THE SIMPLE ART OF MURDER by Raymond Chandler Copyright ...

all the whiskey you can drink. Let us go. Can you drive a car in your condition?"
"Hell, I ain't drunk," Henry said, looking surprised.
We left the room and walked down the dark hallway. The fat manager very suddenly appeared from some nebulous shade and
stood in front of us rubbing his stomach and looking at me with small greedy expectant eyes. "Everything okey?" he inquired, chewing on
a time-darkened toothpick.
"Give him a buck," Henry said.
"What for, Henry?"
"Oh, I dunno. Just give him a buck."
I withdrew a dollar bill from my pocket and gave it to the fat man.
"Thanks, pal," Henry said. He chucked the fat man under the Adam's apple, and removed the dollar bill deftly from between his
fingers. "That pays for the hooch," he added. "I hate to have to bum dough."
We went down the stairs arm in arm, leaving the manager trying to cough the toothpick up from his esophagus.
THREE
At five o'clock that afternoon I awoke from slumber and found that I was lying on my bed in my apartment in the Chateau Moraine, on
Franklin Avenue near Ivar Street, in Hollywood. I turned my head, which ached, and saw that Henry Eichelberger was lying beside me in
his undershirt and trousers. I then perceived that I also was as lightly attired. On the table near by there stood an almost full bottle of Old
Pantation rye whiskey, the full quart size, and on the floor lay an entirely empty bottle of the same excellent brand. There were garments
lying here and there on the floor, and a cigarette had burned a hole in the brocaded arm of one of my easy chairs.
I felt myself over carefully. My stomach was stiff and sore and my jaw seemed a little swollen on one side. Otherwise I was none the
worse for wear. A sharp pain darted through my temples as I stood up off the bed, but I ignored it and walked steadily to the bottle on the
table and raised it to my lips. After a steady draught of the fiery liquid I suddenly felt much better. A hearty and cheerful mood came over
me and I was ready for any adventure. I went back to the bed and shook Henry firmly by the shoulder.
"Wake up, Henry," I said. "The sunset hour is nigh. The robins are calling and the squirrels are scolding and the morning glories furl
themselves in sleep."
Like all men of action Henry Eichelberger came awake with his fist doubled. "What was that crack?" he snarled. "Oh, yeah. Hi,
Walter. How you feel?"
"I feel splendid. Are you rested?"
"Sure." He swung his shoeless feet to the floor and rumpled his thick blond hair with his fingers. "We was going swell until you
passed out," he said. "So I had me a nap. I never drink solo. You O.K.?"
"Yes, Henry, I feel very well indeed. And we have work to do."
"Swell." He went to the whiskey bottle and quaffed from it freely. He rubbed his stomach with the flat of his hand. His green eyes
shone peacefully. "I'm a sick man," he said, "and I got to take my medicine." He put the bottle down on the table and surveyed the
apartment. "Geez," he said, "we thrown it into us so fast I ain't hardly looked at the dump. You got a nice little place here, Walter. Geez, a
white typewriter and a white telephone. What's the matter, kid--you just been confirmed?"
"Just a foolish fancy, Henry," I said, waving an airy hand. Henry went over and looked at the typewriter and the telephone side by side
on my writing desk, and the silver-mounted desk set, each piece chased with my initials.
"Well fixed, huh?" Henry said, turning his green gaze on me.
"Tolerably so, Henry," I said modestly;
"Well, what next pal? You got any ideas or do we just drink some?"
"Yes, Henry, I do have an idea. With a man like you to help me I think it can be put into practice. I feel that we must, as they say, tap
the grapevine. When a string of pearls is stolen, all the underworld knows it at once. Pearls are hard to sell, Henry, inasmuch as they
cannot be cut and can be identified by experts, I have read. The underworld will be seething with activity. It should not be too difficult for
us to find someone who would send a message to the proper quarter that we are willing to pay a reasonable sum for their return."
"You talk nice--for a drunk guy," Henry said, reaching for the bottle. "But ain't you forgot these marbles are phonies?"
"For sentimental reasons I am quite willing to pay for their return, just the same."
Henry drank some whiskey, appeared to enjoy the flavor of it and drank some more. He waved the bottle at me politely.
"That's O.K--as far as it goes," he said. "But this underworld that's doing all this here seething you spoke of ain't going to seethe a
hell of a lot over a string of glass beads. Or am I screwy?"
"I was thinking, Henry, that the underworld probably has a sense of humor and the laugh that would go around would be quite
emphatic.'
"There's an idea in that," Henry said. "Here's some mug finds out lady Penruddock has a string of oyster fruit worth oodles of kale,
and he does hisseif a neat little box job and trots down to the fence. And the fence gives him the belly laugh. I would say something like
that could get around the poolrooms and start a little idle chatter. So far, so nutty. But this box man is going to dump them beads in a
hurry, because he has a three-to-ten on him even if they are only worth a nickel plus sales tax. Breaking and entering is the rap, Walter."
"However, Henry," I said, "there is another element in the situation. If this thief is very stupid, it will not, of course, have much weight.
But if he is even moderately intelligent, it will. Mrs. Penruddock is a very proud woman and lives in a very exclusive section of the city. If it
should become known that she wore imitation pearls, and above all, if it should be even hinted in the public press that these were the
very pearls her own husband had given her for her golden wedding present-- well, I am sure you see the point, Henry."
"Box guys ain't too bright," he said and rubbed his stony chin. Then he lifted his right thumb and bit it thoughtfully. He looked at the
windows, at the corner of the room, at the floor. He looked at me from the corners of his eyes.
"Blackmail, huh?" he said. "Maybe. But crooks don't mix their rackets much. Still, the guy might pass the word along. There's a
chance, Walter. I wouldn't care to hock my gold fillings to buy me a piece of it, but there's a chance. How much you figure to put out?"
"A hundred dollars should be ample, but I am willing to go as high as two hundred, which is the actual cost of the imitations."
Henry shook his head and patronized the bottle. "Nope. The guy wouldn't uncover hisself for that kind of money. Wouldn't be worth
the chance he takes. He'd dump the marbles and keep his nose clean."
"We can at least try, Henry."
"Yeah, but where? And we're getting low on liquor. Maybe I better put my shoes on and run out, huh?"
At that very moment, as if in answer to my unspoken prayer, a soft dull thump sounded on the door of my apartment. I opened it and
picked up the final edition of the evening paper. I closed the door again and carried the paper back across the room, opening it up as I
43