A Swell-Looking Babe Read Online Free

lobby porters had completed their mopping and scrubbing and were on their way homeward. At two, the late-shift elevator operator left, and Dusty took care of his infrequent calls from then on.
    It was a little before two when Tug Trowbridge came in. While his two companions – you seldom saw him alone – sauntered on a few steps, Tug stopped at the cashier's cage where Dusty and Bascom were working. He was a big,-almost perpetually smiling man, with a shock of red hair and a hearty, booming voice. Now, as Dusty grinned obediently and Bascom smirked nervously, he triggered an enormous forefinger at the clerk.
    "Okay, Dusty boy" – he scowled with false menace- "I've got him covered. Grab the keys and clean out those safety-deposit boxes."
    Dusty stretched his grin into an appreciative laugh. Tug's joke was an old one, but he was the best tipper in the Manton. "Can't do it, Mr Trowbridge, remember? It takes two different keys for each box."
    "Now, by God!" Tug slapped his forehead in a gesture of dismay. "Why can't I ever remember that!"
    He guffawed, putting a period to the joke. Then, he dug a small, flat key from his vest and shoved it through the wicket. "A little service, hey, brother Bascom? Got something that's kind of weighing me down."
    "Yes, sir,", said Bascom obsequiously.
    There was a ledger, indexing the depositors in the chilled-steel boxes which formed the rear wall of the cashier's cage. But it was unnecessary to consult this, of course, in the case of a regular like Tug Trowbridge. Bascom took a heavy ring of keys from his cash drawer, and selected one with a certain number – a number, incidentally, which did not correspond to the one on Tug's key. Turning to the rear of the enclosure, he found Tug's box number – and this also was different from that of either of the two keys – and unlocked its two locks. He pulled the box out of its niche, and set it in the window in front of Trowbridge.
    Dusty averted his eyes, tactfully, but not before he had got a glimpse of the sheaf of bills which Tug casually tossed into the box. It was almost an inch thick, wrapped around at the ends with transparent tape. There was a thousand-dollar bill on top.
    Bascom put the box back into place, and carefully relocked it. He returned Tug's key, dropping the others back into the cash drawer.
    "Well, Dusty" – Trowbridge gave the bellboy a wink- "I guess you're right. No use knocking over Bascom here unless we could get a hold of the other keys."
    "No, sir," Dusty smiled.
    "And how we going to do that, hey? How we going to know who's got keys and whether they got anything worth getting?"
    "That's right," said Dusty.
    Bascom was trying to smile, but the effort was not very successful. Tug winked at Dusty.
    "Looks like we're making our pal a little nervous," he said. "Maybe we better lay off before he calls the cops on us."
    "Oh, no," Bascom protested. He had about as much sense of humor, in Dusty's opinion, as one of the lobby sand-jars. "It's just that when a man's alone here at night – practically alone all night long – and he's responsible for all this-"
    "Sure," Trowbridge nodded good-humoredly. "Jokes about holdups aren't very funny."
    "As a matter of fact," Bascom continued seriously, "I don't believe there's ever been a successful hold-up of a major hotel. You see-"
    "No kidding," said Trowbridge, his voice faintly sarcastic. "Well, thanks for letting me know."
    "Oh, I didn't mean that-"
    "Sure, sure. I know." Trowbridge laughed again, but not too jovially. "Come up to the suite after a while, huh, Dusty? Make it about a half hour. Got some laundry I want you to pick up."
    "Yes, sir," said Dusty.
    Trowbridge rejoined his two companions. Bascom watched them as they proceeded on down the lobby to the bank of elevators beneath the mezzanine. There was a drawn look about his prim humorless face. He was breathing a little heavily, his thin pinched nostrils flaring with annoyance.
    Dusty studied him covertly, grinning to