Oddments Read Free Page A

intruder been searching for? And whatever it was, had he found it?
    Sabina was already at her desk when he arrived at the Market Street offices of Carpenter and Quincannon, Professional Detective Services, at nine A.M. She looked bright and well-scrubbed, her glossy black hair piled high on her head and fastened with a jade barrette. As always, Quincannon's hard heart softened and his pulses quickened at sight of her. A fine figure of a woman, Mrs. Sabina Carpenter. For a few seconds, as he shed his derby but not his Chesterfield, the wicked side of his imagination speculated once again on what that fine figure would look like divested of its skirt and jacket, shirtwaist and lacy undergarments....
    She narrowed her eyes at him as he crossed the room. "Before we get down to business," she said, "I'll thank you to put my clothes back on."
    "Eh?" Sudden warmth crept out of Quincannon's collar. "My dear Sabina! You can't think that I—"
    "I don't think it, I know it. I know you, John Quincannon , far better than you think I do."
    He sighed. "Perhaps, though you often mistake my motives."
    "I doubt that. Was your sleepless night a reward of that lascivious mind of yours?"
    "How did you know—"
    "Bloodshot eyes in saggy pouches. If I didn't know better, I'd think you had forsaken your temperance pledge."
    "Observant wench. No, it was neither Demon Rum nor impure thoughts nor my misunderstood affections for you that kept me awake most of the blasted night."
    "What, then?"
    "The death of James Scarlett and the near death of your most obedient servant."
    The words startled her, though only someone who knew Sabina as he did would have been aware of it; her round face betrayed only the barest shadow of her surprise. "What happened, John?"
    He told her in detail, including the things that bothered him about the incident and the speculations shared with the three police officers. The smooth skin of her forehead and around her generous mouth bore lines of concern when he finished.
    "Bad business," she said. "And bad for business, losing a man we were hired to protect to an assassin's bullet. Not that you're to be blamed, of course."
    "Of course," Quincannon said sardonically. "But others will blame me. The only way to undo the damage is for me to find the scoundrel responsible before the police do."
    "Us to find him, you mean."
    "Us," he agreed.
    "I suppose it's back to Chinatown for you."
    "It's where the whole of the answer lies."
    "Fowler Alley?"
    "If Scarlett's mutterings were significant and not part of a hop dream."
    "You said he sounded frightened when he spoke the name. Opium dreams are seldom nightmares, John. Men and women use the stuff to escape from nightmares, real or imaginary."
    "True."
    "Scarlett's other words—'blue shadow.' A connection of some sort to Fowler Alley?"
    "Possibly. I'm not sure but what I misheard him and the phrase only sounded like 'blue shadow."
    "Spoken in the same frightened tone?"
    Quincannon cudgeled his memory. "I can't be certain."
    "Well, our client may have some idea. While you're in Chinatown, I'll pay a call on her."
    "I was about to suggest that." He didn't add that this was a task he himself wished to avoid at all costs. Facing a female client whom he had failed would have embarrassed him mightily. The job required Sabina's fine, tactful hand. "Ask her if she knows of any incriminating documents her husband might have had in his possession. And where he kept his private papers. If it wasn't at his office, the mug who searched it before me may not have found what he was after."
    "I will. Who would the mug be, do you suppose, if not one of Little Pete's highbinders?"
    "I don't say that it wasn't a highbinder. Only that the job seemed to have a more professional touch than the hatchet man's usual ham-fisted tactics."
    "Is there anything you can remember about the gunman?" Sabina asked. "It's possible he was known to Mrs. Scarlett as well as her husband."
    "It was too dark and his hat