t love trouble,” Jake said, “I wouldn’t have gotten mixed up with you in the first place—Stop, you’ll drive us into a tree!”
At the canopied entrance to the immense apartment hotel just off the drive, Helene turned her car over to the doorman and hurried across the sidewalk, Jake close at her heels.
“Just the same,” she whispered as they crossed the lobby, “I’m glad things turned out as they did. After all that happened last summer, and after all the excitement of opening the Casino, we need a little peace and quiet for a while.”
“Don’t mention peace and quiet,” Jake begged. “Because every time you do—”
“I know,” she said. “But this time it’s going to be different.”
They rode up to their floor, said good night to the elevator boy, walked down the corridor to the corner that led to their door, and stopped dead in their tracks.
Right beside their door, leaning against the wall, was the missing bull fiddle case.
Chapter 6
Without a word, Jake unlocked and opened the door with one hand, grabbed the fiddle case with the other, and shoved it into the apartment. Then, with the door closed safely behind him, he stood staring at the case.
“I’m a patient man,” he said under his breath, “but this is too damned much. How in the hell did that thing get here?”
“Somebody brought it,” Helene said.
“Marvelous deduction, Hawkshaw,” Jake said reverently. “Now tell me why.”
“Because he liked us and wanted to give us a nice present,” she said between her teeth. “Don’t just stand there and goggle at it. What are we going to do?”
Jake didn’t answer. For the next thirty seconds he discussed the habits, inclinations, parentage, and probable future of the person who had deposited the fiddle case beside their door. Suddenly his voice trailed off in the middle of a word.
“Helene, when I picked it up—” He paused, picked up the case, set it down again, and looked at it, his gray eyes wide.
“It’s light,” he said. “Helene, it’s—empty.”
“Nonsense! It can’t be empty.”
“Lift it yourself. See?” He ran one hand over his forehead. “Wait a minute.” He knelt beside the case and tried the catch. “And it’s still locked. The key’s in my pocket and it’s been there ever since I locked it.”
“Oh no,” Helene gasped. “Things like that just don’t happen. Bodies don’t get out of locked fiddle cases—even bodies of midgets!”
“Even midgets,” Jake repeated in a whisper. For a moment he felt as though he’d unexpectedly stepped into an ice-cold shower. He found himself remembering all the shuddery stories he’d heard as a boy, about malicious small beings who couldn’t be killed, and who couldn’t be confined in any space, no matter how securely locked and fastened.
“Even if what you’re thinking is true,” Helene said very calmly, “that midget was certainly dead when we found him in the dressing room. And anyway he couldn’t have carried that big bull fiddle case all the way over here by himself.”
Jake relaxed. “You looked a little pale yourself, and don’t tell me otherwise.”
“I feel pale,” Helene told him. “And I’d much rather have it be magic. Because leaving the magic out of it—just how did the midget’s body get out of there?”
“Somebody took it out,” Jake said slowly, “God knows how, and decided to stick us with the fiddle case, God knows why.”
He took the key from his pocket, knelt down, and unlocked the case. The eleven silk stockings were still there, wadded up in the narrow end. He took them out and tossed them on a chair. Then he relocked the case, slipped the key back in his pocket, stood up, and began buttoning his coat.
“Jake, what are you going to do?”
“Wait a minute,” he said. “I’m thinking.” He stood there for a moment, scowling, then walked across the room and picked up the telephone.
“Hello, the desk? This is Mr. Justus. Did anyone deliver a parcel or anything to me sometime during the night? Would you mind checking with the elevator boys and see if anything was brought up for me?” He stood waiting, one hand drumming on the table-top. “There wasn’t, eh? Thanks very much.” He hung up the phone.
“It must have been brought up the back way,” Helene said.
“And it’s going out the back way,” Jake said grimly. “Give me the keys to the car, Helene.”
“What are you going to do with it?” she asked, handing over the keys.
“I’m going to take it back to the Casino, put the fiddle back in it, and leave it right there in the midget’s dressing room. From that point on, as far as we’re concerned, we never even heard of a fiddle case.”
“I want to go too.”
“You’re not invited. Stay here and guard the premises.”
“What for?”
“In case anyone decides to deliver the midget to us too.” He kissed her warmly, said, “I’ll be back in fifteen minutes,” picked up the fiddle case, and slipped out into the hall.
The