All pretense of politeness gone, the two policemen got a new grip on the old woman and, one of them covering her mouth with his hand, they half dragged, half carried her out of the room.
A moment later, a side door slammed and there was silence.
David glanced back up the staircase but Ilene had already disappeared.
He walked over to Richards.
"I told the boys to take her over to Colton's Sanitarium," the ex-policeman whispered.
David nodded approvingly.
Dr. Colton would know what to do.
The studio sent many of their stars out there to dry out. He'd also make sure that she didn't speak to anyone until he had calmed her down.
"Call the studio and have them send a couple of your men out here.
I don't want any reporters getting in when the police leave."
"I already did," Richards replied, taking his arm. "Come on into the living room. I want you to meet Lieutenant Stanley."
Lieutenant Stanley was seated at the small, kidney-shaped telephone desk, a notebook open in front of him.
He got up and shook hands with David.
He was a thin, gray-faced, gray-haired man, and David thought he looked more like an accountant than a detective.
"This is a pretty terrible thing, Lieutenant," David said. "Have you figured out what happened yet?"
The lieutenant nodded.
"I think we've about got it put together.
There's no doubt about it – he killed himself, all right. One thing bothers me, though."
"What's that?"
"We backtracked on Dunbar's movements like we usually do," the detective said.
"And he picked up a young man in a cocktail lounge just before he came here.
He flashed quite a roll of bills in the bar and we didn't find any money in his room.
He's also got a couple of bruises on his head and back that the coroner can't explain.
We got a pretty good description of him from the bartender. We'll pick him up."
David looked at him.
"But what good will that do?" he asked.
"You're sure that Dunbar killed himself; what more could he tell you?"
"Some guys think nothing of picking up a homo and beating him up a little for kicks, then rolling him for his dough."
"So?"
"So Dunbar isn't the only homo in our district," the lieutenant replied. "We got a list of them a yard long down at the station.
Most of 'em mind their own business and they're entitled to some protection."
David glanced at Richards.
The chief of the studio guards looked at him with impassive eyes.
David turned back to the policeman.
"Thank you very much for talking to me, Lieutenant," he said.
"I'm very much impressed with the efficient manner in which you handled this." He started out of the room, leaving Richards and the policeman alone.
He could hear Richards' heavy whisper as he walked out the door.
"Look, Stan," the big ex-cop was saying. "If this hits the papers, there's goin' to be a mess an' the studio stands a chance of bein' hurt real bad an' it's bad enough just with the suicide."
David went through the door and crossed the foyer to the staircase.
Bringing the old sergeant had been the smartest thing he could have done.
He was sure now that there wouldn't be reference to any other man in the newspapers.
He went up the stairs and into the small sitting room that led to Rina's bedroom.
Ilene was slumped exhaustedly in a chair.
She looked up as he entered.
"How is she?"
"Out like a light," she answered in a tired voice. "The doctor gave her a shot big enough to knock out a horse."
'You could stand a drink." He walked over to the small liquor cabinet and opened it. "Me, too," he added.
"Scotch all right?"
She didn't answer and he filled two glasses with Haig Haig pinch bottle.
He gave her one and sat down opposite her.