"I been around long enough, son. You want to know something else?"

"That's what I'm here for."

"He carried a package once. It was all done up in brown paper and it wasn't light. It was a gun. Rifle all taken down, I'd say. You like that bit?"

"You're doing great. How'd you know?"

"Easy. It clunked clunked when he set it down. Besides, I could smell the gun oil. My old man was a nut on those things before he kicked off. I smelled that stuff around the house for years." when he set it down. Besides, I could smell the gun oil. My old man was a nut on those things before he kicked off. I smelled that stuff around the house for years."

Then I knew what bugged me right after Basil Levitt died. I said my thanks and turned to go. She said, "Hey . . ."

"What?"

"Would you really hit an old lady?"

I grinned at her. "Only when they need it," I said.

I stood in the room that had been Velda's and scanned the other side of the street. It didn't take long to sort out the only windows that were set right for an ambush. Ten bucks to a fat old man got me the key with no questions asked and when I opened the door to the first one that was it.

The gun was an expensive sporting rifle with a load in the chamber, blocked in on a tripod screwed to a tabletop and the telescopic sights were centered on the same window I had looked out of a few minutes before. There were two empty cigarette cartons beside the gun, a tomato-juice can full of b.u.t.ts and spent matches, and the remains of a dozen sandwiches scattered around.

Basil's vigil had been a four-day one. For that long a time he had waited. At any time he could have had Velda. He knew she was there. He told me so. He had watched her that long but couldn't move in.

The reason for his wait was plain now. It wasn't her he was after at all. It was the kid. He wanted her. He was on a contract to knock her off and had to wait for her to show.

Only she didn't. Velda had kept her upstairs out of sight. It was only when I came on the scene that he had to break his pattern. He didn't know why I was there but couldn't take any chances. I might be after the same target he was after but for a different reason: to get her out.

So now it was back to the little Lolita-type again.

CHAPTER 4.

It had been a long time since I had seen Joey Adams and his wife Cindy. Now, besides doing his major nightclub routines with time off for tent-circus Broadway musicals and worldwide junkets, he was president of AGVA. But he hadn't changed a bit. Neither had Cindy. She was still her same stunning self in the trademark colors of scarlet and midnight whamming out a column for TV Guide TV Guide.

I told the girl not to announce me and when I went in Joey was perched on the edge of his desk trying to talk Cindy out of something new in minks. He wasn't getting anywhere. I said, "h.e.l.lo, buddy."

He looked over his shoulder, grinned, and hopped off the desk with his hand out. "I'll be d.a.m.ned," he said, "you finally picked up the rain check. Where you been?"

"On the wrong street." I looked past him. "h.e.l.lo, beautiful."

Cindy threw me a flashing smile. "I told Joey you'd show up. We've been following the obituaries. You leave a trail, Mike."

"I was following one."

"That's what Hy said. You big fink, why didn't you come visit when you needed help?"

"h.e.l.l, kid, I didn't need any help to stay drunk."

"That's not what I meant."

Joey waved at her impatiently. "Come on, come on, what's new? Look, suppose we . . ."

"I need help now, pal."

It caught him off balance a second. "Listen, I'm no AA, but . . ."

"Not that kind of help," I grinned.

"Oh?"

"You've been bugging me to play cop for how long, Joey?"

His eyes lit up like a marquee but Cindy got there first.

"Listen, old friend, you keep my boy away from the shooters. Like he's mine and I want to keep him in one piece. He's just a comedian and those gun routines are hard on the complexion."

"Cut it out, Cindy. If Mike wants . . ."

"Don't sweat it, friend. Just a simple favor."

He looked disappointed.

"But it's something you can get to where I can't," I added.

Joey laughed and faked a swing at my gut. "So name it, kid."

"How far back do your files go?"

"Well," he shrugged, "what do you want to know?"

I sat on the edge of the desk and lined things up in my mind. "There was a showgirl named Sally Devon who was in business over twenty years ago. Name mean anything?"

Joey squinted and shook his head. "Should it?"

"Not necessarily. I doubt if she was a headliner."

"Mike . . ." Cindy uncoiled from her chair and stood beside Joey. "Wasn't she Sim Torrence's wife at one time?"

I nodded.

"How'd you know?" Joey asked.

"I'm just clever."

"What do you know about her, honey?"

"Nothing at all, but I happened to be talking politics to one of Joey's friends and he dropped her name in the hat. He had worked with her at one time."

"Now she's in politics," Joey grunted. "So who were you talking to?"

"Bert Reese."

"What do you think, Joey? Do a rundown for me? Maybe Bert can steer you to somebody else that would know about her."

"Sure, but if it's politics you want, Cindy can . . ."

"It's not politics. Just get a line on her show-biz activities. She would've been in from twenty to thirty years back. Somebody at Equity might know her or the old chorus-line bunch. She was married to Sim Torrence while he was still a small-timer so the connection might bring somebody's memory back. Seem possible?"

"Sure, Mike, sure. The kids always keep in touch. They never forget. h.e.l.l, you know show business. I'll dig around."

"How long will it take?"

"I ought to have something by tomorrow. Where'll I get in touch?"

"My old office. I'm back in business, or reach me through the Blue Ribbon Restaurant."

He gave me that big grin again and winked. Now he was doing an act he liked. There are always frustrated cops and firemen. I shook hands with Joey, waved at Cindy, and left them to battle about the mink bit again.

Rickerby's man gave me a funny look and a curt nod when I showed, asked if there were anything else, and when I said no, made his phone call to clear and took off. Then I went upstairs.

I could hear her all the way, like a wild bird singing a crazy melody. She had an incredible range to her voice and just let it go, trilling some strange tune that had a familiar note, but was being interpreted out of its symphonic character.

The singing didn't come from the floor where I had left her, either. It was higher up and I made the last flight in a rush and stood at the end of the corridor with the .45 in my hand wondering what the h.e.l.l was going on. She had everything wrapped up in that voice, fear, hate, anxiety, but no hope at all.

When I pushed the door open slowly her voice came flooding out from the peculiar echo chamber of the empty room. She stood facing the corner, both hands against the wall, her head down, her shoulders weaving gently with the rhythm of her voice, her silken blond hair a gold reflection from the small bulb overhead.

I said, "Sue . . ." and she turned slowly, never stopping, but, seeing me there, went into a quiet ballet step until she stopped and let her voice die out on a high lilting note. There was something gone in her eyes and it took a half minute for her to realize just who I was.

"What are you doing up here?"

"It's empty," she said finally.

"Why do you want it like that?"

She let her hands drift behind her back. "Furniture looks at you. It means people and I don't want any people."

"Why, Sue?"

"They hurt you."

"Did somebody hurt you?"

"You know."

"I know that n.o.body has hurt you so far."

"So far. They killed my mother."

"You don't know that."

"Yes I do. A snake killed her."

"A what?"

"A snake."

"Your mother died of natural causes. She was . . . a sick woman."

This time Sue shook her head patiently. "I've been remembering. She was afraid of a snake. She told me so. She said it was the snake."

"You were too young to remember."

"No I wasn't."

I held out my hand to her and she took it. "Let's go downstairs, sugar. I want to talk to you."

"All right. Can I come back up here when I want to?"

"Sure. No trouble. Just don't go outside."

Those big brown eyes came up to mine with a sudden hunted look. "You know somebody wants to hurt me too, don't you?"

"Okay, kid, I won't try to con you. Maybe it will make you a little cautious. I think somebody is after you. Why, I don't know, but stick it out the way I tell you to, all right?"

"All right, Mike."

I waited until she had finished her coffee before I dropped the bomb on her. I said, "Sue . . ."

Then her eyes looked up and with a sudden intuition she knew what I was going to say.

"Would you mind going home?"

"I won't go," she said simply.

"You want to find out what really happened to your mother, don't you?"