A Cue For The Corpse

Ed grinned at that. He was used to it now, though it had been a littlethrilling for the first couple of years. It was ten years since he hadfirst gone up in electric lights. And now he was the highest-paidperformer on the Partages Circuit. He liked it. He liked to jugglethose heavy guns, and bring down the house in thunderous applause whenhe shot out the flames of a dozen candles in succession thirty feetacross the stage. Every night it was a new thrill.He pulled open the door and started to step out into the corridor. Buthe suddenly stopped with his hand on the knob, and said in surprise,Well, for the love of Pete!There was a girl in the hall, and she was lugging a dead man by thefeet!SHE was hardly more than seventeen or eighteen, and her figure wasslender and supple in a thin silk dress. She must have put it on in ahurry, because, even in the dim light of the hallway, it was easy tosee that she wore nothing at all underneath it. And she had no shoesor stockings on, either.He stared.She was dragging the man by the feet. His shoulders bumped along thefloor, and his arms did a crazy slithering act on the wine-coloredrug. He was on his back, and there was a large black hole in his lefttemple. The blood was dried around the wound. His eyes were open andglazed, and his jaw hung slack. There was no doubt that he was dead.The girl apparently had dragged him out of Room 814 across the hall,because the door of that room was ajar. When she heard Ed Race, shedropped the man's feet as if they were scorching hot. Her eyes becamewide and round. Her lower lip was trembling, and her small breastswere rising and falling with trip-hammer speed.She stared at Ed Race without speaking.Ed said gravely, Why, you're only a kid. How come you're lugging acorpse? Don't you know you mustn't touch dead men till the policecome?I want to get rid of the body, she told him matter-of-factly.I guessed as much, he said dryly. Who killed him?I killed him.Ed raised his eyebrows. With what?With a gun.Why? he asked.Because he was no good. He's a gunman--Lefty Mott. I'm--I was his gunmoll. We had a fight and I shot him.Ed looked at her thoughtfully. A gun moll, eh? Aren't you a littleyoung to be a gun moll?I'm twenty-five! she lied defiantly.Ed grinned. Twenty-five, eh?? A pretty ripe old age at that. Do youmind telling me what you were going to do with Mr. Lefty Mott?I was going to put him in the incinerator, she said.There isn't any incinerator here. This isn't a housekeeping hotel.Her eyes widened. But--but I thought every New York building had anincinerator.You haven't been in New York long, have you? Ed asked.I have so! And I'm a moll, too. I'll prove it. Want me to prove it?How?Like this, she said.She knelt swiftly beside the dead man, and thrust a hand inside hiscoat. She brought it out holding a huge automatic which she had takenfrom under the corpse's left armpit. It was so heavy she had to holdit in both hands as she pointed it at Ed.