The first summer blast of a Southern spring-time failed to inspire Jim
Hanvey to hallelujahs. The mammoth detective lounged uncomfortably in
his tiny apartment, cursing the unkind fates which had first been too
liberal in their apportionment of avoirdupois and then caused him to be
temporarily located in that section of the country where the intense
heat makes for healthy cotton and lethargic humanity.
Southern spring is a season of constant doubt and surprise. One goes
to bed innocent of sheets and arises shiveringly at three in the
morning to resurrect blankets from a moth-ball depository. Overcoats
are one day in order, and on the next palm-beach suits are inspected
longingly. On Wednesday the fresh young leaves will struggle against
the near-frost of the previous night, and on Thursday wilt before the
ravages of unseasonable heat. Winter does not merge gently into summer.
The thermometer fluctuates uncertainly like a woman torn between the
competitive allure of two bargain counters.
To-day it was hot, genuinely and unreservedly hot, and Jim's physique
had never been intended to withstand heat. He slumped miserably in a
wicker chair, puffing disconsolately upon a cigar and staring with
fixed distaste at the weather forecast: "Clear. Continued warm."
A profound sigh escaped from the recesses of Jim Hanvey. "O death,
where is thy heat?"
Jim was capable of intense feeling, and this day that capability was
working overtime. He was utterly and supremely unhappy both as to the
present and in contemplation of the future. If this was April, what,
then, would July be?
He scarcely heard the clangor of his telephone, and only when that
instrument had sent its raucous summons dinning into his ears for the
third time did he conscript sufficient energy to hoist himself from the
wicker chair. His voice was not at all friendly.
"'Lo!"
"Hello!" A queer, interested expression flitted over Jim's features.
Woman's voice. Hmph! "Is that Mr. Hanvey?"
"Almost."
"This is a friend of yours, Jim."
"Ain't got any friends to-day. Too hot."
"I'm coming up."
"That's fine. Apartment 4-B. Door's unlocked. Walk right in."
"Good!"
"And, say?"
"Yes?"
"Don't expect me to get up. When the mercury climbs this high I stay
put."
He recrossed the room and slumped down into his chair again; but no
longer did his face reflect the misery of the flesh.
His florid countenance was wrinkled speculatively. The voice of the
woman had been vaguely familiar; memory probed inquisitively into the
past. Jim shook his tremendous head from side to side.
"She called me Jim an' said she was a friend of mine."
Pudgy fingers toyed idly with the hawserlike watch chain connecting his
timepiece and himself.
The front door opened. Footsteps sounded from the hallway. All outward
indication of interest fled from Jim's face leaving it as expressionful
as the visage of a cow at milking time. Then the woman appeared in
the doorway, and instantly Jim recognized her. The heartiness of his
greeting was thoroughly sincere.
"Helen of Troy." He smiled and added, "New York."
The woman swept across the room and pressed a light kiss on the
forehead of the detective.
"Dear old Jim! It's good to see you again."
"Yeh, ain't it? Lord! I'm hot." Jim's eyelids drooped with exasperating
slowness over his fishy orbs, held shut for a moment, then opened
again. "Step over yonder, Helen. Lemme give you the once-over."
The woman obeyed, and Jim nodded approvingly.
"Million dollars--plus, Helen. That's you."
She was far from unattractive as she stood by the window. True, she was
not of the general type which inspires the plaudits of a connoisseur;
but for all practical purposes she was there seven ways from the ace.
In the first place she was blond--magnificently and unyieldingly blond
from the shrieking crown of gold upon her head to the tips of her long,
slender, dead-white fingers. She was amply supplied with a figure which
had been apportioned liberally and with an eye to ensemble rather than
lissomeness. The effect was not to be denied: Floppy white panama with
orchid trimmings; an elaborate street dress of white and orchid crêpe
de chine; orchid stockings of chiffon, and white shoes. She pridefully
submitted to his inspection and thrilled to his comment.