Stab in the Dark by Louis Trimble Read Free Book Online

that brought him awake. He sat up. He was still in the storeroom, the door to the corridor open letting in faint light. Swearing, he got to his feet and put a hand to his head.
    He felt like hell. At first all he could do was lean against a workbench and swear, both at himself and whoever had tricked him. That was what made him mad—letting himself be tricked in such a simple fashion.
    After a few moments, he found that he could navigate again, and he turned on the light. He looked for the chair. From where he stood it appeared just the same, undisturbed. But Knox could think of no other reason for an attack on him than that he had been snooping around that chair and so he went to it.
    His examination was brief. One glance told him all that he needed to know. It was a stenographer’s chair and it had a loose screw in the back. But it was definitely not the same chair. Someone had made a substitution. Only, Knox thought with faint pleasure, they had made it too late. It took more than a blow on the head to drive away the memory of what he had seen.
    He left the room and sought the service elevator. It took him to the tenth floor. From there it was easy to reach his room without being seen. In the room, Knox looked down at his suit, covered with dust and wood shavings. He peeled it off and went into the bath. There was a small, purple lump visible when he pulled back the hair at his temple. It was sore but the skin was not broken. He decided that he would live.
    A shower made him feel a good deal better. So did another suit. When he was ready to return to the lobby, he glanced at his watch. It surprised him to find that just a little over an hour had passed since he had made the appointment with Cora Deane. He had been out more briefly than he thought.
    The bellhop Carl was nowhere in sight when Knox reached the lobby. He decided to let the little session he had planned with the man go for now and sought McEwen. When he found him, Knox used his best leer.
    “There’s a dish in this hotel I’d like to get acquainted with, Mac. But she lives in the penthouse so it has to be subtle.”
    McEwen looked hungrily at Knox’s breast pocket. Knox brought out his billfold. McEwen said, “You mean the Tinsley dame.” He shrugged. “I like mine meatier but then …” He stopped and gave Knox a sly grin. “Or is it her old man you want to meet?”
    Knox let his expression indicate that McEwen had found him out. “A little bet now and then makes things interesting,” he murmured.
    He had evidently hit the right note, and he thanked Beeker for having provided the information. McEwen nodded. “They’re in the bar, on the terrarce, right now. How do you want to work this?”
    Knox let him see twenty dollars. “I want it quietly noised around that I’m looking for a fat bet on Saturday’s football game here. If that gets me the knockdown, I’ll double this. Maybe more.”
    McEwen took the bill and did a conjuring act with it. If he was surprised at Knox’s eagerness to spend money just to make a bet, he said nothing about it. His comment was, “Tinsley’s the guy to see. I understand he’ll take a flyer on anything that gets room on the sport pages. It’s a hobby with him.”
    Knox left the rest of it up to McEwen and drifted off to the bar. He glanced casually around as he entered, spotted two groups of people, either of which might be the ones he sought, and then took a seat about the center of the terrace. From where he sat, Knox could see either of the tables he had looked at before. His view was mostly of the colored neon that ran up and down the organ tubes as the organist gave out his version of soft evening music.
    Knox ordered a double rye and water and let it further soothe the pain in his head and the bruise to his pride. He waited quite awhile. McEwen was definitely being subtle; it took twenty minutes before a waiter appeared at Knox’s elbow.
    “Pardon, sir, but are you the Mr. Knox who was in the Riviera