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 quickly, took the car into Jack’s garage and removed my own grip from the trunk, taking it back to the house with Joanne Kilvert’s.
Beth took the girl’s baggage and hastened upstairs with it.
I joined Jack again and finished my drink.
Beth reappeared, ducked into the kitchen and, in a remarkably short time, was hollering for us to come and get it.
Jack and I settled ourselves down at a laden table that looked and smelled pretty good. I’d forgotten how hungry I was.
Joanne appeared in the doorway, shyly. She was wearing a wide-skirted summer dress, her hair had been smoothed neatly. There were no lines of bitterness on her face now, and her gently moulded features were touched with a judicious amount of cosmetic.
She looked mighty good.
In spite of her sniffles.
“Wade into supper,” invited Beth, “and we’ll be in time to catch the late night epic on TV.”
I stretched lazily.
“Ah, civilised American life,” I said.
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