Dour Darcel #3125

best small cap stocks to invest in india 2014

datatime: 2022-09-29 22:33:17 Author:OTtWMpwY

He didn't look at me. "About how we could do a little business together. Say, in stones."

A woman's voice said: "Marlowe?" It was a small, tight, cold voice. I didn't know it.

"Well, well, sit down," Madder said. "Glad to see you." He fussed around behind his desk and adjusted a burst-out seat cushion, sat on it. "Nice of you to drop around. Business?"

A shadow came against the glass and the door was pulled back with a squeak. I was looking at a thick-set man with a soft round chin, heavy black eyebrows, an oily complexion and a Charlie Chan mustache that made his face look fatter than it was.

"No," I lied. "Why should I see him?"

"Well, well, sit down," Madder said. "Glad to see you." He fussed around behind his desk and adjusted a burst-out seat cushion, sat on it. "Nice of you to drop around. Business?"

I said slowly: "They want to talk to you. On account of you know a broad that knows a man had sore feet."

He reached over and pushed the hook down. "Now, listen," he complained. "You're too fast. What you calling copper for?"

I reached for his telephone, which was the old-fashioned gallows type. I lifted off the receiver and started to dial the number of Police Headquarters, very slowly. I knew he would know that number about as well as he knew his hat.

I said slowly: "They want to talk to you. On account of you know a broad that knows a man had sore feet."

It was getting toward quitting time on lower Spring Street. Taxis were dawdling close to the curb, stenographers were getting an early start home, streetcars were clogging up, and traffic cops were preventing people from making perfectly legal right turns.

The Quorn Building was a narrow front, the color of dried mustard, with a large case of false teeth in the entrance. The directory held the names of painless dentists, people who teach you how to become a letter carrier, just names, and numbers without any names, Rush Madder, Attorney-at-Law, was in Room 619.

Rush Madder was a shyster in the Quorn Building. An ambulance chaser, a small-time fixer, an alibi builder-upper, anything that smelled a little and paid a little more. I hadn't heard of him in connection with any big operations like burning people's feet.

"Who was the wren?" I asked.

"Any ideas?" he asked softly.

The phone clicked. I put my end of it aside, struck a match and stared at the wall until the flame burned my fingers.

"The one that phoned me."

"Not from my side. But if you think I'm going to sit here and let you play with my reflexes, it does."

He didn't look at me. "About how we could do a little business together. Say, in stones."

He didn't look at me. "About how we could do a little business together. Say, in stones."

It was getting toward quitting time on lower Spring Street. Taxis were dawdling close to the curb, stenographers were getting an early start home, streetcars were clogging up, and traffic cops were preventing people from making perfectly legal right turns.

"Does it have to be that way?" His collar was too tight now. He yanked at it.

The Quorn Building was a narrow front, the color of dried mustard, with a large case of false teeth in the entrance. The directory held the names of painless dentists, people who teach you how to become a letter carrier, just names, and numbers without any names, Rush Madder, Attorney-at-Law, was in Room 619.

"No," I lied. "Why should I see him?"

He reached over and pushed the hook down. "Now, listen," he complained. "You're too fast. What you calling copper for?"

FeedBack
Copyright © 2022 Chrales (United States) All rights reserved. The information contained in Chrales (United States) may not be published, broadcast, rewritten, or redistributed without the prior written authority of Chrales (United States)