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Books by GEORGE HARMON COXE
Murder with Pictures (1935)
The Barotique Mystery (1936) The Camera Clue (1937)
Four Frightened Women (1939)
Murder for the Asking (1939) The Glass Triangle (1939)
The Lady is Afraid (1940) No Time to Kill (1941)
Mrs. Murdock Takes a Case (1941)
Silent Are the Dead (1942) Assignment in Guiana (1942)
The Charred Witness (1942)
Alias the Dead (1943)
Murder for Two (1943)
Murder in Havana (1943) The Groom Lay Dead (1944)
The Jade Venus (1945)
Woman at Bay (1945)
Dangerous Legacy (1946)
The Fifth Key (1947) Fashioned for Murder (1947)
Venturous Lady (1948)
The Hollow Needle (1948)
Lady Killer (1949)
Inland Passage (1949)
Eye Witness (1950)
The Frightened Fiancée (1950) The Widow Had a Gun (1951)
The Man Who Died Twice (1951)
Never Bet Your Life (1952) The Crimson Clue (1953)
Uninvited Guest (1953)
Focus on Murder (1954)
Death at the Isthmus (1954) Top Assignment (1955)
Suddenly a Widow (1956)
Man on a Rope (1956)
Murder on Their Minds (1957) One Minute Past Eight (1957)
The Impetuous Mistress (1958)
The Big Gamble (1958)
THESE ARE BORZOI BOOKS, PUBLISHED IN NEW YORK BY
ALFRED A. KNOPF


THE BIG GAMBLE
When you take the big gamble, you have to pay off if you
lose. ...
A day of golf was all Kent Murdock had in mind when he
left the office, but a pile-up on the highway made him stop
to take a few pictures just as any good news-photographer
would have done. Whether or not the three thugs who
wanted his films were bluffing Kent never found out be-
cause of the blonde who wanted a lift back to town. After
that everything seemed to be spinning crazily. A car stolen,
then abandoned-a blaring radio in a motel cabin-a
twisted figure on the floor-questions that needed an-
swers-and answers that were closer to home than Kent
would ever have expected. And which, with the death of
another, were to move closer still.
The big gambler often goes for double or nothing. So
does the murderer. Sometimes the winning streak is hard
to break.
This new Kent Murdock story is as fast-moving and
suspense-filled as any your favorite news-photographer has
ever been involved in. It's top-level detection-and enter-
tainment-all the way.


GEORGE HARMON COXE
Big Gamble
1
9
5
8
ALFRED · A · KNOPF NEW YORK


LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOG CARD NUMBER 58–10975
© GEORGE HARMON COXE, 1958
THIS IS A BORZOI BOOK,
PUBLISHED BY ALFRED A. KNOPF, INC.
Copyright 1958 by George Harmon Coxe. All rights reserved. No
part of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission
in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote
brief passages in a review to be printed in a magazine or newspaper.
Manufactured in the United States of America. Published simultane-
ously in Canada by McClelland & Stewart Ltd.
FIRST EDITION


P$ 3505
0963685
1958
MAIN
THE BIG GAMBLE
565


SATURDAY EVENINGS were usually slow on the Cour-
ier. Later, when the midnight closing law of the state shut-
tered the bars and the frustrated drinkers were turned out
on the streets, there would be sporadic fights among the
tipsy; still later, a few traffic accidents could be expected,
but now, at seven thirty, it was quiet in the studio, a name
given to the department that supplied photographers and
pictures for the morning, evening, and Sunday editions.
Klime was slouched in a chair in the anteroom reading a
dog-eared, paper-back novel. Bailey was out cruising in a
company radio car, and Kent Murdock, the picture chief,
was standing at his desk in the boxlike office that had been
constructed by using one corner of the main room and
adding two glass-and-wood partitions.
There was a camera on the desk, one of the smaller
Graphics, and a soft-leather equipment bag that Murdock
had just checked. Not because he had an assignment but
because a camera had, by force of habit, become as essen-
tial on a weekend trip as a toothbrush. The purpose of this
weekend in late September was golf. His clubs, an over-
night case, and a small duffel bag were locked in the back
of his car, and now he looked up a number in the tele-
phone directory and dialed it.


THE BIG GAMBLE
5
but it moved swiftly and Murdock made good time in the
thickening dusk. He had about twenty or twenty-five min-
utes of driving left when the state police car slammed past
him with the siren moaning, and as he took the next curve
he found out why.
Two cars had tangled in the opposite lane, apparently
in a rear-end collision. One was off the road on its side, one
front wheel still turning; the other had its grill bashed in,
the radiator draining on the macadam. By the time Mur-
dock had pulled off the road and stopped, the occupants
were standing around feeling their joints and looking for
bruises. It was apparent then that no one had been se-
riously hurt and while the argument began, Murdock
reached for his camera.
The gesture was automatic and not predicated on any
idea that this was front page material. If he had thought
at all it would have occurred to him that from the stand-
point of news he might well be wasting film and flashbulbs.
But such equipment was cheap and he understood that
the time to take pictures was when the opportunity pre-
sented itself even if the ilms were never developed. It was
a point he was constantly drumming into his staff and he
now practiced what he had preached.
There was a bulb in the flash unit, a filmholder in the
slot, one side of which had beer vaposed. From his bag he
took two bulbs and a fresh hor and then he was on in
road, taking his first shot from an angle that showed the
front of crumpled grill and the cars that had begun to back
up behind it. Waiting a moment for the bulb to cool while
he pocketed the holder and inserted the fresh one, he
ejected it, tossed it up, and caught it a couple of times
when he found it still hot, and then threw it into the field
at the side of the road. He took his second picture of the


THE BIG GAMBLE
upturned car against a background of curious spectators
and now, as four or five men got on one side and heaved it
upright, he got the last shot just before the two wheels hit
the paving.
Back at his car, he moved round the right side and
opened the door to deposit the camera on the back seat.
As he straightened, some movement caught his eye and he
turned to see a squat, black-browed man approaching. He
wore slacks and a colorfully patterned sport shirt that
hung outside his trousers. Two men, a step or so behind
him, stopped when he did.
“You're Murdock, aren't you? From the Courier
Murdock nodded, finding the swart face vaguely famil-
iar but unable to place it.
"Terroni,” the man said. “Sam Terroni."
"Oh, yes,” Murdock said, recalling now that Terroni had
spent a couple of years in prison for extortion, the out-
growth of some racket in the trucking business.
"About that picture," Terroni said.
“What picture?"
"The one you took of that car.”
By that time Murdock sensed what was coming though
he did not know why.
"What makes it important?”
"I'll tell you. I'll level with you. I did some time and I'm
out on parole.” Terroni rubbed his nose and moved a little
closer. “They got a thing called consorting with known
criminals. . . . Consorting,” he said and spat contemptu-
ously.
"I'm out for a day of blue fishing with some friends." He
nodded to the silent pair behind him. “Minding my own
business. No trouble, no strain. So we have to run into an
accident, and we get out to help, and you come along with


THE BIG GAMBLE
Ors
that box.” He paused again. “My friends happen to have
records. Some guy wants to make it real rough for me,
that's enough to put me back in the jug for two more years
as a parole violator. I don't want that to happen, you know
what I mean?”
Murdock nodded and took a breath. He knew what he
was going to say. He had said it for years under similar
circumstances; so had every other press photographer who
had been in business for any length of time. It was stand-
ard operating practice and he was patient in his explana-
tion.
“I'm hired to take pictures, Sam. I'm supposed to turn
them in. Whether they get printed or not is not up to me.”
“Who knows you took it besides you and me? I'm asking
a favor, that's all. I don't want trouble-with the law or
with you."
Murdock hesitated, but not for long. If the accident had
happened in the city on a slow day the chances were the
picture would be used. Now, since he had no intention of
turning round and driving back with the film, the possi-
bility of it ever being printed was remote. For all of that
some basic consideration that could not easily be ex-
plained made him shake his head.
“I wouldn't worry about it,” he said.
“I am worrying about it.”
“I doubt if it ever will be used.”
Terroni glanced back at his companions and when he
spoke his voice carried a threatening cadence.
“Okay. I've given you a chance to be a good guy. So I
better tell you this. If that picture puts me back in the can
you can count on two broken arms. I'm not kidding,
Murdock."
11-
an


THE BIG GAMBLE
"Hell,” said one of his friends, “what's with all this
yackin'. Let's get it now.”
The two started to move up and Murdock got his back
against the car. For another instant Terroni stood there
undecided and then it was too late. What made the dif-
ference was the blue-jacketed state policeman who ap-
peared in front of the car and looked sharply at them.
“You'll have to move this car," he said. “If you want more
pictures you can pull into that turnoff about a hundred
yards ahead and walk back. We've got to get traffic
moving."
“Right away,” Murdock said.
Terroni was already in retreat before the officer finished.
Just before he disappeared behind the car he said:
"You got the message, Murdock?”
"I heard you."
Murdock opened the door, his muscles relaxing, and
aware now of a certain sense of relief. He was still not sure
why he had been stubborn about releasing the filmholder,
but somehow he felt better for not having done so. He
shoved over on the seat and turned the ignition key. When
the motor caught he reached back to close the door and
that was when he saw her standing there looking at him.
"Hello,” she said in a voice that was small and rather
tentative.
Murdock looked; then blinked again. For she was blonde
and young and very pretty as she stood in the opening
with the dome light on her face.
“Oh-hello,” he said when he found his voice.
"Are you going to Bayview?"
“Yes.”
"Could I-could you give me a lift?”
The request was so unexpected that Murdock hesitated.


THE BIG GAMBLE
9
this
ack
aere
Ore
“Were you in the accident?”
“No. It's just that-well, the boy I was with had some
ideas I hadn't expected. He said if I didn't like them I
could walk, and I saw you with the camera so—"
She let the sentence dangle, but the red mouth was smil-
ing and there was an appealing sparkle in the blue eyes.
Having just had a brush with trouble from Terroni, Mur-
dock wondered if he was pressing his luck by thwarting a
jealous boyfriend, but somehow this did not seem impor-
tant.
“Get in,” he said. “Glad to have you."
She slid in beside him instantly and the dome light went
out. He angled onto the road to wait for a signal from the
trooper who was directing traffic; then they were rolling
and he leaned back and glanced again at the girl. There
was enough reflected light from the instrument panel to
tell him that she had a cute profile, that the blond hair
was cut short and feathered in the back, that the tanned
legs were bare beneath the figured cotton dress. She kept
her gaze focused straight ahead, and after a bit he intro-
duced himself.
She said, “How do you do,” but offered nothing else, so
he tried again by asking if she lived in Bayview.
“This summer I have,” she said.
“Does your family live here?”
"Oh, no. I work.”
“Doing what?”
She hesitated so long he wondered if she had heard him.
Then she said: “I'm sort of a nursemaid. I look after some
children for a family that have a summer place.”
"Then what? Back to school?”
“School?” She laughed shortly. “I finished school. A long
time ago.”
ger


10
THE BIG GAMBLE
It came to Murdock then that this girl did not want to
talk. Without being actually unfriendly she remained dis-
tant and ill at ease. There was an odd stiffness in her body
as she sat upright, her back inches from the upholstery,
and he got the idea that she was anxious for the ride to be
over. And so, reminding himself that she did not have to
pay for the lift with conversation, he shrugged and fell
silent until the lights of Bayview appeared ahead, a one-
street town that boasted about fifty-five hundred popula-
tion in the summer and half that in winter. Now, as he
eased up on the accelerator, the girl stirred beside him
and pointed to the lights of a roadside diner just ahead.
“Would you mind stopping so I could get some ciga-
rettes?"
"I have some," Murdock said.
"I have to get some anyway."
Murdock pulled into the parking space and stopped.
“What kind?”
She told him and fumbled in her purse for some change.
He said he would get them and she said: “Thank you, but
I want to pay for them.”
She handed him a quarter and a nickel as he got out
and he was ready now to accept them without argument.
The truth was he was disappointed. Not that he had
wanted to pick her up-she seemed a bit young for him-
but he had a way of talking with women that usually
brought a friendly response. He was casually polite and
never familiar unless there was some provocation, and as
he stepped inside the diner and glanced about for the
cigarette machine he thought: You're losing your charm,
kid. You must be getting old.
The idea amused him and he grinned absently when he
inserted the coins and pulled the proper plunger. He got


THE BIG GAMBLE
11
the cigarettes and the matches from the tray and turned
toward the door, paying no attention to the half dozen
customers at the counter. He got the door opened and
started down the steps; then he stopped, staring open-
mouthed at the spot where he had left the car.
For the space was empty, and even though he knew the
girl had driven off, he glanced at the other cars parked
there to be sure he had made no mistake. Then, cursing
softly, he stepped to the ground and moved on out to the
highway. A hundred yards away the main street opened
up before him and he started walking, a twinge of resent-
ment warping what had heretofore been little more than
incredulity.
For the next few minutes he walked with head down,
the recently purchased cigarettes still in his fist. He tried
to find some answer and the only idea that came to him
was that the girl had thought up the cigarette gag to get
rid of him, that it had been her intention to steal the car
when she had the chance. Had this been the idea from the
beginning? Was that business about the fresh boyfriend
just part of the act?
And suddenly he stopped speculating and quickened
his pace, knowing what he had to do. For while the loss
of the car bothered him, the camera and his equipment on
the back seat worried him even more.
Worry built inside him as he strode along the sidewalk
dodging the Saturday night shoppers and their children.
Three blocks ahead was the police station and the chief
was a long-time acquaintance of his. It was going to be a
bit embarrassing when he related his story, but there was
no alternative now. This was what he told himself, but
even so his eyes were busy as he took note of each parked
car he passed. When he came to the parking lot that ad-


12
THE BIG GAMBLE
joined the railroad station, he stopped to get a good look,
moving in from the sidewalk and seeing the gleam of the
tracks that paralleled the main street for some distance.
A moment later he saw a car that looked familiar sil-
houetted against the brick wall of the station and he
angled that way, hurrying now, the certainty growing in
him that this was it. A glimpse of the license plate told him
he was right. The lights had been turned off and the seat
was empty. When he opened the door he saw the key in
the switch, and a second glance told him his camera and
equipment bag were still on the back seat.
"Well, I'll be damned,” he said, and climbed in.
WHEN KENT MURDOCK drove out on the street and
turned toward the motel he had discarded his original
theory that the blonde had planned to steal his car. The
alternative that now came to him suggested the ride was
legitimate and that the cigarette gambit was nothing more
than a way to get rid of him once her objective had been
reached. The conclusion, that she must have been a little
afraid of him, was not flattering, but having accepted it,
he tried to dismiss the incident, and the girl.
It was about three miles to the Pine Grove Motel, and as
he made the turn into the driveway his headlights focused
briefly on a car that was just coming out. It was a small
gray convertible, and with the window down, he caught
a glimpse of the driver. The face seemed familiar, and by
the time he had stopped opposite the office he knew this


THE BIG GAMBLE
13
was Paul Herrick, a musician who led the orchestra at a
night club a mile or so on the other side of Bayview.
The sign in the drive said:
THE PINE GROVE
FREE RADIO
NO VACANCY
The main building was a white Cape Cod cottage con-
taining the office, a lounge, and a lunch room, with the
owner's quarters above. Behind it on the fringe of a small
pine grove stood eight smaller cottages, each containing
two units. The No Vacancy sign did not bother Murdock
because he had telephoned ahead, and now he walked
into the lobby, aware that the lounge was in semi-darkness
and that the television was blasting out some lines that
could only have been written for a western. The man who
sat in the small chair by the doorway watching the show
stood up when he saw Murdock and came round the desk.
The clock on the wall behind it said: 9:28.
“Evening, Mr. Murdock.”
“Hi, Charlie. You got my reservation, didn't you?”
“Oh, sure. Number fifteen, like you asked for.”
Murdock registered, put down the number of his license
plates, and counted out ten dollars.
“There's an outside chance a Mr. Emerly may be in," he
said. “If he comes put him in with me. . . . Now what
about tomorrow? You want to go out?”
Charlie Lane considered the request, a stocky man with
a round, deeply tanned face that was crisscrossed with
wrinkles which came not from worry but from an almost
constant exposure to the sun and weather. He was forty-


14
THE BIG GAMBLE
seven years old, a widower for as long as Murdock had
known him. His only vice, except for an occasional bout
with the bottle, was gambling, particularly the horses.
What was more important to Murdock was that Charlie
was what might be called a professional caddy and in this
profession he was tops.
“You got a game?” he asked finally.
"With Doctor Markey. At Catansett. Eight thirty. If I'm
going to take him tomorrow I have to have you.”
Charlie Lane grinned. “You wouldn't need me if you
concentrated. ... Why, sure,” he said. “Be glad to go,
Mr. Murdock.”
"I'll pick you up here at eight fifteen. . . . Oh, by the
way, do you know Paul Herrick?”
“Over at the Blue Heron? Sure.”
"Didn't he just leave here?”
"I didn't see him.”
"I thought I saw him driving out."
"Could be, Mr. Murdock, but if he was here he didn't
stop in the office.”
Murdock nodded, took his key, and went out to his car.
When he pulled into the carport on the left side of the last
cottage he noticed the light in the other unit, and as he
cut his motor he could hear the radio playing, though there
was no car in the end port.
Unlocking the rear deck, he took out his case and duffel
bag. He got the camera bag over his shoulder, the camera
in his free hand. He had a little trouble unlocking the door,
but when he got the light on he staggered over to the
bureau and unloaded. He opened the case to take out his
toilet kit, the clean linen, the pajamas and robe. He left
the golf shoes, sox, and sweater in the duffel bag but took
out a polo shirt and put it in a drawer. Remembering the


THE BIG GAMBLE
15
plateholder in his pocket, he tossed it into the duffel bag
and slid out of his jacket.
He had started for the bathroom to wash and comb his
hair when his glance skimmed the camera. Suddenly he
stopped. Turning from the hips, he looked back at the
camera, focusing now as he completed the turn. Only then
did he realize that there must be still a third theory about
that blonde.
For the filmholder that had been left in the camera, the
one he had used for the last two accident pictures, was
gone.
Certain of this, but not yet understanding why, he stood
quite still, dark eyes somber beneath the straight black
brows, not looking at the camera now, not looking at any-
thing in the room. He slid his palm absently over straight
dark hair that was threaded with gray at the temples, and
his angular, well-boned face was impassive but not grim.
A muscle twitched in the hinge of his jaw as he made up
his mind and then, not hurrying, he put on his jacket and
switched off the light.
About two thirds of the distance along Bayview's main
street and standing next to a service station was a tiny
concrete cube with a neon sign on the roof that said: Taxi.
Two cabs were parked near the door when Murdock
stepped into the office and spoke to the dispatcher, a blue-
jawed husky in a khaki shirt.
"A blonde doll?” the man said as his glance slid to a
skinny youth who had tipped his chair back against the
wall. “On Main Street about twenty minutes ago? Was that
you, Eddie?”
“Could be,” Eddie said. “Who wants to know?”
"I'm from the Boston Courier.” Murdock showed his
press card while he improvised. “She stepped off the side-


16
THE BIG GAMBLE
walk into my car. By the time I could find a place to stop
I'd lost her. I don't think she's hurt but I don't want to get
sued either. I'd like to talk to her, but I thought I'd ask you
before I went down and spoke to Chief Nickerson.”
The dispatcher thought it over, shrugged faintly, and
glanced at Eddie. “So tell the man,” he said. “It's no skin
off your nose.”
“She went to the Blue Heron.”
“Did she go into the club?”
“Around back,” Eddie said. “There's a couple of cottages
for some of the help. The flat-roofed one, last door.”
The Blue Heron stood on a slight rise, and on a clear
day there was a view of the Bay. A low, gray-shingled
building, it had blue shutters on the windows, a small
marquee, and a uniformed boy to park cars for those who
wanted such service. Murdock had been there several
times but never during the day and now, not sure whether
he could drive behind the building, he eased his car round
the edge of the parking space until he saw a sand-and-
gravel road angling to the left.
Smoke from charcoal-broiled steaks tickled his nostrils
as he idled past the kitchen and service entrance and
then he saw the cottage another fifty feet beyond. Gray-
shingled like the main building, it stood opposite a flat-
roofed structure built like a miniature motel. Two cars
were parked to one side of the cottage and Murdock
stopped beyond the flat-roofed building, turned, and
drove back to the first door.
The blonde was very surprised to see him. She was wear-
ing a long cotton robe, one hand holding the front edges to
keep it closed snugly about her. She stepped back in her
surprise, her lids blinking before the scowl came, and by


18
THE BIG GAMBLE
He tried again, a note of impatience in his voice as his
irritation mounted.
"It wasn't your idea, was it? So who did you steal it for?”
"I don't know what you're talking about.”
Murdock glanced about the room. When he realized
his chances of searching it were not very good he decided
to see if a bluff might help.
“All right,” he said. “If you won't play ball with me let's
go see the police. Get some clothes on and—”
“Police?”
Her voice rose and for an instant the blue eyes looked
doubtful; then she reacted in a way that was as daring as it
was unexpected. Releasing the front of her robe she let it
hang free, exposing a body that might have measured 37-
24-35 and was seductively molded. The legs, thighs, and
shoulders were tanned like her face. The area between the
brief panties and the brassière was also tanned but of a
lighter shade. Then, as Murdock stared, she put her fingers
into the top of the brassière and tightened her fist.
“Police,” she said furiously. “If you don't get out of here
and let me alone I'm going to rip this thing and scream
my head off. Maybe you can think of a story the cops will
believe but I doubt it. . . . Now get out!"
For a brief second Murdock nearly called her. He was
going to say, “Go ahead and rip it and I'll buy you a new
one.” That was what he had in mind, but something in
her eyes stopped him cold. Suddenly he knew she meant
it and just as suddenly he was scared...
He could feel the sweat pores open as his imagination
pictured his predicament when the help came running in.
He could see himself squirming and protesting. He could
almost feel the bruises and lacerations that might follow.


THE BIG GAMBLE
19
He had thrown the bluff and she had called it, and he
said, hastily:
“All right, all right. Take it easy."
Then, before he could prove he meant it, the door
banged open and two men walked in.
"Was that you yelling, Lucille?” the big one said.
“This guy bothering you?” said the other.
The girl looked right at Murdock, her head tossing
defiantly as she snatched the robe about her torso.
“Yes."
They were moving toward Murdock then, both very
neat in their dinner jackets, one about his size and build
-moderately tall and perhaps one hundred and seventy-
five pounds-the other three inches taller and forty pounds
heavier.
“You want we should toss him out, Lucille?" the big one
said.
“Yes."
"Okay, chum,” they said and now they were on either
side of Murdock, a hand on each arm.
Murdock swallowed and kept his muscles loose. The
odds were prohibitive now and he understood that resist-
ance would probably mean a full quota of lumps. Momen-
tarily accepting defeat in his battle with the blonde, he
decided to go quietly and hope for the best.
They walked past the girl, Murdock in the middle, until
they reached the open door. Here they hesitated while the
big man said: “Did you say toss, Lucille?”
“Yes," said the girl in the same flat tone.
Apparently all this was meant literally because that is
what happened. Before Murdock realized it the hands
tightened on his arms. Two more hands clamped on the
backs of his knees as the pair stooped slightly. When they


20
THE BIG GAMBLE
straightened Murdock came off the floor in a sitting posi-
tion, there was a small backward swing, and then he was
going forward, feet first and arms waving as they let go
and he sailed through the doorway.
He was too busy trying to keep from crashing on the
back of his neck to have any immediate feeling of chagrin
or humiliation, and when he landed he hit solidly on his
buttocks and skidded three feet, on the grass fortunately,
otherwise he surely would have lost the seat of his trousers.
As he turned his head and got his breath back he saw
that the two men had followed him out and stood looking
down, hands on hips as they waited for his next move.
“That was nice, Felix,” the slender man said.
"Neat,” said the big man. "You okay, Mac?” he said to
Murdock.
To his great surprise there was very little anger in Mur-
dock. There was nothing vicious about his ejection and
there was imagination in the method. The situation was so
ludicrous, so unexpected, and so quickly done that he took
a moment to sit there and understand that in a way he
had deserved what he got. He had tried to scare a girl
who was more resourceful than he had bargained for, and
while he had no intention of quitting so easily he chuckled
softly as he rose and brushed himself off.
"No."
"Good."
"That your car?" said Felix.
“Use it,” said his companion.
"And don't come back.”
Murdock opened the door and glanced round.
"Okay to go in and get a drink?”
“Sure," said Felix. “In there"
"-you're a customer," said the other.


22
THE BIG GAMBLE
who grinned in recognition and then nodded as Murdock
said:
“How about making like Fats Waller for one chorus of
something?”
“Right.”
"Stop at the table when you finish the set if you can.”
Back at his table he sipped his drink and listened, and
presently the chorus ended and Herrick transposed into
"Ain't Misbehavin'," picking up the beat a bit as he took
the solo. With his eyes closed Murdock thought he was
listening to Waller. That was one reason he liked Herrick.
He had studied, he knew music, and he had a big left
hand that worked on chords and tenths just as hard as his
right, not an easy thing to find these days when most piano
players did acrobatics on the treble and threw in an oc-
casional bass chord just to prove they had two hands. Now,
as Herrick finished the chorus, he glanced over his shoul-
der and grinned; then the band picked up the last chorus
and hit it as if they enjoyed it. The resulting applause said
someone beside Murdock approved, and when the band
struck up another tune of the day, he shut out the sound
and began to think.
For there was a stubborn streak in Murdock and his
futile session with the blonde Lucille and the two bouncers
served only to increase his desire to find out why she had
stolen the filmholder, and who wanted it. Sam Terroni was
the logical suspect. But what had the girl been doing out
on the highway in the first place? How did she happen to
be there and who thought up the gimmick about the fresh
boyfriend?
The question made him glance round and he saw Felix
and his pal at one end of the bar counting the house and
looking for trouble. And now, frustrated by his lack of an-


THE BIG GAMBLE
23
swers but holding no grudge, Murdock signaled the waiter
and asked who the fellow was with Felix.
“Nate Tishman.”
“Ask him and Felix to have a drink,” Murdock said,
"and put it on my check.”
He watched the waiter scurry away, and as his gaze
shifted he spotted Lucille moving around the perimeter
of the room. A moment later her occupation and connec-
tion with the Blue Heron became at once apparent.
The tanned shapely legs were encased in sheer nylon
stockings now and she wore a flaring knee-length skirt and
a tight bodice. Around the neck and across the bare shoul-
ders was a strap, at the end of which hung a tray of
cigarettes. Her eyes were busy as she wandered among
the tables and when she made a sale her face would light
up in an attractive smile, but she did not see Murdock
until he called.
“Oh, miss."
She turned, stared, and stopped still, the tentative smile
fading. She waited there as though making up her mind;
finally she came over to him.
“Do you want something?" she asked stonily.
“I'll take that filmholder if you have it handy.”
"Sorry,” she said, very cool now. “I'm only selling cig-
arettes tonight.”
“How about some Chesterfields, regular.” He watched
her consult her wares, select a pack, and tear off one corner.
"I'm a customer now, you know,” he said. “You should treat
me with respect.”
She did not look at him as she put the cigarettes and
matches on a tray and placed it before him, but he thought
he caught a glimmer of a smile as she said:


24
THE BIG GAMBLE
“I always treat the customer with respect. Even when
he's stubborn. It works both ways, you know.”
Murdock found a half dollar and put it on the tray. She
picked it up and tipped it so the coin slid into her hand.
"Thank you, sir,” she said, making it sound demure, like
the girl who had wanted a ride.
As she stepped back the waiter touched Murdock's arm
and pointed toward the bar. The two bouncers were
grinning at him and holding their glasses up to acknowl-
edge the drinks he had bought them. He returned the
gesture with a salute of his own, aware now that Lucille
had witnessed the by-play. She gave him a glance that
was both curious and puzzled, as though she realized what
he had done and could not understand it.
"You're not sore, are you?” she said.
"No. There may be some stiffness in a certain area of
my anatomy in the morning, but I'm not sore. Just curi-
ous,” Murdock said. “I'm going to keep on being curious."
He ordered another drink as the girl went away, and as
he watched her a brief burst of light tinted the room. He
knew what it was without looking, but he turned to locate
the source. The small, neatly made brunette with the
camera was just turning away from a foursome at a table
near the dance floor and, like that, the idea came to him.
This was not the city where a central processing room
could service three or four nightclubs. If there was a house
photographer there had to be a developing room in the
club, and he knew now that he was going to have a look at
it before he left. So long as there was a chance that the
blonde had brought the filmholder here
The thought hung there as the chair opposite him was
pulled out, and then he gave his attention to the man who
had eased onto it. Until then he had not been aware that


THE BIG GAMBLE
25
the music had stopped; now he took Paul Herrick's offered
hand and asked him what he'd have. The waiter, just
bringing Murdock’s bourbon and water, went back to get
a Scotch-on-the-rocks and Herrick said:
“Haven't seen you in quite a while.”
“I have a golf game in the morning so I thought I'd stop
and give you a listen. That Waller chorus was nice. Now
if you could give me one by Tatum.”
“Hah!” said Herrick and grinned. “Who can? Who
could? I could give you maybe eight bars before my hands
got cramped.” He shook his head, his face sobering. “And
don't think anybody's going to take his place.”
He leaned back to let the waiter put his drink down and
then stared at the glass, a tall, rangy man of thirty or so
with light-brown hair worn short but not in a crew cut,
and an easy smile that showed nice teeth; a good-looking
man by any standard, a handsome one by most.
“You've got the hands for it,” Murdock said.
"Yeah. And some of the technique. But a lot of what
Art had came from somewhere inside his head, and even
if you had that it wouldn't sound quite the same. He put
a lot of weight on a keyboard; it came out big. . . . They
don't play like that any more. They don't even try. The
young guys today are all trying to imitate Shearing or
Peterson and that's not easy either. Wilson, Chittison,
Guarnieri, Larkin, when he wants to-they play so you can
hear the left hand but there aren't many ... Well,
cheers.”
They drank. Over at the piano the guitar player started
noodling. He finally found a chorus of something he liked
and Murdock said:
“Not too bad."
“Better than some who carry a card for that instrument.”


26
THE BIG GAMBLE
Murdock was still keeping score on the photographer.
She now had three orders and he watched where she went.
In another fifteen or twenty minutes she'd be out to show
her wares and that would be the time to have a look.
"I heard this is your last night,” he said. “What then?”
"I've got a four-week spot in the city,” Herrick said. “The
Melody Grill starting a week from Monday. I'm only tak-
ing the bass, guitar, and drums. After that”-the big grin
came again-"I'm getting married.”
"I heard something about that. Congratulations.”
"Thanks. And they're in order. She's a wonderful girl.
Not only that, her old man's a V.P. in a New York ad
agency that does a lot of TV. He likes the way I play and
he's listened to some arrangements. He says maybe I can
do some arranging for some of the agency shows. I hope so.
I'm tired of playing in traps."
Murdock said it sounded good and then digressed.
"Who's the cigarette girl?”
"Lucille Dunn. Kind of cute, hunh?”
“Very."
"She's a nice kid. The only thing is she pesters the hell
out of me.”
"Ohpes
“Wants to be a singer.”
"Can she?”
"A little. She phrases pretty well and she has some ideas
but her voice is about this big." He held his thumb and
forefinger an eighth of an inch apart.
"How big is Julie London's voice?"
Herrick glanced up and chuckled. “You've got a point.
Also some of the numbers Peggy Lee does. That's what
Lucille's been selling me and she could be right.”
He finished his drink. “But she needs the kind of en-


THE BIG GAMBLE
27
gineers they have in studios, experts who can take that
little voice and twist the right dials and make something
good come out. With the P.A. system they have here, and
in most places like it, it don't sound quite right. I finally
did a couple of arrangements for her in the right key. One
thing, she's no quitter. She might make it yet. . . . Well,
I've got to hit another table before I go back on the stand.
Some fans down from the city. Thanks for the drink.”
Murdock was ready when the photograph-girl came out
through the green curtains behind the bandstand. A glance
at the bar told him the bouncers' attention was momen-
tarily occupied with other matters, so he stood and circled
toward the doorway. The short corridor beyond was de-
serted. There was a door on each side and one at the end
and he tried the first one on the right. The smell told him
this was the place and he groped for a switch that snapped
on a tinted, low-watt bulb in the ceiling.
It was a very small workroom indeed but sufficient for
its purpose with a sink, some trays, a counter, a paper rack;
an inexpensive enlarger and easel, a small ferrotyper. A
wire strung from wall to wall had seven or eight negatives
clipped to it, but a glance was enough to tell Murdock that
these were all taken in the club. He had stepped back,
ready now to admit defeat, when he spotted the large
wastebasket beneath the counter. On impulse, he pulled
it out and bent down to inspect the spoiled prints that had
been discarded here.
He realized then that some had been torn into small
pieces and he began to gather them, spreading them face
up on the counter, aware too that small strips of cut nega-
tive were mixed with the prints.
The conclusion that came immediately to mind proved
to be the right one. He had enough fragments of torn prints


28
THE BIG GAMBLE
to be positive they came from the films he had exposed at
the scene of the accident, and one strip of negative, clean-
cut, apparently by shears or the paper cutter, was suffi-
cient to tell him that both prints and negatives had been
destroyed.
He straightened then, sweeping the fragments back into
the basket. He kicked it under the counter, his gaze darkly
brooding as his mind again grappled with the puzzle.
What stopped him was the rattle of the doorknob. It
sounded loud in the stillness, startling him so that there
was only time to turn from the counter. Then he was face
to face with the little brunette and her camera.
She stopped instantly, a frightened gasp rising in her
throat as her eyes stretched wide. They slid beyond him
and came back. He could see her swallow and wet her lips,
and now the reaction came and her voice was both in-
dignant and resentful.
“What are you doing here?”
Murdock gave her a big smile. He made his voice hearty.
“Just looking around. I'm a photographer from the
Courier. I just wanted to see how you operated down here
in the sticks.”
"Oh,” she said, her eyes still not believing him.
"Don't give you much room, do they?" He eased past
her and gained the opening. “Tell you what,” he said. “If
things are slow I'll give you an order. That is, if you can
get that cigarette girl to sit down at my table and get in
the picture."
“Well—” She watched him back into the hall and her
voice was still doubtful. “I don't know. I'll ask her.”
"You do that,” Murdock said, still hearty. “Sorry I
startled you."
He moved quickly then, grateful that he'd been able to


THE BIG GAMBLE
29
talk himself out of a situation that might have brought
Felix and Nate on his neck. One bouncing was enough for
one night, and as he came through the curtains he gave
the room a quick inspection to make sure he had not been
noticed.
At his table he drained his glass thirstily and decided he
could use one more. He got the waiter's eye, ordered a
refill and told him to bring the check. Then, his mind going
once again to the puzzle, he saw that certain assumptions
could be made. He ticked them off as he tested them.
A. Lucille Dunn had stolen the filmholder.
B. She had brought it here.
C. Either personally or by telephone she had been or-
dered to have the films developed to make sure she had
the right ones.
D. A more tenuous assumption was that someone con-
nected with the Blue Heron had planned the operation.
All this brought him again to the question of Who, and
as his thoughts turned back he found himself considering
a man named Carl Darrow, who, in addition to certain
real-estate holdings in Boston and Miami, also owned, if
rumor was to be credited, a substantial piece of this club.
Just why Darrow should be interested in that accident
was beyond Murdock's powers of comprehension at the
moment, but as his drink came and he paid his check he
glanced again at the bar and realized once more that
coincidence had to be accepted as part of life's pattern.
For Carl Darrow now stood in the alleyway between
the bar and the tables talking to Paul Herrick. The guitar
player had taken over the piano. The two bouncers were
still waiting for trouble and the clock over the bar said
it was eleven thirty-five.
Whatever the discussion was about it claimed both


30
THE BIG GAMBLE
men's attention. They glanced at the bandstand from time
to time and gestures augmented their words until Herrick
stepped back, spread both hands palms upward, and
turned away. Darrow watched him disappear through the
doorway to the service quarters and then walked slowly
over to Felix and Nate. They huddled briefly and it
seemed to Murdock that at one point all three turned to
glance at his table. This, he knew, could have been nothing
more than his imagination, and presently he lost interest
in the mental game he had been playing. He finished his
drink, glanced again at his watch, and saw that if he
hurried he could be in bed by midnight. ....
The night was cool and clear as he drove back through
Bayview and along the highway to the motel. The baby
moon that had been high earlier was well down at this
hour, and as he wheeled into the drive and came up the
slight grade the only illumination other than the flood-
lighted sign came from a dim glow in the office, and from
the windows of the unit adjoining his own.
There was still no car in the last port but he could hear
a radio playing faintly as he cut his motor and locked the
doors. The sound was much more distinct once he was in
his room. He could easily follow the tune the disk jockey
had selected, and because the night was otherwise so still
it seemed to him that the music grew louder the longer he
listened.
He grumbled about this as he slipped off his jacket and
hung it up. He opened up one of the beds and sat down
to take off his shoes and then he stopped to glare at the
wall beyond from which the music sounded.
“Damn it,” he said, half aloud, “why do they have to
have free radio here? Why can't they use those quarter
machines like they have on radios in most motels?”


THE BIG GAMBLE
31
The chances were that the next-door tenant had gone
off and forgotten the radio, and there was no telling how
long he would be gone. What made it bad now was the
fact that the three drinks had done nothing to make Mur-
dock sleepy; they had, if anything, stimulated even more
the mental gymnastics he had been occupied with ever
since he had missed his car. He could not get to sleep with
that music on-he listened as the music stopped and the
commercial started—and he knew it. Then he thought of
Charlie Lane, who had a small room adjoining the office,
part of his payment for keeping an eye on things from six
o'clock until midnight.
“Charlie'll have a master key,” he said. “Charlie can turn
the damn thing off.”
He donned his jacket again and stepped outside, leaving
his door ajar. Maybe, he thought, I ought to knock first. If
anyone is in I can ask him to cut down on the volume.
The knock went unanswered and as he stepped back he
moved close to the window. The blinds were angled down-
ward so that from where he stood he could see only the
foot of one bed and a section of a scatter rug. Wishing he
were a few inches taller, he went to the next window and
tried again. This gave him a glimpse of the area between
the beds. Here there was something on the floor, but he
could not identify it. It was something bulky and white,
like a bundle wrapped in cloth, and when he realized he
was only wasting time with such tactics he wheeled and
marched toward the office, still grumbling.
He knew where Charlie's room was, so he rounded the
corner of the main building and scratched on the screen
as he called out. After an interval of several seconds he
got a reply.
“Yeah?” a sleepy voice said. “Who is it?”


THE BIG GAMBLE
33
Not yet knowing the answer, Murdock went to one knee
beside the torso, seeing now the red-leather pocketbook
that had been tipped over on its side, the jaws gaping. He
put his hand on her arm and then jerked it back because
the flesh seemed cold to his touch. Slowly then the horror
grew in him and he crouched there, muscles tensing as the
shock made itself felt. Finally, somewhere behind him,
Charlie Lane found his voice.
“What's the matter with her?” he whispered hoarsely.
“She-she ain't dead, is she, Mr. Murdock? . . . She ain't
dead?”
Murdock looked again at the arms and hands, which
were resting on the rug, head high, the fingers curled
slightly inward. The nails were red but there were no rings,
and finally he again took one wrist in his hand, finding it
somewhat stiff and certain now of the definite coolness of
the skin. He drew a slow breath and exhaled noisily as he
tried to get his thoughts in hand. He rocked back on one
foot.
“I'm afraid so, Charlie,” he said wearily. “Do you know
who she is?”
“No. I see her come in but I didn't watch her register.”
“Alone?”
“N-0. Seems like there was a man in the car.”
“But she registered?”
“That's right.”
“Would you know the man if you saw him again?”
“No. Never did get a look at his face. Anyway it was
getting kind of dark then.”
Murdock leaned over the body to pick up the pocket-
book. It was a long reach, and when he got it by his finger-
tips and started to lift, it slipped from his grasp and fell
upside down, the contents emptying on the rug. He finally


THE BIG GAMBLE
35
camera-and the hours were regular. But when something
happened, something that called for action and ingenuity
and a maximum of speed, he could seldom take part ex-
cept vicariously. Perhaps it was some resentment of such
restrictions that now made him react like the press photog-
rapher he had once been.
Standing here alone with Charlie Lane in the presence
of murder, knowing that the police must be summoned but
knowing too that he had an exclusive for the Courier, he
glanced at his watch and began to think in terms of edi-
tions, press runs, and time limits. It was a minute or so
after midnight. He could make the Courier by one thirty.
By phoning ahead and telling the city room he was bring-
ing pictures there would be time to get a bulletin in the
city edition; if they wanted to re-plate for a picture it could
be carried in most of that run and all of the final.
This was the sort of enterprise the Courier paid its pho-
tographers for, and at the moment Murdock was again one
of the staff. If there was a little trouble later with the
authorities it was nothing he couldn't handle. The impor-
tant thing was time, and now he spoke to Charlie as he
turned away and started for his room.
“Hold everything, Charlie,” he said. “I'll be right back.”
It took him less than a minute to get the camera, an
extra bulb, and a fresh filmholder. He checked the aperture
and shutter speed and focused from a spot near the foot
of the bed. When he had his shot he ejected the hot bulb
on the bed and reversed the holder. He stood up on the
bed to get a better angle, and the other bed was in the
way so he asked Charlie to push it back a foot or so.
As the bulb went off he knew this was the better shot.
The torso, head, and hands were in the proper perspective
now. He was also aware of a bright metallic object that


36
THE BIG GAMBLE
lay close to one leg of the night table. He had not noticed
it before because it was in the shadow, but the burst of
light picked it out. Charlie noticed it too and bent to re-
trieve it.
“This yours, Mr. Murdock? It's a tie-clasp.”
Murdock glanced down at his rumpled tie and saw that
the clip he had been wearing was gone. He said: “Yes,"
and when Charlie tossed it to him he clipped it in place
automatically.
"Come on,” he said, taking the man's arm and leading
him toward the door. “Leave this place alone.”
"But-what about the police?”
“We'll get them. You can call.”
"Me?”
“I'm going back to the paper."
"Now?"
They were in Murdock's room by this time and when he
had pocketed the filmholder, he snapped off the light and
made sure the door was locked. Remembering the public
telephone booth near the office, he mentioned it.
“While I'm talking to the paper you go in and get some
clothes on. As soon as I take off you can telephone the
Bayview police.”
“Yeah, but-what do I tell 'em?”
“Tell them the truth. Tell them just what we did and
say I had to get these pictures to town. Tell them I'll be
back just as soon as I can. Have you got it?”
Charlie was still unconvinced, but he agreed. He sighed
heavily and scratched his head.
"All right,” he said. “If you say so.”
There was very little traffic on the road at that hour and
Murdock held an even sixty except when he approached
the center of some town or village. The outskirts of the


THE BIG GAMBLE
37
city were almost as deserted, and when he stopped in the
parking lot adjacent to the Courier building it was just
one twenty-five.
Klime, still on duty, was nodding in his chair and Mur-
dock shook him awake and gave him the filmholder.
“All right, all right,” Klime said as he started for the
corridor which gave on the developing cubicles. “Some golf
game you had.”
Murdock dropped into a chair and called upstairs to
bring the night city editor up to date. When he finished
he said:
“Do you want to put somebody on the story? I've got to
get back there and if you've got a man he can ride with
me.”
The city editor thought it over. “We might, at that. I
haven't got anybody here. I might wake up young Berry.
He's an eager beaver. When’re you leaving?”
“I can wait a half hour or so.”
"Okay. Let me check.”
Murdock hung up and got a cigarette out. He had been
moving under pressure for quite a while and it felt good to
relax. It felt good for about three minutes, until his mind
began to work again and he realized that there was one
thing more that would help the story. The picture of the
dead woman was all right, but it would be better if he had
a photograph of the woman alive so that the readers could
know what she looked like. In some ways such a picture
might be even more important than the more dramatic one
he had brought with him. The trouble was there would be
nothing in the morgue upstairs about Hazel Franklin and-
His thoughts hung there a moment and then began to
build. He remembered the address in the woman's wallet.
It was no more than a five-minute drive from here and he


38
THE BIG GAMBLE
had a little gizmo in his own wallet, given him a long
time ago by a private detective named Jack Fenner, that
would probably open the door of the dead woman's apart-
ment. A slow grin began to work on his mouth and crinkle
the corners of his eyes as he ground out his cigarette and
the idea took shape. Later the local police would be going
over that apartment, once they had been notified by Bay-
view, but for a while at least there was an opportunity
for him if he wanted it.
“What the hell,” he said softly, and stood up. “Why not?”
Four doors opened from the quiet third-floor hall of
Hazel Franklin's apartment building and the one Murdock
sought was on the right, rear. The device Fenner had given
him was already in his hand, a thin, blue-steel blade
rounded at one end and perhaps a half inch wide. When
he had tried the knob and found the door locked, he in-
serted the light but flexible blade between the molding and
the casing so that it engaged the sloping surface of the
bolt. When he felt it start to slide he applied more pressure
and suddenly there was a faint click and the door was
open.
He took time to replace the blade and then he stepped
inside, groping along the right-hand wall until he found
the electric switch which activated the two lamps on the
end tables flanking the davenport. In that first instant as
he closed the door behind him he was surprised by the
elegance of the room, but before he could speculate about
it he saw the open drawers of the kneehole desk that stood
between two windows, and the papers that had been
scattered about.
The answer came at once, bringing with it an odd ten-
sion, and he stood listening, letting his glance touch the


THE BIG GAMBLE
39
wall-to-wall carpeting, the upholstered pieces, the floor
lamps, and moving then to what might have been intended
for a dining alcove but now had the look of an improvised
workroom with its table desk, typewriter and stand, a
bookcase, another stand with a one-drawer filing cabinet.
Someone had been here before him.
Someone had been searching this room. He could not be
sure if the intruder had found what he was looking for,
but when he understood how that person had gained en-
trance to the place he was forced to accept the probability
that the searcher was also the killer.
For he remembered the pocketbook he had examined
when he had looked for some identification. He tried to
catalogue again the contents, and one thing was missing.
Keys. A woman would have keys in her bag; at least one
key. There would have to be a key to this apartment. And
there had been no such key.
The tension was working now, quietly but nonetheless
real, as he moved over to the desk and sat down in the
chair. The papers in the drawers were disordered and a
Manila folder had been jammed among them. Those that
had been spilled on the floor seemed to be mostly letters
and receipts, and as he bent over, the name on one which
lay face up caught his eye. When he picked it up he saw it
was an agreement which had been signed by Hazel Frank-
lin and George Emerly. In essence the agreement said that
the woman was to get twenty-five per cent of all money
received by Emerly based on ideas originally conceived by
Hazel's late husband Ted Franklin.
The terms of the agreement and the reason for it meant
nothing to Murdock; the names did. For George Emerly
was the one-time newspaperman turned free-lance writer,
whom Murdock had tried to work into his Sunday golf


THE BIG GAMBLE
or so. “The reason I called was to break the news and ask
if you wanted to go back with me.”
“You mean now?"
“You don't have to,” Murdock said. “But she worked for
you and the police'll sure as hell question you. If you go
down there now you can get the preliminaries over; you
might even be able to tell them something that will help.”
“Yeah,” said Emerly. “They'll probably have someone
here at the crack of dawn anyway. . . . Yeah,” he said.
“I'd like to go. Thanks for giving me the tip, kid.”
“Be at the office as soon as you can,” Murdock said. “And
don't dawdle."
Putting the telephone aside he glanced over the room
and inspected the swinging door which apparently led to
the kitchen. There seemed to be no place here where a
woman might keep a photograph album, so he went back
to the living room and examined the desk. The already
messed-up drawers yielded nothing that interested him,
so he turned toward the short hallway opposite and to the
bedroom at the end. This, too, was dark and he barged
ahead, his mind occupied with problems of the past and
instinct dulled by the false assumption that the apartment
was empty.
It had not occurred to him that the one who had
searched the desk might still be here. There had been no
sound, no intuitive warning to prompt him to proceed with
caution. There was none now as he took a step and half-
turned to grope for a light switch.
The attack was as surprising as it was unexpected, and
since he had no time to brace himself he was momentarily
helpless when the man jumped him, springing from some
place on the left and clamping an arm around his throat
so that the crook of the elbow was notched securely be-


THE BIG GAMBLE
43
when his leg struck the edge of the bed he pitched to the
floor and landed on his hip. By then the door had slammed
to make the darkness complete and when he started to rise
he was still giddy and dropped to one knee.
There he stayed, sucking air into his lungs and trying
to swallow, until the room steadied and he felt he could
stand. Groping in the general direction of the door, he
finally found the switch and snapped light into the room.
In the hall he turned at once into the bathroom, ran some
water, and cupped it in his hand so he could suck at it
and ease the aching dryness in his throat. He still did not
know whether the intruder had wanted to kill him or
merely wanted to get away, and he did not speculate about
it. He had come here with a definite idea in mind and
now he went stubbornly back into the bedroom to con-
tinue his search.
The door on his right opened into a large closet well-
filled with dresses. There were two paper laundry-bags in
the center and one had had the front ripped out of it, dis-
closing the frock that still bore its laundry tag. The hat-
boxes on the shelf did not interest him, so he closed the
door and turned to the dresser. He found what he wanted
in the bottom drawer, a leather album partly covered by
slips and nightgowns.
There were four photographs to the page and the third
page held a good likeness of Hazel Franklin. She was pos-
ing on a dock with water behind her, and the man who
stood close to her grinning at the camera was Paul Herrick,
very handsome in slacks and a sport shirt that was open at
the throat.
It was a glossy print. By proper cropping, a suitable re-
production of the woman could be made, and now, not
bothering to look any further, Murdock slipped it from the


44
THE BIG GAMBLE
corners which held it and closed the album. When he re-
placed it he turned the slips and gowns well back to get
the album underneath; that was how he happened to see
the letters which rested between two garments nearer the
middle of the drawer.
For a moment he merely looked at them; then he
reached, aware that the stationery was of good quality and
that the handwriting was a man's. There were perhaps a
dozen in all and when he flipped through them he saw
that the handwriting was the same. The thought that they
were both personal and private was corroborated by their
hiding place and the fact that they were tied with a narrow
silken ribbon.
Murdock had no intention of taking them. He had not
even made up his mind whether he ought to read one or
not when he heard the distant knocking at the door, a
startling sound in all that stillness.
Not for an instant was there any doubt in his mind about
that sound and he reacted swiftly, caring nothing at all
about who, or why, but wanting only to get out, knowing
if there was a back door he could make it and if there was
none he could not.
The rap of his calf against the drawer closed it and he
hurried out of the room and down the hall, the letters still
in his hand though he was not aware of them. The knocking
came again, vigorously this time, and as he reached for the
light switch next to the door he could hear the muted
voices beyond. Four steps took him into the workroom and
his groping hands found the swinging door. He slapped
through it to the kitchen, found another switch. He flipped
it on and off and that brief glimpse told him there was a
way out.
He said: “Ahh," as he exhaled and then he was turning


THE BIG GAMBLE
45
the key and opening the metal door and slipping onto the
landing outside. A dim nightlight from somewhere above
outlined the narrow stairwell and the metal treads that
wound downward and he took them two at a time as his
hand slid down the railing. At the bottom he noticed the
letters for the first time and swore under his breath before
he thrust them into his pocket.
The door opened into what seemed like an alley but
when it closed again the blackness was complete until his
eyes adjusted themselves and he could make out an open-
ing to the street on his right. There was no light in the
brick walls that rose canyon-like above him, no sound but
the tap of his shoes and the rustle of his breathing.
The side street was empty when he gained the walk. A
taxi sped by at the corner and, more distantly, he heard
the shifting gears as a heavy truck accelerated. At the in-
tersection he stopped to glance along the street where his
car was parked some fifty feet from the apartment en-
trance. Directly in front of this another car had nosed in
toward the curb, its lights still on. From where he stood
Murdock could not tell whether anyone was in it, so he
approached cautiously, keeping to the curb side and the
shadows of the other cars parked there.
The sedan that interested him was small, black, and un-
marked. Only the extended radio antenna suggested it was
a police vehicle and when he saw it was empty he moved
close enough to see the license plate and be sure. After
that he walked quickly on to his own car, climbed in and
got it rolling.


"I had ive you beends to work for the
GEORGE EMERLY was waiting in the studio when Mur-
dock walked in; so was Fred Berry, a smooth-faced youth
who had recently come from a smaller newspaper in the
western part of the state to work for the Courier.
"Where've you been?” Emerly said.
“I had to go out. . . . Do you two know each other?
George Emerly-Fred Berry.”
They said hello and Berry said he had read some of
Emerly's stuff, and Murdock asked if Klime was around.
Berry said he had just left.
“Give me five minutes," Murdock said, "and I'll be
ready."
He went out before anyone could reply, rode the ele-
vator to the city room, and took the photograph of Hazel
Franklin to the desk. He did not explain where he got it and
no questions were asked. Long experience had convinced
the editor that all photographers were a little nuts anyway.
Nothing pleased them more than to produce hard-to-get
pictures, but for some reason, apparently known only to
other photographers, they became universally mysterious
about sources and circumstances.
He nodded and put the print aside. “Good enough,
Kent,” he said. “We can use it in the final and we'll want
it for Monday's editions if the story develops. Berry down-
stairs?”
Murdock said he was. “I know the chief at Bayview,” he


48
THE BIG GAMBLE
he could not help wondering if, out of all the Pauls in
town, the writer could have been Paul Herrick.
George Emerly said very little until the suburbs were
behind and Murdock fed more gas to the car. His lanky
frame was jackknifed on the seat and his hat was tipped
over his eyes. Murdock did not prompt him and finally
Emerly stirred, flipped his cigarette out the lowered win-
dow, and cleared his throat.
“I said I wanted to talk to you. It's kind of a long story
and the reason I came along is because I want some ad-
vice. You get around. You know everybody. You know
some of the cops on Homicide and what makes them tick.
What I'm getting at is this: I don't think I'm going to get
just a routine questioning. I think it'll be a lot more than
that.
"For instance," he said, when Murdock made no com-
ment, “the police are going to want to know all about
Hazel-I mean unless they can tag someone right away and
prove he killed her. They're going to check into her life
and her past and her habits and who her friends were.
Things like that.”
"Probably,” Murdock said, not yet knowing what Em-
erly was trying to prove.
"They'll check her bank account and when they do
they'll find out I've been giving her a check for a hundred
and a quarter a week for several months. They'll say:
'What the hell did she do for you to earn that kind of
dough?' and I'll say: 'She did a little spare time copying.'”
He grunted softly. “They won't buy that so I'll tell 'em the
twenty-five was for the copying and the hundred was for
something else. That's why I said it was a long story. It
goes back to Ted Franklin-and even before.”


50
THE BIG GAMBLE
day when I was knocking myself out trying to get an idea
I read one of Ted's yarns. I could see then why no one
would buy it. He just didn't know how to write the sort of
thing a magazine would publish and yet the idea itself was
damn good. . . . Well, to keep this short, I took that idea
and one of the characters and sat down and got to work.
I didn't just rewrite it; I made a completely new story out
of it. My agent liked it and so did Everyman's Magazine.
They bought it for twelve hundred and fifty bucks, and
asked for more.”
He got another cigarette going and said: “I tried another
and sold that for fifteen, and a third at the same price. But
what was more important was that I got a feel for com-
mercial fiction I'd never had before. I got confidence, I felt
I knew how it should be done. I got an idea of my own
and developed it and it went to the magazine for two
grand, and then to television for three, and finally to the
movies for thirty-five thousand, which I had to split with
the guy who did the teleplay.
"When I couldn't get another idea of my own I tried
another of Ted's and then, with some dough-to coast on, I
tried a book. It'll be out in a couple of weeks and the Digest
Book Club is taking it and there's a possibility of a movie
sale. . . . But the thing to bear in mind is that Ted was an
orphan. I thought he was divorced. He had no heirs. The
stories I used weren't mine, but whose were they? They
were worthless as they were, and if he'd been alive we
could have split fifty-fifty.”
"There hadn't been any divorce?” Murdock said.
"No."
"Hazel had copied them originally. She read one of them
somewhere or saw one on TV and remembered.”
“Right. And she's a very greedy dame. She'd been work-


THE BIG GAMBLE
51
ing in New York as a public stenographer and she came
running with her little hand out. And the hell of it was, she
had me. There'd been no divorce and she'd really inherited
those old stories. So after we'd screamed at each other for a
while we made a deal. On the stories I'd used and sold
she was to get half. When we added things up I didn't
have enough to give her half so I wrote a check for twenty-
five hundred and agreed to give her a hundred a week on
account."
He cleared his throat and said: “But I wouldn't go for
that deal on the stories that were left, the ones I hadn't
used. They weren't worth a dime in their present shape and
she knew it. I said I could get along without them now; I
told her to take them and clear out, but she knew better
than that. I admitted I might be able to use some of them,
but it would still be a lot of work and if she wanted to
settle for twenty-five per cent-after commission-okay;
otherwise, no deal. . . . She took it. We signed an agree-
ment.”
“I saw it,” Murdock said.
For another quarter of a mile there was no sound but
the hum of the motor. He kept his eyes on the road but he
could see Emerly turn toward him and feel the intensity of
his gaze.
“You what? How could you?”
"I stopped by her apartment tonight,” Murdock said,
and then he was explaining why he had gone there and
how he had entered. He did not mention the man who
jumped him, or speak of the letters, but he said it was
obvious that someone had been there before him.
“I don't know what the guy was looking for, but the desk
had been searched and this agreement was on the floor with
some other papers.”


52
THE BIG GAMBLE
After a while Emerly said: “Well, I'll be damned. ...
Yeah. She's got one copy and I've got the other.”
“So what’re you worried about?
"Well-I mean-the cops check with the bank and they
dred and twenty-five a week for twenty-five bucks worth of
work-to show you how suspicious she is, she picks up my
morning's work every day and copies it to make sure I don't
slip a fast one over on her-and the cops'll say this dame
has got her hooks in you, Emerly. Maybe that's a motive
for murder."
Murdock grunted and said: “You've got too much im-
agination. You can explain those payments and you have
the stories and records to prove it. Where's the strain?”
"The thing to do is tell them the truth?”
"Certainly."
"I understand she has a brother," Emerly said. “I sup-
pose he'd inherit whatever she has. The contract was with
Hazel, but I suppose I could pay him the cut if I use any
more of Ted's stories.”
"Probably," Murdock said. “But you can get a legal opin-
ion on that."
“Yeah. Well-” Emerly sat up and adjusted his hat, his
voice suddenly relieved. “I guess that's okay then. This
thing sort of knocked me over and my conscience was
bothering me because I really did use some stories that
weren't mine. I wouldn't even have thought of it if I'd
known anyone could ever claim them."
“Naturally you wouldn't,” Murdock said.
"Well, that's all right then," Emerly said. “And thanks
for listening. I feel better already."


THE BAYVIEW POLICE STATION was a one-story
brick building with a garage and four seldom used cells
in the basement and four rooms upstairs-a waiting room
with the booking desk, an office for the chief, a detention
room, and a recreation room with lockers and a shower in
the rear. The police force consisted of five men, including
Nickerson, the chief, and one of these was talking to Berry
when Murdock and Emerly entered. Charlie Lane sat by
himself near one wall. Murdock walked over to him.
“How'd it go?"
"Okay."
"Charlie-this is George Emerly-Charlie Lane. ...
George plays a little golf once in a while.”
“I'm a hacker, Charlie,” Emerly said as he shook hands.
“You got a lot of company."
The uniformed officer had been watching this and now
he stepped up.
“You're Murdock, aren't you? The chief's waiting for
you.”
"Is he sore?”
"A little."
Murdock glanced again at Charlie. “Are you through or
just waiting?"
“I don't know. They said to wait.”
“I'll give you a lift back to the motel when I'm finished
with the chief.” He looked at the officer. “Anyone with
him?”


54
THE BIG GAMBLE
“Lieutenant Carlin of the state police.” He walked over
to a door, knocked, stuck his head in. “Murdock's here."
“Get him in here," a voice said.
Murdock nodded to Emerly and led the way into the
office. The man who scowled up at him from behind the
desk was chunky and middle-aged, his bald head sun-
tanned, his heavy face florid
“A fine thing,” he said irritably. "If I didn't know you
I'd have asked the Boston police to pick you up and hold
you."
“Didn't Charlie Lane tell you why I took off?”
“Sure he told me."
“I came back, didn't I? I didn't hold you up, did I?”
He grinned, knowing that the chief was not really an-
noyed but understanding that he had to complain about
such unorthodox conduct. “I brought a reporter back with
me,” he said. “Treat him right and he'll put your name in
the papers."
“Phuie,” said Nickerson. “Sit down. This is Lieutenant
Carlin."
Carlin nodded, a lean-bodied man in sport coat and
slacks. About forty, Murdock thought, with shrewd, ex-
pressionless blue eyes and light-brown hair that had been
recently cut and seemed a bit too short.
Murdock said: "Hello, Lieutenant,” and introduced
Emerly. “I got him out of bed and brought him along be-
cause I thought he might be able to help.”
“We could use some,” Carlin said. “You knew her, Mr.
Emerly?”
Emerly sat down and explained what Hazel Franklin
had done for him.
"How well did you know her?”
“Well-I saw her nearly every day for a few minutes."


THE BIG GAMBLE
55
“But just for business reasons, huh? No emotional prob-
lem there?”
“Good God, no!” Emerly laughed shortly. "I'm twenty
years older than she was and I don't make the kind of
money that would interest her. I'm a writer."
"Money was important to her, is that it?”
“Very."
“So who was she interested in?”
Emerly thought it over. He glanced at Murdock and his
brows bunched above the amber-rimmed glasses. Finally
he said:
“She had quite a few dates with Carl Darrow.”
“I know him,” Nickerson said to Carlin. “He owns part
of the Blue Heron.”
“Who else?” Carlin said.
Emerly gestured with one hand. “I wasn't interested in
her love life, Lieutenant. I only saw her a few minutes each
day. I think she dated quite a few guys on and off. She
was the kind of woman that wouldn't want to sit home
every night.”
“Who, specifically, besides Darrow,” said Carlin, still
pressing
“I heard she knew a man by the name of Paul Herrick
pretty well, but that was a while back and anyway you
couldn't prove it by me. I don't even remember where I
heard it.”
Nickerson made some notes on a pad. “Herrick's a piano
player,” he said to Carlin. “Has the orchestra at the Heron.
Or did. I understand they closed last night. . . . You want
to go over exactly how you found her and what you did,
Kent?”.
Murdock shifted in his chair and stretched his legs. The
story he told was accurate but not all inclusive. Because


THE BIG GAMBLE
57
Emerly blinked pale-gray eyes and nodded slightly.
“Yes,” he said, “she did. Two rings and a wrist watch.”
“Describe them, please.”
“Well-one ring was a solitaire.”
“Big?”
"Not especially.”
“Left hand?”
“Right. . . . She had the other on the little finger of the
left hand. A fancier job. What you'd call a cocktail ring, I
think. A sapphire-or what looked like one-with some
small diamonds around it.”
Carlin exchanged glances with the chief and his eyes
seemed to brighten with new interest.
“What about the watch?”
“Platinum studded with diamonds. It looked expen-
sive.”
Carlin said: “Okay,” and leaned back, and Nickerson
said:
“The M.E. noticed the marks on her fingers,"
“She didn't have any rings when I saw her,” Murdock
cut in.
“-and said it looked like she'd been wearing two rings
recently. Also there was a faint mark on the left wrist that
made him curious.”
“Before you leave,” Carlin said to Emerly, “we'll want
a full description-as close as you can make it anyway.
Because it just might be that those pieces'll give us a mo-
tive. . . . There was a mink stole in the closet and a
twenty-dollar bill in her wallet.”
“It don't look like a premeditated job,” Nickerson added.
"Some guy could have walked in on her. If she started to
scream he could've panicked and used that stocking, not


58
THE BIG GAMBLE
meaning to kill her, not realizing what he was doing until
it was too late.”
Murdock considered the premise, finding an objection
or two but not voicing them.
“Or it could have been the boyfriend," Carlin said. “He
was pretty cagey about keeping his identity covered. If
they had a row and she blew her top the guy could have
grabbed her. . . . What kind of woman was she, Mr.
Emerly?”
"Difficult.”
"Hard to get along with?”
"I thought so."
"If it was the boyfriend,” Murdock said, “why steal the
jewelry?”
“Maybe this guy bought some of it and figured we could
trace it to him. . . . Just for the record, where were you
last night, Mr. Emerly?"
There had been no hesitation, no change in inflection,
and the question caught Emerly off guard. He stared,
started to laugh, and thought better of it. He wet his lips
and shrugged one shoulder.
"Home.”
"Alone?”
“I'm afraid so, Lieutenant.”
"I phoned him at around seven thirty,” Murdock said.
“The line was busy, so I left word for one of my photog-
raphers to call him later.” He spoke of the message and
Emerly said:
"I talked to the fellow about ten o'clock."
“Okay.” Carlin pursed his lips and glanced again at the
chief. “I guess that does it for now. What’re your plans
for tomorrow?” he said, glancing at Murdock and Emerly.
“Kent says he's got an extra bed in his room,” Emerly


THE BIG GAMBLE
59
replied. “I can stay around until you're through with me.”
"I'm playing golf.” Murdock glanced at his watch and
saw that it was four fifteen. “I hope.”
"Stop in here before you go back to the city,” Nickerson
said.
Murdock stood and stretched. “Okay to take Charlie
Lane back to the motel with me?”
Nickerson nodded; then he grinned. “Is Charlie going to
caddy for you? ... What a character,” he said. “He
breaks his back out on a golf course until he's a couple
of hundred ahead and then goes to the track and has to
hitch-hike back. The last I heard he was flat again.”
Murdock led the way to the front room and gave Charlie
Lane the word. He asked Berry if he wanted to go to the
motel and see if there was a room, but Berry said he'd stick
around.
“I want to get a statement from the chief and the lieu-
tenant,” he said. “There's a fairly early train out of here
and I'll try to be on it.”
He handed Emerly the keys to his car and Emerly said
he would follow Murdock to the motel. When they got
started Murdock turned to Charlie and asked if he was
still game to caddy.
"Sure,” said Charlie. “I need the dough.”
“When does that lunchroom open?”
“Seven on Sunday.”
"If I'm not in there by seven thirty, bang on the door.”


IT TOOK A KNOCK to rouse Murdock, but he came
awake instantly and went to the door to thank Charlie
Lane. In the other bed Emerly was snoring softly, and
Murdock went into the bath to brush his teeth and ex-
amine his chin. Deciding he could postpone his shave until
he returned after his golf, he donned a pair of lightweight
slacks and a navy polo shirt. When he had put on a sweater
he took his golf shoes and sox from the leather duffel
bag, substituting his soiled shirt, tie, and the odds and
ends on the dresser top.
He got out without waking Emerly and backed his car
from the port, pleased that it was going to be a fine day for
golf, with a slightly overcast sky and very little breeze. He
had juice, bacon and eggs, toast and coffee in the lunch-
room, and Charlie was waiting when he came into the
lobby. ... Doctor Markey was swinging a club when
Murdock walked up to the pro shop at Catansett and he
called out to say he had registered and paid the green fees
for both.
The two men usually played three or four times a sum-
mer, and their games were close enough so that there was
never any strokes given or any adjusting on the tenth tee.
Anything under ninety was a satisfactory game for either,
and now when Markey said: “Same game?” Murdock said:
“Yeah. A buck each way and press on the back nine if we
want to.”
The foursome that was gathering on the first tee told


THE BIG GAMBLE
Although Charlie had a married son, a graduate engi-
neer now living with his wife and two children, some-
where in southern California, he still seemed to have but
two interests-golf and horses. Yet even in golf he seemed
content to caddy, following the sun to Florida from Octo-
ber to May and then moving north again, with stops in
the Carolinas if his money ran out. If there was any sort
of tournament in this part of the state Charlie was there,
usually carrying for one of the leading professionals, most
of whom knew him. It was the same in Florida, but even
though he made good money there the race tracks got it
in the end. He had once won twelve hundred dollars in an
afternoon and the hope of repeating this killing had be-
come a complex that lured him on. It embarrassed him not
at all to admit that the caddies at some Florida club had
to take up a collection to buy him a bus ticket north one
spring when his luck had turned somewhat worse than
usual. Now, because Murdock liked the man, and knew
of no one who didn't, he said:
"You can't keep caddying forever, Charlie.”
“I know it.”
“Why don't you live out near your son? They've got golf
courses out there.”
“Lots of 'em. I did go out one winter. They've got a
room for me in their house, got its own entrance. Every-
thing's nice too, but-I don't know. My daughter-in-law
don't think much of the races and neither of 'em like the
idea of me caddyin'."
“Couldn't you get a job as an assistant pro somewhere?"
“Maybe I will some day.”
“How long since you've played?”
“A long time. I hit a few now and then.” .
“Are you going south again?”
37


64
THE BIG GAMBLE
said he knew the doctor would crack under pressure, and
Markey defied him to take advantage of the opening.
Murdock did, smacking one straight down the middle
about two hundred and twenty yards.
"I hit that one,” he said proudly.
"It's about your first,” Charlie said. “You ought to do
it every time."
They waited down the fairway for Markey to chip out
and Murdock laughed when he saw the doctor's third
catch a trap. He had about a hundred and fifty yards left
and he glanced at the club Charlie handed him.
"I'll never make it with a five-iron,” he said.
"Hit it,” said Charlie. “Get your hands in and stay with
the shot and you'll be right up by the stick.”
Murdock hit it right. He could tell by the feel, and they
both watched the ball climb and then drop on the apron
and kick to within fifteen feet of the pin. Murdock felt so
good he took out another ball and dropped it. He handed
Charlie the club.
"You hit one.”
“Ahh-I'm out of practice.”
"Hit it.”
Charlie cocked an eye at him and his sunburned face
warped in a grin. He put away the five-iron and took out a
seven. He balanced the club as he adjusted his grip, put
the head down behind the ball, and placed his feet. He
gave a small forward press and came back in a compact,
all-in-one-piece swing, a little flat because his was a nat-
ural, imitative swing picked up as a boy. His hand action
was crisp and there was no strain as the ball clicked and
the hand-sized divot flew. He plunked the club back into
the bag Murdock was holding while the ball was still in
the air and together they watched it hit about three feet


THE BIG GAMBLE
65
inside Murdock's shot, bounce six feet toward the pin, and
then bite and kick back another foot.
“Okay?” he said as he started off.
Murdock sighed and shook his head. “It'll do,” he said,
with mock indifference. “It's a little short-”
“That's what I was thinking. Leaves me about a five-
footer.”
Markey reached the apron from the trap and putted up
about three feet from the pin. Murdock took his putter
and Charlie said: “Look it over good. You need this.”
Murdock knew he could three-putt and still win this
side and break even with the pressed bet, but he studied
the line thoroughly and concentrated on keeping his head
still. He hit it firmly and knew it was in all the way. Charlie
nodded his approval. “The bird gave you an eighty-nine.”
Markey picked up and said Murdock was a lucky stiff
and how about a drink. Murdock said he'd have a quick
one and Markey could buy it because of the birdie, and
now he let the doctor move on ahead and stayed with
Charlie. Markey had paid the green fee and he would pay
the caddy, but he didn't want Markey to know he was
going to give Charlie ten dollars. Normally at this club
six would have been plenty but he had always felt that
Charlie's advice was worth something extra and the
eighty-nine had made the round for him.
He waited until Charlie put his bag in the rear deck of
his car and then handed him two five-dollar bills. Charlie's
eyes opened appreciatively as he accepted the money.
“Thank you,” he said.
“You're a big help,” Murdock said.
“Any time.” Charlie took some bills from his pocket and
added the two fives. When Murdock noticed that the
caddy already had two or three twenties to go with the


66
THE BIG GAMBLE
fives, he nearly said: “You've already got a start on that
get-away money."
What stopped him was a new thought that was instantly
disturbing. By some odd contortion of the brain he remem-
bered a statement Chief Nickerson had made earlier that
morning: that Charlie had very recently been flat broke.
It had also been said that the wallet in Hazel Franklin's
pocketbook had contained a single twenty-dollar bill. Yet
the night before, when Murdock had examined that wallet
as he looked for some identification, he had distinctly seen
at least three or four bills of the same denomination.
He glanced at Charlie as he pocketed the money, as if
he expected the round, sunburned face to supply some
clue. There was certainly time for the man to have taken
those bills while he waited for the police, but although
Murdock realized this he tried to dismiss the thought be-
cause he was ashamed of it. Charlie was no thief. If he
found some bills lying around unclaimed he might take
them,
Again he tried to erase the supposition. He closed the
rear deck and said he'd give Charlie a ride if he would wait
until he had a quick drink with Doctor Markey. Even then,
as he turned toward the clubhouse, his dark eyes were
troubled and his thoughts continued to nag him.
re
IT WAS a quarter of three when Kent Murdock parked
his car beside the police station in Bayview. There had
been a note from George Emerly at the motel saying that


THE BIG GAMBLE
the writer had gone back to the city, and when Murdock
had shaved and showered, he put on a clean polo shirt,
packed his bags, and loaded his car. He had stopped for a
sandwich and a beer at a near-by restaurant and now, as
he strode through the front room of the station house, a
strange policeman asked what he wanted.
“The chief asked me to stop in."
“There's somebody with him.”
"I'll just check anyway,” Murdock said, not slowing
down, and then he had knocked once and opened the door
to the private office. “Okay to come in?”
Nickerson frowned at the interruption but Lieutenant
Carlin just looked, his face revealing nothing, his slouched
body unmoving. Across the desk from the chief was a man
Murdock recognized but did not know: the district attor-
ney, a graying man of forty or so with a neat and well-fed
look and dark-rimmed glasses. Off to one side and sitting
by himself was Paul Herrick.
“You said to stop in,” Murdock added quickly, wanting
to stay and listen.
“Yeah.” Nickerson gave the red nose a rub and glanced
at the district attorney. “All right,” he said with some re-
luctance. “But nothing you get here is for publication.
... Do you know our district attorney-Mr. O'Brien?”
Murdock said hello and found a chair. O'Brien con-
quered his initial annoyance and consulted the papers on
the desk, turning finally to Herrick.
“Getting back to Mrs. Franklin,” he said. “You were very
friendly at one time, but not recently. This period when
you were friendly-was this in Boston?”
“No, New York. I had a trio down there last winter and
spring.”
"She came to Boston in April?”


68
THE BIG GAMBLE :
"Around there."
“What about you?”
“I think it was May,” Herrick said. “I opened at the
Heron June fifteenth and for a couple of weeks before that
I wasn't working.”
“So when did this affair end?”
Herrick shifted in his chair, and his big hands were rest-
less as they picked at the crease in his slacks and then
raked his short brown hair. The light-brown eyes were
truculent, but he did not object to O'Brien's phrasing.
“Soon after she came to Boston,” he said.
“You haven't seen her lately? When, exactly, did you see
her last?"
Herrick hesitated over the question. He hunched both
shoulders, let them fall. “Last week, I guess. I ran into her
somewhere, I don't remember now.”
O'Brien said: “Hmmm. Now about last night. From
about seven until eight thirty you were eating dinner at
the Heron.”
"That checks out,” Nickerson said. “Except for a phone
call some time after eight the waiter says he was eating.”
“When did you start to play?"
"Around nine thirty.”
“So what did you do between eight thirty and nine
thirty?"
“Nothing."
“I beg your pardon."
"I was around,” Herrick said woodenly. “I don't know
what I was doing. I was in my room part of the time-in
that cottage out back. There are seven or eight rooms for
some of the help. Two of the boys in the band stay there
too; the married ones live where they want to.”
Murdock considered the answer and knew that part of


THE BIG GAMBLE
71
"We're saving that for tomorrow. All we want from you
now is the answers to a few questions and a little co-opera-
tion. . . . You know what happened last night at the Pine
Grove Motel?”
Darrow leaned back and crossed his knees. “Yes.”
“Were you there at any time yesterday?”
"No."
“You still have an interest in the Blue Heron?” !
"I do.”
“You were seen there last night about eleven thirty or a
few minutes later. We'd like to know where you were be-
fore that?”
“How long before that?”
“All evening."
“Home. At my apartment.”
"Alone?”
“Right. I was working on some papers.”
O'Brien hesitated. As he drummed his fingers absently
on the desk top, Carlin spoke.
"Where'd you have dinner, Mr. Darrow?”
"I didn't eat until I got to the club. I'd had a late lunch
and I was busy."
"Is there any way you can prove you were in Boston?”
Darrow cleared his throat. There was a faint huskiness
in his voice but it remained low-pitched and its cadence
was flat and expressionless. He'd had, in former years,
some experience with police methods and investigations,
and Murdock, thinking again of the man's past, recalled
the prison term he had once served.
The charge had been manslaughter when Darrow had
killed a man in a fight over Darrow's first wife. This had
happened twenty years ago and because of the circum-
stances he had served but four years and some months


72
THE BIG GAMBLE
before being paroled. Even then Darrow had been work-
ing his way up in certain rackets-principally laundry and
trucking-but though he had been picked up for question-
ing from time to time there had been no more arrests.
Much of what Murdock knew could be attributed to
rumor, but it was understood that Darrow had become
moderately wealthy and that during the past five or six
years he had retired from such activities and invested his
money, and wisely, in Boston and Miami real estate. He
had married again five years ago. . . . Murdock held the
thought as the man answered.
"I can tell you this, Lieutenant. I phoned my attorney
about nine o'clock.” He gave the lawyer's name and ad-
dress and said: “I asked him to get some figures ready for
me. He crabbed a bit because he had a bridge game sched-
uled, but he finally agreed. I picked the information up at
his house at ten o'clock. Then I drove down here.”
"Any particular reason why?” O'Brien asked.
"Because we were closing up the club last night. I had
to pay off and get the books and records."
O'Brien shuffled some more papers. “You knew Mrs.
Franklin?"
"I did.”
"How well?"
Darrow tipped one hand. “I've been taking her around
quite a bit.”
O'Brien thought it over and then digressed. “I told you
in the beginning that this session is more or less informal.
We're after information and the Boston authorities are
helping us get it. I have an idea they'll come up with a
pretty good line on some phases of your private life, but
you're under no compulsion to answer such questions
now."


THE BIG GAMBLE
73
Darrow uncrossed his knees and allowed himself a thin
smile. “Go ahead and try me,” he said in his husky way.
“I'll tell you when to stop.”
Lieutenant Carlin, who had been letting O'Brien carry
the ball for the most part, narrowed his gaze slightly and
his resentment at Darrow's attitude began to show.
“Look,” he said bluntly. “This is murder, and it could be
that you're a material witness until you can prove dif-
ferent. As such we can hold you right now.”
“Not for long."
“Being Sunday would help,” Carlin said. “We could
spoil the rest of the day for you and most of tomorrow.”
"All right, Sam.” O'Brien lifted his hand and considered
Darrow again. “I'm sure Mr. Darrow wants to co-operate.
... You're a married man, aren't you?” he added quickly.
“Was Mrs. Darrow at your apartment last night?”
“She's in Florida."
“Since when?”
“Since June.”
"Oh? Rather warm down there this time of year, isn't it?”
“That's what I told her,” Darrow said, the small smile
constant now but holding no warmth. “She thought she'd
like to go down there for a divorce.”
“Because of Mrs. Franklin?”
"That could have been part of it. There were other
things.”
The word divorce sent Murdock's thoughts off on another
tangent and he wondered what Hazel Franklin had that
could infatuate men like Herrick and Darrow. For Herrick
was big and handsome; he had an attractive personality
and a reasonably good education. In his business he was
exposed to all kinds of women, and certainly attractive
ones would not be hard to find.


74
THE BIG GAMBLE
Darrow, with the rough edges worn off by a growing
affluence, and with his association with the rackets behind
him, had a certain aura of success about him and the
money to indulge his whims. In addition he had a wife
who by Murdock's standards was both handsome and de-
sirable. He did not know her but he had seen her from time
to time, and it was hard now to understand the man's
apparent preference for Hazel Franklin.
Not that Hazel was unattractive; quite the contrary. As
a typist in the business office of the Courier before she
married, she had been a small but seductively rounded
girl, vivacious and gregarious. She had dated a half dozen
men before settling on Ted Franklin. That she was selfish
and demanding was soon demonstrated after the honey-
moon, but it was not until she left Franklin that he recited
chapter and verse to Murdock one night when he'd had too
much to drink. Recalling the last time he had seen her,
Murdock knew that she was still a good-looking woman,
not pretty, but somehow exciting, a little bold, with a
unique but definite air of sexiness about her, an almost
decadent quality that defied analysis but was somehow re-
flected in the lines of her face, the movements of her body,
the challenging look in her eyes. Whatever the allure, she
had clearly exerted it on Darrow, who had seen enough
of life to know what he was doing and was now answering
a question O'Brien had put to him. ·
“When did I see Hazel last?” He considered a moment.
“Late yesterday afternoon."
"Where?”
"At her place."
“Did you know she was coming to the motel?” O'Brien
watched Darrow shake his head. “Well, what did you talk
about?”


THE BIG GAMBLE
75
“This and that. I told her I was driving down here last
night and asked if she wanted to come. She said no. She
said she'd see me Monday.”
"Who else was she seeing?”
“Nobody that I know of.”
O'Brien refused to buy the statement. His pained ex-
pression and the note of irritation in his voice said so.
“You've been around quite a while, Mr. Darrow," he
said, enunciating with some care. “You spent a lot of time
and probably considerable money on Mrs. Franklin. ...
Now we know she arrived at the motel with a man around
eight o'clock last night. You say it wasn't you.”
“That's right.”
"And you're trying to tell us that you have no idea who
that man might be.”
“I am telling you.”
An abrupt curse punctuated the sentence. It came from
Carlin and his tone was contemptuous when he spoke.
“You know what I think, Darrow? I think you're a liar."
“Why don't you try to prove it, Lieutenant?”
“Don't think we won't,” Carlin said.
Darrow stood and looked at O'Brien. “You asked for
some co-operation and you got it. If you want to argue you
can do it with my lawyer.”
“Then you'd better call him,” Carlin said. “Because
you're due here at nine in the morning.”
"Think it over,” O'Brien said. “Maybe you'll want to
change your mind before morning, but either way what
you say then will be for the record.”
“Maybe I won't say a damn thing in the morning,"
Darrow said. “That's my privilege, isn't it?” He moved over
to the door. “Unless you want to make your pinch now,
I'll shove off.”


76
THE BIG GAMBLE
Carlin began to swear anew when the door closed.
O'Brien looked perturbed as he collected his papers.
Nickerson, who had followed the investigation in silence,
made only one comment.
"Sure, he's lying. The hell of it is we got to prove it.”
Murdock pulled himself erect. When O'Brien asked if
there was anything he would like to add, Murdock said
no, and O'Brien reminded him that what he had heard
was confidential and to keep it that way.
When Murdock went back to his car he decided to pay
a final visit to the Blue Heron before going back to the
city. He did not try to rationalize the impulse, but presently
he found himself thinking again of the blonde Lucille
Dunn, not because he had an idea that she had anything
to do with the murder but simply because he wanted to
see her. She had intrigued him last night, and he was curi-
ous to know what she was like when she wasn't working.
There was a chance that he might still get some explana-
tion for the trick she had played on him, and as he ex-
plored the possibility he remembered something that had
long been dormant in his mind.
He had taken three pictures of that accident last night.
She had stolen the filmholder which held two of them,
and the films had later been developed and destroyed.
But there was a third exposure—the first he had taken-and
it remained where he had put it when he came to the
motel: in the leather duffel bag. There would be time
enough to develop this picture when he got back to the
office; meanwhile there remained the interesting enigma
of the girl.
The Blue Heron seemed deserted when he swung into
the parking lot and eased his car round the end of the


78
THE BIG GAMBLE
THE BIG GAMBLE
"—that took pictures."
“Everybody's gone,” Felix said.
“Everybody but us flunkies," said Nate as he tossed the
empty can aside.
"Boston?” Murdock asked.
"Yep,” they said. “The big city.”
"Do you know where I could find her?”
The smiles went away and the eyes grew speculative.
“You figure to give her any trouble?” Felix asked softly.
“Not me,” Murdock said. “If she complains you can al-
ways look me up at the Courier.”
They considered the remark as they exchanged glances.
Finally Nate shrugged and reached for another shutter.
"You could try the Hotel Lynn," he said. “Just take it
easy. . . . Come on, big man," he said to Felix. “Let's
wrestle another one of these.”
Felix reached for the other end of the shutter. “So long,
Mac,” he said. “Say hello to Lucille for us.”
"But keep it nice,” said Nate. “Keep loose. . . . We'll
see you around.”
THE LONE OCCUPANT of the studio when Murdock
walked in in the early evening was a youth by the name
of Phil Terry, a cocky, rusty-haired newcomer to the staff
who was determined to become the best photographer in
the city. Murdock had stopped for a drink and dinner on
the way up and he also had the filmholder which had been
in the duffel bag. Now he said hello to Terry and went


THE BIG GAMBLE
79
along the narrow corridor to one of the darkroom cubicles.
Of the two films in the holder, the first had no signifi-
cance and had been taken Saturday morning when Mur-
dock was on his way to work. A certain combination of
light and shadow on the river had caught his eye, and
because the pictorial quality pleased him he had stopped
to capture the scene for himself. Now he developed this
along with the accident shot and brought the negatives
back to the printing-room tank. While he let them fix for
a few minutes he went into his office and called police
headquarters.
A sergeant he knew told him that Lieutenant Bacon had
been assigned to cover this end of the Bayview case and
this pleased Murdock-he had known Bacon for many
years and had, on occasion, worked rather closely with him
-until he asked himself why he should care who had the
case.
He did not know who had killed Hazel Franklin. He
was involved to the extent that he had helped find the
body, but aside from a normal curiosity it made no dif-
ference to him who the guilty person was. Given a little
time and the proper breaks the police would make an arrest
and he, Murdock, might have to be a witness, but at the
moment there was little point in worrying about the future.
. . . Except for one thing that finally became the focus of
his thoughts.
What about the letters he had taken from Hazel Frank-
lin's apartment and which were now locked in the center
drawer of the desk?
He unlocked this drawer now. He turned the packet of
letters over in his hands, his dark brows bunching and his
gaze concerned as he kept asking himself two questions:
Should he turn them over to the police and involve himself


80
THE BIG GAMBLE
in additional explanations? Or should he return them to
Paul Herrick?
It took him quite a while to reach a decision. Even when
it came it was most unsatisfactory. He was annoyed with
himself for having taken the letters in the first place, even
though the act had been unconscious rather than de-
liberate.
The point was-he had them. He was afraid to destroy
them. And so he decided to wait further developments. If
the police could build up sufficient evidence to charge
Herrick with murder, he could go to Bacon and tell the
truth. If, on the other hand, the police could find a more
likely suspect the decent thing to do would be to give
Herrick the letters.
That Murdock, having reached a decision, then hedged
his bet was due to experience that had taught him it was
often wise to have a trump card he could use when his
judgment was wrong. And so, not knowing what would
eventually happen to the letters, he knew he should take
the precaution of photographing one or two of the notes,
not here where someone might ask questions, but at his
apartment where he could work in private.
With the letters in his pocket he snapped off the light
and went out to speak to Terry, asking him to print the
two negatives for him.
"Sure.” Terry put aside his crossword puzzle. “What'll I
do with the prints?”
“Stick them under the blotting pad on my desk and let
the negatives dry. The boy can file them tomorrow."
One of the first things Kent Murdock had done when he
moved into his second-floor apartment several years ear-
lier was to make a deal with the landlord so that he could


THE BIG GAMBLE
81
fix up a darkroom. By putting up a partition in the kitchen,
he had sealed off what had originally been a dinette, put
in a door, installed a special shade for the window, and
added the necessary plumbing to give him a compact but
self-contained unit. He had also rigged up a home-made
device for copying photographs and papers and now, at
nine twenty, he set up his camera and slipped the top
letter from under the ribbon.
For an easel he had a piece of plywood that could be
fastened vertically to the wall. Thumbtacks had been stuck
along one edge and he used four of them to pin the sheet
of stationery flat; then, using two more, he stuck the en-
velope above the sheet so that the name, address, and
postmark would be visible. He switched on his lights, ad-
justed the focus, and clicked the shutter. He repeated the
procedure with the second letter, replaced both under the
ribbon, put the packet into a drawer. He had disassembled
his easel and camera-support and was about to remove the
filmholder when the buzzer sounded.
He scowled absently as the sound was repeated, because
he did not want company. He also knew that his lights
were visible from the street and that it would do no good
to pretend he was not at home. And so, reluctantly, he
stepped into the kitchen, swinging the darkroom door be-
hind him. He crossed the living room as the buzzer
sounded again more insistently.
He said: “Okay, okay,” none too pleasantly and turned
the knob. He opened the door, stepping back as he did so.
The two men who had been waiting in the hall moved
quickly across the threshold as a unit, giving him no choice
but to retreat still more. By the time he got his balance they
were inside.
The manner of entrance and the arrogance displayed


THE BIG GAMBLE
83
He had turned as he spoke and two long strides took
him to the telephone. He snatched it up, ignoring the big
man and punching his finger at the dial. His finger had
just started to move when the instrument was snatched
from his grasp. Then, as he cocked his left, a hamlike fist
clubbed him on the side of the head and he fell over,
bouncing on one shoulder and twisting to his knee, not
hurt but a little stunned by the force of the blow.
His first reaction was instinctive and the desire to at-
tack was strong. His hands came to the floor and his
muscles tensed, like a sprinter awaiting the starter's gun.
He had his eyes fixed on the big man's belly when the
other man spoke.
“Don't try it.”
The harsh warning was sufficient to spoil the attempt
and start him thinking, and as he watched the big man
replace the telephone he began to understand that new
tactics were needed. Before he could come to his feet he
saw that the second man had pulled out a short-barreled
revolver.
“Don't be a chump,” he said. “Harry could take you
with one hand.”
“Maybe,” Murdock said, still burning. “Why don't you
leave us alone and see.” He rose and dusted off his knee.
“What're you waving the gun for if Harry's so good?”
“Because we got a job to do and we get paid to make
sure.”
“You want a picture,” Murdock said. “If you don't get it
you start blasting, is that the way it works?”
“Not exactly. But a slug in the knee would put you down
long enough for us to take this place apart.” He glanced at
his companion. “Which is what we may have to do, Harry.”
"Why don't you get started then?” Harry said. “If this


84
THE BIG GAMBLE
character wants to slug it out with me we can go a couple
of fast rounds while you're looking."
He shifted his weight slightly as he spoke and the
flattened lips warped in a grin. His companion glanced at
the kitchen door and seemed to be considering the sug-
gestion seriously. At the same time Murdock realized that
he could no longer afford the luxury of a healthy anger.
His resentment was still nagging him but he remembered
the letters he had just photographed and the filmholder
that was still in the camera.
“Wait a minute," he said. “What picture are you talking
about?"
The man with the gun smiled. “That's better," he said.
“What picture? The one you took Saturday night of an
accident on the way to the Cape.”
“Oh, that,” said Murdock, pretending there had been a
misunderstanding. “Somebody already swiped those two
shots.”
“There was another. You took three, remember?”
Murdock sighed softly. So that was it? Someone thought
the film he had nearly forgotten was important after all.
If young Terry had done his job a print of that negative
should be safely tucked away beneath the blotter pad on
his desk and it would do no great harm to surrender the
film. Yet even as he realized this the stubbornness con-
tinued to work on him, and it was characteristic that he
refuse to surrender any film under pressure-unless, of
course, the pressure got too great.
“I remember," he said, “but I haven't got it now."
“You can get it.”
“I doubt it.”
“Maybe we can make you try.”
“I can make him," Harry said.


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THE BIG GAMBLE
telephone stand. He stood still while Harry found the num-
ber and began to dial.
“Who does he ask for?” the gunman said.
"Ask for the studio. I'll take it from there.”
He heard Harry repeat the words, and the gun was in
his back now as he took the telephone and heard Phil
Terry's voice.
“Phil-Kent Murdock. You know that film you devel-
oped?” he asked, hoping that Terry would not mention the
print. “The one of the traffic accident. . . . Well, can you
get a boy to bring it to my place?”
"I'll bring it myself,” Terry said. “I'm just going off.”
“Right away?”
"Sure. . . . Say, someone called in for you a while ago.
I told him you were home. Did you get the call?”
“Yeah," said Murdock dryly. “I got it. See you soon."
He replaced the instrument gently and the gun was no
longer in his back. He turned.
“Okay?"
"It's a good start,” the gunman said. “Let's sit down and
relax. Take that chair by the door.”
Murdock did as directed. Harry pulled a straight-backed
chair near him, and his companion eased down on the
divan, the gun dangling between his legs. They sat that
way in complete silence for perhaps ten minutes, until
Harry cleared his throat.
“How much longer?”
Murdock glanced at his watch. He said: “Any minute
now," and not long after that they heard the buzzer.
“Watch it!” The gunman pocketed the gun but kept his
hand on it. “No tricks. Get the film and get rid of him."
Murdock opened the door and Harry moved with him to


THE BIG GAMBLE
87
lean negligently against the wall but no more than an arm's
length away.
Terry said: “Hi,” and took a step into the room. He
reached into his pocket and brought forth a negative. His
glance flicked to Harry, to the man on the davenport.
Then he hesitated.
Murdock did not know why, but he saw the youth's eyes
narrow and things start to happen behind them. It may
have been some inner radar that told Terry there was
something wrong with the set-up; it may have been a ques-
tion about the quality of Murdock's visitors or the look in
their eyes. Whatever the reason he took another half step.
He grinned, still holding on to the negative.
“You got a drink in the place?” he asked.
Under other circumstances Murdock would have been
delighted with the young photographer's reaction. In some
way of his own he had smelled trouble and now, without
knowing the nature of that trouble, he wanted a piece of it.
The request for a drink was simply an opening gambit and
he was leaving the strategy to Murdock, and Murdock's
veto came at once.
Thinking of his films and equipment, and the gun that
Terry did not know about, he refused to take a chance.
Someone would certainly get hurt and he did not want
this to happen to Terry. At that Harry nearly spoiled
things.
“No drink, sonny,” he said. “Hand it over and blow.”
Terry looked at him and his chin moved out a half inch.
“Whose place is this, Fatso?”
"He's right about the drink, Phil,” Murdock cut in. “I'm
all out. I couldn't even offer my friends a shot.” He had the
film in his fingers now and he pulled it free as he edged
forward to crowd Terry into the doorway.


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THE BIG GAMBLE
“You got a raincheck," he added. “And thanks for bring-
ing the negative. See you tomorrow, hunh?”
Terry was in the hall before he knew it. There was a
look of puzzlement and disappointment on his cocky young
face, but he accepted the decision because it came from
his boss.
“Sure,” he said as he turned away. “Sure, Kent."
Murdock shut the door and let his breath out slowly.
He walked over to the divan and presented the negative
as the gunman rose, an odd smile on his dark face.
“That's a smart kid,” he said. “Almost too smart. He
could've got himself hurt if you hadn't handled him." He
held the negative up to the light, squinted at it. “Yeah,” he
said. “This should be it. . . . Okay, Harry."
He walked over to the door as Harry opened it. “This
way is better, ain't it, Murdock?”
“Better than what?”
“Better than havin' us rip the joint apart. . . . See you
around.”
"Alone, I hope,” Murdock said.
He let them close the door, then locked it before he
started for the kitchen and darkroom. His thoughts were
an odd mixture of relief and frustration as he automatically
took the cover off his developing tank and snapped off the
light. His fingers removed the films from the holder and
put them in the tank. He covered it, turned on the safe-
light, set the automatic timer. When it buzzed, he gave the
films a quick wash, transferred them to the hypo, and
stepped into the kitchen to fix a drink.
He stood quite a while sipping his bourbon-and-water,
ankles crossed and his buttocks propped against the sink.
His dark hair was tousled now, the dark eyes fixed and
sightless. The weariness was beginning to show in his


THE BIG GAMBLE
89
angular face, and in his mind there was only confusion.
When he finally realized this he took his glass into the dark-
room and put his negatives to wash while he cleaned up
the sink and covered his trays.
Because the packet of letters still bothered him, he took
it to the bedroom and tucked it underneath some sweaters
and golf shirts in the bottom drawer of the chest. He un-
dressed slowly and went naked into the bathroom to wash
and brush his teeth. When he had donned pajamas he took
his glass back to the kitchen, made a partial refill, stepped
into the darkroom, and attached clips to the two negatives
which he then hung on a length of wire strung over the
small radiator under the window.
In the morning he would put those negatives in an en-
velope and hide them somewhere. He still did not know
what he ought to do about the letters and he was tired
thinking about them. What he wanted now was sleep and
so he started through the apartment to turn out the lights,
glass in hand until he drained it and opened the bedroom
window.
10
THE FIRST HOUR in the morning was usually a busy one
at the studio and Monday was no exception. The assign-
ment book had to be checked with the day city editor,
men had to be sent forth in the company radio cars, the
business office had to be consulted so that certain pictures
could be taken to keep the advertisers happy. When things
quieted down there was only Bailey in the anteroom and


THE BIG GAMBLE
ng up on complars of liquor more. The monitor
a veteran named Walt Carey, who was in the printing room
finishing up on company time some free-lance job that
promised a few extra dollars of liquor money, an essential
to Carey's way of life. The radio was quiet. The monitor
balanced on top of it-a duplicate of the one in the city
room-showed three of the cars were in use, and now Mur-
dock reached for the print under the blotter pad and
leaned back to examine it.
He had made sure Terry had put it there when he first
came in. He knew that this was the first shot he had taken
of the accident, but even as he gave it his attention he
could see no reason why it should be important to anyone.
The three or four spectators around the battered car on
the road were intent on the wreck and their faces were not
revealed. The first car in line behind the accident was
clearly indicated but the windshield obscured the driver.
The only details visible were the radiator grill, which
identified the make, and the front license number.
In itself this was no clue, but as Murdock's brain began
to work on the thought he remembered Sam Terroni and
his request and his threat. Terroni was not in this picture.
Even if the license number was his it would prove noth-
ing, so why should anyone care?
The silent question was enough to prod Murdock's curi-
osity and he put the print on the desk. There was a
magnifying glass in the drawer and when he used it the
five-digit number became legible. On impulse then he
reached for the telephone and asked for an outside number.
One of Murdock's many acquaintances worked for the
Motor Vehicle Bureau and when he had his connection he
asked for the man and identified himself. They said hello
and each asked the other how he was. With such ameni-
ties out of the way, Murdock stated his request and re-


THE BIG GAMBLE
91
peated the number. He lit a cigarette while he waited, and
a minute later he had the information.
“Carl Darrow," the man said. “You want the address?”
Murdock said no, voiced his appreciation, and hung up.
For several minutes then he drew absently on the cigarette
and let his mind experiment. Out of this came several con-
flicting thoughts.
He again told himself that he was not interested in
solving a murder and had no intention of doing any pri-
vate snooping. On the other hand the reason for his callers
last night was quite clear, and he understood the necessity
for that call. With this photograph in police hands, Carl
Darrow no longer had an alibi for the murder of the woman
he had been running around with.
The scene of that accident was twenty-five minutes or
less from the motel where the woman had been killed. The
time was about eight fifty, a fact the state police could
verify. This meant that Darrow could have left that motel
as late as eight thirty. It meant he could have called on
his lawyer here in the city as stated at ten o'clock, but the
call he said he had made to the lawyer at nine could have
come only from some roadside public telephone. All this
made the photograph vital to Darrow, and possibly just as
vital to the police. In this instance Murdock knew what
his decision was going to be. As if to remind him, his tele-
phone rang and the familiar voice of Lieutenant Bacon
came to him.
“I hear,” said the lieutenant in his dry laconic tones,
"that you fell over another body Saturday night.”
“And I hear you're going to be handling the investiga-
tion at this end.”
“Who said so?”
“Various spies and informers.”


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Bacon grunted as a signal of reluctant assent. “I've
talked to the chief down at Bayview," he said. “Sergeant
Keogh's out pounding on doors with a state police lieu-
tenant named Carlin. I've read a copy of a rough tran-
script. Now I'd like to talk to you.”
“This is a switch,” Murdock said. “Usually I can't even
buy information from you."
“You still can't,” Bacon said. “But in this case you're a
witness and I can call the shots. . . . You knew the
woman, didn't you?”
“Not well."
"How well?”
“She used to work in the business office before she got
married. I knew her husband but she was in New York un-
til sometime last spring. I saw her maybe three times since
then.”
"Okay. When do you want to come down? I'll be out for
a while but”
“Maybe around noon,” Murdock said.
He glanced at his watch as he hung up, knowing now
that he wanted to see Carl Darrow and wondering how
long the session with the police would last at Bayview.
Darrow had been told to be at the station at nine. Mur-
dock did not think he would be detained for long, but
when he realized it was still too early to call on Darrow,
he went upstairs to talk to the Sunday editor about a pic-
ture layout. When he came back a case of whisky was sit-
ting smack in the middle of the anteroom floor.
Bailey, whose doctor had told him he shouldn't drink,
was examining some prints, but Walt Carey, who had worn
a cap as long as anyone could remember, had pushed it
back and was eying the box longingly.
“Scotch,” he said reverently. “Twelve years old.”


94
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The telephone clicked dead before Murdock could re-
ply, and when he stood up he had the frustrated and child-
ish feeling that he had somehow been corrupted in spite
of himself. He ripped open the case. He glanced at the
twelve bottles and knew he could not throw them away
just as he knew he would gag if he took a single swallow.
Then, an idea coming to him, he counted off the fourteen
men who worked for him and found one besides Bailey
who didn't drink, a fellow named Wilson who had tried
whisky too often and found it an impossible tonic.
A cabinet partition had been erected behind Murdock's
office. About desk-high from the floor a broad composition
shelf had been fashioned to serve as a table on which the
various photographers could write captions and make
notes, and above this were rows of sizable pigeonholes.
Each man had his name on one of these, and while the
uses were many and varied, the chief function of each box
was to provide a repository for mail, messages, and such
personal items as struck the fancy.
Now Murdock dragged the case over to the cabinet and
began to distribute the whisky. He allocated one bottle to
each of the drinkers and as he worked Carey got the idea
and spoke up.
“How about me?” he asked anxiously.
"You'll get one,” Murdock said. “But it stays in the box
until you're through for the day.”
“Okay,” said Carey. "Sure. But let me hold it for a min-
ute first, will you?”
Murdock gave him the bottle and Carey made a show of
cuddling it until Murdock snatched it back, grinning now
and his ill-humor forgotten as he rammed the bottle into
Carey's box.


THE BIG GAMBLE
95
Carl Darrow had offices on the fifth floor of a Federal
Street building. Murdock had never been there and was
not sure just what to expect as he entered an outer room
containing two desks, some business machines with stands,
a green-metal filing cabinet, and a water cooler. On the
left a door led to some inner room, and he moved to the
desk nearest this to make his request.
“I'm not sure,” the bespectacled girl said. “Mr. Darrow
just came in a few minutes ago. Is he expecting you?”
"Just tell him Kent Murdock is here.”
“Well—I'll see.”
She stood and opened the door. Beyond, Murdock could
see a paneled room, a settee along one wall, the edge of a
desk over which the girl now leaned. When she came back
a minute later she stood in the doorway and nodded.
When Murdock entered he saw that a much prettier girl
sat at an executive-type desk near the center of the room.
There were two telephones and an inter-office communi-
cator on the desk, a closed door directly in back of it. Be-
side the door was a chair, now occupied by a dark-haired
man in a neat blue suit. He was young, muscular-looking
but not bulky, and until Murdock entered, he apparently
had been reading the newspaper. He still held it, but his
eyes were visible above the top and the object of their in-
terest was no longer the news columns but Murdock. They
picked him up as the girl told him he could go into the next
office, and Murdock had the feeling that he was being
measured, weighed, assessed as to possible intent, and
searched for a concealed weapon all at the same time.
Darrow's office was similar to the outer one except that
the desk was bigger and the pile on the pale-green rug
thicker. There was a leather divan, two leather chairs, and
when Darrow felt like swiveling his own chair the two win-


96
THE BIG GAMBLE
dows would give him a glimpse of the harbor. Now he sat
with his elbows on the desk, in shirtsleeves, fingers locked,
and his tanned, boxlike face impassive.
“I'm busy this morning, Murdock,” he said. “I can give
you five minutes.”
"That should be enough.” Murdock sat in one of the
leather chairs. “How's Harry this morning?”
"Harry who?”
“He didn't give me his last name but you know who I
mean. The big slob that came to my place last night.”
He went on to explain what had happened and there was
no interruption as Darrow leaned back and put his hands
on the arms of the chair. They were strong-looking hands,
the fine black hair on the backs disappearing under French
cuffs which held square gold links. Murdock noticed the
pattern of overlapping squares as he talked. They made
him think of swastikas with a small blue stone in the cen-
ter. He also noted the platinum-and-star-ruby ring on the
little finger.
“It was a good idea,” he said; "threatening to clean out
my negatives unless I produced a particular one. But I
doubt if those two were smart enough to figure it. I think
the job was fingered and you made one mistake.”
“Why me? I've been legitimate for a long time. I haven't
fooled around with muscles for years."
“What do you call that lad outside?”
Darrow moved one thick brow, and a glint of something
that might have been amusement touched his eyes.
"Leslie's my driver."
“Complete with gun?”
"I've made quite a pile, Murdock. There are some old-
timers around that would like to clip me if they got the
chance, and like I say: personally I don't like muscle. Les-


THE BIG GAMBLE
97
lie is a legitimate business deduction. . . . But assuming I
did finger the job, what was the mistake?”
“It just happened that a print of that negative had been
made. It was in my desk at the office. I gave it a look this
morning, and since you don't know anything about it, let
me tell you what that picture was.”
Murdock took his time and his explanation of the acci-
dent and the pictures he had taken was concise; so was
the deduction he then made.
"That photograph knocks the alibi you produced down
at Bayview right out the window.”
“Not quite,” Darrow said. “It puts my car on the road,
but it doesn't put me in it.”
"It makes you think again though, doesn't it?”
Darrow considered the question. He swiveled his chair
to face Murdock; then reached for a mahogany humidor
and removed a cigar. He took out a gold cutter before he
remembered his manners.
“Oh.” He pushed the humidor toward the end of the
desk. “Cigar?”
Murdock shook his head, feeling a certain admiration
for the man's aplomb and watching him clip the end and
roll the cigar gently between his lips. When he had a light,
Darrow puffed a moment and then said:
“What's bugging you, Murdock? Are you playing cop
now? Is there a reward out you'd like a piece of?”
Murdock eyed the other directly and smiled, not en-
thusiastically but enough to let Darrow know the needle
wasn't bothering him.
“I don't like people interfering with my work-which is
taking pictures. I don't like being pushed around.”
“Who does?” Darrow shrugged and examined the end of
his cigar. “What did you do with the picture?”
rrow


98
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Murdock hesitated. The photograph had been rolled up
and now rested in his inside pocket, but since a small lie
seemed in order he said:
“I sent it down to Lieutenant Bacon by messenger. I'm
seeing him later and you'll probably be hearing from him."
He rose and straightened his jacket. “The thing that gets
me is how you stayed tangled up with a woman like Hazel
Franklin for so long. You've got money, good looks. You
know your way around and”-he made a small bow-
“if I may say so, you have a very attractive wife.”
If Darrow took offense he did not show it. He continued
to take small puffs on his cigar and turned his chair still
more so that his gaze moved to one of the windows. When
he finally spoke the words seemed directed more at him-
self than at Murdock.
"I used to wonder myself. I still don't know what it was
that Hazel had. Sure she was good-looking, but no knock-
out. Sexy? In a way, but it was something more, something
you knew wasn't very good and yet you kept trying to find
out what it was. I paid six fifty for a mink stole-she was a
selfish, greedy dame and you knew that too-and twenty-
five for a diamond wrist watch that somebody stole”
He stopped abruptly, as though realizing the monologue
was too personal to be voiced before a witness. He turned
his chair to face Murdock and his tone was again matter-
of-fact and indifferent.
"I'll be glad to talk to Bacon,” he said. “I'll even give
him some advice: Find the guy who stole that watch and
the two rings and he'll have his killer. ... Well, thanks
me
his attention to the papers on his desk. “I'll do the same
for you some time."


100
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"I got time.”
Murdock complied, editing as he went along but giving
the facts that dealt with his finding of Hazel Franklin's
body. When he finished he said:
“What've you found out this morning at this end?”
"A few little things."
"Like what?"
"They're not for publication."
"I'll make a deal.”
“No deal.”
"I might have a lead for you."
Bacon's eyes opened a little but he was still suspicious.
Murdock understood the reaction because he had known
Bacon a long time and, within limits, could almost sense
how his mind would work. By practice and training, Bacon
played by the book, but there were ways of getting his
guard down. In this case the feeling of respect was mutual,
and Murdock had an idea that if he opened up Bacon
would, in the end, speak of the few little things he had
heretofore refused to discuss. Now, taking the rolled pho-
tograph from his pocket, he straightened it deliberately.
He examined it while he waited for Bacon's outburst. Pres-
ently it came.
“Come on, damn it!” he snapped. “What's the lead?” He
held his hand out and Murdock passed over the photo-
graph, watching the scowl deepen until Bacon glanced up.
“What is it? What kind of a lead is this?”
"It'll take a while.”
"I told you I had time."
Murdock crossed his knees and began to talk. He started
with the accident and the three photographs he had taken.
He mentioned Sam Terroni and Lucille Dunn; he spoke of
his discovery that the two films she had taken had been


THE BIG GAMBLE
103
chance. I think he gave her the story of the boyfriend
and told her what to do.”
“She gave you the con and the big smile,” said Bacon,
"and you bit. She was a good-looking number, hunh?”
“Very.”
“Then it was a cinch you'd buy the story."
“So would you,” Murdock said defensively.
“Maybe.” Bacon pushed his lips out and sucked them
back. “If I accept that I guess I have to accept the business
of her taking your car long enough to get the filmholder.
She got a cab to the Blue Heron, talked her photographer
friend into developing the film to make sure she had the
accident pictures. When Darrow finally showed up just be-
fore midnight she gave him the word. But she missed one
shot because you had that filmholder in your pocket
"Umm,” he said. “Yeah. And if I go along that far I can
see why Darrow would send those two hoods to your
place. He was still trying. . . . But he did see his lawyer
at ten. We've checked that. The lawyer says Darrow
phoned at nine-"
“He could have done that as soon as traffic started mov-
ing after the accident,” Murdock said. “With dial phones
there's no way of telling where a call comes from.”
Bacon opened a drawer and brought forth a long, slim
cigar that looked singularly unimpressive. He had been
smoking them ever since Murdock knew him. Little Won-
der Panatelas was the trade name, and Bacon bought them
by the box at five cents apiece. When he had manicured
one end with the same loving care he would have lavished
on a Corona-Corona, he wet the tip, rolling it gently be-
tween his lips.
“Yeah,” he said, sounding much more amiable. “Dar-
row'll have fun explaining this.” He tapped the photo-


104
THE BIG GAMBLE
graph and then picked up a pencil. “You say this blonde's
name is Lucille Dunn? Any idea where I could find her?"
Murdock ground out his cigarette. "You could try the
Hotel Lynn.”
Bacon's eyes opened a trifle. “You been around there al-
ready?” He watched Murdock shake his head, then said:
“You know a lot of things this morning.”
“I doubt if you'll do much good there," Murdock said.
“She'll deny I picked her up or that she took the film-
holder"
“Sure, sure," Bacon cut in. “Your word against hers, but
if she's as cute as you say she is I'd like to have a look
myself.”
"What about the missing jewelry?”
"It's still missing.”
“Have you been over Mrs. Franklin's apartment?”
“With a comb. Nothing there that helps.”
"Any relatives?”
"A brother. We're trying to raise him in New York.”
“What about her bank account?”
“We checked that too."
Bacon lit his cigar expertly and blew out the match. He
took a few experimental but tidy puffs and began to rock
gently in his chair. With a sidewise glance he said:
“Do you know a guy named George Emerly?”
“Yes.”
"Paul Herrick?”
"Yep."
"Any connection between the two?"
"Not that I know of. Emerly's a writer and Herrick's a
musician. Why?”
"It looks like this dame had a racket. She's been deposit-
ing two hundred and twenty-five bucks a week for several


THE BIG GAMBLE
105
months. Before that there was an entry of twenty-five hun-
dred. We wondered why, so we got the bank to give us a
look at the checks she deposited. They photograph 'em
these days,”
“With a Recordak.”
"Is that what they call those machines? Well, anyway,
Emerly and Herrick are the lads that have been getting up
the dough-Herrick for an even hundred and Emerly for a
hundred and a quarter. According to this”-he tapped
some typescript on his desk-“she did some typing for
Emerly. For a hundred-and-a-quarter she must've been
putting in a lot of overtime.”
Murdock had the answer for this as he recalled Emerly's
story and his concern. The details given him on the ride
back to Bayview Saturday night were still clear, but he
was not sure whether he should tell Bacon now or let Em-
erly do it personally. To temporize he said:
"Have you asked them about it?"
“No, but I'm going to. How well do you know Herrick?”
"Not too well.”
“Emerly?”
“For years. He used to work on the Courier."
“Then let's go see him now. You can introduce me.”
He stood up and reached for his hat, a gray felt that had
been re-blocked but still looked neat. He put it on the cen-
ter of his head and then, his gaze meeting Murdock's di-
rectly, he digressed.
“There's one other bit-not for publication. Mrs. Darrow
flew up from Florida on Saturday. She got in town at five
o'clock, which would give her plenty of time to get to that
motel by eight. That is, if she had any ideas and the right
sort of information. I haven't talked to her yet but I will."
He opened the door. “Makes you wonder, hunh? That


106
THE BIG GAMBLE
Franklin woman wasn't too husky, was she? And when you
get a stocking around a neck like that it wouldn't take too
much muscle would it. . . . Have you ever seen this Mrs.
Darrow? How's she built?”
“Very nicely,” Murdock said, “if you like your women
tall and well proportioned.”
12
GEORGE EMERLY was clad in slacks, slippers, and an
old sweater when he opened the door of his apartment
which was on the third floor of a modest building in the
Fenway district. He seemed a bit surprised to see Murdock
but smiled quickly as he said hello. He stood aside so they
could enter, giving Bacon no more than a brief glance
until Murdock introduced him.
"Come in,” he said. “I've been expecting someone from
your office, Lieutenant."
Bacon, who had made a quick inspection of Emerly, did
the same thing to the living room before he replied.
"Is that so?” His glance came back and his tone was flat,
noncommittal and, to one who did not know him, quite
possibly disconcerting. “Why?”
"Well-I mean-” Emerly made embarrassed noises in
his throat. “After all, I was questioned in Bayview. I didn't
think that would be the end of it. . . . Unless, of course,
you've already solved the case.”
"We haven't,” Bacon said. “Let's sit down and discuss
it, Mr. Emerly.”
"Fine. Shall we go in here?"


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Bacon gave Murdock a scathing glance and there was an
undertone of sarcasm in his reply. "Murdock doesn't al-
ways confide in me.”
"I thought it would be simpler if you got the story di-
rect,” Murdock said. “That's why we're here, isn't it?”
“The whole thing is sort of complicated,” Emerly said.
“Try it on me for size,” Bacon said. “Maybe I can follow
it.”
“Well”-Emerly sighed—“it goes back to a guy named
Ted Franklin who used to be a reporter on the Courier."
“This was Mrs. Franklin's husband?”
Emerly said yes and then he was repeating the details
he had given Murdock Saturday night. He spoke with care
and did his best to be explicit, as though aware that Bacon
could not be expected to know the vagaries of the writing
business.
Because he knew what was coming, Murdock did not
try to follow the account; instead his mind went back to
the letters signed Paul. They were still in the bottom
drawer of the bedroom chest, and the two negatives he
had made were in an envelope secreted between the box
spring and mattress on his bed. What made them seem
even more important now was the information Bacon had
passed along: that Paul Herrick had been paying Hazel
Franklin a hundred dollars a week for a considerable
period.
Herrick had admitted to seeing Hazel in New York. The
phrasing of the letter Murdock had scanned suggested
that this had been a passionate affair. Now Herrick was in
love again. He intended to marry a girl whose father could
assure his musical future. In the hands of a woman like
Hazel those letters were a definite threat to that future,
and it seemed reasonable to assume that it was to hold off


THE BIG GAMBLE
109
this threat that Herrick had been paying tribute. The
weekly payment would be considerable to a man who had
never made the musical big time, and everyone who knew
Hazel testified to her greediness. Suppose then that she
had made new demands that Herrick could not, or would
not, fulfill.
Based on such assumptions, the motive for murder was
there. In addition Murdock had seen a man who looked
like Herrick drive a car out of the Pine Grove Motel some
time around nine thirty the night of the murder. Testimony
given at Bayview said that Herrick had been eating dinner
from seven thirty until some time after eight thirty, except
for a brief period when he had answered a telephone call.
From the motel?
To make an appointment with Hazel? Why else would
he have driven to the motel later? There could be other
reasons, but it seemed likely that Herrick knew Hazel
Franklin was staying there.
The thought stuck there as he saw Bacon move to the
desk and take a sheet from a small pad. Reluctantly he
brought his mind into focus, understanding that Emerly's
explanation was over and that Bacon wanted details.
“Let's do a little arithmetic.” Bacon found a pencil and
sat down again. “I got the general idea okay but I want
to break it down. . . . Now you sold the first story based
on Franklin's old idea for twelve hundred and fifty bucks,
right? Have you got the story there?"
"Sure."
Emerly swiveled his chair and leaned over to open the
bottom drawer of a multiple-decked filing cabinet. He
flipped his fingers across the tops of the manuscripts resting
there.
“These are the Franklin stories-originals and carbons


110
THE BIG GAMBLE
-I haven't used. How many I might have used in the fu-
ture under the contract Hazel and I signed I haven't any
idea.” He opened the next drawer and took out a manu-
script.
“This is a Franklin story I did use. The first one, as a
matter of fact. The two copies he left behind, the rough
draft I made of it, and a carbon of my final version." He
touched a slip of paper that had been clipped to the title
page. “This is what happened to it. Who bought it and for
how much."
He twisted his lanky body to see if Bacon was following
him and then opened the drawer above. It was full of
manuscript, but unlike that in the other drawers the pages
were of yellow copy-paper instead of white.
"These are all my own stories. There's a record on each
one because not all of them sold. This one here is the fiction
piece I did after I had rewritten a couple of Franklin's, the
one I sold to TV and the movies.” He indicated another
script. “This is another in the same field that I couldn't
peddle.” He brought forth a bulkier script. “This is the
original of my book which will be out shortly. The carbon
of the final draft is in the top drawer.”
Bacon handed back the manuscript he had been ex-
amining. “All right,” he said, "let's get back to the book-
keeping. You got twelve fifty for this. How much for the
next?”
"Fifteen hundred."
“The next?”
"Fifteen hundred plus fifteen more for an hour TV
show."
“The next?”
“Chronologically the next was my own. So was the one
after that, but it didn't sell. The next Franklin job went for


THE BIG GAMBLE
111
two thousand plus two thousand. I've started on another
one but it isn't finished.”
Bacon, who had been making notes, said: “The Frank-
lin stuff adds up to ninety-seven fifty. . . . She recognized
her husband's stuff and came up here and threatened
you?”
“That's right."
“You thought Franklin had been divorced, but he
hadn't, and you worked out a deal where she was to get
half of the dough you'd collected. That would be half of
ninety-seven fifty.”
“Less commission. I've got an agent.”
“How much is that?”
“Ten per cent. Nine seventy-five.”
Bacon made another note of subtraction. “That leaves
eighty-seven seventy-five.” He took out a small notebook
and consulted it. “You paid her twenty-five hundred
originally and a hundred a week for eighteen weeks. That's
forty-three hundred. In other words, you lacked only
eighty-seven bucks of being even.”
Emerly shut the file drawers and turned back to the
desk. “That's right.”
“Why didn't you pay her off in the first place?"
Emerly grinned crookedly and ran his fingers through
the graying sandy hair.
"I didn't have the cash at the time. Hell, Lieutenant,
I had to pay taxes on that money and I'd spent most of it.
I could have cleaned it up out of advances on the book,
but by that time she liked the hundred-a-week idea.”
Bacon put his hat on and replaced his automatic pencil.
He folded his notes and pocketed the slip.
“This last story," he said, “the one that isn't finished,


THE BIG GAMBLE
113
"No."
“What about Paul Herrick?”
"I don't know that she ever mentioned him.”
“You didn't know she'd been collecting a hundred a
week from him too?”
"No, I didn't. Why should he_”
“We're not sure yet.”
Bacon rose and adjusted his hat to make sure it was
placed dead center on his graying head.
“Thanks for the co-operation, Mr. Emerly,” he said. “We
may want you to put all of this on paper so the D.A. can
understand the facts. I'll let you know.”
"I'll be glad to.”
Emerly stood and touched Murdock's arm as Bacon left
the room. He spoke softly as they moved toward the door.
"Thanks for the advice you gave me Saturday night,
and thanks for coming along. It made things a hell of a
lot easier."
Murdock said to forget it. He said it was Bacon's idea.
Murdock lunched late that day, and because he was not
very hungry he stopped at a tavern around the corner from
the Courier to get a hot corned beef sandwich and a beer.
He had managed rather successfully to get his mind off
the business of murder, when someone pulled out the chair
on the opposite side of his table. Before he could glance
up a friendly voice said:
"Hello, Mr. Murdock. All right if I sit down a minute?”
Murdock's eyes widened; then he grinned.
"Hey, Charlie,” he said. “What brings you to town? Sit
down. Have you had your lunch?”
Charlie Lane seemed different in his city clothes, and
Murdock realized this was the first time he had ever seen


114
THE BIG GAMBLE
him in a suit and wearing a tie. He looked very neat but
somehow uncomfortable, and his sunburned, wrinkled
face seemed even more noticeable against the white back-
ground of his shirt.
“I've had my lunch, thanks,” he said when he had
settled himself. “They told me at your office you might be
here."
“Well, how about coffee?"
“Coffee would be fine.”
Murdock gave the waiter the order and took another
bite of his sandwich. He watched Charlie examine his sur-
roundings. When the eyes remained evasive, he said:
“When'd you get up?”
“This morning. I got me a room for a few days."
“Before you go to Florida?”
“That's what I hope. That's what I wanted to talk to you
about.”
He leaned back as the waiter deposited the coffee. He
spooned sugar and stirred. He kept stirring and seemed
intent on the whirlpool he was creating. He was having
trouble with his next sentence and when it came he was
still looking at his cup.
“A paper like the Courier sometimes pays for tips, don't
it?”
“What kind of tips, Charlie?”
"Well-you know. Tips that give them information, or a
story?”
Murdock's feeling of easy amiability fled instantly with
that question. In its place there came the stirring of sus-
picion that brought an odd sense of shock and concern. It
was not just the words but the evasive manner in which
they had been spoken, a manner so unlike the Charlie Lane
he knew that he sought some other answer.


116
THE BIG GAMBLE
push me around when I was broke. They don't pay for
information.” He gulped more coffee and put the cup
down hard.
"And anyway who says it had anything to do with mur-
der? I don't know who killed that woman. This is just some-
thing I saw. Maybe it could be important. Maybe, you
understand? So I thought if I told you, it might be a lead
you could use. If you followed it up and it was important,
and you got a big story out of it, why then you'd get the
credit, the paper I mean, and maybe it would be worth
paying something for."
It was quite a speech for Charlie, but Murdock knew
what he meant. Such knowledge only made him feel worse.
He also sensed that with Charlie in his present mood it
would be futile to argue.
“How much did you have in mind?” he asked.
“Well, I thought if I could get maybe two fifty I'd be
set.” He pushed the cup aside. “'Course if you ain't inter-
ested, forget it. It was just an idea.”
"I didn't say I wasn't interested. But I don't have the
authority to give you a yes or no right here. I'd have to
speak to the managing editor-and I will. But I ought to
explain how a thing like this works; at least how it usually
works."
He waited for Charlie's eyes to meet his and when he
failed he said: “If I get an okay we'd probably give you
fifty bucks to listen to your story. Then we'd have to see
how important it was to us and whether it was something
we could use. If we thought so—and we'd have to be the
judge-and we got a story out of it, you'd get your other
two hundred. But if we didn't like it, or couldn't use it,
we'd drop it and tell you so. You could keep the fifty but


THE BIG GAMBLE
117
that would be it. . . . Where can I reach you later?
What's the address of this room?”
He wrote down the street number Charlie gave him. “Is
there a phone?”
“Yeah, but it's down on the first floor. I'd better call you,
Mr. Murdock.”
“Fine. What time do you think?”
Charlie considered this. He rubbed his round sunburned
nose and pushed back his chair.
“Would nine o'clock be too late for you?”
“No-if that's the best you can do."
Charlie nodded and stood up. “Just one thing. This I told
you in confidence because I know you're a square guy.
You don't go to the cops with this, do you?”
“Not until after we've talked again.” Murdock could
have added that if the information helped the mur-
der investigation Charlie would be an important witness
whether he liked it or not. Instead he said: “If you go to
the police that will be your decision.”
"Okay. Maybe I ought to do some more thinking about
this but I'll call you at nine anyway. Right?”
Murdock nodded and watched the man walk away..
When he looked down at the remains of his sandwich he
was no longer hungry.
13
WHEN MURDOCK got back to his office and took care
of some details that had accumulated during his absence,
he did something that had been in the back of his mind


118
THE B
AMIBLE
THE BIG GAMBLE
on and off all day. Viewed sensibly he had a hard time
justifying the impulse that made him look up the number
of the Hotel Lynn. It was not, he told himself, because he
was interested in the murder. Nor was he ready to admit
it was the girl herself who intrigued him. The answer he
finally accepted was that he wanted to take her out and get
a few drinks into her and persuade her by one means or
another to admit that his theory about her was the right
one and that she had indeed acted on Carl Darrow's in-
structions. Yet for all this ratiocination he knew, as he
spoke to the desk clerk and asked for her room, that this
was a mental fabrication. He wanted to see her because
he wanted to find out what she was really like.
“Lucille?” he said when he heard her voice.
"Yes. Who's this?”
"I don't know if you know me by name or not,” Murdock
said. “But we've met.”
"Have we?” The voice was still suspicious. “Where?”
"I'm the guy who got tossed out of your cottage Satur-
day night, remember?”
“Remember? I'll say I remember,” she said crisply.
“Your name is Murdock and you've got an awful nerve
calling me after what you did.”
“What did I do?"
"You told the police some silly story and a Lieutenant
Bacon and another man questioned me for an hour. In
fact, they just left.”
"How do you know I told them anything?”
“Because they said you did.”
"And what did you tell them?”
"I told them I never heard of you. I said I never rode
in your car or stole any films and that if you said so you
must have been drunk.”


THE BIG GAMBLE
119
“I figured it would come out that way.”
“So what do you want now? If you're going to keep giv-
ing me that same tired routine the answer is no.”
“There'll be no routine. That isn't what I had in mind.”
"I'm listening, but not very hard.”
“I thought we might have dinner and go out on the
town.”
“With you?” she said, making the suggestion sound pre-
posterous. “Give me one good reason.'
“I'll give you several.”
Murdock took a breath and concentrated on the game.
He knew that as long as he could keep her talking he was
still in business and so he turned on the charm, which, at
times, could be considerable. There were also occasions
when he was smart enough to sense the soft spots in a
woman's armor. It was not always the same spot, but he
picked shrewdly this time.
“I talked to Paul Herrick about you Saturday night at
the Blue Heron,” he said. “He told me you wanted to sing.
He said you might have a chance."
"Oh?” Silence. “What else did he say?"
"I can tell you better over a drink. Or maybe a steak or
a lobster. . . . I'm really a pretty nice guy,” he said. “My
manners are good, I'm considerate, and I never get fresh
without provocation.”
“You won't get any from me," she said, but there was a
hint of a smile in her voice now and Murdock pressed his
advantage.
“And even if you disliked me I think it would be a mis-
take to say no just because we had a little trouble Saturday
night. That is, if you want to be a singer.”
“Oh?” A little curious now. “How do you figure that?”
“I've worked for the Courier a long time. I know people.


120
THE BIG GAMBLE
Our entertainment editor, for instance,” he said. “And he
knows every night spot in town and the owner, the head-
waiter, and the orchestra leader. He knows people at the
radio and television stations; producers, directors. A smart
girl ought to cultivate—"
Her laughter cut him off. “What a salesman!” she said.
"But I'm right."
“I know you're right,” she admitted.
"You have to get around and hope for the breaks.”
“And you'll introduce me to your editor? Not tonight but
maybe sometime. You might even get me an audition."
"It's possible.”
Her laughter came again but more softly. When she
spoke her words had a different cadence and the hostility
was gone.
"I was only kidding about the audition,” she said, “but I
half believe you. I'm even beginning to think you might
be a nice guy. That approach of yours-did you do it off
the cuff?-is kind of cute. So if you still want to, I'll buy
half of the proposition.”
“Which half?”
“The dinner. That on-the-town business is out for to-
night."
“Do you know Murphy's? Or do you want something
more elegant?”
“Murphy's will be fine.”
"Shall I pick you up?"
"I'll meet you there. How about seven o'clock?”
“Righto. . . . 'Bye.”
Murdock hung up, a big grin on his face. He felt, in
that instant, like a teen-ager who had just made an impor-
tant conquest-until he heard a chuckle and glanced round
to find Delaney and Klime watching from the doorway.


THE BIG GAMBLE
121
“Boy!” they said. “Some operator!”
“Beat it,” Murdock said, still grinning.
“Sure,” they said. “We just wanted to know who to thank
for that cookin' whisky that was in our boxes.”
"Santa Claus.”
"Thanks, Santa,” they said.
A call came in on the company radio then and Murdock
listened in because he had a photographer in that car. He
heard the instructions from the city desk and made a note
of them. When the phone rang a minute later he listened
to some demand by the business office, and for a while
after that he was busy with his job.
It was some time before he had a chance to go upstairs
and knock at the managing editor's office. T. A. Wyman
told him to come in, tucked the half-smoked cigar in one
corner of his mouth, and listened to Murdock's story about
Charlie Lane. When it was over Wyman nodded his
approval.
"I'll go along with you,” he said. “You never can tell
about these guys who think they have information. Some-
times it pays off. . . . You figure it has something to do
with the murder?”
“Yes. He claims he doesn't know who did it, but he must
know something.”
“When you talk to him at nine, try to get him in here.
We'll get someone to sit with you. Pay him the fifty bucks
and pump him. If it turns out he has something that should
go to the police, that's what we'll have to do. Until then
let's play along."
Murphy's was noted for good food, if one stuck to the
fundamentals and had no interest in fancy dishes and
sauces, and the décor was basically pleasant: some chrome,


122
THE BIG GAMBLE
a few mirrors, some red banquettes of simulated leather.
Murdock, arriving at one minute before seven, paced the
small foyer opposite the hatcheck counter for ten more
minutes before the revolving door ejected Lucille Dunn,
and he decided then and there that he was very glad to
see her.
Her blonde prettiness was as he remembered, but
dressed for the city in a cloth coat and a simple black dress
that did nice things for her slenderly rounded body, she
was smarter-looking and more sophisticated than he had
expected. She smiled when she saw him, and if there were
wary glints in her blue eyes he pretended not to notice.
They shook hands formally and he told her it was nice of
her to come.
"Am I late?”
“Not very," he said, and then he had her by the arm,
turning her toward the doorway and the headwaiter.
They settled for a table by the wall and he helped her
slip out of her coat. She straightened her shoulders to lift
the well defined line of her bosom, touched the back of her
feathered hairdo, examined the room with interest, and
smiled up at the captain when Murdock asked what she
would like to drink.
“Scotch-on-the-rocks,” she said, "with a twist of lemon."
“Two,” Murdock said.
Sitting shoulder to shoulder as they were, he had to turn
to look at her. He had never been this close to her before
and he saw that her tanned skin was smooth and unblem-
ished, which made him wonder if she was younger than he
had first suspected. Her mouth, with its short upper lip,
was neatly outlined in red but not overdone, there was a
touch of mascara and shadow around her eyes, and he had
an idea that the blondness was basically natural.


THE BIG GAMBLE
123
As his eyes met hers it surprised him to find that she
was inspecting him with some thoroughness, her glance
touching his hair, his eyes, his mouth, not boldly but with-
out coyness. Finally she smiled and said:
“Before you give me the usual opening about how did I
get in this business-whatever that is and what is a nice
girl like me doing spending her life in night clubs, I'll give
you the vital statistics and then we can talk about some-
thing else. Okay?”.
“You're twenty-four,” Murdock said, grinning at her un-
affected forthrightness.
“You're a liar. I'm twenty-two.”
“And about thirty-seven, twenty-four, thirty-five.”
The unexpected statement opened her eyes. “How do
you know?"
“I saw you pretty well stripped down once, remember?”
"That's right.” She giggled, and an incipient blush
touched her cheeks. “You did.” She hesitated, as though
trying to remember what she had been saying and then
continued.
“I'm five, seven and a half in my bare feet. I weigh one
hundred and twenty-four pounds. I did not come from a
broken home. My father was not a drunkard, there was no
actual poverty, and I doubt if I'm any more neurotic than
anyone else. . . . How's that for a start?”
She watched the waiter put down the drinks; then lifted
her glass. Murdock touched the rim of his to hers and they
drank. She rearranged the little paper doily and centered
her glass on it before she considered the menu that had
been placed before her. Murdock asked if she would like
a lobster, because if she did they could order now because
it would take a while.
“I'd like a lobster.”


THE BIG GAMBLE
125
they used to let me sing-for nothing. The summer after I
graduated I did some work with a small professional group
that no one ever heard of, but it was enough to make me
want to keep trying.
"I was just nineteen when I had a brilliant idea," she
said, a note of mild irony in her voice. “I ran away and got
married-against my father's wishes. And my father was
right. Legally it lasted six months; actually a week finished
us. Not because I'm frigid but because we suddenly dis-
covered we had nothing in common but music and it
wasn't enough. We simply couldn't stand each other and
that was that. . . . I may try it again some day but I have
to find out if I can really sing professionally first.”
The shrimps came and she attacked them in a neat but
businesslike way while Murdock sipped his second drink
and thought about the things she had said. This, he de-
cided, was a smart girl, and it surprised him to realize that
he liked her very much indeed. He also knew that she
would never get drunk unless she wanted to and that the
only way he could ever get any information she did not
want to give would be because she liked him and felt she
could trust him. Now he watched her put her fork aside,
lean back, and pat her mouth lightly with the napkin.
“That was good,” she said, and smiled. “I really was hun-
gry, wasn't I?” She studied him a moment, the blue eyes
serious. “I like working in night clubs,” she said, not de-
fensively but like a person stating a fact. “I've worked in
a lot of them. I can dance a little. I can do a time step if
I have to but if you can be a combination hatcheck-
cigarette girl in the right sort of place you can get more
money. Maybe I haven't got much of a voice, but that
didn't stop Julie London, did it?”


126
THE BIG GAMBLE
“Herrick said you might make it with the proper han-
dling."
"That's what I think.” She turned from the hips, very
serious now. “And I've got an idea. I've got a little money
saved and I”-she faltered while something curious hap-
pened in the depths of her eyes before they cleared—“I
think I can get a little more."
As though aware of this instant of hesitancy, she took a .
breath and continued with determination: “Somehow I'm
going to get the right studio and the right engineer and
the right audio set-up. I'm going to spend for a couple of
arrangements and the proper backing-three or four pieces
might be enough for my voice-and I'm going to have some
tapes made. I know an agent who'll plug them for me if
they're any good. If they're not-"
She stopped as though the thought was too discourag-
ing to contemplate, and some of the enthusiasm died in
her. She turned away, and just then the lobsters arrived
and there was nothing more to be said.
The proper eating of a broiled lobster makes for no more
than desultory conversation at best, and that was the way
it happened this time. A word here, a word there, still on
the subject of music; an agreement on some record, some
performer, some melody. It was not until coffee had been
served that Murdock thought of something else.
“What happens now?”
"To me? Florida.”
"When?”
"Soon, I think. I'll send you a card when I have a place
to live.”
Murdock smiled indulgently before he realized she
meant it. For she was already searching her bag and now
she brought forth a tiny notebook with an attached pencil.


THE BIG GAMBLE
127
“Where do you live?”
He watched her write down the address, and it hap-
pened that he noticed his wrist watch. Having no idea the
time had passed so quickly he suddenly thought of Charlie
Lane and was dismayed to find that it was five minutes of
nine. He put his napkin aside, caught the waiter's eye, and
signaled for the check. It came almost at once and he put
some bills down before he was conscious that the girl had
been watching him. This time when she spoke her voice
had a hint of softness in it that he had not noticed before.
“You know something," she said, still watching him.
“You made one true statement over the phone this after-
noon.” She hesitated, her mouth curving. “You are a nice
guy-and not just because you spent fourteen dollars buy-
ing my dinner. Men like you should have a club, an asso-
ciation of some kind. With merit badges so a girl could
know in advance. I'm-sorry there can't be any ‘on the
town' because I know now I'd like it."
The simple compliment made Murdock feel good inside,
but he was concerned with the time too, and he said:
“This has been such good fun maybe we'd better quit
while we're ahead.”
“Yes,” she said, with what sounded like a sigh. “I sup-
pose so."
“I'm sorry you won't be around.” Murdock moved the
table back as she picked up her bag. “Of course I may be
a bit old for you,"
She glanced up quickly and then saw his grin. “Poof!”
she said. “You're not that old. . . . Maybe you'll be in
Florida some time this winter.”
“I might at that.”
“Will you look me up? Promise?”
Murdock said he would and they went out quickly then,


128
THE BIG GAMBLE
saying nothing more until they were at the curb and a taxi
swerved in and stopped. Murdock opened the door and
when she was seated she leaned forward and offered her
hand. He took it and she pulled slightly, and as he bent
forward she gave him a quick kiss on the mouth before
she released his hand.
· IT WAS six minutes after nine when Murdock hurried into
the studio anteroom. There was no one in sight, so he con-
tinued on to his office and snapped on the light. The sheet
of paper lay in the center of his blotting pad and he bent
down to read the message, which was brief and somewhat
cryptic:
Charlie Lane said to forget it. He changed his mind.
There was no time noted, no signature, and now Mur-
· dock flipped the switch on the two-way intercom that con-
nected his office with the darkroom cubicles.
"Anybody in there?” he demanded.
“Me," said a voice filtered beyond recognition.
“Who's me?"
“Bailey."
"Did you write this note for me?"
“Yep.” .
"When?"
"About five minutes ago."
"Is that all there was to it?”
“That's all. I wrote down what the guy said and he hung
up.”


130
THE BIG GAMBLE
a small bag, relocked the cabinet, and headed for the
elevator.
The address that Charlie Lane had given him was on
the wrong side of the Hill, the street narrow and one-way
as it led upward toward the State House. The ancient
brick houses were built flush with the sidewalk, the door-
ways recessed for the most part, the flat roofs making a
series of outsized steps against the night sky so that it was
difficult to tell one from the other.
Murdock parked where he could and cramped the
wheel so the tires snubbed against the curbing. When he
had locked the doors he crossed to the nearest doorway
and found that the next house was probably the one he
sought. As he backed down the step and turned that way
a man came out of the entrance.
He was hardly twenty-five feet away, but the darkness
was so thick that he was no more than a vague figure with-
out form or size. He seemed in that moment to glance
toward Murdock and then wheel away as Murdock ad-
vanced. There was the sound of his steps on the sidewalk,
which formed a faster counterpoint to Murdock's own, and
then, unaccountably, he was gone.
Murdock did not know where, nor did he give the dis-
appearance much thought. He did not think the other had
reached the next doorway but he thought he saw an open-
ing of some kind between the buildings. By then he had
reached the entrance he sought and now he climbed the
two steps and pushed open the door, which stood ajar.
The hall beyond was narrow, with a staircase standing
against one wall and mounting straight ahead in the semi-
darkness. There was a door just in front of the stairs, an-
other opposite, and he could see the gleam of the wall


THE BIG GAMBLE
131
telephone at the end of the narrow hall that bypassed the
stairs.
The treads protested loudly as Murdock climbed, and he
was conscious now of the acrid, musty smell that had
permeated the building. Noises came from behind closed
doors on the second floor landing: a woman's whine, an
ugly oath, the loud distorted sound of music from a cheap
radio. The stair treads still protested and the bannister
creaked when he tested it.
The number Charlie Lane had given him was five, and
this stood on the right of the next landing. Murdock
knocked twice, listened, then tried the knob. The lock was
the old-fashioned kind and the bolt had not been turned,
so the panel swung easily, and now he had a quick picture
of a squarish, depressing room with an iron bedstead, be-
fore his eyes focused on Charlie Lane, who sat with his
head and shoulders slumped across a green-painted table.
Because the light was poor, Murdock took another step
and said: "Charlie.”
Then, even as he spoke, his gaze focused on the dark
stain above one ear. He saw the red trickle on the side of
the face, and now the horror struck at him, the shock hold-
ing him stiff, immobile, and incredulous.
It was a second at most that he stood there like that
and by some odd chemistry of the mind he saw a different
picture. He saw a sunburned, good-natured face and the
easy grin that Charlie always had. He saw the bent figure
trudging ahead on the golf course under the burden of two
bags, and now remembered anecdotes and words of advice
came back to him to make the shock and horror all the
worse.
He said: “Charlie!” again and did not know he had
spoken.


132
THE BIG GAMBLE
A sickness came to clog his throat and then, aware that
the trickle was a moving thing that snaked its ugly way
along the jaw, he remembered the man he had seen, the
shadowy figure who had turned away from him and so
mysteriously disappeared.
He moved quickly then, not with logic or great sense but
understanding that this thing had happened very recently
and seeking relief in action lest he dwell too long upon the
fact that he had been too late.
Once outside the door he went down the ancient stair-
way three steps at a time, his hand sliding along the sticky
bannister. He made it all in one breath and gulped deeply
when he hit the sidewalk. Pivoting to the right he found the
opening he thought was there, an alleyway of sorts, not
wide enough for a vehicle but roughly paved.
Before he had taken three strides the blackness had
blinded him. No longer had he any sense of direction and
he had to put out one hand to find a brick wall and steady
himself. The minute he stopped he realized that what he
had done was foolish. He knew somehow that Charlie Lane
had been shot. He had seen no gun. He could not tell where
the alley went or how it ended, and as reason returned he
held his breath again and that was when he heard the
sound.
In that same instant his muscles froze and a sudden fear
came to finger his thoughts and pluck at his nerve-ends.
It was an insidious, paralyzing fear that grew when he rec-
ognized that sound-a labored breathing, not his own but
close by and somewhere diagonally to his right.
It came distinctly now. It stayed constant and unmov-
ing, and the harsh rhythm of it seemed to grow louder as
his imagination took flight.


THE BIG GAMBLE
133
Someone was waiting, watching; someone whose eyes
were far better adjusted to the darkness than his own.
With a tremendous effort he broke the spell that held
him immobile. He turned an inch at a time, the perspira-
tion drying coldly on his spine. It took an added effort to
pull his hand away from the wall.
He tried to penetrate that barrier of darkness and could
not. A glance over his shoulder revealed dimly the side-
walk opening and he wondered if he should try to back
out. Then a strange anger came to counteract his fears and
he swore silently and called himself a fool.
Exploring fingers found his cigarette lighter and he held
it to one side at arm's length. If there was to be a shot it
might be directed at the light and that should give him
time enough because that sound of breathing was still
close. He shifted his weight to the balls of his feet, crouch-
ing slightly before his thumb flicked the metal wheel.
The flash of flame located the source of the breathing,
and there was no shot as Murdock stared and his eyes
picked out the figure of a man who sat five feet diagonally
ahead of him, the legs pulled up and the chin resting on
the knees.
It took some seconds for Murdock to move, to get the
tension out of his back and legs. He held the lighter
slightly above his head and stepped forward to bend over a
jackknifed figure that reeked of sweat and cheap wine.
One hand clung loosely to an empty bottle, and when
Murdock shook the limp shoulder the bottle rolled away.
Murdock said: “Hey,” and shook again and the man
said: “Wha---” without lifting his head. The mumble that
followed was incoherent and animal-like in its inflection
but the suggestion that he wanted to be left alone was
apparent.


134
THE BIG GAMBLE
Aware now that there could be no point in asking the
drunk if he had seen anyone come through the alley, Mur-
dock put out the lighter and turned wearily back to the
walk. At the doorway he hesitated, then continued on to his
car, certain that with a wound of that sort Charlie Lane
could not have lived long. The shock still lingered, but
habit was strong and he unlocked the door of the company
car automatically.
He started the motor to give added power to the radio,
waited for the tubes to warm, and picked up the micro-
phone. He thumbed the switch and said this was car
eighty-two calling the Courier. When the answer came he
related the brief facts and said he would call back.
“I'm going to stick with this,” he said, “so send someone
over for a filmholder. If I'm not in the car it will be on the
front seat. . . . And do this, will you? Keep after it until
you get Lieutenant Bacon. Tell him this ties up with some-
thing he's already working on."
When he signed off he sat a moment listening to the
faint chatter of the police calls on the other radio. He
knew that presently there would be one which would send
a car to this address, and now he reached for his camera,
checked the filmholder, and put an extra bulb in his pocket.
Once again the Courier morning editions would carry
an exclusive picture of death, but this time Murdock had to
force himself out of the car and into the house--because it
was a job, because it was a thing he had to do while there
was still time.


THE BIG GAMBLE
137
brought it over toward Murdock. He sat down, his gray
felt still centered on his head, his mouth grim and his eyes
grave and intent.
“This is the guy from the motel,” he said, making the
words sound like a statement rather than a question. “The
one that was with you when you found the woman?"
“Yes.”
“How come you happened to be here at all?”
"He was supposed to call me at nine o'clock. I was a
little late and he left word. I got worried and came over.”
“Because you thought he was going to knock himself
off?”
“I don't think he did.”
“So we'll skip that part. What was he supposed to call
you about?”
Murdock knew he had to be explicit now and he knew
what Bacon's reaction would be. But because this no
longer mattered, he spoke of his talk with Charlie Lane
that noon and continued doggedly to the end.
Bacon did not interrupt but his voice was blunt and ac-
cusing when he spoke.
“You couldn't have come to me, could you? You had to
try to play this one all by yourself. Something was eating
the guy, and you knew it, and still you"
“It wasn't my decision,” Murdock yelled, as the crack in
his self-control widened. “I went to T. A. Wyman. He said
we ought to get Charlie to talk. If he had information you
wanted we'd pass it along. I told him if he knew who
killed Hazel Franklin he should go to you and he said he
didn't know. . . . But he must have known,” he said. “He
must have lied. Why else would anyone come here and
kill him?"
He was looking right at Bacon as he spoke and he saw


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the look of surprise in the lieutenant's gray eyes. He
thought Bacon was about to reply because he opened his
mouth; instead he closed it, hesitated, and tried again.
“What was the message he left tonight?” He listened as
Murdock repeated it. “How much money did he want this
noon?”
"He said he'd like to get two fifty. He wanted money to
get to Florida.”
"Well-his bags were packed.”
Bacon gestured toward two suitcases near one wall.
They stood open now, but Murdock did not know if they
had been found that way or whether the detectives had
opened them.
“You didn't touch him?" the lieutenant continued. “Or
anything in the room?"
Murdock shook his head. He said he knew it must have
just happened because he had seen the blood trickling
down the face. And then he remembered the man on
the sidewalk and he straightened in his chair and spoke
quickly as his mind recaptured the incident. He told of his
chase and the drunk in the alley..
"That could have been the guy,” he said. “Five min-
utes earlier and I could have nailed him-or maybe even
stopped it. . . . Five minutes," he said miserably, his bit-
terness turned inward, “and I had to be late.”
"Maybe five minutes would have made a difference,”
Bacon said quietly. “But there wasn't any other guy. Lane
shot himself.”
Murdock heard each word distinctly, but something in-
side him rebelled and he shook his head, his dark gaze
outraged and incredulous.
"You're crazy. Why the hell should he do that?”


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139
Bacon pointed at the table and Murdock saw the gun
there.
“A German automatic,” Bacon said. “A Mauser, proba-
bly a war souvenir. It was at his feet. The wound was ei-
ther contact or very close to it.”
“So what? Things like this have been framed before.”
Bacon made no reply but reached into his pocket. Very
carefully then he took out a platinum-and-diamond wrist
watch and spread it across a bony knee. He added a dia-
mond solitaire. Finally he produced a pawn ticket.
“This”-he tapped the ticket_“was in his pocket. The
other stuff was in one of the bags.”
Murdock looked at the exhibits, his eyes wide open and
the amazement growing in them. Until that moment he
had been too emotionally upset and too conscious of his
own possible guilt to think constructively or even to reason
with any great convincingness. Now, because he refused to
accept the conclusion that Bacon presented, he found
alternatives and began to argue them with some heat.
“That jewelry had already been taken when Charlie and
I found her,” he said.
“Sure,” Bacon said. “Because he only pretended to find
her when you crabbed about that radio playing. He took
this stuff a long time before that-when he strangled her.”
"No."
“Don't ask exactly how it happened because I can't tell
you.” Bacon replaced the jewelry and the ticket. “I don't
say he killed to get those pieces. He might have been lift-
ing something else and she caught him and started to yell
and he used the stocking to silence her. Once he realized
she was dead he decided to take the stuff and—”.
Murdock cut him off. “Wait a minute. Wait just a min-
ute. . . . If he had that jewelry all the time, why try to


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get two hundred and fifty bucks out of the Courier? Why
bother with me?"
"Because," Bacon said with remarkable patience for
him, “the jewelry was hot. If he could get transportation
out of you he'd be a lot safer disposing of it in Florida,
wouldn't he?”
"But he didn't get the money," Murdock argued. "He
pawned a ring."
"Because you scared him off. You told him he ought to
come to us. You didn't buy the deal. You stalled him.”
"How much money did he have on him?”
"Two hundred and ten dollars.”
Murdock recalled again the twenty-dollar bills Charlie
Lane had when he got the ten-dollar tip on the golf course.
He had thought at the time that Lane had about seventy
dollars, even though Chief Nickerson said he had recently
been cleaned at a race track.
“How much is the pawn ticket for?"
"One sixty."
Murdock took a breath and blew it out. His bony face
was set and shiny and the stubborn glints were still in his
eyes.
"All right. Then why should he kill himself?”
"Because it got too big for him. He lost his courage.”
Bacon leaned forward to accent his words. “He pawned the
ring-maybe he was a little drunk at the time—and tonight
he sat here drinking alone and worrying about you and
knowing that once we located that ring-and we'd have
had the report in the morning-he was cooked. He was
through and he knew it and he took the easy way out. If
you weren't so goddamned guilt-ridden,” he added impa-
tiently, "you'd admit it. . . . How often did you see him?"
“Three or four times a summer."


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knew Murdock was already too aware of them. Murdock
had been hard hit by the tragedy and, because he under-
stood so well, Bacon stepped out of character for a brief
moment and his voice was sympathetic.
"Okay,” he said and stood up. "You want to argue we
can do it tomorrow. Right now you'd better come along
and give us a brief statement. Come on."
He waited until Murdock rose, then touched his arm to
steer him toward the door. "It won't take long," he said.
"Then you can go home and get drunk if you want to.”
16
KENT MURDOCK was not very observant when he en-
tered his apartment at eleven o'clock that evening. He was
in no mood to be observant about anything, and as he
closed the door his glance moved to his record player and
he thought of something that in the past had always acted
as an antidote to his occasional depressions.
He brought forth an old album that had the unlikely title
. of Chamber Music Society of Lower Basin Street. The
selections were old standards, the renditions equally di-
vided between Dr. Henry (Hot-lips ) Levine and his Bare-
footed Dixieland Philharmonic, and Maestro Paul Laval
and his Wood-wind Ten. The program comments were
made in a Metropolitan Opera House manner by Dr. Gino
Hamilton, and when the music came Murdock remembered
how faithfully he used to follow that program on the radio.
Why the hell was it, he asked himself morosely, that a guy
couldn't get music like that on the air anymore? No spon-


THE BIG GAMBLE
143
sors smart enough to back a program like this-or too smart
because they thought the appeal was so limited?
The only thing good he had seen on television was that
hour program CBS had put on one Sunday afternoon. It
was called the “Sound of Jazz," or something like that.
Count Basie and Billie Holliday and three or four smaller
groups. No scenery, no dancing girls, no special effects.
Just about twenty “mikes,” a good audio man to co-ordinate
them, and a bunch of guys blowing their brains out with
not a sheet of music in the studio.
He turned away, still grumbling silently, to get the drink
he wanted. That was when he noticed something different
about the kneehole desk by the wall. He was not sure why
it seemed different but when he stepped over to it and
opened the center drawer he knew instinct had been right.
The papers here were a tangled mess and other drawers
bore out the conclusion that the desk had been thoroughly
searched.
Leaning stiff-armed on the top, he stared sightlessly at
the wall beyond, his mind confused and suspicious, until
he became aware of a sense of warmth that had nothing
to do with his thoughts. He brought his glance to focus
, and it moved just beyond one arm to the desk lamp. On
impulse he touched the metal reflector, then the bulb. The
bulb was cold, or nearly so-he was not sure-but there was
a definite warmth to the reflector, slight but unmistakable.
He straightened slowly, dark eyes on the move and his
senses suddenly alert and sharply tuned. He had no idea
how long such a reflector would hold the heat, but he un-
derstood there was a chance the one who had searched the
desk was still here.
There was a coat closet just inside the door and he went
there first. When he found it empty he thought about his


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darkroom and headed for the kitchen. At the door he
stopped to listen. When he could hear nothing but the faint
thudding of his pulse, he reached inside and snapped on
the light.
The kitchen was empty. So was the darkroom.
He put out the light and wheeled toward the bedroom.
At the door he stopped again to listen and then flicked
the switch. The first glance told him nothing at all. From
where he stood everything seemed in order and he was
about to retreat when he saw the bathroom door.
It was closed. But not by him.
Living alone as he did, he never closed it.
Warned by such knowledge, the pressure that had been
building inside him came swiftly to a head. His gaze still
fixed on that closed door, he stepped to the bedside table
and took out a .32 automatic that he had kept for many
years.
He never left a bullet in the chamber but he jacked one
into place now and kept on moving. It was his plan to
throw open the door suddenly and step back to see what
happened next. The gun was level in his right hand as he
reached for the knob. As he touched it, he twisted and
pushed hard; then bumped into a panel that would not
move.
He tried again to be sure it was locked. He stepped back.
“Come on outl” he yelled angrily. “With your hands up."
In the other room the record was spinning out a smooth
and expert rendition of “Runnin' Wild," but the only an-
swer Murdock got was the sound of a toilet flushing. For
some reason this served only to infuriate him and he
banged the door again, getting no answer but hearing the
faint sound of the bowl filling up.
When this stopped the toilet flushed again and, like that,


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145
an answer came to Murdock and he backed up to the chest.
One eye on the door, he reached down and pulled out the
bottom drawer. Then he knew the letters he had hidden
there were gone.
A glance at the bed told him it had not been touched
and he knew the two films he had taken of the letters must
still be there. It gave him a sort of vindictive satisfaction
to know this and his gaze was darkly brooding as he
watched the bathroom door open and saw Paul Herrick
step out.
The tall broad-shouldered figure was immaculate in a
light-brown suit. The handsome face with the close-set ears
and the cleft in the chin was at ease and the brown eyes
seemed unworried as they fastened on the gun.
“You won't need that now. If you want to call the police
go ahead.”
“If I'd plugged you through that door,” Murdock said,
"you wouldn't be so cocky.”
"It was a chance I had to take.”
Murdock backed to the door and into the other room.
When he motioned with the gun, Herrick followed. He sat
down in the club chair, made a small production of select-
ing a cigarette from a silver case and getting a light. He
leaned back and crossed his legs.
"I didn't have much choice," he said finally. “I spent
three hours this afternoon at police headquarters. They
kept banging away at me because they knew that Hazel
was my girl for a while. With those letters they'd have a
motive.”
“I could have turned them in yesterday,” Murdock said.
“Not without giving an explanation that might have
been awkward for you. I don't think you held out because
we're buddies.”


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147
smile vanished and his eyes were suddenly clouded with
doubt. He narrowed them slightly and his lips flattened.
"Who says so besides you?”
“Nobody. Unless the police find someone else who saw
you it's your word against mine, but don't get the idea
you're in the clear.”
He paused, thinking again of Charlie Lane but having
no stomach to discuss his death with Herrick.
“It's a pity you had to get rid of those letters in such a
hurry,” he said.
“What do you mean, it's a pity?”
“If I had been a little later, if you'd taken them home
and had a chance to study them, you might have noticed
something different about two of them.”
Herrick forgot about his cigarette. The doubt in his eyes
gave way to concern and the tanned forehead was sud-
denly grooved.
“Different?”
“Different,” Murdock said. “You just might have noticed
a tiny hole in each corner of those two letters, two more
holes in the envelopes.”
He leaned forward slightly, still holding the gun.
“Those letters worried me,” he said. “I couldn't decide
whether to turn them over to the police or not. I thought I
might even return them if they found another boy to fit
that murder. But in my business you get the habit of re-
cording things on film, all sorts of things.”
Herrick got the message. He was having trouble accept-
ing it but he put his feet flat on the floor and there were
dangerous glints in his eyes.
"You made copies of them?” he asked softly.
"I photographed two of them. Blown up and reproduced,
they'll be as good for evidence as the originals.”


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Herrick rose slowly, spotted an ash tray and dropped the
cigarette. He moved his lips silently and his gaze flicked
round the room and came back to Murdock. He seemed in
that moment to be measuring the distance that separated
him from the gun, to be weighing the odds.
“Where are they?”
He waited. When he got nothing but a silent stare from
Murdock he said: “If you didn't have that gun I'd take
you and then I'd take this place apart.” Hesitating, his
fingers working at his sides, he added: “I've got something
wonderful working for me and I'll do what I have to do
to keep it that way.”
"Even a stretch for assault?”
"I'd rather take a chance on that than have my girl know
about those letters I wrote to Hazel. I must have been out
of my mind. Maybe I still am."
He stopped and Murdock moved over to open the door.
He was very uncomfortable holding that gun. He had no
intention of using it to shoot with but he knew it might
happen if Herrick jumped him. He gestured with it.
"I don't like this either," he said. “But you're a few years
younger, four inches taller, and fifty pounds heavier, so I
ought to have a little something extra."
He took the automatic with his left hand, fitted it into
the palm of his right so that it lay flat and snug. He was
ready to swing then and he stood there poised and waiting
and half hoping that Herrick would accept the challenge.
“You broke in here," he said flatly. “That much I'll let
you get away with. If you think you can take me, try it.
If not, get out."
Herrick took a breath and his shoulders seemed to bulge
a little. He pressed his right fist into the palm of his other
hand and his light-brown eyes were suddenly crafty.


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149
“Okay,” he said and started past Murdock. One step
from the door he wheeled and swung the right in a quick
vicious punch that would have floored Murdock if he had
not been warned by the look he had seen.
It was not a clever move because it was a roundhouse
punch that started too far back and took too much time.
Murdock pulled his chin back. The fist missed by two
inches, the force of the blow pulling the big man off bal-
ance, and leaving his shoulders and head partly turned.
Before he could recover, Murdock stepped in and slammed
the side of the gun against the side of Herrick's head, not
savagely but with authority.
Herrick staggered and took another step. This brought
him almost to the doorway. He put his hand up to his
ear. His handsome face was twisted and pale at the jaw
and when he hesitated he seemed to understand it was too
late. He had had his chance and it missed. Murdock was
still there, still waiting. Any further attempt would have
to be made head-on and Herrick apparently decided
against it. He spun about and walked through the opening.
WHEN MURDOCK was sure the door was locked he went
back to the record player to play the other sides. For a
minute he simply stood and listened, liking what he heard
and feeling his muscles relax. He tried very hard not to
think about Herrick or Charlie Lane and when he remem-
bered the gun he removed the clip, ejected the shell, re-


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trieved it from the carpet, wiped it off, and inserted it in
the clip.
Back in the bedroom he replaced the gun and took off his
jacket. He substituted slippers for shoes, removed his tie
and unbuttoned his collar. He got a cigarette going and
went directly to the kitchen for the drink that had been
too long delayed. He poured generously from the whisky
bottle, found some loose ice cubes in a tray that was partly
empty. When he had added water from the faucet, he took
a big swallow and said: “Ahh,”
Henry (Hot-lips) Levine was riding a neat chorus when
he came into the living room and he turned the volume
down slightly before he went to the telephone and dialed
the Courier number. He thought this might be a good time
to catch the entertainment editor, who made his own hours,
and when the operator told him Neil Randall was in the
building he asked to be connected.
“Neil?” he said. “Kent Murdock. Do you know a musi-
cian named Paul Herrick?”
"Sure. Plays piano good.”
"I think he's opening in a week at the Melody Grill and
I wonder if you could snoop around a bit and find out how
he's fixed for dough.”
"You want to borrow some?”
“I want to know if Herrick has any. You might hear some
gossip that would give you a clue. You may draw a blank,
but I'd appreciate it if you'd give it a try.”
"Sure. I'll ask around. You in a hurry?”
"If you haven't got anything by tomorrow afternoon for-
get it. I'll call you then.”
He looked up another number, dialed. “Sherlock?” he
said when a voice answered.
“Mr. Holmes to you, sir. Who's this?”


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151
“Murdock.”
“Well, well. The camera kid himself. Where've you been
keeping yourself?”
Jack Fenner was a long-time friend of Murdock's. More
important now was the fact that he was probably the best
private detective in town. He was the man who had given
Murdock the thin steel blade that was useful for opening
certain types of doors and there had been times in the past
when Fenner had done some work for the Courier.
“I've been around,” Murdock said. “And I've got a little
job for you."
“I know just the kind of job,” Fenner said. “You want me
to crack a bank or slug somebody, but I'll have to do it
cheap because I'll be doing it for you and you're not hold-
ing much cash.”
Murdock laughed and said Fenner was partly right.
“Especially about the cash part.” He went on to speak of
Paul Herrick and explain what he wanted to know. “I don't
know where he lives but he's opening a week from Mon-
day, so he's got to live some place. You could check with
the union. They ought to know. I'd like to find out if he has
any money in the bank.”
“What bank?”
“I don't know.”
“Hah. What am I, a magician?”
“You can try. You know everybody, don't you?”
“Not bankers.”
“Well, will you try? Will you do the best you can?”
"Sure.”
“How much will it cost me?”
“Fifty bucks a day.”
“I want the discount rate.”
"Forty.”


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knew the act was unconvincing. To see if he could find out
the reason for it he decided to shake her up a bit.
“Sure I've got room, baby.” He stepped up to her and
put his hands on her arms and pulled her close. “I have a
very comfortable double bed. Do you want to get un-
dressed and put on a robe now or have a couple of drinks
first?”
He could feel her stiffen and pull back. The blue eyes
opened wide and were suddenly uncertain and a little
afraid. But she did very well under the circumstances. She
kept her voice controlled. She brought forth some laughter
as she twisted free and stepped to the divan.
"I didn't mean that, exactly. I wouldn't think of taking
your bed.” She felt the cushions and sat down. She bounced
experimentally. “This is just my size. This will be wonder-
ful.”
Murdock followed her. He sat down next to her, his dark
gaze amused but still puzzled. He slipped his arm around
her but did not tighten it.
"I guess your deal went through.”
“What deal?”
"You couldn't go out on the town with me. You had a
date. You walk in here with your bag packed. Does that
mean you're off for Florida?”
She nodded, her eyes fixed straight ahead.
"When?”
"In the morning. My bags are already at the airport."
“And you want a sack for tonight? What happened at
the Lynn? Get tired of that room?"
"Sort of.”
“There are other hotels. You're not broke, are you?”
“Oh, heavens, no."
"You just came here because you like me.”


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up from the divan. He said Scotch, and she said, yes, please,
and he went out to the kitchen to get the drink. When he
came back she had a cigarette lighted and her pretty knees
were crossed. She drank gratefully from her glass.
“I was scared," she said. “That's why I came. I meant it
when I said I knew I could trust you. You were kidding,
weren't you, when you said I could take off my clothes?”
"It was just a thought,” Murdock said. “You're not a very
good actress yet."
“I know," she said, and sighed again.
He swallowed some of his drink and leaned back. After
a few seconds she continued.
“Someone tried to get into my room tonight.”
Murdock eyed her narrowly, one brow lifting, and then
he knew that this was no longer any act. The concern in
her voice was convincing and he paid attention.
"It was about a quarter after eleven. I'd just had a bath
and the light was out in the room because I intended to go
right to bed. I walked out of the bathroom with nothing
but a towel and I heard this funny noise. I didn't know
what it was but it seemed to come from the door, so I moved
a little closer. Somehow the light from the bathroom fell
on the door just right and that's how I saw the key."
She took another sip and said: “It's an old hotel and the
locks are old and the keys are big and you have to lock
yourself in. What I heard was the key. It was moving. I
saw it turning. I was too petrified to do anything but
watch-until it fell out on the floor. When I heard someone
start to use another key from the outside, I pounded on the
door and snapped on the light. I said if he didn't go away
I'd scream. I guess I was pretty nearly screaming then be-
cause the key went away.”
"If who didn't go away?”


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157
“What?” she said, not understanding.
“You said: 'He.'”
“Well—a woman wouldn't be doing it, would she?”
Murdock thought it over, no longer doubting her and
searching for some answer.
"It could have been some drunk.”
“No. A drunk would have made some noise. There wasn't
any. Just the sound of that key.” She shivered uncon-
sciously. “I can still hear it. I knew whoever had done it
had gone, but how could I tell he might not come back
after I'd gone to sleep. . . . And then I knew I didn't dare
go to sleep.”
She looked at him, her tanned face puckered a little in
her effort to convince him.
“Maybe you think I scare easy. Maybe you think I'm a
nitwit, and maybe I am. But the way I felt then I knew
I had to get out of that room. I dressed and packed my
bag. I phoned down for a bellboy and stayed right with
him until he got me a cab. And then I thought: Suppose the
man is still waiting? Suppose he's watching me now? He
could follow me to another hotel, couldn't he? And I
wouldn't be any better off there. . . . That's when I
thought of you.”
Murdock smiled at her. He knew her fears were genuine
--at least to her. “I must have made quite a good impression
at dinner.”
“Better than you know.”
He drained his glass and stood up to get a refill. In the
kitchen, away from the girl's distracting influence, he put
his mind to work. Presently he came up with a possible
explanation, but before he could voice it she changed the
subject.
She was fishing through her handbag as he approached


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the divan and now she brought forth a small bright object
and presented it to him.
"I think this is yours.”
It was a gold tie-clip and the minute he saw it he
recognized it.
“Where'd you get it?”
“Just outside my cottage. On the grass.” She hesitated,
her small smile embarrassed. “You know-where Felix and
Nate put you out."
"Threw me out,” Murdock corrected.
"I guess they did, didn't they? Well, Felix saw it the
next morning before I left. He said it was probably yours.
He said he didn't expect to see you again but I might.”
Murdock turned it over in his fingers and put it on the
end table. There was something here that bothered him.
He did not know whether it was the thought of the clip
itself, or the story she told. He only knew that certain
vague details were in conflict, but because this new
thought of his seemed more important he speculated no
more about the clip.
"Tell me,” he said. “Were you at the Pine Grove Motel
at any time Saturday night?”
“Why-yes.”
"For what reason?”
“I knew a man who was staying there. From Maine. He
was on his way to New York and he stopped there because
he thought he could date me. I told him I had to work and
Saturday night would be busy and after that I had to pack.
I did go there to have a couple of drinks with him. I bor-
rowed Felix's car.”
“What time did you get there?”
“About seven.”
“When did you leave?”
ew


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159
“Oh-maybe a quarter after eight or so."
“Who did you see?”
The tanned brow was still furrowed and the blue eyes
seemed puzzled beneath the mascaraed lashes.
“Lots of people. You always do around motels-going
for ice and soda to the main building or to the lunchroom
or unpacking cars.”
"Men?”
"I saw three or four.”
"I'm talking about the last cottage on the right. It was
nearly dark, wasn't it? And you had your headlights on
when you left?”
“Yes.”
“And you saw someone going into or out of that last
cottage.”
“I don't remember.”
"Some man hanging around there then.”
“I could have. Maybe I did.”
Murdock studied her face and it told him nothing. She
sounded as if she were telling the truth, or trying to. She
seemed genuinely sincere but he hated to give up.
“But if you did see-"
“Oh, now, really,” she cut in. “You just don't pay any
attention to people when you're in a car-unless there's
something very unusual about them.”
“Then you didn't see anyone you recognized?”
She leaned forward and took her glass from the coffee
table. She took two small swallows and put the glass back.
When she was ready she said:
"No. I didn't.”
Murdock sighed heavily. He was through with this
phase and he knew it. He also knew he was getting very,
very sleepy. He had to make a conscious effort to keep his


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eyes open. He could still think, though this too had be-
come an effort, and he considered again this girl and the
things that made her tick.
She was going to Florida, apparently having reached
some decision since dinner. She had no job. In his opinion
she was neither tough nor common and he did not think
she would withhold evidence or perjure herself for money
alone. But there might be other considerations more im-
portant to her.
The dominant force that was shaping her philosophy
was her career. She wanted to sing and intended to keep
trying so long as there was a chance for success. Carl Dar-
row had money in a night club in Miami Beach. He could
offer her a job; if necessary he could promise her a chance
to sing. Such things were important to her. She would lis-
ten to Darrow, try to please him.
There was also one other requisite for her future as a
singer. She had to have the proper arrangements. They
had to be right for her voice and her delivery. Such ar-
rangements were expensive. Paul Herrick could make
them. A promise like that would carry great weight. He,
too, had worked in Florida. He might even have been able
to promise her some sort of opening-
Murdock leaned forward and took two fast gulps from
his glass in an effort to revive himself. He had a few more
things to say before he turned his bedroom over to her,
but as he leaned back he could not remember what they
were. He could still smell her perfume and he knew she
was close beside him but he could not seem to get the
words out. He knew his eyelids had shut and he let them
stay that way while he made one more effort to express
himself. He groped for her and his hand found hers. He


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161
felt the warmth of her before his fingers slipped limply to
the cushion. ...
18
IN HIS DREAM, Murdock heard the telephone ringing. It
was a great distance away and there were long corridors
intervening and he knew he had to hurry before the ring-
ing stopped. The telephone was in sight now, but when he
tried to reach it his arms were not long enough. He had to
summon all his strength, to make one last desperate lunge.
As he did so he fell heavily and the floor was beneath him
and he opened his eyes.
The fall jarred him and in that first instant he thought
he had fallen out of bed. Not until he glanced round and
tried to lift his head did he realize that he was in the living
room and that he had fallen not from his bed but from the
divan.
The telephone was still ringing as he pushed himself
to a sitting position and got one knee under him. He stag-
gered erect, bewildered and groggy and uncertain of his
balance. Somehow he made it to the little stand and
groped for the instrument. He had to look to see which
end was which and finally he made up his mind.
“Yeah,” he said thickly. “Yeah.”
"Kent? . . . Delaney. I just called to see if anything was
wrong.”
“No," Murdock said. “Nothing's wrong.” He tried to
swallow the horrible taste from his mouth and it stuck in
his throat. “Why? What time is it?”


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163
address and maybe you can come to Florida this
winter.
Lucille.
Murdock put the note on the chest and finished his un-
dressing. He was beginning to feel better and there was
no resentment in his mind as it recaptured the details of
the previous night. Nothing that happened had changed
his original opinion that this was a smart and essentially
nice girl who could think for herself when she had to.
He let his thoughts expand as he shaved and stepped
under the shower. As he toweled warmth into his skin he
was ready to believe that there had been a man who had
tried to get into her hotel room, but he also felt that she
had had help in getting to Florida. He was still convinced
that she had collaborated with Carl Darrow in an attempt
to give him an alibi, and it was still very possible that she
had also seen him at the Pine Grove Motel. Having helped
him once it was understandable that she might lie for him
again.
In the kitchen he opened a can of tomato juice and
laced a glass with salt and Worcestershire. The bread was
almost gone but he salvaged a slice to drop in the toaster
before he wrapped the heel and put it into the wastebasket.
Disguised with butter and marmalade it tasted quite good
and by the time he was sipping his second cup of coffee
his head felt more normal and he was able to appreciate
even more the girl's resourcefulness. That she was ex-
tremely easy on the eyes, both as to face and figure, added
decidedly to his appreciation of her as a person and he
grinned absently as he admitted that fact.
When he had rinsed his dishes he went back to the liv-
ing room to straighten the divan and put the pillow and


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blanket away. It was then that he noticed the tie-clip on
the end table.
He picked it up, certain now that it was his but won-
dering how it happened to be there. Gradually then the
scene came back to him and he remembered the story she
had told. He had lost it when he was thrown out of her
cottage, and Felix had found it, but-
He checked the thought as a new one replaced it, and
suddenly his gaze narrowed and became darkly specula-
tive. For he already had a tie-clip. He had dropped it on
the floor of the motel cottage and Charlie Lane had tossed
it to him. Because he had seen that his clip was missing
he had put it on and thought no more about it. So where
the hell was it? What happened to it?
Back in the bedroom he inspected the leather stud box.
No tie-clip. When had he used it last?
He had worn a polo shirt for golf. He had changed into
a clean one afterward when he had showered. He had not
worn a tie until yesterday morning but neither had he
emptied the leather duffel bag he had taken with him
Saturday.
He brought it from the closet and hunkered down to
pull the zipper. Then he took out a soiled shirt, a crumpled
polo shirt, two dirty handkerchiefs, a pair of socks, a folder
of matches advertising a bar, an automatic pencil, and a
regimental-striped necktie.
The clip was at the very bottom and he remembered
having tossed it there when he undressed early Sunday
morning. Viewed closely he saw that the essential similar-
ity between this clip and his own was the size and shape.
If he had not been too occupied with murder and photo-
graphs on Saturday night he would have noticed the dif-
ference in design; if he had not been so exhausted, if it


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165
had not been after four in the morning when he took off
his tie, he might have realized the truth then.
For this was a heavier clip than his. When he looked
more closely and saw that it was marked 18k, his mistake
was even more evident. But it was the design on the face
that held his interest. The embossed lines that formed a
squarish, overlapping pattern seemed vaguely familiar. He
knew he had seen a similar design somewhere, and not
too long ago. He turned the clip over and over in his fin-
gers, but when the answer continued to escape him he
pocketed it and finished dressing.
Delaney was sitting at Murdock's desk when he walked
into the studio at a quarter of eleven. He said that every-
thing was under control but that the Sunday editor
wanted to talk to Murdock about a layout and that T. A.
Wyman had asked for him.
Murdock thanked him, sat down, spun the dial to get an
outside line and then worked on the number for police
headquarters. He asked for Homicide but when he was
connected the detective who answered said Lieutenant
Bacon was out. Offering no information as to where Bacon
might be, he did add that the lieutenant was expected
back in about an hour.
Murdock kept busy during the next hour. He worked
things out with the Sunday editor and got an okay on a
layout. He talked for ten minutes with Wyman but when
the managing editor heard Murdock's story he had a few
suggestions to offer.
“We didn't print the piece as a suicide because we
couldn't get a confirmation. The M.E.'s office said it looked
like suicide but couldn't say pending an autopsy. The po-
lice wouldn't say anything. As of now your friend Charlie


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Lane was found dead under mysterious circumstances.”
He rolled the cigar to the opposite corner of his mouth
and said: “Why don't you go see your pal Bacon? Maybe
you can talk him out of something we can print. If it's
suicide let's give it a paragraph and forget it. If not”-he
shrugged expressively—“maybe we've got a story."
Murdock said he would see what he could find out and
he was waiting outside Bacon's office listening to two de-
tectives question a woman who had been brought in as a
material witness when the lieutenant came in at ten min-
utes of twelve. His grunt of recognition was something less
than cordial but he offered no objection when Murdock
rose and followed him into his office.
Bacon hung up his hat, opened the lone window an inch
and a half, and sat down. He examined a report on his
desk for a silent minute or two. He picked up the telephone
and spoke in cryptic phrases about a case that held no in-
terest for Murdock. When he was ready he leaned back,
sighed, fixed his gray expressionless gaze on Murdock, and
uttered another small uncommunicative grunt.
“What do you want?”
"I want to know what you found out about Charlie
Lane's death."
"A lot of things."
Murdock sat down. This, he could tell from Bacon's
present mood, was going to be a tedious session, but he
was not discouraged. He had time and he knew if he could
think of something that interested the lieutenant the mood
could easily change.
"Like what?”
"He pawned the ring."
“The ticket was on him.”
“It could have been planted, couldn't it? ... Lane


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a smudge somewhere. If that automatic was clean someone
else used it. Someone else put it close to his head and
pulled the trigger."
Murdock took a quick breath as the excitement began to
stir inside.
“Whoever did it wouldn't know you practically never
get a decent print from a gun. To be sure he left no prints
he probably wiped that automatic clean. Then, with the
gun still in his handkerchief, he put it on the floor where
you found it.”
Bacon stopped teetering but nothing had changed in his
face. That he made no argument was encouraging. After a
pause he said:
“What else have you got that's interesting?"
"Charlie had a gun.”
"How do you know?”
“He told me. Last year when he got that job at the
motel. He was around there alone at night and sometimes
there was quite a lot of money in the till. The owner
thought it might be a good idea if there was a gun around,
so Charlie got a permit. Chief Nickerson signed the ap-
plication. You could check that permit. You could find out
what kind of a gun—"
He stopped abruptly, held by some small change in the
lieutenant's expression. Something that could have been
the faintest of smiles had warped his lips. To anyone who
did not know him that smile would have been unrecogniz-
able. But when Murdock detected it he saw a gleam of
interest in the gray eyes where none had been before. And
suddenly he knew that he was right. More important, he
understood that Bacon was 'way ahead of him and was
merely letting him speak his piece before saying so.


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169
“Damn you, Bacon,” he said with some exasperation.
“You've already checked it.”
"Sure.”
“What kind of a gun did Charlie have?”
“A .38 R & R.” Bacon snorted bruskly. “What do you
think we are down here, stupes? You think we take every-
thing for granted? Sure we checked for a permit.”
“Charlie didn't kill himself.”
“You could be right,” Bacon said. “Not so much because
a foreign automatic did the job-it's possible he picked it
up somewhere but not likely; if he had suicide in mind he
already had a gun of his own-but because there's only
one way the gun could be so clean. The way you figured
it.”
He blew out his breath and his moment of condescen-
sion was over.
“We can't have a nice simple suicide,” he said irritably.
“We have to have a murder that hooks up with another
murder and we ain't got much on that one either."
“You didn't find the .38?”
“No, but we found a box of shells for it in one of those
suitcases."
“What about Darrow? Where was he around nine?”
"He had dinner with a guy. As near as we can tab it he
left the restaurant around a quarter of nine. He walked
home, so he says. It was a nice evening and he wanted the
exercise. His wife says he got to the apartment between
nine fifteen and nine twenty.”
“How does that check out?” Murdock asked.
"It checks okay if he walked. But it's no more than seven
or eight minutes from the restaurant to Lane's room. If
he did the shooting he could have walked back to the


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173
“He knew something."
"Sure. Enough to embarrass somebody. If he knew the
killer, if he was the kind of blackmailer you're trying to
make him, he would have been more careful and set him-
self up for a big score. . . . Two hundred and fifty bucks,”
he said bitterly. “That's all he wanted, and he probably
would have settled for less. If he had collected he'd be
on his way to Florida right now.”
He walked to the door, turned back. “And the guy who
did it didn't have guts enough to walk in and do the job
and take his chances. He had to frame it and plant that
jewelry,"
“Lane pawned that ring himself,” Bacon cut in. “We got
a description from the pawnbroker.”
“All right. So he was given the ring and told to pawn
it for part payment on the two fifty. He got one sixty and
maybe he expected to get the difference last night. All that
changes nothing. The killer came up alongside of him and
pulled the trigger and hoped you'd fall for the suicide so
Charlie would be blamed for killing Hazel Franklin. Well,
whoever did it isn't going to get away with it, so you better
keep punching before you get the Courier on your back.”
Bacon took it in silence. He had seldom seen Murdock
so worked up and he seemed to understand that further
comment would be pointless. So he said nothing at all
when Murdock opened the door and started out; neither
did Murdock.


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he rolled up the screen and restored the enlarger to its
proper place.
Replacing the negatives in the filing cabinet, he left his
prints in the tank and went back to his desk. The number
he wanted came to mind as he lifted the telephone, and
presently George Emerly's voice answered.
“George?” he said. “Murdock. Are you working?”
"Reading. . . . Hey, I read in the paper about that guy
Lane. Wasn't he the one you introduced me to down at
Bayview?”
"He's the one."
“What the hell happened? Do you think it has anything
to do with Hazel Franklin?”
"Could be."
“Well, I'll be damned.” Emerly hesitated and said: “The
account I read didn't say so but sort of gave the idea it
might have been suicide.”
"The police aren't saying-yet. But I think it was mur-
der. That's why I called you. I think I've got a lead,
George. It's nothing I can go to the police with now but if
it works out maybe you could give me a hand.”
"Sure, if I can.”
“What I mean is,” Murdock said, “I may want a witness.
Where'll you be in-say another hour or so?”
"I'll be right here all afternoon."
"Fine. I'll call back if I can set it up."
Murdock went back to the printing room, rolled the ex-
cess liquid out of the best two photographs, and put them
on the ferrotyper. The others he crumpled into a wet ball
and threw it into the waste receptacle. He lit a cigarette
while he waited and when the prints began to buckle with
their drying he slipped them from the ferrotyper.
Because the light was not good here, he took them to


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177
his office for a closer examination and what he saw pleased
him. The reproduction of the tie-clip was grainy, as he had
expected, but it was well focused and distinct enough for
his purpose, and he knew that an even more exact copy
could be made if necessary. He took the gold tie-clip from
his pocket and made a final comparison before he locked
one of the prints in the center drawer; the duplicate and
the clip were returned to his pocket.
Murdock had no intention of breaking into Hazel Frank-
lin's apartment when he left the Courier. He expected to
find her brother there, as Bacon had suggested, but when
he could get no reply to his knocks he decided to enter the
same way he entered on Saturday night, rather than delay
the plan that was already working in his mind. He had no
trouble finding what he wanted and he took a moment to
notice that the brother had already been at work.
The closet was empty now. The dresses, some still in
laundry bags, had been piled high on the bed and beside
them were other piles of clothing. Shoes had been lined
up on the floor, a wardrobe trunk, apparently brought up
from the basement, stood open, as were the drawers of
the chest and bureau. In all he was there no more than
three minutes and when he reached the street he hailed a
taxi and gave a riverside address.
The woman who opened the door in response to Mur-
dock's ring was nearly as tall as he was, and the instant
he saw Enid Darrow he recalled the comments Lieutenant
Bacon had made. Clad in a navy woolen dress that was
simply tailored and form-fitting but not tight, she had an
erect, deep-breasted figure, dark-brown hair that held a
hint of red, and greenish eyes, well spaced and slightly
upward slanting at the corners. They seemed direct but


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expressionless as he introduced himself, and her voice had
a soft throaty quality when she replied.
“If it's about my husband,” she said, “I've already talked
to the police and I have nothing further to say. Certainly
nothing for publication."
"I didn't come as a reporter, Mrs. Darrow.” Murdock
hesitated, still held by her eyes and treading lightly.
“What I want is a little more personal. It does concern
your husband, and it could be important.”
“Will it take long?”
“I shouldn't think so.”
“Very well.”
She stood aside and let him enter; then led the way into
a spacious living room that overlooked the river and the
Cambridge shore at one end. She sat down on the divan
which faced the fireplace but she did not lean back when
she asked him to sit down. She was still watching him,
very cool and composed as she waited for him to state
his case, and because Murdock sensed that the going
would be difficult with a conventional approach he de-
cided on a more unorthodox opening.
He smiled and said: “You said the police were here.
Then you met Lieutenant Bacon. . . . I talked with him
around noon and he was very much impressed."
“Really?” she said, her tone suggesting she could not
care less. “Favorably, I hope.”
“Very,” Murdock said, and took the plunge. “He couldn't
understand how any man who had you for a wife could
possibly see anything in Hazel Franklin.” He went on
quickly as she started to interrupt. “I said maybe it was
because she was so different. I said there could have been
trouble between you and your husband; I mean the do-
mestic kind, friction of one sort or another that led to mis-


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179
understandings. All Hazel had to do was use her wits and
make sure the things she did were what your husband
wanted most.”
“Wasn't that rather presumptuous?"
“I beg your pardon.”
“Why should you say anything at all? You don't even
know me.”
“But I had seen you. And I did know Hazel. For several
years. Not well, but enough to know what she was like. I
also know your husband and I found myself agreeing with
the lieutenant. I still don't know what Hazel could do for
him that you couldn't do better, assuming that you cared
enough to try.”
He saw her expression change as he finished. In the be-
ginning she had been reserved and a little annoyed, but
he had her interest now. This was the subject that was
closest to her and when her eyes moved on it seemed to
him that the things they saw were in her mind and had no
part of the room.
“Yes,” she said. “One has to care enough to try.”
“You didn't get the divorce you went for, did you?"
"No."
“Then you must have cared more than you thought.”
“I always did care but it was not that simple. . . . Fric-
tion? Certainly there was friction. I thought Carl should
spend just a little more time with me and less with his
business affairs. I wanted children, or at least one child,
before it was too late, but he could not forget that he had
served a sentence for manslaughter. He said it wouldn't be
fair to a child to have a father with such a record. He said
the past would keep cropping up to haunt him.
“I don't believe that,” she said, her eyes coming back to
Murdock now but the look in them suggesting she was no
O,


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longer aware that he was a stranger. He was, at the mo-
ment, simply a sympathetic but objective target for the
thoughts and feelings that had become so important to
her.
“Why does he have to live here?" she demanded. “An
assistant could take care of this end of his business. We
could live any number of places that are more pleasant
than this. It would be better for us to make new friends,
better for a child who was growing up."
She paused again and Murdock was afraid to say any-
thing lest he break the mood of her confession. He did
not move a muscle or make a sound until she continued.
"I knew he loved me," she said, "and I thought I had
that hold over him that every woman seems to think she
has over a man. He wanted the warmth and affection he
knew was part of my nature and he got silence and indif-
ference, the distant manner, the dignified response. It was
nothing a man would want to come home to and he had
the money and the good looks to do something about it.
"I don't know when he first started seeing Hazel but I
found out about it soon enough, and when I finished de-
livering my ultimatum I had very little left but my pride.
I went to Florida and the longer I stayed the more I
realized what a fool I was. Maybe it was pride that
brought me back, maybe it was the certain knowledge that
I still loved him and the hope that he could love me if he
had the chance. Whatever the reason I knew I could not
let anyone as cheap and grasping as Hazel Franklin have
him by default. That's why I came home and~"
She broke off suddenly, her color high and a new gleam
in the green eyes. One minute she was intent only on
voicing the things that had been bottled up inside her for
too long; the next she became aware of the circumstances


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181
and was annoyed with herself for being so forthright with
her confidence. He could see the change as her shoulders
straightened and her mouth compressed.
“You wanted to talk about my husband,” she said. “You
said it might be important. Just what did you mean by
that?”
Murdock knew the interview was over and he rose and
moved closer to her. He took the tie-clip from his pocket
and placed it on his palm so she could get a good look
at it.
“Do you recognize this, Mrs. Darrow?”
“Why”-she took one look and when her glance came up
it held a look of puzzlement-"yes. I gave it to him last
Christmas. It was part of a set.”
"The cuff links have blue stones in the center?”
“Small sapphires.” She rose and glanced again at the
clip. “Where did you get it?”
"I found it."
"Well—” She smiled then, her manner suddenly gra-
cious. “Thank you. I'll give it to him when-”
Murdock cut her off, not liking the idea but having no
choice.
“I'd rather give it to him myself, Mrs. Darrow," he said.
“You can tell him I have it. Tell him I found it Saturday
night.”
He backed toward the foyer. He offered a small nod
and a perfunctory smile as he thanked her for seeing him.
She was still watching wide-eyed and unmoving when he
turned and headed for the door.


THE BIG GAMBLE
183
when I finish. That should just about use up the eight
hours you're paying me for."
Murdock went back to the Courier and rode to the fifth
floor. He found the entertainment editor in his little cubby,
but the information he got did no more than corroborate
what he had already learned from Jack Fenner, so he con-
tinued on to the city room to speak to the man at the desk.
“I'll be at my place if anyone wants me,” he said. “I
probably won't be back.”
“Sure,” the editor said. “We can handle things from
here.” He picked up a telephone, dialed once. "Hello,” he
said. “Who's this?” He covered the mouthpiece with his
palm. “Delaney's there now.”
“I'll speak to him before I leave,” Murdock said.
In the studio he told Delaney what he had told the city
editor and then went into his little office and closed the
door before he called George Emerly.
“How about it, George?” he said. “Still interested?”
"Sure,” Emerly said. “But can you fill me in a little? Do
you really think you know who killed Hazel?”
“It's only a hunch so far,” Murdock said, “but I think
we can work it out. It's worth a try anyway. The only thing
is, it may get a little rough if I'm right.”
“Oh?”
“I think I can prove that Carl Darrow was at the Pine
Grove Motel Saturday night. I think he was the one who
drove Hazel there and then disappeared. I had a talk with
his wife and I have an idea he'll be paying me a call. He
was a pretty tough guy once; he may still be.”
“Yes, but-he certainly won't talk in front of me.”
"Not in front of you, George,” Murdock said. “If you get
there first he's not going to know you're there at all.”


THE BIG GAMBLE
187
waiting with the gun when I came in. He wants to search
the place."
"Skip the details.” Herrick indicated the divan. “Sit down
over there, Emerly. Stay there and behave.” He waited
until Emerly eased down on the cushions and then looked
at Murdock. “Get started,” he said. “The middle drawer
first.”
Murdock sat down at the desk and pulled out the drawer.
He placed it on the top. He picked out a handful of bills
and receipts and fanned them out so Herrick could see
them. As he bent over to put them on the floor he saw that
the other stood five feet away, no longer pointing the auto-
matic but holding it in readiness. He took a handful of
letters and began to sort them and then Emerly's voice cut
through the silence, harsh and incisive.
"Stand still, Herrick! Don't lift your hand.”
Murdock was watching Herrick when it happened. He
saw the big man stiffen and his head jerk round. There
was that instant of startled indecision and then it was too
late because Herrick's left side was toward Emerly and it
was the right hand which held the automatic.
“Good,” Emerly said, his voice still tight. “Now drop the
gun.”
Murdock forced his glance beyond Herrick. Emerly was
leaning across the arm of the divan. The short-barreled
revolver in his hand was pointed right at Herrick, and even
as he looked at Emerly, Murdock heard the automatic thud
to the rug somewhere behind him.
“All right,” Emerly said. “Step back. Do you want to
get it, Kent?”
Murdock rose and retrieved his gun. When he examined
it he saw that no bullet had been jacked into the chamber
and he left it that way before he slipped it into his hip


THE BIG GAMBLE
189
“I was supposed to buy the letters back.”
"You'd already been paying her a hundred a week."
"Sure. But she knew I was getting married and she
thought once that happened she was through collecting.
She said I could have them for two thousand cash. By bor-
rowing and cleaning out my bank account and getting an
advance on the Melody Grill job I raised it.”
Murdock spun the desk chair about and sat down. “Did
she call you?”
“Yes. About ten after eight. I was eating dinner. She
said she'd talk to me later. When she didn't show up I got
worried and ducked over to the motel.”
“That was when I saw you driving out, wasn't it? What
did you do? What did she say?"
"I didn't see her. The lights were on and the radio was
playing but nobody answered my knock.” He swallowed,
a note of desperation in his voice. “That's the truth. Honest
to God.”
“I believe you,” Murdock said. “If you knew she was dead
at nine thirty you sure as hell wouldn't have gone back
to the club. You'd have high-tailed it for town and her
apartment to look for those letters. So you went back
around eleven thirty or so. After you'd talked to Darrow.”
“I thought she'd come down with him but Carl said no.
He said he'd been in town all evening.” Herrick hesitated
and wet his lips. “So I told my guitar player to take over
the piano and went back to the motel. When there still
was no answer to my knock I looked through the Venetian
blinds. By standing on tiptoe I could just see her.”
Murdock remembered how he had almost been able to
see the object on the floor between the beds, remembered
thinking that if he were taller or had something to stand
on he could have made sure. And Herrick was taller and-


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191
this time his hands had not moved from his coat pockets
and they remained there as he spoke.
“I hear you've got something that belongs to me. A tie-
clip, wasn't it?”
Murdock lit a cigarette and sat down at the desk. “That's
right,” he said, when he had inhaled.
“Why did you bother my wife?"
“I wanted to find out whether it was yours.”
“You could have asked me."
“I like it better this way,” Murdock said. “I'd rather talk
here than in your office with that driver of yours hanging
around. What's his name?”
“Leslie.” Darrow lowered his chin and studied Murdock
from beneath the hat brim. “You found it Saturday night,
hunh? Where?”
"Haven't you any idea where you lost it?”
“If I had I wouldn't be asking."
“Beside Hazel's body,” Murdock said, and then he was
relating the details as he remembered them. “It looks some-
thing like my clip,” he said. “Gold and about the same
shape. If I had taken a good look at it I would have known
it wasn't mine. But I didn't. I was thinking of too many
other things and when Charlie asked me and I saw my own
clip was missing I said it was mine.”
He went on to tell what had happened to his own clip
and how it had been returned to him by Lucille Dunn. “If
I'd known about it Sunday I probably would have given it
to Chief Nickerson or that state police lieutenant.”
“But you didn't.”
“You know I didn't.”
"So what’re you driving at?"
“I'm saying you were with Hazel Franklin in that motel
room. You probably drove her there. I can't prove that-


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197
he saw one eye wink deliberately and knew that Fenner
had completed his assignment.
“Come in,” he said. “Do you know Carl Darrow and
George Emerly?”
Fenner nodded. “Hi, Carl.”
"Hello, Jack.”
“Mr. Emerly?
Emerly said hello and Murdock glanced back at Fenner.
“Do you want to sit in, Jack?” he said.
"Sure.” Fenner went over and perched on a window sill.
“Deal me a hand and I'll check the action.”
Darrow had watched all this in silence, his muscular face
grim, his gaze again suspicious.
“Where do you fit?”
"I don't,” Fenner said. “I'm just running errands for
Murdock-for a fee.”
He produced a folded sheet of paper from an inside
pocket and took a small leather case from a second pocket.
He handed both to Murdock and sat back, folding his arms.
Darrow cleared his throat. “I don't know what this is all
about yet but I'm not going to sit still for any frame,
Murdock.”
“There doesn't have to be a frame but I had to get the
time element worked out.”
He sat down and leaned forward, forearms on his knees
and hands dangling.
“Once we knew that jewelry had been planted on
Charlie Lane,” he said, “and that Hazel hadn't been killed
by some prowler, there were only three of you in the pic-
ture. You, Herrick, and George.”
"Me?” Emerly's eyes opened behind the glasses. “You're
kidding."


198
THE BIG GAMBLE
“Not exactly.” Murdock glanced at Darrow. “You cleared
Herrick."
"So you say.”
"And that leaves you and—”
"I didn't kill her-or Lane either for that matter."
"No," Murdock said, “I don't think you did.” He looked
at Emerly. “That was sort of a silly move, trying to get
into Lucille Dunn's room last night. When I began to think
about that, a lot of other things seemed to fall in place."
"What the devil are you talking about?” Emerly said.
Murdock repeated the story the girl had told him. When
he finished he said: “It wouldn't make much sense for Carl
or Paul to sneak into that room. She knew them both. She
wasn't afraid of them. All they had to do was knock and
she would have let them in. It was different with you. You
couldn't be sure about her and there wasn't any light show-
ing under the door”
“I don't know what you're talking about,” Emerly said.
“Okay.” Murdock took a breath and tried to put his
thoughts in order. He had a lot of things to say, no one of
which seemed terribly important except as part of an over-
all pattern. He was not sure just where to start but he knew
he had to try. “This may take a while," he said. “So bear
with me.”
He unfolded the sheet Fenner had given him, compared
it with a similar sheet he had taken from Hazel Franklin's
desk earlier in the afternoon.
“Jack just came from your place," he said with a nod
toward Fenner. “I told him to wait until you came out be-
fore he tried to get in so he wouldn't get caught. One of
the things I wanted was your copy of the contract you had
with Hazel. This is it. This”-he held up the other sheet-
“is her copy. If my idea is right, they're phonies."


200
THE BIG GAMBLE
You paid her. You've got cancelled checks to prove it. Why
should you do that unless she could prove the original
stories were Franklin's?”
He had Emerly's interest now. The long face was very
grave but things were happening behind the bespectacled
eyes and his voice was oddly quiet as he spoke.
"What do you mean, prove?"
"Unless she could back up her charge that you'd plagi-
arized those ideas she had no case against you. She
couldn't go to court and say you stole a story just because
she happened to remember copying a similar story for her
husband. She would have to back up such a charge with
evidence a court would recognize, and I think she had it or
you wouldn't have paid her a dime. I think she had the
originals of those old stories, the first drafts from which
she had once typed the clean copies. For some reason,
it's not important now-she must have kept those rough
drafts. It's the only possible way she could prove her story,
and you knew it."
He took a breath and said: “Bacon said he went over
her apartment with a fine-tooth comb. He said there was
nothing there that helped or pointed the finger at anyone.
If those rough copies had been there he would have men-
tioned it because it's his business to be suspicious and he'd
heard your side of the contract business. A man like Bacon,
if he had those roughs, would have checked back. So I
say there were no scripts in her apartment when the police
got there. I also say there had to be scripts or she couldn't
have collected from you. You took them Saturday night,
didn't you?"
He hesitated, not expecting an answer, and then said:
“I looked in her closet when I was there that night. The
front had been torn out of a laundry bag; you know, one


THE BIG GAMBLE
201
of those long ones the dry cleaners use. I think you used
that to wrap those scripts. You had to wrap them in some-
thing because if anyone happened to see you he'd remem-
ber a guy with an armful of typescript. I didn't ask Jack
to look for them but I wouldn't be surprised if you still
have them around somewhere, maybe down cellar where
you keep trunks and things you're not using."
“You've got it all figured out, haven't you?” Emerly said
in the same quiet tone.
"I'm trying,” Murdock said.
“So let's get to the part where I killed her.”
"I'll have to do some more guessing."
“Go ahead. Darrow says he's got plenty of time and Fen-
ner's working for you. Start with the motive."
Murdock looked back at Emerly, a little discouraged now
but aware that he had to keep pitching. He had not ex-
pected a voluntary confession but he still had some bits
and pieces that might do the job one way or another.
“All right, George,” he said. “Try this for size. You were
paying Hazel fifty per cent of the stories you had used and
sold, but I think you must have held out on one, probably
the one you spoke of that brought a TV and a movie sale.
I think she found out and you couldn't pay and she
crowded you too far. If she had those old originals-and I
still say she must have had them-she could have sued you,
the magazine, the network, and the movie company. Not
only could she have collected but she would have finished
you as a writer. Once the truth came out you could never
sell another line, not even to a newspaper.
"She had you over a barrel and she must have threatened
you in some way or asked for terms that were impossible-
or seemed so to you. Whatever the reason you decided to
take the big gamble. I don't know whether you planned


THE BIG GAMBLE
203
arrow
police can prove the case was Hazels. ... Item number
two is a girl named Lucille Dunn. . . . You can get her
back here, can't you?” he said to Darrow.
"Item number three," Murdock said when Darrow
nodded, “is the gun you've got in your belt."
"This one?”
Emerly moved as he spoke and the revolver was in his
hand. The thin face held a grayish tinge now and sud-
denly the eyes mirrored a new brightness that seemed both
panic-ridden and dangerous.
"That was quite a pitch you made to me over the tele-
phone,” he said, his tone shrill. “You needed help. You knew
who killed Hazel and wanted a witness. Things might get
very tough, you said. You wanted to scare me. You wanted
me to bring the gun."
"I hoped you would,” Murdock said.
"And suppose I use it?"
“That was a chance I had to take. That's why I wanted
Darrow and Fenner around to give me some backing."
He watched the gun level at him as he finished and he
let his breath out slowly. Because he was thinking now of
Charlie Lane the feeling that came over him was basically
one of satisfaction rather than alarm. He had worked hard
for this moment, knowing that there would be some risk,
aware that there was still a risk, not only to him but to
everyone in the room.
"That's a .38 R & R, isn't it, George? Charlie's gun. You
didn't know he had it when you went there last night, did
you? You took a German gun that couldn't be traced and
after you had used it you planted the ring and the watch
in his bag. That's when you saw his gun and knew you had
to take it with you to make the suicide idea hold water.”


204
THE BIG GAMBLE
He paused, waiting for some reply. When none came he
spoke softly and started to rise.
"That's all I've got, George. I think it's enough but let's
let the district attorney decide about that.”
He was moving slowly toward the telephone when
Emerly stopped him. “Maybe it's a little late for that,” he
said. "Sit down. Over here." He jerked the gun toward the
divan, watching Murdock obey as he backed to the desk
chair and sat down to face the room.
22
FOR SEVERAL SECONDS then there was no sound but
the muted hum of traffic on the street outside. Jack Fen-
ner's agate eyes were fixed on Emerly. Darrow had not
moved, but his right hand was still in his pocket and the
hatbrim put his eyes in shadow and left his steady gaze
obscure.
Murdock looked from one to the other and back at the
gun in Emerly's hand. He tried to weigh the individual
reactions and the odds, and at the moment he found them
discouraging. He had set this up more or less according to
plan and he was responsible for what happened now. He
was sure that Darrow had a gun. In the beginning he had
not been sure about Fenner because the detective did not
always carry one. Now, seeing Fenner carelessly unbutton
his jacket so it hung loose, he knew the score. It was Fenner
who finally broke the silence.
“What do you think you're going to do with that?"


THE BIG GAMBLE
207
“How could they do that?” he asked. “Copies had al-
ready been printed. They were in the hands of the dealers
and the reviewers. If they tried to call them back the story
would come out and everybody'd know what I'd done.
... It didn't make any difference to her," he said, the
bitterness underriding his words. “It was her way or noth-
ing. I guess that's when I made up my mind. I knew about
the weekend she'd planned and—”
He broke off, sighed, and shifted the gun. “What dif-
ference does it make?” he said. “You had it figured close
enough. The details aren't important. I didn't try to frame
anybody then. I knew you'd be coming back to find her"-
he glanced at Darrow-"and maybe that's why I took the
jewelry. I thought if the police started looking for a prowler
I'd be safe enough.”
“When did Charlie see you?”
"He saw me walking away from the place. He didn't
actually see me come out of the door but he saw me right
after that. I don't think it meant a thing to him until he
saw me with you at the Bayview police station.”
“Yeah,” said Murdock, the old bitterness rising in his
throat again. “I introduced you."
“He looked me up yesterday,” Emerly said. “He said he
wouldn't want to cause a lot of trouble for a friend of yours
but he could use two hundred and fifty dollars to get to
Florida.”
“You could have paid him, couldn't you?”
“How could I?” Emerly said, his voice ragged. “That
would have been only the beginning."
“That's where you went wrong,” Murdock said. “Charlie
was a little guy. He wouldn't deliberately harm anyone.
If you had believed him you'd be clear right now. You
never would have heard from him again.”


208
THE BIG GAMBLE
"That's all right for you to say," Emerly said. “You never
had murder hanging over your head. You're not the same
guy when that happens; you can't even think the same
way. ... I couldn't take a chance. That's the way it
looked to me and that's how I had to play it. I still had
the jewelry-I couldn't make up my mind what to do with
it-and that's when I got the idea. I gave him a ring and
told him to pawn it late that afternoon. I told him I'd make
up the difference between what he got and the two fifty."
"All right,” Murdock said, wanting to hear no more
about Charlie Lane and trying to keep his voice under
control. “What about Lucille Dunn?”
"She caught me in her headlights as she backed her car
away from a bungalow.”
“How'd you know who she was?” Darrow said, getting
into the act for the first time.
"I got the license number. . . . I made a lot of contacts
doing those true-crime pieces,” Emerly said to Murdock.
"It wasn't hard to find out the car belonged to Felix Dale
and the address the bureau has was the Blue Heron. I
looked him up Sunday before I came back here. I pre-
tended I was a booker and said I might have something
for the little blonde that worked there. He told me where
she'd gone.
"I didn't know what to do about her,” he added. “I prob-
ably wouldn't have done anything if it hadn't been for
Lane. But after that I got thinking and I'd gone too far
then to have much conscience left. You don't know what
it's like," he said desperately. “You get so you don't even,
think like a human being."
"I damn near caught you coming out of Charlie's," Mur-
dock said, but Emerly did not seem to hear him. Instead he
spoke of the one all-important thing in his mind.


THE BIG GAMBLE
215
Darrow adjusted his hat, glanced at Murdock, and took
a chance. “He asked me to stop by."
Bacon made a muttered reply but he had not finished.
He paced the room with stiff-legged strides, his hat had
slipped off center, and his gray eyes were giving off sparks.
He made threats he did not actually mean and spoke of
charges that could be pressed, and Murdock made no pro-
test until Bacon ran out of breath.
When he stood up the stubbornness still showed and his
voice was flat and defiant. He understood the justification
of Bacon's comments, but reaction was working on him
now and his nerves were still jumpy and frayed at the
ends.
“Okay,” he said. “We'll do the rest of it your way. You
don't have to front for me. Just remember that I've got a
little something extra working for me.”
“Yeah?” said Bacon. “What?”
“A newspaper. There'll probably be a picture of what
happened outside but only the three of us know the real
story. So you better make up your mind before we get
down to headquarters. You can give out your own story.
You can say the police closed in on Emerly and he was
killed trying to shoot it out-which is about what hap-
pened. Or you can get tough and push me around and I'll
write a story that gives the facts. Let's see how the depart-
ment likes that kind of publicity.”
He moved to the desk and poured out another swallow
of whisky. To show there were no hard feelings, he pointed
to the empty glass. “You want a touch before we go?"
Bacon wavered. He looked at Murdock to see if he
meant what he said and right then he seemed to under-
stand that the photographer was not fooling. He knew
from past experience that when Murdock talked like that