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drink.” He was very distant and contemptuous again.
    “I don’t need any encouragement. Where do I sleep?”
    Once more he had to struggle with his temper, and went out of the room with a little flounce that told me how mad he was.
    I followed him up the broad stairs, along a passage to a bedroom that smelt as if it had been shut up for a long time. Apart from the stuffy, stale air, there was nothing wrong with the room.
    “Good night, Jackson,” he said curtly and went away.
    I poured myself out a small Scotch, drank it, made another and walked to the window. I threw it open and leaned out. All I could see were tree-tops and darkness. The brilliant moonlight didn’t penetrate through the trees or shrubs. Below me I made out a flat roof, a projection over the bay windows that ran the width of the house. For something better to do I climbed out of the window and lowered myself on to the roof. At the far end of the projection I had a clear view of the big stretch of lawn. A lily pond that looked like a sheet of beaten silver in the moonlight held my attention. It was surrounded by a low wall. Someone was sitting on the wall. It looked like a girl, but I was top far away to be sure. I could make out a tiny spark of a burning cigarette. If it hadn’t been for the cigarette I would have thought the figure was a statue, so still was it sitting. I watched for some time, but nothing happened. I went back the way I had come.
    The chauffeur was sitting on my bed waiting for me as I climbed in through the window.
    “Just getting some fresh air,” I said as I hooked my leg over the sill. I didn’t show I was startled. “Kind of stuffy in here, isn’t it?”
    “Kind of,” he said, keeping his voice low. “I’ve seen you somewhere before, ain’t I?”
    “Along the waterfront. Jackson’s the name.”
    “The dick?”
    I grinned.
    “That was a month ago. I’m not working that racket any more.”
    “Yeah, I heard about that. The cops picked on you, didn’t they?”
    “The cops picked on me.” I found another glass, made two stiff drinks. “Want one?”
    His hand shot out.
    “Can’t stay long. They wouldn’t like me being up here.”
    “Did you come for a drink?”
    He shook his head.
    “Couldn’t place you. It sort of worried me. I heard the way you spoke to that heel Parker. I thought you and me might get together.”
    “Yeah,” I said. We might. What’s your name?”
    “Max Otis.”
    “Been working here long?”
    “Started today.” He made it sound as if it was a day too long. “The dough’s all right, but they kick me around. I’m quitting at the end of the week.”
    “Told them?”
    “Not going to. I’ll just take it on the lam. Parker’s worse than Gorman. He’s always picking on me. You saw the way he behaved . . .”
    “Yeah.” I hadn’t time to listen to his grievances. I wanted information.
    “What do you do around here?”
    His smile was bitter.
    “Everything. Cook, clean the house, run the car, look after heel Parker’s clothes, buy groceries, the drinks. I don’t mind the job: it’s them.”
    “How long have they been here?”
    “Like I said — a day. I moved them in.”
    “Furniture and all?”
    “No . . . they’ve rented the place as it stands.”
    “For how long?”
    “Search me. I wouldn’t know. They only give me orders. They don’t tell me nothing.”
    “Just the two of them?”
    “And the girl.” So there was a girl.
    I finished my drink and made two more.
    “Seen her?”
    He nodded.
    “Rates high on looks, but keeps to herself. Calls herself Veda Rux. She likes Parker the way I do.”
    “That her out in the garden by the pond?”
    “Could be. She sits around all day.”
    “Who gave you the job?”
    “Parker. I ran into him downtown. He knew all about me. He said he’d been making inquiries and would I like to earn some solid money.” He scowled down at his glass. “I wouldn’t have touched it if I’d known the kind of rat he is. If it wasn’t