The Mike Hammer Collection - Mickey Spillane [158]
“Perhaps, but I don’t think so. Kidnapping’s one thing, murder’s another. How about introducing me to those people?”
He nodded. “Very well.” Every eye in the room was on me as we made the rounds. I didn’t suppose there would be anyone too anxious to meet me after the demonstration a little while ago.
The two gladiators were first. They were sitting on the love seat trying not to look shaky. Both of them still had red welts across their cheeks. The introduction was simple enough. York merely pointed in obvious disdain. “My nephews, Arthur and William Graham.”
We moved on. “My niece, Alice Nichols.” A pair of deep brown eyes kissed mine so hard I nearly lost my balance. She swept them up and down the full length of me. It couldn’t have been any better if she did it with a wet paintbrush. She was tall and she had seen thirty, but she saw it with a face and body that were as fresh as a new daisy. Her clothes made no attempt at concealment; they barely covered. On some people skin is skin, but on her it was an invitation to dine. She told me things with a smile that most girls since Eve have been trying to put into words without being obvious or seeming too eager and I gave her my answer the same way. I can run the ball a little myself.
York’s sister and her husband were next. She was a middle-aged woman with “Matron” written all over her. The type that wants to entertain visiting dignitaries and look down at “peepul” through a lorgnette. Her husband was the type you’d find paired off with such a specimen. He was short and bulgy in the middle. His single-breasted gray suit didn’t quite manage to cross the equator without putting a strain on the button. He might have had hair, but you’d never know it now. One point of his collar had jumped the tab and stuck out like an accusing finger.
York said, “My sister, Martha Ghent, her husband, Richard.” Richard went to stick out his hand but the old biddie shot him a hasty frown and he drew back, then she tried to freeze me out. Failing in this she turned to York. “Really, Rudolph, I hardly think we should meet this . . . this person.”
York turned an appealing look my way, in apology. “I’m sorry, Martha, but Mr. Hammer considers it necessary.”
“Nevertheless, I don’t see why the police can’t handle this.”
I sneered at her in my finest manner. “I can’t see why you don’t keep your mouth shut, Mrs. Ghent.”
The way her husband tried to keep the smile back, I thought he’d split a gut. Martha stammered, turned blue and stalked off. York looked at me critically, though approvingly.
A young kid in his early twenties came walking up as though the carpet was made of eggs. He had Ghent in his features, but strictly on his mother’s side. A pipe stuck out of his pocket and he sported a set of thick-lensed glasses. The girl at his side didn’t resemble anyone, but seeing the way she put her arm around Richard I took it that she was the daughter.
She was. Her name was Rhoda, she was friendly and smiled. The boy was Richard, Junior. He raised his eyebrows until they drew his eyes over the rims of his glasses and peered at me disapprovingly. He perched his hands on his hips and “Humphed” at me. One push and he would be over the line that divides a man and a pansy.
The introductions over, I cornered York out of earshot of the others. “Under the circumstances, it might be best if you kept this gang here until things settle down a bit. Think you can put them up?”
“I imagine so. I’ve been doing it at one time or another for the last ten years. I’ll see Harvey and have the rooms made up.”
“When you get them placed, have Harvey bring me a diagram showing where their rooms are. And tell him to keep it under his hat. I want to be able to reach anyone anytime. Now, is there anyone closely connected with the household we’ve missed?”
He thought a moment. “Oh, Miss Grange. She went home this