There’s not a red cent in the house. Curley’s idea of a way out is to go with me to the office where he works and while I engage the manager in conversation go through the wardrobe and dean out all the loose change. Or, if I’m not afraid of taking a chance, he will go through the cash drawer. They’ll never suspect us, he says. Had he ever done that before, I ask. Of course … a dozen or more times, right under the manager’s nose. And wasn’t there any stink about it? To be sure … they had fired a few clerks. Why don’t you borrow something from your Aunt Sophie, I suggest. That’s easy enough, only it means a quick diddle and he doesn’t want to diddle her any more. She stinks. Aunt Sophie. What do you mean, she stinks? Just that … she doesn’t wash herself regularly. Why, what’s the matter with her? Nothing, just religious. And getting fat and greasy at die same time. But she likes to be diddled just the same? Does
she?
She’s crazier than ever about it. It’s disgusting. It’s like going to bed with a sow. What does your mother think about her? Her? She’s as sore as hell at her. She thinks Sophie’s trying to seduce the old man. Well, maybe she is! No, the old man’s got something else. I caught him red-handed one night, in the movies, mushing it up with a young girl. She’s a manicurist from the Astor Hotel. He’s probably trying to squeeze a little dough out of her. That’s the only reason he ever makes a woman. He’s a dirty, mean son of a bitch and I’d like to see him get the chair some day! You’ll get the chair yourself some day if you don’t watch out. Who, me ? Not me ! I’m too clever. You’re clever enough but you’ve got a loose tongue. I’d be a little more tight-lipped if I were you. You know, I added, to give him an extra jolt, O’Rourke is wise to you; if you ever fall out with O’Rourke it’s all up with you . . . Well, why doesn’t he say something if he’s so wise? I don’t believe you.
I explain to him at some length that O’Rourke is one of those people, and there are damned few in the world, who prefer not to make trouble for another person if they can help it. O’Rourke, I say, has the detective’s instinct only in that he likes to know what’s going on around him: people’s characters are plotted out in his head, and filed there permanently, just as the enemy’s terrain is fixed in the minds of army leaders. People think that O’Rourke goes around snooping and spying, that he derives a special pleasure in performing this dirty work for the company. Not so. O’Rourke is a born student of human nature. He picks things up without effort, due, to be sure, to his peculiar way of looking at the world. Now about you … I have no doubt that he knows everything about you. I never asked him, I admit, but I imagine so from the questions he poses now and then. Perhaps he’s just giving you plenty of rope. Some night he’ll run into you accidentally and perhaps he’ll ask you to stop off somewhere and have a bite to eat with him. And out of a dear sky he’ll suddenly say – you remember, Curley, when you were working up in SA office, the time that little Jewish clerk was fired for tapping the till? I think you were working overtime that night, weren’t you? An interesting case, that. You know, they never discovered whether the clerk stole the money or not. They had to fire him, of course, for negligence, but we can’t say for certain that he really stole the money. I’ve been thinking about that little affair now for quite some time.
I have a hunch as to who took that money, but I’m not absolutely sure . . . And then he’ll probably give you a beady eye and abruptly change the conversation to something else. He’ll probably tell you a little story about a crook he knew who thought he was very smart and getting away with it. He’ll draw that story out for you until you feel as though you were sitting on hot coals. By that time you’ll be wanting to beat it, but just when you’re ready to go he’ll suddenly be reminded of another very interesting little case and he’ll ask you to wait just a little longer while he orders another dessert. And he’ll go on like that for three or four hours at a stretch, never making the least overt insinuation, but studying you closely all the time, and finally, when you think you’re free, just when you’re shaking hands with him and breathing a sigh of relief, he’ll step in front of you and, planting his big square feet between your legs, he’ll grab you by the lapel and, looking straight through you, he’ll say in a soft winsome voice – now look here, my lad, don’t you think you had better come clean? And if you think he’s only trying to browbeat you and that you can pretend innocence and walk away, you’re mistaken. Because at that point, when he asks you to come clean, he means business and nothing on earth is going to stop him. When it gets to that point I’d recommend you to make a clean sweep of it, down to the last penny. He won’t ask me to fire you and he won’t threaten you with jail – he’ll just quietly suggest that you put aside a little bit each week and turn it over to him. Nobody will be the wiser. He probably won’t even tell me. No, he’s very delicate about these things, you see.”
“And supposing,” says Curley suddenly, “that I tell him I stole the money in order to help you out? What then?” He began to laugh hysterically.
“I don’t think O’Rourke would believe that,” I said calmly. “You can try it, of course, if you think it will help you to dear your own skirts. But I rather think it will have a bad effect. O’Rourke knows me … he knows I wouldn’t let you do a thing like that.”
“But you did let me do it!”
“I didn’t tell you to do it. You did it without my knowledge. That’s quite different. Besides, can you prove that I accepted money from you? Won’t it seem a little ridiculous to accuse me, the one who befriended you, of putting you up to a job like that? Who’s going to believe you? Not O’Rourke. Besides, he hasn’t trapped you yet. Why worry about it in advance? Maybe you could begin to return the money little by little before he gets after you. Do it anonymously.”
By this time Curley was quite used up. There was a little schnapps in the cupboard which his old man kept in reserve and I suggested that we take a little to brace us up. As we were drinking the schnapps it suddenly occurred to me that Maxie had said he would be at Luke’s house to pay his respects. It was just the moment to get Maxie. He would be full of slobbering sentiments and I could give him any old kind of cock-and-bull story. I could say that the reason I had assumed such a hard-boiled air on the phone was because I was harassed, because I didn’t know where to turn for the ten dollars which I needed so badly. At the same time I might be able to make a date with Lottie. I began to smile thinking about
