Pulp Fiction, 1952 · page 112 of 132
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112 working for us. I’m sorry it happened. It’s partly my fault, I’ll admit. If it had occurred to me, we might have stopped that story. But you didn’t tell us you had seen any reporter.” “I didn’t. But I should have guessed that Captain Nelson would give them the story.” I stopped, because ‘hare wasn’t any use in crying over spilled milk or belly- aching over what a heel Nelson had been. “Maybe a few months from now,” Wegs said, “when this has blown over, we'll be able to throw some work your way. Incidentally, you can bill us for two days instead of one. Pollock wants to talk to you again, and Stanton Waldo wants to get the story from you first- hand, too.” He smiled. “So it’s only fair, since were taking up your full time today, practically, for us to pay you for it.” I said, “Thanks,” because twenty bucks is twenty bucks ‘and it would pay the office rent for another two weeks. I told him about my talk with Shorty and about my search of the Greene Street house. Finally, I stood up to leave, and then thought of something. “By the way,” I said, “if Shorty does find out who that fellow was— I mean, if I can prove to the police that I wasn’t seeing things and that a man really did fall down those stairs, does that change the picture any?” He thought it over a minute. “T believe it would—partially, at least. I’ll promise that the newspapers will eat the words of those stories they printed today, and that will put you and the society in quite a different light.” 7 After I left Wegs’ office, I phoned Pollock and made an evening appoint- ment. Then I took the carline out to the expensive suburb where Stanton Waldo’s home was located. I had thought butlers existed only in the movies, but a real butler let me into the Waldo mansion and took my hat. “Mr. Waldo’s expecting you,” he said. “He’s 1h) ee But Waldo beat him to it by popping out of a doorway down the hall, much as a mouse would pop out of a hole. He looked like a mouse, too. I don’t know just why. It wasn’t his size, for he was FIVE DETECTIVE NOVELS MAGAZINE of average height and build. Maybe it was because of his eyes. They were small and shiny, like shoe buttons. And a manner was quick and furtive, fear- u “You George Rice?” he said. “My study’s here. Come on in.” He pulled up a chair for me with jerky movements, and then sat down on the edge of the desk. “Pollock told me about your experi- ence, Rice,” he said. “I know the facts about it. I want your opinion.” “My opinion about what?” “The significance of what happened, of course. Was it or was it not a psychic experience?” “It was not,” I said. “But how can you be so sure?” “Because,” I told him, “I don’t believe in psychic experiences. There is a pos- sible physical explanation, so I accept it. “So you’re a skeptic,” he said. “Would you care to earn five hundred dollars, Rice ?” I admitted that I would. “It’s worth that to me to know what really happened last night. If you can: prove one way or the other what hap- pened, I’ll pay you that.” I LOOKED at him Sur isusty Five hundred bucks is a lot of money to pay out just to satisfy your curiosity. Then I remembered it wasn’t much for him. Five hundred dollars meant: as much to Waldo as five cents meant to me, and I’d sure give a nickel myself for that information. I grinned at him. “I'll try,” I said “but it doesn’t seem too good a chance. If that tramp’s still in town, I might find him, but if he took the next freight out, then I haven’t much hope. I take it that producing the gentleman in question would constitute proof.” “Adequate proof, yes, if your experi- ence was a physical one.’ “And if it wasn’t—I’m just asking out of curiosity, because I can’t believe that it wasn’t—how the devil would I prove it? Bring the ghost here?” He smiled, but I couldn’t tell whether there was humor in the smile or not. “IT imagine that the fact that you wouldn’t be able to bring it would prove ECoOnniclooo SJ (CO) mM