I
E D L EON DROVE SLOWLY past Lois’s walk-up, his eyes alert for the first sign of trouble, but there was no police car outside the building nor did a light show in Lois’s windows. He pulled up at the corner of the street, got out of the car and walked back to look up at the windows.
Had English been arrested? he wondered, or had he given Morilli the slip? Sam Crail should know, he decided, and he returned to the car.
If English had been arrested, then it was up to him to find Lois, Leon told himself as he slid under the steering wheel. But where to look for her? Sherman wouldn’t take her to his apartment. He probably had some other place where he could duck out of sight—but where?
In the next street, Leon spotted an all-night drug store. He swung the car to the curb and went in, crossing to a pay booth. He shut himself in and dialled Crail’s number.
As he waited for the connection he glanced at his strap watch. It was twenty minutes to ten. With an impatient grimace he dropped the receiver back onto the cradle when he heard the busy signal, and fumbled for a cigarette. He waited, his cigarette burning fast, his mind searching for an inspiration.
Then he remembered Gloria Windsor. Maybe she knew if Sherman had a hideout. He decided it might pay dividends to call on her. He dialled Crail’s number again.
Helen Crail answered.
“This is Ed Leon,” Leon said. “Sam around?”
“He’s just gone out,” Helen told him. “If it’s important I can catch him. He’s getting the car out of the garage. He’s going down to headquarters. You’ve heard Nick’s been arrested?”
“Yeah. Get him, will you, Mrs. Crail? It is important.”
“Hold on.”
Leon leaned against the wall of the booth, frowning. It looked as if he was going to have a busy night, he thought. He knew English would want him to find Lois first, then he had to get after Sherman. He pushed his hat to the back of his head and wiped the sweat beads from his forehead. If he didn’t play his cards right, Nick could be a dead duck, he thought gloomily.
“Hello?” Crail’s voice snapped in his ear. “That you, Leon?”
“Yeah—so they got Nick?”
“He phoned a couple of minutes ago. The police were at the door while he was speaking to me. I’m on my way to headquarters now. Damn it! He should have given himself up like I said. I’m going to have a hell of a fight on my hands to pull him out of this?”
“Don’t take your clothes off,” Leon said shortly. “Lois is missing. Looks like Sherman’s got her. Corrine English has been murdered.”
“What are you talking about?” Crail demanded, his voice shooting up.
“Lois went over to Corrine’s place. Nick reckoned Corrine and Sherman were working together. Lois was going to bring her back so Nick could talk to her. I found Corrine strangled, and Lois missing. She had been there. I found her handkerchief. I’ve got to find her, Crail. Tell Nick I’m going to put pressure on this Windsor girl. She may know something. She’s our only chance. Tell him not to worry. I’ll find Lois if it kills me.”
“Who’s the Windsor girl?” Crail asked blankly.
“Never mind. Tell him. He knows who she is. I’ve got to get moving.”
“Keep in touch with me,” Crail said urgently.
“Sure. I’ll call you back after I’ve talked to this girl. How long will you be before you get back?”
“I don’t know. An hour maybe. Call me in an hour.”
“I’ll do that,” Leon said, and hung up.
He left the pay booth and went back to his car. Ten minutes’ fast driving brought him to 7th Street, and he pulled up outside the building that housed the Alert Agency.
He walked into the lobby and down the stairs to Tom Calhoun’s quarters. He found Calhoun watching a fight on the television.
Calhoun got reluctantly to his feet. The two fighters were belting each other all over the ring, and he didn’t want to miss the knock-out.
“I’m busy,” he said, scowling. “What do you want at this hour?”
“I want to talk to Miss Windsor. Is she upstairs still or has she gone home?” Leon had to raise his voice to get above the uproar that was coming from the television set. “For the love of Mike, do you have to blast that thing like that?”
Calhoun lowered the sound. His eyes kept flickering to the lighted screen.
“She’s up there. She lives up there.”
“Thanks,” Leon said. “Sorry to have disturbed you.”
Calhoun’s curiosity got the better of his interest in the fight.
“What do you want to talk to her about?” he asked.
“I want to find out if she’s as lonely as I am.”
Leon backed out of the room and crossed over to the elevator. Calhoun followed him.
“You can find your way up, can’t you?” he said, unlocking the elevator grill. “Maybe she won’t want to see you.”
Leon got into the elevator and slammed the grill.
“Like to bet on it?” he said, and dug his thumb into the top button.
The elevator creaked upward. It finally came to rest on the top floor, and Leon stepped out into the passage. The clatter of the teleprinters from the news agency covered the sound of the grill opening. There was a light showing through the transome above Gloria Windsor’s door.
He walked along the passage, lifted the brass knocker and rapped twice. He leaned against the doorpost, his foot ready to wedge back the door if necessary, his hands thrust into his mackintosh pockets.
After a delay a bolt shot back. The door opened.
A tall, red-headed girl in a green high-neck sweater and a pair of fawn-colored slacks looked at him enquiringly. She was around twenty-eight or nine. Her face had an alert beauty, marred by a hard mouth and an over-aggressive chin. Leon thought she had the most provocative shape he had ever seen on a woman, and he had difficulty in dragging his eyes from her figure that was accentuated rather than concealed by the skin-tight sweater she wore.
“Miss Windsor?” he asked, tipping his hat.
Gray eyes looked into his. Scarlet lips twisted into half a smile.
“Sure. What do you want?”
“I’m Ed Leon,” Leon told her. “I’m a detective. I want to talk to you.”
She continued to smile, but her eyes grew suddenly wary.
“Don’t kid me,” she said scornfully. “If you’re a flatfoot, then I’m Sophie Tucker.”
Leon took out his wallet and showed her his buzzer and licence.
“Does that convince you?”
“Oh, a shamus,” she said with a withering contempt. “Run along, boy scout, I can’t be bothered with amateurs.”
She began to close the door, but Leon’s foot was in the way. He moved forward, riding her back.
“I said I wanted to talk to you,” he told her. “Let’s park our fannies, and take our hair out of curlers.”
She gave ground, her gray eyes angry.
“You’re going to walk into a load of grief, shamus,” she said, “if you try to make a move on me.”
“It’s a risk I’ll gladly run,” Leon said, inside the lobby by now. He closed the door and leaned against it. “It’s not often I have the opportunity of making a move on a redhead as well stacked as you. Tell me, just to satisfy my curiosity, were you put together by an architect or did you grow that way naturally?”
A hint of a smile came into the gray eyes.
“A smooth guy!” she said in mock despair. “I meet them twenty-four hours a day, ten a dime. Well, now you’re in, say your piece and dust. I want to watch the fights on the television.”
“We’re not in yet,” Leon said, and stepped past her. He pushed open a door and walked into a large airy sitting room. “Well, you know how to make yourself comfortable,” he went on, looking round the room. “My, my! You must be doing pretty well with your silhouette.”
“Put that in the plural or I’ll take a poke at your left eye,” she said languidly and walked over to a deep armchair and sank into it.
“Or maybe it’s the blackmail racket that’s paying off,” Leon went on, watching her.
She looked at him out of the corners of her eyes, and her mouth tightened.
“What are you talking about?” she demanded frostily.
“You’re in trouble, baby,” Leon said, moving over to the fireplace and standing before the bright fire. “This is the end of the road for you. How do you like the idea of spending the next ten years in a nice, cozy jail?”
She looked up at him, her eyes jeering.
“What makes you think I’m going to jail, shamus?”
“Facts and figures—not your figure, mathematical ones,” Leon said, taking out a packet of cigarettes. “Smoke?”
She shook her head.
“What facts and figures?”
Leon lit up and flicked the match into the fire.
“Sherman’s racket has blown up in his face. You and he have been working together. We’ve got all we want on him, and we’re waiting to pick him up. While we’re waiting for him to show, we’re picking up the small fry, like you.”
She raised her eyebrows.
“Who’s Sherman? What are you talking about?”
Leon smiled.
“Don’t give me that stuff. You know what I’m talking about. You fingered Roy English. You’re Sherman’s sounding board. Everything that went on in English’s office was heard by you and passed on to Sherman. That makes you Sherman’s stooge.”
“Aw, you’re crazy!” she exclaimed angrily. “Get out of here before I call the cops.”
“Go ahead and call them. It’ll save me the trouble of dragging you down to headquarters.”
She got out of the chair and walked over to the telephone.
“The cops in this city know how to deal with a louse like you,” she said. “Take my tip and dust while the dusting’s good.”
“Go ahead and call them,” he said, leaning his shoulders against the mantel. “I’ve got enough on you to put you away for ten years. Blackmail rates high these days.”
“You can’t prove a thing,” she said, her hand on the telephone.
“I can tie you in with Sherman. Within the last few days he’s knocked off five people—Roy English, Mary Savitt, Joe Hennessey, May Mitchell, and an hour ago, Corrine English,” Leon said, watching her. “You’re tied in to Roy’s killing. I can prove that. If you’re not careful, they’ll put that nice outline of yours in the chair.”
She half turned as she lifted the receiver, then she slammed it down, jerked open a drawer and whipped out a .25 automatic. She spun around and pointed the gun at Leon.
“Don’t move, shamus,” she said, her face hard and her eyes glittering. “I’m tempted to put a slug in you, and tell the cops you broke in here.”
“What—with that toy? It wouldn’t even make me bleed,” Leon said, not feeling as confident as he sounded.
“You make a move out of turn, and we’ll see if it’ll make you bleed!”
“Where’s this going to get you?” he asked. “Why don’t you use your head and do the sensible thing?”
“And what’s that?” she demanded, resting her hips against the table, the gun centered on his chest.
“I want Sherman,” Leon said. “I could afford to let you go. He’s ducked out of sight. Where would he go?”
She studied him.
“Suppose I know, and suppose I tell you—what then, shamus?”
“I’d give you twelve hours to pull out of town. After twelve hours I’d have to tell the cops you were working with Sherman, but a girl with transport can get a long way in twelve hours.”
“I don’t know anything about Sherman,” she said and laughed. “Why, you’re crazy! I’ve never heard of the guy until you walked in here. Now get out!”
Leon studied her.
“If I walk out of here, the cops will walk in. They’ll persuade you to talk, make no mistake about that!”
“Get out!”
Leon shrugged.
“Okay, if that’s the way you want to play it, don’t blame me if you land up in the chair.”
“Get out!”
“A one-track mind,” Leon remarked, and moved over to the door. “I forgot to mention there’d be a getaway stake thrown in with my offer of a twelve-hour start. I wouldn’t expect a girl like you to take a powder without a little folding money to keep her warm.”
He saw her stiffen to attention, and knew he had struck the right note.
“Keep going,” she said, but she didn’t sound quite so convincing this time.
As he reached the door, she said, “How much?”
“A couple of grand. That’s not a bad proposition, sister—two grand and twelve hours’ start.”
“Not interested,” she said curtly. “That’s chicken feed. Get out of here!”
“Suppose you make a suggestion?”
She hesitated.
“Ten.”
Leon laughed.
“That’s funny. Ten grand for something the cops could beat out of you. But I’ll go to five because redheads soothe my ulcer.”
“Seven,” she said promptly.
Leon realized he was wasting time.
“Do you know where he is?” he asked.
She nodded.
“Well, okay, what have I got to lose? It isn’t my dough. I’ll close at seven. Where is he?”
“Do I look all that damp behind the ears?” she said scornfully. “I want the dough first.”
“Where is he?” Leon barked, suddenly losing his nonchalant air. “You’ll get the money, but you’ll talk first!”
“I want the money first,” she returned obstinately.
He grabbed her by her arm.
“Listen. Sherman has kidnapped English’s secretary! He’s taken her somewhere. If I don’t find her fast, he’ll knock her off, and if he does, I’ll damn well see you’re tied in with him. Where is he?”
She hesitated.
“How do I know you’re not lying?” she said. “Who is English’s secretary?”
“Her name’s Lois Marshall,” Leon said impatiently. “She went to Corrine English’s place and vanished. I went there to see what had happened to her and found Corrine strangled. Sherman’s got her, and every minute I spend talking to you puts her in a worse spot. Do you want to be made an accessory to murder?”
“You’ll give me the money and twelve hours’ start if I tell you?”
“Yes! Where is he?”
“Where’s the money coming from?”
“Sam Crail, the attorney, will give it to you.”
She hesitated, then said, “He’s got a yacht anchored off Bay Creek. That’s where he spends his weekends. If he’s anywhere, that’s where he’ll be. You can’t miss it, it’s the only yacht anchored there.”
“Is this on the level?” Leon demanded.
“Of course it is! Now how do I collect the dough?”
Leon went over to the desk by the window, pulled a sheet of notepaper from a pigeon-hole and scribbled a note. He handed it to her.
“Give that to Crail. Tell him what you’ve told me, and he’ll pay you.”
“If he doesn’t…!”
“He’ll do it. Maybe not tonight, but first thing in the morning. You’ll still have twelve hours’ start. I promise you that.”
“Do I go there now?”
“Better wait until the morning. He can’t lay his hands on seven grand tonight.”
“If I’m going, I’m going now. Maybe he can give me something, and send on the rest.”
“Please yourself,” Leon said, making for the door. “I’ve got things to do.”
When he had gone, she stood, thinking, her eyes worried, then she went swiftly into the bedroom, pulled out two suitcases from under her bed and began to pack hurriedly. She packed only essential things, and threw them anyhow into the cases.
For the past days she had read in the newspaper of the succession of mysterious deaths, and she guessed Sherman had been responsible for them. She had decided before Leon’s visit to leave town. Now, she was in a panic to get away before the police tied her in with Sherman. She didn’t altogether trust Leon. If Crail gave her a thousand, she would be content with that so long as she could leave town that night. Her one thought now was to get away before trouble overtook her.
Without bothering to change out of her sweater and slacks, she pulled on a fur coat, picked up her two suitcases and went swiftly to the front door. She jerked it open, and then came to an abrupt stop, her heart skipping a beat.
Sherman was standing in the passage, his hands in his mackintosh pockets, water dripping from his hat brim, his jaws moving slowly, his eyes expressionless.
“Hello, Gloria,” he said quietly.
She didn’t say anything.
“Running away?” he went on, his eyes going to the two cases.
“What do you mean?” she managed to get out. “I’m only going away for the weekend.”
“But not coming back?” he said. “Got cold feet, Gloria?”
“Why should I have cold feet?” she said, struggling to keep her voice steady. “What’s the matter with you? Can’t I go away for a weekend without you imagining things?”
He shrugged.
“I don’t care where you go, Gloria, but you are running away, aren’t you?”
“Of course I’m not!” she said with unnecessary vehemence. “What’s the matter with you? It’s you who have got cold feet.”
Sherman smiled.
“Can I come in a moment? I want to talk to you.”
“I—I don’t want to miss my train…”
He moved toward her, and she gave ground. He entered the sitting room. Slowly, as if hypnotized, she put the two suitcases on the floor and leaned against the wall, watching him.
“You don’t have to run away, Gloria,” he said, moving about the room. “I’ve got English where I want him. He can’t cause trouble now. The police are looking for him. He shot his mistress.”
She didn’t say anything. Her eyes followed him as he moved over to the window.
“It looked at first as if he could stop me,” Sherman went on, “but it’s all right now. How are you off for money, Gloria? I think I owe you something, don’t I?”
“I’m all right,” she said huskily. “I—I don’t need anything at the moment.”
He smiled at her.
“First time I’ve ever known you to say that. Perhaps you’re scared of taking my money now, Gloria? You don’t have to be.”
“If you’ve got it, I’ll have it,” she said, “but I’m not hard up.”
“No, I don’t suppose you are.” He had stopped by the window and was examining the curtain cord. “Now this is an odd coincidence. I’ve been looking for a cord like this for weeks. You may not believe it, but I can’t find this exact shade anywhere.” He took the cord off the hook and appeared to examine it closely. “Do you remember where you got it?”
“From Sackville’s,” Gloria said, watching him uneasily.
“Are you sure?” he asked, moving casually toward her. “I think I tried there.”
She looked at the cord, seeing it now hanging in a loop between his fingers, and she tried to screw herself into the wall, her eyes opening wide with terror.
“Keep away from me!” she said in a tight, strangled voice.
“What’s the matter?” Sherman asked, smiling at her. “What’s frightening you? Don’t tell me, Gloria, you of all people, are suffering from a guilty conscience?”
He was within a few feet of her now. She suddenly threw herself blindly across the room to the door. He went after her with quick silent steps, and as she reached the door, he dropped the loop over her head.
Her frantic scream of terror was throttled back into her throat as he crossed his hands and tightened the cord.
II
As Sam Crail got out of his car, the shadowy figure of a man came out of the darkness.
“Sam?”
“Why, Nick!” Crail looked uneasily to the right and left, scared anyone might be watching. “What the hell are you doing here? What happened?”
“Let’s get inside,” English said, his voice tense.
Crail snapped off the car’s headlight, and then led the way up the dark path to his house. He opened the door, and English followed him into the lobby.
Helen Crail came out of the lounge. She was a tall, willowy girl with light-brown hair and shrewd, friendly eyes. English had often wondered why she had married Crail. He thought she was too good-looking to have hooked up with a fat, middle-aged attorney like Sam. But in spite of the disparity of age and looks, they seemed to get on well together.
“Come in by the fire, Nick,” she said, smiling at him. “I’ll get you a drink.”
“No, please don’t, Helen,” English said. “I’m all right. Mind if I talk business to Sam, but don’t go away.”
Helen looked swiftly at Crail, who shook his head.
“Heard from Ed yet?” English asked.
“I’ve heard from him,” Crail returned, following English into the big, brightly lit lounge. He took off his coat and dropped it in a chair. “Take your coat off. You’re sopping wet.” As English took off his coat, Crail went on, “What happened to you? I went down to headquarters and waited. Captain Swinney hadn’t any information. He said there was a call out for you, but he had no report on you. I didn’t tell him you’d been found. Did you give them the slip?”
English smiled grimly.
“Eventually. Morilli staged a private arrest for his own benefit. What’s happened to Lois?”
“I don’t know. Ed’s looking for her. He said he was calling me back in an hour. He should come through at any minute now.”
Helen took English’s coat and hung it in the lobby.
“Did he say what he found when he arrived at Corrine’s place?” English asked.
Crail nodded.
“Yes. Sherman had been there. He strangled Corrine. Lois had been there, too. Ed found her handkerchief, but we don’t know if Sherman has her or not.”
English clenched his fists, his pale face hardening.
“He’s got to be stopped, Sam! This can’t go on. I’ve got to find him.”
“Now look, you’re in a bad spot yourself,” Crail said anxiously. “You should have given yourself up when Morilli came for you. Running away from him…”
“I didn’t run away from him. I let him arrest me,” English said as Helen came back into the lounge. “He took me for a one-way ride. If Chuck hadn’t spotted us leaving and got himself a ride on the rear bumper I’d be in the morgue by now.”
Crail stared at him.
“You aren’t serious?”
“You bet I’m serious. Morilli made no bones about it. He was scared I’d talk. He was about to shoot me when Chuck appeared like a hero in a second-feature movie. And that’s the kind of treatment I’d get if I gave myself up. I told you how it would be. They’ll frame me into the chair if I give them half a chance.”
Crail wiped his face with his handkerchief.
“I’ll go to the commissioner right now and tell him,” he said. “He’ll have to listen to me. Where did you say you’ve left Morilli?”
“Hampton Wharf,” English told him. “Chuck is with him. Take a newspaper man with you, Sam. It’s a good idea. Maybe Morilli will give himself away.”
“Leave it to me,” Crail said, putting on his coat again. “In the meantime, you stay here, Nick, and keep out of sight. I’ll fix that rat Morilli!”
“You’re harboring a criminal,” English pointed out. “Maybe I’d better move on, Sam.”
“You stay here! See that he does, Helen,” Crail said. “They won’t think to look here for you. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
When he had gone out to the garage, Helen said, “You’re worrying about Lois, aren’t you, Nick?”
He nodded.
“If that devil’s killed her…”
“You mustn’t think like that,” she said soothingly. “Sit down and rest. Ed will find her. He’s a good man, Nick.”
“But the police are looking for him now and he doesn’t know it. Morilli put out a call for him. He might walk into trouble, and then what’ll happen to Lois?”
“Trust him to keep out of trouble,” she returned. “If anyone can find her, he will.”
English flopped down in an armchair.
“If only I knew where Sherman was,” he said angrily. “I can’t go looking all over the town. I’d be picked up within minutes.”
“Ed said he was going to talk to some girl—Windsor I think he said her name was. He thought she might know where Sherman was.”
English’s face brightened.
“I’d forgotten her. Ed thinks she’s working with Sherman. I wonder if he got anywhere with her.”
“He’ll call in a little while,” Helen said.
“He may be with her now,” English said, jumping to his feet. “I might get him on the phone.”
He went over to the telephone and ruffled through the pages of the directory until he found Gloria Windsor’s number. He dialled and waited, listening with growing impatience to the ringing tone. He waited for a minute or so, then replaced the receiver.
“No answer. Maybe she’s out, and he hasn’t talked to her yet.” He looked at his watch. “When I think of Lois…” He drove his fist into his palm. “Damn it! I must do something! I can’t just sit and wait!”
“Take it easy, Nick,” Helen said. “You’ve got to rely on Ed. He’ll find her.”
“It’s all very well…” He broke off and smiled crookedly at her. “You know I’ve been a mug about Lois, Helen. I didn’t realize what she means to me until I’d lost her.”
“Aren’t we all mugs sometimes?” she returned gently. “I’m glad, Nick. She’s been good to you.”
“I know. Well, if she’s alive, I’ll make up for it.”
“Listen!” Helen said sharply, holding up her hand.
They heard the sound of a fast-moving car, coming down the street. A moment later it pulled up outside the house with a squeal of tortured tires.
As English moved to the window, Helen pushed him aside.
“You must keep out of sight, Nick. It may be the police,” she said sharply. “Let me see.”
She lifted the shade, then turned swiftly, her face alight with excitement.
“It’s Ed!” she exclaimed, and ran across the room to the front door.
Leon was about to ring the bell when Helen opened the door. He was soaked with rain, and there was an anxious, harassed look in his eyes.
“Sam in?” he asked.
“Come in,” Helen said. “Nick’s here.”
“Nick! Well, I’ll be damned. I thought he was in jail.”
He stepped into the lobby as English came out of the sitting room.
“What a break!” Leon said. “I’d given you up as lost.”
“Where’s Lois?” English demanded.
“I’m not sure yet. I came here for some money. I’ve got to hire a boat. Sherman has a yacht six miles off Bay Creek. It’s my bet Lois is on board. They want a hundred bucks for a motor-launch to take me out there. Have you got a hundred bucks?”
“Of course I have,” English said. “I’m coming with you.”
“Better not. The cops are still looking for you.”
“They’re looking for you, too,” English said. “Morilli’s put a call out for you. He’s trying to pin Corrine’s murder on you. Come on, let’s get going!”
He struggled into his overcoat.
“How far is Bay Creek?” he asked.
“About three miles from here,” Leon said, opening the front door.
“Tell Sam where I’ve gone,” English said to Helen. “And thanks for putting up with me.”
“Good luck, Nick,” Helen said, her eyes anxious. “And be careful.”
English went down the path after Leon and got into the waiting car.
Leon sent the car shooting down the deserted street.
“I got the Windsor girl to talk,” he told English, “but it’s going to cost you seven grand, and it may come to nothing. All the same I imagine Sherman will take Lois to the yacht if he takes her anywhere. What happened to you?”
“Morilli took me for a ride. If Chuck hadn’t turned up I shouldn’t be here now,” English said.
Leon glanced swiftly at him.
“You mean he was going to knock you off?”
“That was the idea. He was scared I’d talk. Besides, getting rid of me would have earned him a promotion. Where’s this Bay Creek, Ed?”
“You know the golf club? A mile farther on is Bay Creek. There’s a boathouse there. I’ve seen the yacht. It’s anchored about six miles out in the estuary. Someone’s on board. Lights are showing, but the guy who owns the motorboat wouldn’t play unless I paid him the hundred. I nearly went crazy trying to persuade him, but the louse wouldn’t budge. So I had to come back to Sam for the dough.”
English glanced over his shoulder.
“There’s a car after us, Ed!” he said, his voice sharpening.
Leon promptly shoved his foot hard down on the gas pedal.
“Cops?”
“Could be. Maybe they spotted your number. I told you they were on the lookout for you.”
“I can’t hope to shake a prowl car in this old heap,” Leon said uneasily. “What are we going to do?”
“Can we lose them?”
“Not in this district.” He looked in the driving mirror. “Hell! They’re coming up fast!”
“You stall them, Ed. I’m going after Lois. Get around the next corner, slow down and let me drop off. I’ll take my chance of giving them the slip.”
“They’re right behind us,” Leon said, and shoved the gas pedal to the boards. The car surged forward at over sixty miles an hour, and the car behind fell back a little. “Hang on tight. I’m going to take the next corner.”
Twenty yards from the corner, Leon slammed on his brakes. The back of the car swung around in a violent skid. He heard the screaming of tires as the other car braked frantically. Beams from the other car’s headlamps lit up Leon’s car as he wrestled with the wheel, steering into the skid. He released the brake and trod on the gas pedal. The car shot into the side street. The pursuing car went on, braking violently as Leon slowed down.
“Good luck!” he exclaimed as English opened the door.
English jumped out, took two staggering steps forward before falling heavily. He rolled over, staggered to his feet, and ran blindly for an alley facing him.
The police car had reversed and was swinging into the street as he reached the mouth of the alley. A voice yelled at him, but he didn’t look around. He kept on, his long legs flying over the ground.
There was a flash and a crash of gunfire. Something zipped perilously close to his head; then he dashed into the darkness of the alley.
For some seconds he ran blindly. The alley led to the river, and he came out on the waterfront. He heard the sound of pounding feet coming after him, and he looked to the right and left for cover. A few yards from him was a vast pile of empty wooden crates. He darted over to them and dodged behind them.
A moment later a cop came out of the alley, gun in hand. He looked up and down the deserted waterfront, then stood listening for a moment.
English watched him, his mouth in a tight, hard smile. Nick English hiding from a cop! If it wasn’t for Lois, it would be funny, he thought.
He waited, sure the cop would come to investigate the pile of crates. He crouched in the shadows, holding his breath as the cop began a slow, cautious walk toward him.
“Okay, I can see you!” the cop barked suddenly, and pushed forward his gun. “Come on out or I’ll blast you!”
Sure the cop couldn’t see him, English remained where he was.
The cop came on and began to circle the pile of crates. Moving without a sound, English followed him, keeping just out of sight, until the two of them had made a complete circle of the crates.
With a grunt of disgust the cop went off along the waterfront, flashing a powerful flashlight, his gun thrust forward.
English didn’t move until the cop was out of sight, then he went off in the opposite direction, walking fast, his head bent against the driving rain.
He was about a mile from the golf club, and time was running out. He decided to risk a taxi. He couldn’t waste time walking to the club.
He turned off the waterfront and made his way back to the town. As he walked along in the pelting rain, he wondered what had happened to Leon, and he wished he had a gun.
After walking for some minutes he saw a taxi coming toward him, and he waved.
The taxi pulled up.
“Know the golf club?” he asked, keeping his head bent so the driver couldn’t see his face clearly.
“Sure,” the driver returned. “You’re not thinking of having a game at this hour, are you, mister?”
“A mile farther on there’s a boathouse. That’s where I want to go.”
“I know it. Tom Kerr’s place.”
English got into the cab.
“Twenty bucks if you get me there in ten minutes.”
“Can’t be done, but I’ll get you there in fifteen.”
“Get going!”
English sat back and fumbled for a cigarette. He suddenly felt deflated and tired. So much time had been wasted, he thought. It was now three hours since Lois had walked out of her apartment. The chances were she was dead, strangled by that maniac. Well, if she was, he would avenge her, he thought grimly. Sherman wasn’t going to get away with it this time.
Once clear of the town, the taxi raced along the broad road through the sand dunes that led to the club. They flashed past the clubhouse after eight minutes’ reckless driving. There was a dance on, and English could hear the music and see the couples as they moved around the big ballroom.
Four minutes later, the driver said, “That’s Kerr’s joint right ahead.”
English leaned forward to peer through the rain-soaked windshield. He could see a big wooden shed by the river bank. Lights came through the windows.
He fumbled in his wallet and took out a twenty-dollar bill.
“Want to wait?” he said. “I’ll be coming back, but I may be some time. It rates another twenty.”
“I’ll wait all night for that kind of dough,” the driver said eagerly.
He swung down a steep slope that led directly to the shed and pulled up.
“You’ll find Kerr in that cabin down by the jetty,” he told English as he took the twenty-dollar bill.
English walked quickly down the path to the cabin at the shore end of the jetty and rapped on the door.
The door opened and a fat man in a turtleneck sweater and thick rubber boots looked at him enquiringly.
“You Tom Kerr?” English asked.
“That’s right, mister. Come in.”
English stepped into a warm, pleasant room. A girl sat before a bright fire nursing a baby. She looked at English and he saw her give a little start of recognition.
“I want a motorboat in a hurry,” he said to Kerr. “How soon can you get one ready?”
Kerr looked sharply at him.
“What’s the trouble, Mr. English?” he asked.
English smiled crookedly.
“I wish my face wasn’t so familiar,” he said. “I want to get to a yacht moored in Bay Creek.”
“Take him there, Tom,” the girl said sharply, “and don’t ask questions. Can’t you see Mr. English is in a hurry?”
“I’ll take you there,” Kerr said. “Give me five minutes. You wait here. I’ll get the boat now.” He grabbed up his oilskins and went out of the hut.
English wiped the rain off his face.
“Do you two know the police are looking for me?” he said. “I don’t want to get you into trouble.”
The girl smiled.
“We mind our own business. Besides, Tom and I have had a lot of pleasure from your shows, Mr. English. And we watched the big fight on the television. We’re glad to do something for you.”
English nodded.
“I’ve more friends than I thought,” he said, and came over to look at the baby. “Your first?”
“Yes, but there’ll be more.”
“When he’s old enough, send him to me, and I’ll give him a job,” English said.
The girl giggled.
“It isn’t a boy, it’s a girl.”
“Send her to me just the same. I’ll fix her with something. Fine kid.”
“If you want any help, Mr. English, you can rely on Tom,” the girl said.
English smiled.
“That’s fine. I may need him.”
The door opened and Kerr looked in.
“All ready, Mr. English. Want to borrow an oilskin?”
English shook his head.
“Thanks, no. I can’t be wetter than I am now.” He looked over at Mrs. Kerr. “My thanks to you. Don’t forget, when she gets older I’ll do something for her.”
He went out into the rain to a powerful speedboat that bobbed up and down on the heavy swell. Kerr helped him into the boat, cast off, pushed forward the throttle and sent the boat shooting toward the mouth of the estuary.
“We didn’t talk terms,” English said, standing close to Kerr. “Would a hundred settle it?”
Kerr nodded.
“Anything you say, Mr. English.”
“There may be some trouble on the yacht,” English went on. “A girl I know has been kidnapped, and I think she’s on board. I’ll tackle it. You stay with the boat. I’ll want you to take us back if she’s there.”
“If there’s going to be any rough stuff, count me in,” Kerr said, his face lighting up. “I used to be the Mid-West heavyweight champion before I married, and I haven’t had any action in years.”
“You have your wife and kid to think of,” English returned. “These thugs don’t fight with their fists.”
Kerr reached for a belaying pin and flourished it.
“Nor do I when I’ve got one of these. Count me in, Mr. English.”
“I guess I can use you if there are more than one of them.”
They reached the mouth of the estuary, and in the distance they could see the lights of the yacht.
“Push her along,” English said impatiently.
Kerr advanced the throttle. The speedboat raced over the heavy swell, throwing a foaming wash behind as it cleaved through the water.
English peered through the blinding spray, his eyes on the yacht. If Lois wasn’t on board! he thought. If this was a wild-goose chase!
Out of the shelter of the bay the wind whistled and the sea thundered. English thought it was unlikely anyone on board would hear the approaching speedboat.
“Cut down speed,” he said to Kerr, “and drift up to her. I don’t want them to know we’re coming.”
“Sure,” Kerr said, and throttled back.
The boat, moving on its own impetus, ran on toward the yacht and, in a few minutes, Kerr brought it alongside.
English caught hold of the glittering brass rail and steadied the boat while Kerr made it fast.
Then they swung aboard.
Above deck the yacht was deserted, but a light showed through two of the cabin portholes.
“I’ll go first,” English said under his breath. “You keep out of sight. If there’s trouble, take them in the rear.”
He moved softly to the companion hatch and paused to listen at the head of the companion stairway. Hearing nothing, he cautiously began to descend, and as he reached the bottom step, a cabin door toward the end of the passage abruptly opened.
He crouched down, waiting, knowing he couldn’t get along the passage before he was seen, nor had he time to get up the stairway and out of sight. If whoever it was coming out of the cabin had a gun, he would be shot down before he could make a move.
Then he saw Lois.
She came out of the cabin, her face white, her eyes scared. Her white nylon blouse was ripped off her shoulder, and one stocking was down to her ankle.
“Lois!” English said softly.
“Oh, Nick!” she said, and ran toward him.
III
Halfway down the staircase, Kerr stopped and gaped. He was expecting to run into a rough house, and the sight of English holding a girl in his arms stopped him short, as if he had run into a brick wall.
But English was oblivious to Kerr’s astonishment. He held Lois close to him, thankful to find her alive.
“Are you all right?” he asked anxiously. “You’re not hurt?”
“I’m all right. I—I thought it was Sherman coming back. Oh, I’m so glad to see you,” Lois said, pushing away from him, embarrassed. “I’m sorry to have run into your arms like that, only I was scared.”
“My dear girl…” English began, then realized this was no time for idle talk. “Is there anyone else on board?”
Lois shivered.
“There’s Penn. He’s in there.” She pointed to another cabin. “I’ve been scared to go in there again. I hit him.”
“You hit him?” English said blankly. “What happened?”
“He attacked me. I got away from him, and hit him over the head with a bottle. I—I think I may have killed him.”
He could see she was struggling not to cry, and he put his arm around her.
“It’s all right,” he said. “I’m going to get you out of here.” He looked over his shoulder at Kerr. “Take a look in there and see what’s happened.”
Kerr pushed past them, opened the cabin door and went in. He came out after a minute or so, grinning.
“Well, you certainly did hit him, miss,” he said admiringly, “but he’s all right. He’ll probably have a cracked skull, but he’s not going to croak.”
Lois leaned against English.
“I was so frightened he would die,” she said, “but he was such a brute.”
“Come on,” English said “You’re going home.”
“No, wait,” she said, catching hold of his arm. “This is important, Nick. There’s something in the next cabin we must take with us.”
“All right. Just a moment.” English turned to Kerr. “Think you can get that thug into the boat? I want him.”
“Sure,” Kerr said. “Leave him to me.”
English followed Lois into the cabin next to the one in which she had been kept prisoner.
“I found this, Nick,” she said, pointing to a square leather suitcase. “It’s a tape recorder. The tape contains all kinds of conversations between Sherman and Penn, and something that clears you. Sherman talked to me. Penn must have set the machine going. Listen to this.”
She opened the case and flicked down the switch. The two reels containing the metal tape began to revolve.
“Murder is an odd thing,” Sherman’s voice said clearly out of the machine. “It’s like a snowball rolling down a hill. One murder leads to another. I wouldn’t be in this jam if that cheap little chiseller hadn’t tried to gyp me. I was a fool to have picked him to work for me. Before he came I had a good business. Now, if I’m not very careful, the bottom could drop out of it. It’s worth a quarter of a million a year to me, and I’m not giving that up without a fight. I killed Roy English in a moment of anger. It would have been simpler to have kicked him out…”
They stood side by side, listening to the flat, metallic voice, and when it said, “I arranged he should hear about his mistress and Harry Vince. I couldn’t be sure he would kill them, so I did it for him…” English put his arm round Lois and hugged her.
“That’s it! That lets me out!” he said. “Now we’ve got him where we want him!”
“Let’s go now, Nick,” Lois said, switching off the machine. “I can’t wait until we’ve given this to the police.”
English was looking past her, a sudden puzzled expression in his eyes.
“I don’t remember shutting the door, do you, Lois?” he said, and walked over to the door and turned the handle. He pulled, shook the door, and then stepped back. “That’s odd. It’s locked.”
“Oh, Nick!” Lois said, her eyes frightened. “You don’t think he’s here?”
“Of course not,” English said, and rattled the door handle. “Hey, Kerr! Open the door. We’re locked in!”
“Nick! Put your hand on the wall. It feels as if the engines have started up.”
English put his hand on the wall. He could feel a faint vibration, and he nodded.
“You’re right. Maybe Kerr’s decided to take the yacht in.”
“It isn’t Kerr—it’s Sherman,” Lois said. “I know it is.”
English went swiftly to the porthole and looked out. He was in time to see the speedboat drifting away into the darkness. Even as he caught a glimpse of it, it vanished from sight, wallowing in the heavy swell.
“He’s cut the boat adrift,” he said, turning to face her. “I think you’re right. Sherman is on board.”
He went over to the door and rattled the handle again.
The vibration was stronger now as if the engines were mounting to full speed, and when Lois looked through the porthole she could see the water foaming against the yacht’s side as it forged ahead.
“He’s heading out to sea. What are we going to do, Nick?”
English was examining the door.
“The damn thing opens inward. There’s not much hope of smashing the lock, but we’ve got to get out of here, Lois.”
“This table—couldn’t we use it as a battering ram?”
“That’s an idea. Let’s try. You take that side, and I’ll take this.”
Together they wrenched the table from its fastenings and carried it over to the door.
“Now, together.”
They slammed the table against the door, drew back and slammed it again against the door. One of the door panels split.
“Once again,” English said. “I think it’s going to work.”
They drew back and then ran at the door. The corner of the table smashed through the panel, making a gaping hole.
“Fine,” English said. “I think I can tackle it now.”
He kicked out the rest of the panel, leaned through the opening and found the key in the lock. He turned it and pushed open the door.
“Now look, Lois, you stay here,” he said, “or better still go into the next cabin and lock yourself in. Take the recorder with you. Whatever happens we’re not going to lose that. I’m going to see what’s happening.”
“No, don’t, Nick. Don’t leave me. If anything happened to you…”
“I’ll be careful. Now get into the other cabin and wait for me.” He picked up the recorder and pushed her into the passage. “I’ll be all right.”
Before she could argue further, he handed her the recorder, and then went along the passage to the companion stairway.
Lois stood in the doorway of the cabin and watched him, her face white and her eyes scared.
He went up the stairway slowly, his ears cocked for the slightest sound, but all he could hear was the noise of the engines and the heavy thud of the sea against the yacht as she drove through the water.
When he was almost at the top of the stairway, he stopped, not sure if he had heard something. He listened, then went on, and very cautiously looked along the dark deck. He saw nothing to alarm him. The deck was deserted, and he looked toward the bridge, but that, too, was deserted, and his mouth set in a hard line.
He guessed Sherman must have lashed the wheel, and was hiding somewhere, waiting for him to show himself.
Then he saw a movement in the shadows ahead of him, and he quickly ducked down so he was no longer outlined against the white hatchway.
“Hello, English,” Sherman said from out of the shadows. “I can see you, and I’m covering you with a gun.”
English looked in the direction of the voice. He decided Sherman was too far away for a quick rush. He moved down a step so Sherman couldn’t pick him off, and waited.
“I thought you would walk into my trap sooner or later,” Sherman went on. “She wouldn’t believe you’d come after her. I told her you would. I said you had the mentality of a cheap movie hero.”
“Where do you imagine you’re going?” English asked. “Every coast-guard boat on the coast is on the lookout for you.”
“That, of course, is a stupid lie,” Sherman returned. “In a few hours when Kerr recovers from the blow on the head I gave him, they might look for us, but by that time, it will be too late.”
“Don’t be too sure,” English said. “You don’t imagine you can get away in this yacht, do you?”
Sherman laughed.
“No, but it’ll be at the bottom of the sea by the time they come after us,” he said and came out of the shadows. He held an automatic in his hand, and it covered the companion hatch. “That’s where we’re going, English. You and the girl and I—to the bottom of the sea.”
“Is that necessary?” English asked. “Surely you don’t want to join us.”
“I’m going to end it,” Sherman said. “I’m sick of killing people. I shouldn’t have killed Gloria. The janitor saw me leave. Of course I could have killed him, but I can’t go on and on killing people. I’m sick of it! There seems no end to it. Well, I’m going to end it, and end you, too.”
“And how do you propose to end it?” English asked, seeking information. He knew it was hopeless to attempt to close with Sherman. The distance between them was too great. He would be shot down long before he could reach him.
“I’ve set fire to the yacht,” Sherman said. “There should be a pretty good blaze before long. You’ll have the opportunity of either burning or drowning. We’re about twelve miles off shore now, and we’re still going. Personally, I prefer to drown.”
English had heard all he wanted to know now. He slid down the stairs and landed heavily in the passage.
Lois had come along the passage, and had heard what had been said. She looked at English, her face pale, but her eyes unafraid.
“He’s cracked,” English said. “He says he’s set fire to the yacht. Maybe he’s lying, but if he isn’t, we may have to swim for it. Can you swim, Lois?”
She smiled.
“Yes. You don’t have to worry about me.”
“But I do worry about you.” He put his hand on her arm and looked down at her. “This is the wrong time and place, my dear, but I’d better tell you now. I’m in love with you. I guess I’ve been in love with you for years. It was only when I thought I was going to lose you, I realized it. Sorry, Lois, but there it is. Better late than never, I suppose. Having got that off my chest, let’s get busy. There must be some lifebelts somewhere down here. Let’s find them.”
She gave him a quick, searching look before going into the cabin. A few minutes’ search brought to light three lifebelts and a couple of oilskins.
“We’ll wrap the recorder in the oilskins, and then put a lifebelt around it,” English said. “I’m not losing it unless I have to.”
“There is a fire, Nick,” Lois said suddenly as she spread the oilskin out on the floor. “I can smell smoke.”
English stepped into the passage. Smoke was drifting up through the floorboards, and when he touched the floor it felt hot. He returned to the cabin to help Lois tie the lifebelt around the recorder.
“We can’t get off the boat without going up on deck,” he said, helping her on with a lifebelt, “and he’s guarding the head of the stairs. You wait here. I’ll see what he’s doing.”
“Be careful, Nick.”
He put his fingers under her chin and kissed her.
“You bet, but we’ve got to get out of here.”
A sudden gust of smoke whirled into the cabin, making them cough, and when he went into the narrow passage, he found it full of smoke and the heat intense.
“Come on, Lois, we can’t stay here.”
She joined him, and they ran along the passage to the stairway.
English hadn’t yet put on his lifebelt. He didn’t want Sherman to know they had lifebelts, and he put his belt on the stairs before he looked along the deck.
A red glow came from the bridge, and the heat was now so violent English had to shield his face as he peered through the smoke.
He couldn’t see anything, but he could hear the roar of the flames as they burned furiously, eating into the deck and slowly demolishing the bridge house.
Cautiously he went up the stairs and onto the deck. Still he could see no sign of Sherman.
“Lois!” he called softly.
She joined him and he motioned her to keep down.
“I can’t see him. Let’s get out of here. Give me the recorder.”
“Your lifebelt,” she said, thrusting the belt into his hands.
As he made to take it, he saw Sherman coming through the smoke. He dropped the belt, grabbed Lois by the arm and rushed her across the deck.
“In you go,” he said, and lifting her, dropped her into the sea.
He ran back for the recorder and as he snatched it up, Sherman saw him.
“Don’t move!” he shouted.
English dodged to the right, reached the rail and tossed the recorder into the sea. As he put his hand on the rail to vault over, Sherman shot him.
English felt something hit him viciously in his side, sending a scorching pain through his body. He fell face down on the hot deck.
The deck was so hot, his soaking clothes sizzled, and as he tried to push himself to his feet, his hands began to blister. He rolled over, frantically trying to get under the rail and into the sea.
Sherman ran over to him, caught hold of one of his ankles and dragged him back.
“You’re not going to get away!” he cried wildly. “You’ll roast here with me. How do you like it, English? How do you like your first taste of hell?”
English kicked out. The heel of his shoe crashed against Sherman’s knee cap, bringing him down. Sherman’s gun went off, and a slug ploughed a furrow in the deck near English’s head.
English rolled on Sherman, pinning him flat on the deck. Snarling with pain and fury, Sherman tried to get his gun hand up, but English caught his wrist in both hands and pressed Sherman’s hand down on the metal guard that ran the length of the yacht.
Sherman screamed as the almost red-hot metal burned into his flesh. Exerting all his great strength, English kept Sherman’s hand down against the metal.
Sherman slammed his free fist into English’s face, but English held on until Sherman’s fingers opened in agony and the gun dropped into the sea.
He let go of Sherman’s wrist, tried to get to his feet, but the pain in his side was now so intense he blacked out for a moment.
He came out of the faint, the hot deck scorching his back. Sherman was kneeling on him, his fingers digging into his throat. English caught hold of Sherman’s thumbs and wrenched them back, breaking Sherman’s hold. As Sherman groped for his throat again, English smashed his fist into Sherman’s face, sending him sprawling on his back.
English grabbed hold of the rail and dragged himself to his feet. Before Sherman could reach him, English overbalanced and fell head first into the sea.
The shock of the cold water revived him, and when he broke surface, he shook the water out of his eyes and turned on his back.
The yacht was blazing now like a torch, lighting up the sea. English kicked out to send himself away from the yacht and the intense heat.
“Nick!”
A hand closed over his shoulder. He turned his head. Lois was beside him, her other hand holding on to the recorder.
“Oh, darling, are you hurt?”
“It’s all right,” English gasped. “It’s nothing much. What happened to him?”
“I think he’s still on the yacht.”
English reached out and put his arm over the recorder. With its help he kept his head above water. His legs hung like leaden weights, and if it hadn’t been for the buoyancy of the recorder he would have sunk.
“Keep near me, Lois,” he said. “I’m bleeding a little, and I don’t feel too good.”
“Get on your back,” she urged. “I can hold you. Keep a grip on that case.”
As he turned on his back he saw Sherman, swimming strongly toward them. Sherman’s eyes were gleaming, and his teeth showed in a vicious snarl.
“Look out!” English panted and pushed Lois away from him.
Sherman’s hand caught hold of English’s shoulder.
“We’ll go down together!” he cried shrilly. “This is the end for you, English!”
English struck out at him, but his strength was failing. He couldn’t hold Sherman off, and he felt Sherman’s fingers shift from his shoulder to his throat.
They went down together, Sherman locking his legs round English’s body, his fingers digging into English’s throat.
Lois saw them go down, and she dived after them, but the bouyancy of her lifebelt immediately returned her to the surface.
Frantically she wrestled with the strings to get it off, but the knots had hardened in the water and she couldn’t loosen them.
“Nick!” she screamed, and again tried to go down, but again the buoyancy of the belt brought her to the surface.
Then suddenly there was a commotion under the water. She caught a glimpse of the two men, still locked together, as they came to the surface. She saw English’s hand grope for Sherman’s face, and his thumbs sink into Sherman’s eyes as they went down again, the water closing over them.
She waited, her heart pounding, sick with fear for English, watching the bubbles of air as the two men fought under the water. They broke surface a second time. Sherman seemed no longer to be struggling. His arms and legs were locked round English’s body while English was fighting desperately to throw him off.
She swam toward them, trying to reach them before they sank again, but she was too late. They went down again as English was within a few inches of her questing hand.
Then after a long pause a body came to the surface, rolled over and floated half submerged near her. She reached it, turned it and saw with a sob of relief English’s white unconscious face.
She held him up, pushing him toward the floating recorder and propping him over it.
She was still holding him above the water when Kerr found them, fifteen minutes later, when he brought the speedboat toward the flaming wreck.
IV
Sam Crail hurried up the imposing steps that led to the main entrance of the new city hospital and entered the lobby where Dr. Ingolls, the resident surgeon, was waiting to meet him.
Ingolls, a tall, spare man in his late forties, was still in a slight flutter of excitement to have Nick English as a patient in his hospital.
The continual telephone calls, the invasion of the newspaper men and the constant stream of visitors, including stage and screen stars, show girls and stage technicians, enquiring after English, had temporarily disorganized the reception desk, and Ingolls was enjoying the experience of being on the fringe of English’s limelight.
As Crail shook hands with Ingolls, Crail said, “How’s the patient? Can I see him?”
“Yes,” Ingolls returned, smiling. “He’s coming along well. His tremendous constitution is doing more for him now than I can. In fact, we’re already having trouble keeping him in bed.”
“And the wound?”
“It’s healing satisfactorily. In another two weeks he should be fit enough to go home.”
“That’s good news. Well, I’ll go up. You’ve done a good job, doctor.”
Ingolls beamed.
“We do our best,” he said airily. “Of course, half the battle’s having a good constitution, and that’s something Mr. English certainly has.”
Crail nodded, and went off down the long white-tiled corridor to the elevator that took him to the first floor.
He found English lying in bed before an open window. On a side table was a mass of letters, cablegrams and books.
Chuck Eagan sat on an upright chair in a corner, his jaw aggressive and his eyes watchful. No one in the hospital had succeeded in shifting him. He had been in the room now for the past three days, ever since English had arrived, and even English couldn’t get rid of him.
“Well, Nick,” Crail said, coming over to the bed. “How do you feel?”
“Hello, Sam,” English returned. “Get yourself a chair. I’m fine. Why everyone’s making so much damned fuss beats me. I keep telling that quack I want to go home.”
Crail frowned.
“Considering you’ve been unconscious for the past two days, I think that’s unnecessarily unreasonable,” he said, pulling up a chair. He glanced over at Chuck. “You can take some fresh air, Eagan. He’ll be all right with me.”
Chuck snorted.
“Yeah? Look what happened the moment I took my eyes off him,” he said bitterly. “I’m sticking. No one else is going to throw lead into him again if I can help it.”
“Let him alone,” English said, grinning. “I’ve done my best to get rid of him, but I’ve given up. What’s the news?”
“You’re in the clear,” Crail said. “That tape recorder clinched it. You have nothing to worry about. It wouldn’t surprise me if the commissioner doesn’t call and apologize.”
English grimaced.
“I don’t want him here. What about Sherman?”
“They picked up his body. You broke his neck, Nick.”
“He would have finished me if I hadn’t pulled a judo trick on him,” English said. “It was a close call, Sam—too damn close. Is Lois all right?”
Crail nodded.
“Nothing the matter with her,” he said. “I spoke to her on the phone this morning. She sounds fine.”
“Didn’t she say she was coming to see me?” English asked a little anxiously. “I was expecting her.”
Crail shrugged.
“She didn’t say, but she’ll be along.”
English started to say something, then changed his mind. Instead, he asked, “What happened to that fella, Penn?”
“We’ve got him. Kerr was loading him into the boat when Sherman sneaked up behind him and cracked him over the skull. Kerr fell into the boat, and it drifted away, otherwise Sherman would probably have finished him. When Kerr came to, he saw the fire and came over to investigate. He fished you out just in time.”
“He’s a good man,” English said. “Do something for him, Sam. He’s got a cute baby daughter. Have a talk with him. He might like me to take over her education.”
“Sure,” Crail said. “I’ll talk to him.”
“According to Chuck, Morilli gave himself away,” English said. “What’s happening to him?”
“He’s facing an attempted murder rap. You’ll have to charge him, Nick. Luckily I took a couple of newspaper men along with me. The commissioner can’t cover up for him. He won’t give you any trouble for some time.”
“It all seems to be working out all right. I bet there’re a lot of disappointed people in the city right now. Rees must be shedding a few tears.”
“He is,” Crail said quietly. “He certainly thought he had got you where he wanted you. But the whole story’s got to come out. We can’t cover Roy up any longer.”
English shrugged, then winced.
“Damn! I mustn’t do that. I’m still a little sore,” he said, settling himself into a more comfortable position. “Well, it can’t be helped. I guess that lets me out, Sam.”
“For a little while,” Crail said, “but when the scandal’s blown over, you’ll be all right.”
English shook his head.
“No, it won’t be the same. It’s a funny thing but I don’t give a damn now. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking while I’ve been lying here. I’ve decided to break new ground. I’m getting out of this city, Sam. I have other ideas now.”
Crail looked alarmed.
“But you can’t do that! You can’t walk out of a setup as big as yours when so many people depend on you for work!”
“Oh, I’ll put someone in charge!” English said. “How would you like the job, Sam?”
“You’re not serious?” Crail said, stiffening with surprise.
“I certainly am. But don’t rush into it. Think about it. It’ll mean giving up your law work, but it’s a big job, Sam, and I know you could make a success of it. I’ll be happy to take twenty-five per cent of the net profit and leave the rest to you if you’ll take the whole business off my hands.”
“But what are you going to do?” Crail asked blankly. “This is your life, Nick. You can’t just throw it up.”
“Twenty-five per cent will give me all the money I want,” English said. “It’s time I looked at the world. I want to travel. Then when I’m tired of travelling, I’ll start all over again. You know, Sam, the best days of my life were when I was trying to become a success. Now, I’m going to try to recapture some of the fun I had in those days. Anyway, never mind about me. Think about my offer. If you don’t want it, I’ll have to find someone else. I’m quitting. I’ve made up my mind.”
Crail got to his feet.
“All right, I’ll think about it. I think I’m sold. Think of the attorney fees I’ll save!”
English laughed.
“Save—nothing. If you do the legal work, you pay yourself the appropriate fees. You can make a lot of money out of this setup, Sam.”
“Yeah,” Crail said, mentally calculating. “I guess I could. Give me until tomorrow, Nick. I’ll have an answer by then. I’d like to talk to Helen first.”
“Sure, there’s no hurry,” English returned. “I have a lot to do before I can quit.”
Later in the afternoon, Ed Leon looked in.
“Thought I’d drop in and see how you were making out,” he said, shaking hands. “I have to get back to Chicago, and I’m on my way now. There’s nothing more I can do for you, is there?”
English shook his head.
“No, I guess not. Thanks for all you’ve done, Ed. You’ll get a check as soon as I get back to my desk. We cleared that mess up pretty well, didn’t we?”
“Yeah. I wish you could have seen those coppers’ faces when Lois walked in with the tape recorder. She did a nice job of work, didn’t she?”
“She certainly did. I can’t understand why she hasn’t come to see me. Everybody in town’s looked in but her. What the hell is she up to, Ed?”
Leon grinned.
“For crying out loud! Who do you imagine is running your business while you’re lolling about in bed? Don’t you remember your new show’s opening tonight? She’s been working twenty-four hours a day to make it a success. The poor girl hasn’t had time even to powder her nose.”
“To hell with the new show,” English said irritably. “Who cares about it anyway? I want to see her!”
“She’ll be along. She said something about looking in before she goes to the theatre tonight. You should be grateful. The girl’s making your fortune.”
“Well, okay,” English said, frowning. “But it’s time she quit working like a slave.”
“I’ve been telling her that ever since I first met her, but she won’t listen,” Leon said. “Well, I’ve got to get moving. See you soon, pal, and take it easy. You’ve had enough excitement to last you a lifetime.”
When he had gone, Chuck said cautiously, “Is that right, you’re quitting, boss?”
English looked at him and grinned.
“Sure. I have a bigger job to attend to now. A job that’s going to take up a lot of my time. Something I should have tackled years ago.”
Chuck’s eyes opened.
“Anything in it for me, boss?”
English shook his head.
“I guess not,” he said cheerfully. “This is something personal. I’m going to get married, and I’m going to raise a family.”
Chuck’s expression of horror struck English as funny, and he burst out laughing.