The Anonymous Client

excited out of her mind. It was easy at first because she was occupied—the combination to the safe had to be found. An exhaustive search of the office had finally located it where Steve had shoved it, among the papers in one of his desk drawers. And it had been interesting to watch Steve try the numbers on the antique safe and see if the combination actually worked. But after it had, and the ten thousand dollars had been safely locked inside, Tracy had come full face up against her original problem—there was nothing to do. It had been boring before. In light of the anonymous letter, it was excruciating.
    Steve was keyed up too, but on a different scale. Tracy was like a kid with a new toy. She accepted the letter as a matter of course. She was young enough and romantic enough and so conditioned by a steady diet of detective novels, that she expected anonymous cash retainers sent in the mail. Steve was old enough and cynical enough to realize such things were fantastic and totally unreal and therefore to be regarded with the utmost skepticism.
    Which didn’t stop from making them interesting as hell.
    When the intercom buzzed at two-thirty, Steve Winslow picked up the phone and Tracy Garvin in the outer office said, “Mark Taylor on 2.”
    “Thanks,” Steve said. “Stay on the line and take notes.” He pressed the blinking button. “Yes, Mark.”
    “Got him, Steve.”
    “Great. Who is he?”
    “His name is David C. Bradshaw. He’s around forty-five, short, wiry, dark hair. He lives in an apartment on East 3rd Street.”
    “Good work. How’d you find him?”
    “Just routine. I covered the banks. The withdrawal was unusual enough that the teller took down the serial numbers. Fortunately, it was a bank I’d done a few favors for in the past, so they were most cooperative. Naturally they wouldn’t tell me anything about the account, other than when it had been opened, which was about a month ago. But they did confirm the withdrawal and gave me a pretty good description to go on.”
    “Where is he now?”
    “Apparently he’s home.”
    “How do you know?”
    “As soon as I got the address I sewed up the apartment building. Five minutes after my man got on the job, a young woman showed up, pressed the button for 2A, and was buzzed upstairs.”
    “Got a description of the girl?”
    “I’ll say. My man says she’s a baby-faced blonde of about twenty-five with a hell of a nice ass.”
    “Miss Garvin is taking notes on the line, Mark. Let’s not bog her down with too many details.”
    “Right.”
    “Where’s the girl now?”
    “Still up there.”
    “How many men you got covering the apartment?”
    “Two.”
    “Put another one on. Two if you have to. Tail the girl when she leaves. Slap a tail on anyone else who calls on Bradshaw. Use as many men as you have to, but keep that apartment covered. When the girl leaves, let me know.”
    “No problem. You going to go see him?”
    “Not just yet. I want to be a little more sure of my ground before I actually talk to him. You don’t have anything else on him?”
    “How could I, Steve? You said don’t let the guy know he’s being tailed.”
    “Yeah. I know.”
    “I’ll get the dope, but it’s gonna take some time.”
    “O.K. Call me as soon as something breaks.”
    Tracy was in the door practically before Steve hung up the phone.
    “He got him,” Tracy said.
    “Yes.”
    “That’s great.”
    “It’s a start.”
    “It’s more than a start. Now you know who the client is. Now you can keep the retainer.”
    “No I can’t.”
    “Sure you can. The client’s David C. Bradshaw. He has nothing whatever to do with Sheila Benton.”
    “How do you know?”
    Her eyes were wide. “How do I know? I’ve been handling the business for months. There’s been nothing even remotely connected with any David C. Bradshaw.”
    “I’m sure there hasn’t. But that’s not conclusive proof.”
    “But—”
    “Look. As I said, it’s a start. Mark Taylor’s getting the dope on him. As soon as he does, I’ll talk to the guy and we’ll work something out. At least the situation will be clarified. In the meantime there’s nothing to do but wait.”
    Tracy gave him a pout. “And what are we supposed to do while we wait?”
    Steve shrugged. “Why don’t you read your book?”
    Tracy gave him a look and flounced out.
    Mark Taylor called back a half an hour later.
    “She left the apartment, Steve, and Bradshaw left right after her.”
    “Your