on the edge of the desk. The percolator started bubbling.
“Why did you come to me?” I asked.
“Because—somebody told me about you—a lawyer I know.”
“I mean, for what reason? What is your problem?”
She inhaled deeply on her cigarette.
“You see—it has to do with Richie.”
“Richie is your boyfriend? Husband?”
“No, he’s my own true love.”
“I see.”
“This is his—Richie’s.”
She took hold of the suitcase grip with one hand.
“I’m to take care of it for him, till he gets back. There are people who want it. They’d do anything to get it. They’d kill. They’d kill me to get it.”
“Do you know who they are?”
“No.”
“Why do they want it?”
“I don’t know,” she said simply.
“Do you know what’s in the suitcase?”
“I—no.”
“You haven’t opened it?”
“It’s locked. Richie has the key.”
“Where is Richie now?”
“He’s out on the road, singing and collecting songs.”
“And he left the suitcase with you.”
“Yes.”
“Can you get in touch with him?”
“No. See—he’s on the road; he doesn’t know where he’ll be.”
“You said he was singing—you mean in coffeehouses and so on? Doesn’t he have any advance bookings?”
“No, he just plays where he happens to be, if there’s a spot. Besides, even if I could get in touch with him—it’s my responsibility. I told Richie I’d take care of it.”
“But if somebody’s trying to kill you—”
“You don’t believe me.”
“Yes, I believe you.”
She finished her cigarette, totally, as before, and snuffed it out, handling it carefully with her long fingers.
“What is the name of the lawyer who sent you to me?” I asked.
“Lathrop—Willard Lathrop.”
I tried to place the name and couldn’t.
“Did you tell him what the problem was, about Richie and the suitcase?”
“No,” she said. “I just told him I was afraid for my life and he suggested I come to you. I wasn’t sure I would make it. They were coming up the front steps of the building when I started out—I got out the back way.”
“How many were there?”
“Three.”
“You have no idea who they are?”
“No.”
I got out a couple of cups and poured coffee. She held the saucer in both hands, almost lovingly, inhaling the aroma.
“I have some money,” she said. “I don’t expect you to do anything for nothing.”
“Well—just what did you have in mind that I might do?”
“I don’t know.”
“Have you told the police about it?”
She made a face, her first change of expression.
“No,” she said. “What good would that do?”
“Might do some good, and it wouldn’t cost anything.”
“One way or another,” she said moodily.
“What would you have done if you hadn’t found me?”
“I don’t know. I just would have—I don’t know.”
She savored the coffee gingerly. It occurred to me that she was undernourished.
“When did you last have something to eat?” I asked. She shrugged.
“I forget.”
“Are you hungry?”
“No.” She tried the coffee again. “But the coffee is good, thank you.”
We drank the coffee. When she finished, meticulously, as with the smoking, draining the last dregs, she set the cup aside. She opened her purse, took out some money and brought it to me, then returned to her seat. There were four tens and three twenties, and I looked at them in my hand, while she looked at me, waiting.
Here’s a hundred dollars—think of something.
I finished my coffee, took the money around the desk and dropped it into a drawer.
“Where have you been living?” I asked.
She mentioned an address, north and west.
“Do you have any of your own things in there?” I asked, looking at the suitcase.
“No. I had no time—this was all I could carry.”
“We’ll have to find a safe place for you, and you’ll need some things,” I said. “Is your rent paid up?”
“Yes—till tomorrow.”
“Do you still have the key?”
“I think so.”
She looked through her purse and came up with a key attached to a pasteboard tab.
“Do you want to come with me,” I asked, “or would you rather stay here? I think you’d be safe here. I won’t be long.”
She thought it over behind her big dark eyes. She looked around the room and down at the suitcase and finally she said, “I’ll go with you.”
“All right, Cress,” I said, “let’s go then.”
I pulled the plug on the coffeepot while she put on her jacket and adjusted the odd little cap. I was holding the door when she got up from the sofa. She took three steps forward, stopped, turned back and picked up the suitcase. When she caught my eye, her thin little figure stiffened and her chin lifted stubbornly.
“All right,” I said, “we’ll lock it in the trunk.”
This we did; she released it to let me stow it in the trunk and stood by while I made sure it was locked. There was no weight to the suitcase.
Chapter Two
After we got across the avenue, it was a fifteen-minute drive to where she lived, in an old section near Division Street. There was still considerable late-night activity on the business streets, but the side streets were empty, and in the solid banks of apartment buildings on both sides few lights burned.
“This is it right here,” she said, pointing.
I pulled in a little way beyond the building. Getting out of the car, I examined the neighborhood in all directions. There were no loiterers in sight.
Her building was four stories, walk-up, and there was no entry light. She didn’t wait for me to let her out but was standing on the walk, gazing back at the trunk.
“We’d better leave it,” I said. “I’ll lock the car. We’ll be back before anybody can get away with it.”
“All right,” she said.
I