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

The big man touched the Luger, stared at Carmady, said sarcastically: "I'm Doll Conant. Maybe you remember me."
Carmady stood loosely by the kitchen table, with his legs spread wide, his hands in his overcoat pockets, his head tilted back. His
half-closed eyes were sleepy, very cold.
He said: "Yeah. I helped my dad hang the only rap on you that ever stuck."
"It didn't stick, mugg. Not with the Court of Appeals."
"Maybe this one will," Carmady said carelessly. "Kidnapping is apt to be a sticky rap in this state."
Conant grinned without opening his lips. His expression was grimly good-humored. He said: "Let's not barber. We got business to
do and you know better than that last crack. Sit down--or rather take a look at Exhibit One first. In the bathtub, behind you. Yeah, take a
look at that. Then we can get down to tacks."
Carmady turned, went across to the clapboard door, pushed through it. There was a bulb sticking out of the wall, with a key switch.
He snapped it on, bent over the tub.
For a moment his body was quite rigid and his breath was held rigidly. Then he let it out very slowly, and reached his left hand back
and pushed the door almost shut. He bent farther over the big iron tub.
It was long enough for a man to stretch out in, and a man was stretched out in it, on his back. He was fully dressed even to a hat,
although his head didn't look as if he had put it on himself. He had thick, gray-brown curly hair. There was blood on his face and there
was a gouged, red-rimmed hole at the inner corner of his left eye.
He was Shenvair and he was long since dead.
Carmady sucked in his breath and straightened slowly, then suddenly bent forward still further until he could see into the space
between the tub and the wall. Something blue and metallic glistened down there in the dust. A blue steel gun. A gun like Shenvair's gun.
Carmady glanced back quickly. The not quite shut door showed him a part of the attic, the top of the stairs, one of Doll Conant's feet
square and placid on the carpet, under the kitchen table. He reached his arm out slowly down behind the tub, gathered the gun up. The
four exposed chambers had steel-jacketed bullets in them.
Carmady opened his coat, slipped the gun down inside the waistband of his trousers, tightened his belt, and buttoned his coat
again. He went out of the bathroom, shut the clapboard door carefully.
Doll Conant gestured at a chair across the table from him: "Sit down."
Carmady glanced at Jean Adrian. She was staring at him with a kind of rigid curiosity, her eyes dark and colorless in a stone-white
face under the black hat.
He gestured at her, smiled faintly. "It's Mister Shenvair, angel. He met with an accident. He's--dead."
The girl stared at him without any expression at all. Then she shuddered once, violently. She stared at him again, made no sound of
any kind.
Carmady sat down in the chair across the table from Conant.
Conant eyed him, added a smoking stub to the collection in the white saucer, lit a fresh cigarette, streaking the match the whole
length of the kitchen table.
He puffed, said casually: "Yeah, he's dead. You shot him."
Carmady shook his head very slightly, smiled. "No."
"Skip the baby eyes, feller. You shot him. Perrugini, the wop undertaker across the street, owns this place, rents it out now and then
to a right boy for a quick dust. Incidentally, he's a friend of mine, does me a lot of good among the other wops. He rented it to Shenvair.
Didn't know him, but Shenvair got a right ticket into him. Perrugini heard shooting over here tonight, took a look out of his window, saw a
guy make it to a car. He saw the license number of the car. Your car."
Carmady shook his head again. "But I didn't shoot him, Conant."
"Try and prove it ... The wop ran over and found Shenvair halfway up the stairs, dead. He dragged him up and stuck him in the
bathtub. Some crazy idea about the blood, I suppose. Then he went through him, found a police card, a private-dick license, and that
scared him. He got me on the phone and when I got the name, I came steaming."
Conant stopped talking, eyed Carmady steadily. Carmady said very softly: "You hear about the shooting at Cyrano's tonight?"
Conant nodded.
Carmady went on: "I was there, with a kid friend of mine from the hotel. Just before the shooting this Shenvair threw a punch at me.
The kid followed Shenvair here and they shot each other. Shenvair was drunk and scared and I'll bet he shot first. I didn't even know the
kid had a gun. Shenvair shot him through the stomach. He got home, died there. He left me a note. I have the note."
After a moment Conant said: "You killed Shenvair, or hired that boy to do it. Here's why. He tried to copper his bet on your blackmail
racket. He sold out to Courtway."
Carmady looked startled. He snapped his head around to look at Jean Adrian. She was leaning forward staring at him with color in
her cheeks, a shine in her eyes. She said very softly: "I'm sorry--angel. I had you wrong."
Carmady smiled a little, turned back to Conant. He said: "She thought I was the one that sold out. Who's Courtway? Your bird dog,
the state senator?"
Conant's face turned a little white. He laid his cigarette down very carefully in the saucer, leaned across the table and hit Carmady in
the mouth with his fist. Carmady went over backwards in the rickety chair. His head struck the floor.
Jean Adrian stood up quietly and her teeth made a sharp clicking sound. Then she didn't move.
Carmady rolled over on his side and got up and set the chair upright. He got a handkerchief out, patted his mouth, looked at the
handkerchief.
Steps clattered on the stairs and the albino poked his narrow head into the room, poked a gun still farther in.
"Need any help, boss?"
Without looking at him, Conant said: "Get out--and shut that door--and stay out!"
The door was shut. The albino's steps died down the stairs. Carmady put his left hand on the back of the chair and moved it slowly
back and forth. His right hand still held the handkerchief. His lips were getting puffed and darkish. His eyes looked at the Luger by
Conant's elbow.
Conant picked up his cigarette and put it in his mouth. He said: "Maybe you think I'm going to neck this blackmail racket. I'm not,
brother. I'm going to kill it--so it'll stay killed. You're going to spill your guts. I have three boys downstairs who need exercise. Get busy
and talk."
Carmady said: "Yeah--but your three boys are downstairs." He slipped the handkerchief inside his coat. His hand came out with the
blued gun in it. He said: "Take that Luger by the barrel and push it across the table so I can reach it."
Conant didn't move. His eyes narrowed to slits. His hard mouth jerked the cigarette in it once. He didn't touch the Luger. After a
moment he said: "Guess you know what will happen to you now."
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