Evil That Men Do by Hugh Pentecost Read Free Book Online Page B

suspect, baby,” I said. “In the area of real facts, Hardy is undernourished.”
    I told her she had been elected by the boss to be one of the group to go over the back issues of the newspapers, looking particularly for something significant about February twenty-fifth.
    “Of course she did it,” Shelda said.
    “Because she dyes her hair?”
    “Idiot,” Shelda said. “Because she thinks that none of the rules apply to her.”
    “Because she’s rich and you’re jealous of her,” I said. “And because, as somebody has said, nobody is ever sorry for a girl on a yacht.”
    “What does that mean?”
    “It means you don’t wish the rich any good luck,” I said.
    “Do you for a minute believe her amnesia story?” Shelda asked, sounding indignant.
    I took a beat. “I think I do,” I said.
    “I don’t think I’ll marry you,” Shelda said. “You’re too much of a sucker for a pretty face.”
    “It was tears that did me in,” I said, grinning at her.
    “That’s nice to know,” Shelda said. “I can cry at will.”
    “I’ve got to circulate,” I said, “to see if the boat’s leaking anywhere.” I kissed her on the tip of her turned-up nose. “I’ll buy you dinner in the Grill Room, about eight—after you’ve gone through the back issues of The Times and the Examiner .”
    “You think I’m available just like that—whenever you say the word?”
    “Yes,” I said.
    “You—you man, you!” she said.
    Mr. Cardoza, the Blue Lagoon Room captain, is tall, and dark, and sleek, and very elegant—and very human when you get to know him. He runs his segment of the Beaumont operation with a smoothness that would have done Chambrun himself proud. There is a floor show twice each night in the Blue Lagoon. The bulk of the customers are not guests of the hotel. It is Cardoza’s job to keep it elegant and at the same time entertaining and nonstuffy.
    He has a little office just back of the cloakroom at the entrance to the Blue Lagoon. It was about six in the evening when I got to him. He was not yet wearing his full-dress regalia for the evening. The Blue Lagoon doesn’t open until eight. He was at his desk, smoking a cigarette in a long holder, and looking like a Spanish movie star.
    “Thanks for dropping by,” he said.
    “Pleasure,” I said.
    “Drink?” He indicated a very handsome set of cut-glass decanters on his desk.
    “I’m headed for two very dry martinis in the Trapeze,” I said. “Another time.” I knew he would offer me a rare Spanish sherry, which I loathe.
    “I tried to reach the boss,” he said, “but I guess he’s suffering from ninth-flooritis. Hell of a mess. Ruysdale suggested I talk to you.”
    “Shoot,” I said.
    He picked up a clipboard on his desk and turned it around so I could read what was on the top sheet. It was a list of table reservations for that evening in the Blue Lagoon. There was a large checkmark after one name. The name was Emlyn Teague. The number five was circled just after the name with the time notation, eleven A.M.
    “He’s supposed to be in California,” I said.
    “That’s where the reservation came from—about an hour ago. Teague’s manservant.”
    “Then Teague himself can’t be out there,” I said.
    “He could be,” Cardoza said. “I checked through our travel bureau. American Airlines has a Boeing Jet that leaves Los Angeles at six our time—right about now—and gets into Kennedy Airport at ten thirty-seven. He could just about make it here by eleven. Modern travel. Quite amazing. He could see our midnight floor show, and be back in Los Angeles for breakfast if he chose.”
    I was frowning at the clipboard. The general of “the army” was on his way. I wondered if he’d made a reservation for a room or rooms.
    “He’d know better,” Cardoza said. “We have ‘nothing available’ when Mr. Emlyn Teague inquires. Ordinarily, I don’t have a table for him, but with things the way they are, I thought possibly Chambrun might