Part 5 (1/2)

I took out my gun and spun the cylinder, checking it from force of habit more than anything else, since I always check and clean it once a day, anyhow. I slid it back into its holster and turned to the Duke, who was already on his feet.

”Did the Commissioner give you a Special Badge?” I asked him.

”Yes, he did.” He pulled it out of his inside pocket and showed it to me.

”Good. I'll have the sergeant fill out a temporary pistol permit, and--”

”I don't have a pistol, Inspector,” he said. ”I--”

”That's all right; we'll issue you one. We can--”

He shook his head. ”Thanks, I'd rather not. I've never used a pistol except when I've gone out after a criminal who is known to be armed and dangerous. I don't think Lawrence Nestor is very dangerous to adult males, and I doubt that he's armed.” He hefted the walking stick he'd been carrying. ”This will do nicely, thank you.”

The way he said it was totally inoffensive, but it made me feel as though I were about to go out rabbit hunting with an elephant gun.

”Force of habit,” I said. ”In New York, a cop would feel naked without a gun. But I a.s.sure you that I have no intention of shooting Mr.

Nestor unless he takes a shot at me first.”

Just as we were leaving, Dr. Brownlee met us in the outer room.

[Ill.u.s.tration] ”All right if I let Manny the Moog go, Roy?”

[Ill.u.s.tration]

”Sure, Doc; if you say so.” I didn't have any time for introductions just then; Chief Inspector the Duke of Acrington and I kept going.

Eight minutes later, I pulled up to the post where Officer McCaffery was waiting. Since I'd already talked to him over the radio, all he did was stroll off as soon as we pulled up. I didn't want everyone in the neighborhood to know that there was something afoot. His Grace and I climbed out of the car and walked up toward a place called Flanagan's Bar.

It was a small place, the neighborhood type, with an old-fas.h.i.+oned air about it. Two or three of the men looked up as we came in, and then went back to the more important business of drinking. We went back to the far end of the bar, and the bartender came over, a short, heavy man, with the build of a heavyweight boxer and hands half again as big as mine. He had dark hair, a square face, a dimpled chin, and calculating blue eyes.

”What'll it be?” he said in a friendly voice.

”Couple of beers,” I told him.

I waited until he came back before I identified myself. Officer McCaffery had told me that the bartender was trustworthy, but I wanted to make sure I had the right man.

”You Lee Darcey?” I asked when he brought back the beers.

”That's right.”

I flashed my badge. ”Is there anywhere we can talk?”

”Sure. The back room, right through there.” He turned to the other bartender. ”Take over for a while, Frankie.” Then he ducked under the bar and followed the Duke and me into the back room.

We sat down, and I showed him the picture of Lawrence Nestor. ”I understand you've seen this guy.”

He picked up the picture and c.o.c.ked an eyebrow at it. ”Well, I wouldn't swear to it in court, Inspector, but it sure looks like the fellow who was in here this afternoon--this evening, rather, from six to about six-thirty. I don't come on duty until six, and he was here when I got here.”

It was just seven o'clock. If the man was Nestor, we hadn't missed him by more than half an hour.

”Notice anything about his voice?”