‘I ain’t drunk,’ said Smith. ‘Haven’t had a drop in weeks. I never saw nothing like this before. But I’m telling you the truth, mister. I got a good reputation. You can call up anyone and ask them. Call Johnny Jacobson up at the Red Rooster grocery. He knows me. He can tell you about me. He can tell you — ‘
‘Sure, sure,’ said Crane, pacifying him. ‘Thanks for calling, Mr Smith.’
You and a guy named Smith, he told himself. Both of you are nuts. You saw a metal rat and your typewriter talked back at you, and now this guy meets a sewing machine strolling down the street.
Dorothy Graham, the managing editor’s secretary, went past his desk, walking rapidly, her high heels coming down with decisive clicks. Her face was flushed an angry pink and she was jingling a ring of keys in her hands.
‘What’s the matter, Dorothy?’ Crane asked.
‘It’s that damn door again,’ she said. ‘The one to the supply cabinet. I just know I left it open and now some goof comes along and closes it and the lock snaps.’
‘Keys won’t open it?’ asked Crane.
‘Nothing will open it,’ she snapped. ‘Now I’ve got to get George up here again. He knows how to do it. Talks to it or something. It makes me so mad — Boss called up last night and said for me to be down early and get the wire recorder for Albertson. He’s going out on that murder trial up north and wants to get some of the stuff down on tape. So I get up early, and what does it get me? I lose my sleep and don’t even stop for breakfast and now …’
‘Get an axe,’ said Crane. ‘That will open it.’
‘The worst of it,’ said Dorothy, ‘is that George never gets the lead out. He always says he’ll be right up and then I wait and wait and I call again and he says — ‘