Experiment in Crime Read Free Page A

polychromatic stars twinkled in what seemed to be orchestral tempo.
    It was dim in the room. The expanse of white tablecloths, the gleaming dance floor, the lofty ceiling and stellar lights, made the professor think of the snowcape under a Christmas tree, expanded magically, so that human beings could walk into it.

    The headwaiter came forward. "One?"

    Professor Burke was escorted into the shimmering, theatrical wonderland. He was seated along the wall.

    "Something to drink?"

    "A martini. Very dry."

    Professor Burke was familiar with the best dining places of Boston. One of these had a bar that turned like a merry-go-round. He was familiar with night clubs through rare visits to the motion pictures. A single cocktail was his limit. However, he knew a good martini from a fair one. He was served a martini he regarded as excellent.

    He ordered dinner. He began to look, covertly but searchingly, at the people around him. He thought of them in terms of the textbooks and newspaper articles. They were largely--he felt--gamblers, gangsters, corrupt politicians, labor czars squandering the dues of union members, ladies of the evening, and the like. It would have surprised him a good deal--and disappointed him even more--had he realized that nearly all the men and women were respectable citizens of, or visitors to Miami Beach enjoying an evening of dining and dancing--and not even planning to gamble.

    When he cut an excellent filet mignon--for which he would pay a shocking seven dollars--he beckoned the headwaiter. "Where is the gaming room?"

    The phrase was not the ordinary one. And it was not customary of newcomers to ask that information of the headwaiter. "You--oh--have not been here before, sir?"

    "No, I haven't."

    The headwaiter said, "Quite so," and walked away, leaving the professor deeply embarrassed.

    The office of Mr. William Sanders was paneled in cypress. In these walls were slots from which the two principal chambers of the Club Egret could be discreetly surveyed. The room also contained a powerful wall safe, expensive, modernistic furniture, and Mr. Sanders himself--a very tall man, lanky, and pleasant. His smile was ready, almost constant; his voice quiet and amiable. One needed, as a rule, a second glance to note that his eyes had a quality like the blade of an adze--seen edge-on.

    There was a knock on his door.

    Mr. Sanders glanced up from his desk. He said nothing. The door opened and a man entered--a thick-shouldered man with black hair parted in the middle and black eyes of the sort called liquid. The term connotes fluidity and warmth. There was nothing warm about The Tip. If there ever had been, it had turned to ice years before, during The Tip's childhood on the streets of South Chicago.

    Mr. Sanders still said nothing.

    "There is a laddie-boy outside whose looks I dislike." The Tip touched the ruby-red bow above his soft evening shirt. "Table eighty-six. Are you sure, Double-O, that you have all the dope on tonight's operations?"

    Perhaps six people in the world called Mr. Sanders "Bill." Possibly twenty people called him "Double-O" to his face. Thousands, however, used that name when he was not present--though they called him "Mr. Sanders" when they accosted him. Newspapers, also, referred to him on frequent occasion as "Double-O" or "Double-O Sanders."

    He regarded The Tip with a smile. The Tip's words showed not the slightest trace of Chicago's streets or even its universal nasal register. The Tip spoke in pure American Park Avenue--an eastern accent which, itself an imitation, is readily copied by anyone who is willing to practice affectation. Smooth phoniness amused Double-O. He answered the question.

    "Who's ever positive he has all the dope, in this town? Tonight's operations are set--sure. What's wrong with the guy?"

    "Just--keeps looking the place over. The customers. Could be a new Fed income-tax snooping. He asked Rudolph where the 'gaming room' was. Sounds too sappy to be solid. If