Black Mask (Vol. 18, No. 11 — January 1936)

Numbers With Lead by W. T. Ballard

Bill Lennox, studio trouble-shooter, meets the numbers racket head on.

Crossing the lot, Bill Lennox, liaison man for the studio, paused as he saw a uniformed studio-policeman come from stage three, dragging a small, sandy-haired youth. Lennox stared for a moment, then crossed towards them. “What’s wrong, Collins?”

The special cop looked around, a scowl twisting his heavy features. “I just caught this guy selling numbers to an extra.”

“Numbers? So that’s it.” Lennox eyed the small man. “Who are you?”

“He’s one of the grips,” Collins said. “Spurck ordered anyone caught selling numbers thrown off the lot.”

The small man tried to wrench free.

The big cop said, “Tough guy,” and hit the smaller man. “Come on, you.” His other hand caught the grip’s collar as the man swung at him. He twisted him about, almost lifted him from his feet, and pushed him towards the police office.

For a moment Lennox stood watching them. Then he shrugged, turned, and went into the administration building.

Sol Spurck, vice-president in charge of production at General Consolidated’s West Coast studio, was dictating as Lennox pushed open the door and walked into the cathedral-like office. He waved towards a chair.

“Honest, Bill, I’m glad you are back. A madhouse we have here, I’m telling you.”

Lennox grinned sourly.

“Say, Sol, I just saw something funny. One of the cops was throwing a grip off the lot for selling numbers.”

Spurck’s face set. “And you call it funny. Listen once while I tell you. They’re buying numbers like nobody’s business. It’s worse than the dime letter even.” He rose and thumped the desk, the big diamond on his ring finger making dents in the mahogany. “Honest, Bill, this numbers thing is lousy. It takes the nickels from widows and orphans. Them extras make maybe enough to eat, and what is it they do with their money? They buy numbers.”

Lennox’ eyes were narrow. “I didn’t know it was as bad as that. Remember, I’ve been gone six weeks. I’ve heard about numbers, but I thought most of them were sold in Harlem.”

“Harlem, is it?” Spurck came around the desk. “It ain’t that bad. It’s worse, and it’s got to stop, y’ understand.”

Spurck emitted a lungful of smoke. “From what I hear, they got this thing organized. A regular business it is, and they’re plenty tough. But positively, I’m telling you, Bill, either we run them out of Hollywood or they run us out. Figure the money they got to work with, and you know what money will do. Look at Prohibition and I’m telling you, the money which was made with bootleg ain’t nothing but pennies compared to this number thing. We got to do something and do it quick. I’ve just been waiting for you to get back.”

Lennox nodded and walked towards the phone. He called the chief of the studio police and said: “Turner, Bill Lennox. Listen. Collins just picked up a grip on stage three for selling numbers. I want to talk to him, the grip, I mean.”

Turner’s voice came over the wire. He said: “Hold it. I’ll see.”

Lennox held it. Then Turner’s voice reached him. “That grip’s gone, Mr. Lennox. Collins threw him out the main gate.”

Bill asked: “What was his name?”

The police chief spoke to someone, then said, “It’s May, Tom May.”

“Okey,” Bill told him. “Look up his address and bring him down here. I’ll be in my office all afternoon.” He hung up and turned around, said to Spurck, “That grip is gone. I want to talk to him. It isn’t much of a lead, but he might be scared into telling something. I’ll get on this at once.”

Spurck nodded. “I got to go, Bill. Monty Hamilton is giving a party at Malibu and Rose is down there already.” He rose, got his hat and started for the door. “Remember, Bill. Them numbers has got to go.”

Lennox grinned at the closed door, then turned and went through into the cubby-hole which served as his office.

He worked steadily for almost an hour, the building about him strangely silent with the quiet of Saturday afternoon. Finally the phone rang and Turner said: “We can’t locate that grip, Mr. Lennox. We called the place listed as his address, but he’s moved, and they don’t know where he went. Don’t know or won’t tell.”

Bill swore and hung up. At five-thirty he left, took a cab to Levy’s and bought a cocktail at the bar, carried it to one of the small tables and sat down. Mike Payman of the Tribune came through the mirrored door and helped himself to the other chair. “How’s the boy?”

Lennox finished his drink and motioned to the waiter. “I’m lousy, thank you, and how are all your troubles?”

Payman grinned. “Mine sit at a city desk, and curse poor legmen.”

The drinks came and Bill tasted his. “Listen, Mike, you get around a lot. What do you hear on this numbers racket?”

Payman fished an onion from his drink and ate it thoughtfully. “There’s always some new racket in this land of broken promises. Why worry about numbers?”

“They’re getting into Spurck’s hair,” Bill explained. “I thought maybe you would know who the big shot is.”

Payman moved his shoulders, finished his drink and said, “As long as you’re buying, I’ll have another, thank you.”

Lennox looked at him. “That’s the trouble with this town. It makes chiselers out of all of us. You weren’t a bad squirt when you were on that San Diego sheet, but now you’re nothing but a bum. You could have ten grand in your pocket and still cadge a drink.”

Payman’s eyes got narrow, suddenly, then he laughed. “Okey, I’ll buy this one.”

Lennox rose, “I hate not chiseling a drink out of you, but I’ve got to run, late now.” He did not wait for Pay-man’s reply, but went through the door, crossed the street, and walked into the Derby.

Nancy Hobbs said: “I’ve only waited twenty minutes. You would be late on a night like this.”

He slid into the seat. “And what’s so special about tonight?”

She said: “Behold an editor. You’re in distinguished company, my boy, and we’ve got to celebrate.”

He said: “I’m sorry, kid, I can’t tonight. I promised Ben Houser that I’d drop over to the studio. He’s got a little girl appearing tonight that he thinks really has talent. They rehearse these programs, you know.”

“Just a talent scout,” she mocked. “And you haven’t even looked at my dress. What’s the matter, William? Haven’t I box-office appeal?”

He looked at her. She was pretty, more than pretty, with her little nose and its three tiny freckles across the bridge. He grinned. “I still don’t see how you ever escaped pictures, honey. You’re very swell, but if I keep telling you, you might go Hollywood on me, and I can’t have that. You’re the only reason I’m glad to be back in the cockeyed town.”

She raised her eyebrows. “I really can’t stand it when you get complimentary, but something’s on your mind, William. What is it?”

He said: “It’s numbers. Spurck’s hot and bothered, and I have to stop them, somehow. The trouble is I don’t know where to begin.”

She said: “I hate to show my girlish ignorance, but what the hell are numbers?”

“It’s a new racket,” he told her. “New out here, that is. It’s a type of lottery. You pick a certain number. If it wins, you get six hundred for one.”

“Sounds interesting.” She stopped eating to stare at him.

Lennox said: “That’s what a lot of people think. It’s rotten because the money isn’t made that’s too small for these wolves to grab, and your chances can hardly be figured. Why, even in a town as big as New York there are days when there aren’t any winners.”

She asked: “Why is Spurck worked up?”

Lennox shrugged. “You can’t stop people gambling, but it’s bad for them to do it in working hours.”

She said: “Police.”

He shook his head. “What can they do? Arrest a few sellers? That won’t stop it. What I have to find is the brains, the big shot back of it.”

Her frown grew. “I don’t like it, Bill. These boys will be tough. Why is it that every time trouble starts you have to mix in?”

He grinned. “Worrying about me, babe?”

Her voice was fierce. “And don’t I have the right, or do I?”

He looked at her and for just a moment the shell of cynicism which five years on newspapers and three in Hollywood had built about him, almost cracked. His voice was softer and he patted her hand. “You’re a pal.”

Her tone was bitter. “Sure, I’m a pal. I always am. I suppose I’ll go up and listen to those amateurs who should be home washing dishes or fixing the car.”

He said: “You don’t have to go.”

She stared at him. “Sure I do. Why? Because, you big ape, I’d rather go to amateur night with you than to the Ambassador with anyone else. Now forget it and eat before I make a public fool of myself.”

Ben Houser said: “It’s swell of you to come, Bill. Hello, Miss Hobbs!”

Nancy said: “Hello!” without much enthusiasm, and they followed Houser into the big studio. The room was already full and they had trouble finding seats. Houser said, under his breath:

“Watch this girl, Bill. I’ll raise my hand when she comes up.”

Lennox nodded. Nancy yawned behind her hand and Houser went towards the mike. The signal glowed and he swung into his sales talk.

Lennox sat listening. Then he watched while two girls played a duet on pianos, while a colored boy played the mouth organ, while four college boys sang Sweet Adeline. Then he saw Houser raise his hand.

“And now, folks, we have Miss Maria Mussaco, who has brought her own accompanist. What are you going to sing, Maria?” The girl, small, dark, with flashing eyes and red lips, said:

“Smoke Gets In Your Eyes.”

“All right. Let’s have it.”

The pianist struck a few chords, then the girl was singing. The voice rose, gained volume, assurance. She needed training, but the studio with the crowd of people was fading from Lennox’ eyes. He saw instead, Irene Dunne, singing to a group of extras, representing exiled Russian nobility on the “Roberta” set. When the girl finished the applause was thunderous.

Nancy Hobbs leaned close. “Houser’s right, Bill. That girl has something.”

He nodded, his eyes fixed on the platform. Suddenly he stiffened.

Nancy said, sharply: “What’s the matter? What’s happened?”

He was still staring. “See the accompanist, the man standing by the piano? That’s Tom May.”

“And who’s Tom May?”

“A grip. We had him thrown off the lot for selling numbers. I want to talk to him.”

He saw May leave the platform, lost sight of him, but the program was continuing and he could not move. As soon as Houser signed off, Bill rose and pushed his way forward.

Houser said: “What did you think of her, Bill?”

“Not bad,” Lennox told him. “She needs training, but, well...”

“Think she’d go in pictures?”

“Maybe,” Lennox was cautious. “She won tonight, didn’t she? Doesn’t that mean that she gets two weeks work at some night-club?”

“The Corn Club,” Houser told him. “It’s a hot spot and I hate to see her work there. She’s a nice kid, too nice to work in Phil Zimm’s place. But... well, that’s why I was hoping you’d get her a test.”

“Where is she now?”

“You mean you’ll talk to her?” Houser was eager. “She’s already gone to the Corn Club, but I’ll run you over. Our winners always go over there after the broadcast. She’ll sing later on.”

Lennox looked towards Nancy. He did not care to see the girl but he did want to talk to May, and there was a good chance that the accompanist would have gone to the club. At least the girl could tell him where he could find the former grip.

Nancy shrugged and said, in a resigned voice, “We might as well celebrate at the Corn Club as anywhere else.”

“Fine,” Houser was already moving towards his office. “I’ll ring up for a table, then drive you over.” He was gone almost five minutes, then came back, and led them through the waiting-room and out to the parking lot. As he started the car he said: “This girl really has something, Bill.”

Lennox grunted. His mind was on May, on the numbers racket. He said: “If you’re in love with her, you’re just spoiling your chances, helping her crash pictures.”

Houser’s face showed red in the light from the dash lamp. “Who said I was in love with her?”

Nancy Hobbs smoothed things by saying: “She certainly is attractive.”

Houser’s voice was grateful. “See, Bill, and that comes from a fan writer.” He swung the car through traffic and into the jammed parking place beside the club. “Zimm certainly gets a play. It’s the wheel that draws them. Since Caliente closed, the picture people are gambling in town. That last night at Caliente was sure wild. Everyone was trying to get even.” He laughed, climbed from the car, and they went towards the stucco building.

The headwaiter nodded to Houser and said to Bill: “We haven’t seen you in some time, Mr. Lennox.” He led them to a ring-side table. As Nancy sat down Houser looked at his watch. “It’s forty minutes before Maria goes on. Do you want to dance, or would you rather try the wheel?”

Bill shrugged, but Nancy said: “We’ll dance,” and led Lennox towards the crowded floor.

He skilfully avoided a swaying couple, and said against her hair: “Why anyone sees any fun in a dog-fight like this, I never...” He stiffened, staring across her head.

Her voice was sharp, concerned. “What’s it now?”

“Nothing, I just spotted May. I want to talk to him.” Without another word he led her back to the table, then skirted the floor and paused before the former grip. There was a tall glass close to May’s hand, almost empty.

May looked up, his pale eyes flickering as he saw Lennox. “What do you want?” The voice was sullen.

Bill dropped into the other chair. “To talk to you. Collins put you off the lot for selling numbers... How would you like to come back?”

May twisted the glass slowly. “I don’t know whether I want to or not.”

Lennox hid his surprise. “Not anxous, huh?”

“I wasn’t getting rich,” May growled. “What the hell did it hurt Spurck if I made a few dollars on the side? It didn’t come out of his pocket.”

Lennox’ voice got sharp. “You’re heading for trouble, kid. You’ve got the wrong slant. You’d better change it, quick.”

“Nuts to you.” May’s sullen dark eyes looked at Lennox steadily and defiantly.

Bill leaned forward and his fingers closed on the bony wrist. “Get this, fella. I can get nasty. I can turn you over to the cops. I’d rather give you a chance.”

“A chance to rat. Is that it?” May shook Lennox’ hand away. “Go ahead, big boy. Turn me over to the cops and see what it buys you. You can’t stop them selling numbers. I’d be sprung in ten minutes. This numbers thing is bigger than you are, Lennox, bigger than Spurck, bigger than your whole — damn’ studio. Laugh that off, smart guy, but leave me alone.”

For a minute Bill was angry. Someone had been feeding May a line about the importance of the big shot behind the numbers racket. That was evident. Bill started to say something, changed his mind and rose. May was laughing at him as he walked away.

Nancy looked at his face as he came back to their table. “Any luck?”

Lennox shook his head. “The kid’s gone screwy. Someone’s showed him some easy money and he’s got ideas. I’m wasting time, fooling with him...” He broke off as Houser came up to the table with Maria.

Nancy whispered, “Give the kid a break. Bill. She’s nice.”

Bill rose and Houser said: “Miss Mussaco, I want you to meet Miss Hobbs and Bill Lennox.”

The girl took Bill’s hand. “This seems almost like a dream, Mr. Lennox. I’ve read your name in the gossip columns a hundred times, but I never expected to meet you.”

He stared at her, thinking that she was kidding, but there was no sign of it in the large dark eyes. There was something eager about her. She was excited, excited as a child is excited. He guessed that she was eighteen, nineteen, perhaps, yet she lacked the sophistication of the average high school girl. He smiled: “Don’t get your hopes too high. A lot of girls have tests and then don’t make the grade.”

“Then you will give me a test?”

Lennox nodded as Houser asked Nancy Hobbs for a dance. He said: “Shall we dance, Maria?”

She looked about doubtfully. “If you think it would be all right. You see, I’m to work here for two weeks.”

Lennox’ smile widened. “I don’t think they’d fire you for dancing with me. Shall we try?” He led her towards the crowded floor. She danced well, but he had expected that. Her body was built for dancing. He said, still amused. “This is your first time at a night-club, isn’t it?”

She looked up at him, her dark eyes very wide. “How’d you guess?”

“I’ve got second sight,” he said. “Which do you want to be, Maria, a singer in pictures or on the radio?”

The arched brows knotted. “I think pictures.” She said it doubtfully. “Mr. Lennox, I want to ask you a favor.”

“A favor?” He stared. “What is it, Maria?”

She said, hurriedly: “It’s not for myself. It’s for a friend. He used to work at General. He was fired this afternoon... He...”

Lennox’ voice hardened. “You’re going to ask me to get Tom May his job back?”

Surprise held her for a moment. “Why, how did you know?”

He said, grimly: “I’ve an idea that your friend doesn’t want his job back. I just had a little talk with him, and he didn’t seem enthusiastic.”

Her hand on his arm tightened. “He’ll take the job, and he won’t sell any more of those numbers. I promise.”

Lennox stared at her. “Are you sure you know what you’re promising, Maria?”

She said: “He’s got to have that job, Mr. Lennox. He’s in bad company. I don’t want him in the rackets. He’s just a wild kid that’s sore because he hasn’t got a lot of money, but if he really gets mixed up with this bunch he’ll never get out. I know what will happen if he keeps on. I’ve seen it, seen death...” Her lips closed sharply and her face was dead white beneath the makeup, making her lips look almost black by comparison.

She faltered suddenly and Bill steadied her. “What’s wrong, kid?”

She was staring towards the door. “Who are those men?”

Lennox turned his head. He said: “The one on the right is Phil Zimm, who owns this spot. The man with him is Al Switzer, his bodyguard. Why?”

She had recovered herself somewhat. “Nothing.”

Lennox started to say, “Don’t lie” — and someone grabbed his shoulder and pulled him around. He found himself staring into the pale eyes of Tom May. The man was drunker than he had been at the table. He started forward, but the girl shoved in between them. “Tom, Tom.”

May pushed her to one side, not gently. “You keep the hell out of this. I’m going to tell this stuffed shirt where he gets off. Asking you questions about me, huh? What’d he tell you, and what the devil have you been telling him?”

She pushed forward again. “I was asking for your job back, you drunken fool. Do you understand? Your job that you lost...” May’s hand came up and he slapped her across the cheek.

Lennox brushed her to one side and faced May. He saw the man’s hand streak towards the back of his neck, saw it start forward, the thin knife gleaming. Then his fist crashed against May’s jaw and the ex-grip went down, the knife clattering to the floor with sudden sound in the now quiet room.

The music had ceased. Somewhere in the crowd a woman squealed. Then Zimm and Switzer pushed forward. Switzer dragged May to his feet, cuffed him again and again, and then, grabbing the collar of his coat, almost carried him from the floor.

Zimm turned to Bill. “I’m sorry, Mr. Lennox. The punk was drunk, see? He won’t cause any more trouble, I promise you.”

Bill nodded. “All right. Forget it.” He took the girl back to the table. Her face was still white, and she was shaking.

Houser said, sharply: “What happened.”

Lennox shrugged. “Nothing. A drunk.”

The radio man nodded. “This is a tough spot.” He turned to Maria. “I’m sorry I steered you up against it.”

She said, very low: “It isn’t your fault. You’ve been swell, but I have to go now. My number is coming up.”

Houser said: “Want me to go back with you?”

She shook her head. “I’d rather you didn’t.” She was gone, leaving the radio man staring curiously after her.

Houser said: “She’s a game kid. I wish I hadn’t brought her into this.”

Lennox looked at him. “What are you worrying for? You didn’t have anything to do with it. Don’t all your winners play this spot for two weeks?”

The radio man said: “Yes, but you don’t understand.” He brooded over his cigarette, and Lennox waited, half expecting him to continue, but Houser remained silent.

The floor show began. Lennox hardly bothered to watch the dancers, paid no attention until Maria appeared. She sang “Smoke Gets In Your Eyes,” again. She was noticeably nervous, much more so than she had been at the radio station, but the applause was good. She bobbed her head and disappeared.

Houser rose. “I’ll just go back and get her. Meet you out front.” He was gone and Nancy yawned. “Now can we celebrate?”

Bill grinned. “You’re like a spoiled kid with a stick of candy.” He helped her rise and they moved towards the foyer.

Nancy said: “Wait while I spoil some powder with my nose,” and disappeared towards the woman’s room. Lennox lit a cigarette and lounged against the wall, close to the entrance of the bar. The wall was thin and a voice he recognized reached him distinctly.

“You damn’ fool. What did you mean starting something on the dancefloor?”

May said: “I tell you, Mr. Zimm, that girl knows something, you know, about that business at...”

Zimm’s voice got harsh. “Shut up, fool. How the hell could she know? We checked and...”

May’s answer wasn’t clear and Switzer, the bodyguard, cut in. “What the devil is Lennox hanging around for, anyway? I had a tip tonight that he was after this numbers thing, that Spurck is after it...”

Zimm’s voice was still harsh. “Okey, if that’s the way it is, we can’t take chances. I’ll take care of this dame, but I’ll do the talking. You birds gum things up.”

Lennox’ mouth was thin as he moved forward to meet Nancy Hobbs. Suddenly he stopped. The passage from the dressing-rooms ran along the side of the bar and opened into the foyer. He saw Houser appear, hold the door for Maria, saw them come towards him. Then he saw Zimm step out of the bar and block their passage.

For seconds Bill hesitated, then moved towards them, heard Zimm say: “Never mind, Houser. I’ll see that she gets home.”

“But listen...” Houser was hesitating as if not willing to leave the girl with Zimm, yet for some reason trying to avoid a direct issue. “Bill Lennox of General is here, wants to talk to her.”

Bill knew that the radio man had said the worst thing possible. He knew that Zimm did not want him to talk to the girl, was afraid of something which she might tell. The night-club man’s voice was harsh, had lost all pretense of friendliness. “I said I’d take her.” There was a command in the tone which no one who heard it could miss.

Houser’s face reddened and his fists at his side clenched. Bill expected to hear him tell Zimm to go to hell, but after a moment his shoulders moved in a hopeless gesture. “Well...” He stopped as he saw Bill, and hope leaped into his harried eyes.

Lennox said, coolly: “You’ve got the wrong night, Phil. Miss Mussaco has a date with me. Come on, Maria.”

His eyes never left Zimm’s face from the time that the man swung about. For an instant it seemed that Zimm’s hand would streak for the shoulder-clip. Then with an effort he controlled himself; but his black eyes, usually devoid of expression, blazed with an indescribable fury as if passion was gripping, riding him, blinding him to reason. His voice, when he spoke, was hardly recognizable.

“Make it some other night, Lennox. This is very important.”

Bill shot a look at the girl, jerking his eyes away from Zimm’s face for an instant only. She was chalk-white, her skin almost translucent, wax-like. Fear gripped her so that speech was out of the question. His eyes switched back to Zimm. He knew how dangerous the man was, how bad to cross, but he would hardly start anything here with three hundred people only a few feet away.

Bill said, and his tone was almost mocking, “She goes with us...”

He left the end of the sentence hang in the air between them like some suspended thing, a challenge which Zimm must face or back down. The nightclub man chose to back down, but Lennox knew that his danger was increased by the man’s power to control his anger, to grip himself. For seconds Zimm stood like a hawk poised to strike. Then the tension went out of him... he even managed to call up a smile, a grimace which twisted his thick lips into something that was more chilling than a scowl.

“Sorry,” Zimm said. He swung on his heel and was gone, striding down the passage.

Houser’s held breath made whistling sound as it escaped his tightly held lips, and Lennox looked at him sharply. The radio man was wiping his beaded forehead with a handkerchief. His laugh sounded shaky, unreal, and his voice had gained a high, thin note when he said: “That’s that.”

Bill wanted to ask him what he meant, how much he knew, but there wasn’t time. Zimm might change his mind, might come back. He said, sharply, “Get Miss Hobbs and take her home. Tell her I’ll be there later, and don’t let her argue. Come on, Maria.”

He had the girl’s arm even as he pushed Houser towards the foyer. Nancy tried to speak to him as he passed, but he shook his head and motioned towards Houser. She stared. Then, with a shrug, followed the radio man across the lot towards his parked car.

Bill motioned a cab forward, pulled the door open, and helped the girl in. “What’s your address?”

She gave it to him and he relayed it to the driver, then got in and slammed the door. “Step on it.”

The cab shot away, its rear wheels spraying loose gravel across the entry. Lennox twisted and looked back. He was unarmed. His gun was in his desk at the apartment. His mouth set grimly as he watched the street for signs of pursuit. He had sent Nancy with Houser because he had feared trouble, half expected Zimm to follow. He said to the girl. “What’s it all about, Maria?”

“I don’t know.” Her voice barely reached him.

Impatience, almost anger, made his voice edged. “Why lie? You were scared to death back there, and yet earlier you didn’t know who Zimm was, didn’t know until I told you. Listen, Maria, I’m up against this numbers thing, and from something I overheard I’ve a hunch that Zimm has his fat finger in it. Come on. Talk! What do you know that Zimm thought you might tell me?”

She shook her head and her voice sounded strained as she said: “I don’t know anything, honest. Nothing I can tell. I thank you, but you shouldn’t have taken me away. I should have stayed. It was silly for me to be afraid, I’d have been all right.”

He said: “One of us must be screwy,” as the cab pulled up before a two-story brick building. “Is this the place?”

She nodded. “It’s my father’s restaurant. We live upstairs.” She got out of the cab, opening the door herself. “Don’t bother to get out. I’ll be all right. Please, please, get away from here.”

He stared at her in the gloom, glanced right and left up and down the dark street. It was empty, deserted. The cabman already had the car in gear. The girl turned and started towards the door. Lennox said: “Wait. Where can I find May?”

She said: “I’ll call you. Really, I will.” Her voice sounded desperate. “Please go.”

Bill shrugged, slammed the door. He leaned forward, told the driver, “Wait around the corner,” opened the door on the far side, and was standing in the street as the cab pulled away.

The girl had reached the door, was pushing it open. She gave a little startled cry, half fear, half surprise. Lennox sensed rather than saw the man in the dark doorway, heard Switzer’s voice: “Take it easy, kid. Zimm wants to talk to you.”

She was crying, and trying to wrench free. “Please let me go, I haven’t talked. Honest, I haven’t.”

The bodyguard growled: “Shut up. Do you want to raise the neighborhood?” and slapped her, his hand making a smacking sound against her full cheek.

Lennox ran forward. Neither saw him until he struck. As his right fist crashed against Switzer’s jaw he caught the girl with his left hand and pulled her back, out of the way, but the body-guard was through. He collapsed with a startled grunt, his legs folding under him. Lennox dived in, wrenched the gun from the man’s shoulder-clip, and straightened as a car swung into the end of the block. Zimm had moved fast to get Switzer to the girl’s place before they arrived. Bill hadn’t expected that. His slitted eyes watched the car as it slowed. Then he shoved the girl behind him. “Get up the stairs, out of the way,” he whispered. He had no time to see that she obeyed, no time for anything.

A voice from the car called. “Al! Al! Did you get her?”

Lennox snapped a shot high, heard a muffled curse. Then a gun flashed in return, the bullet chipping the brick above his head, showering his face with stinging particles.

He pressed tightly against the wall, using the jamb for cover. He’d hoped that they would run at the shot, but they weren’t running, and his skin felt tight about his jaws as his lips pressed into a grim line. This might be nasty. Switzer stirred and Lennox poked him with the toe of his shoe. “Easy, punk.”

The man lay still. A voice called: “You haven’t got a chance, Lennox. Come out.”

Bill grinned sourly. A hand torch flashed towards him and he snapped another shot. The torch went out. Then a shotgun belched from the car, twin barrels with deafening roar, the slugs chipping at the brick, searching the dark corners.

Switzer cursed. One of the slugs tugged at the shoulder of Lennox’ coat, but did not break the skin.

He reserved his fire. He had no idea whether the gun he had contained a full clip. There was silence for a moment. Then something moved at the rear of the car. They were getting set to rush the door. He brought the gun up, waited until he caught a movement of shadow and fired, just as a second car swung into the block, its horn blowing, shrilly, steadily.

The engine of the car at the curb raced. Men swung aboard and it started with a jerk, the rubber making screeching noise as it gripped the surface of the street. The car went around the corner fast just as the second car spun to the curb, stopping dead with four brakes set. Lennox expected cops to boil out, but the door came open and Nancy Hobbs was on the pavement.

“Bill! Bill! Are you all right?”

He said: “Sure, honey. Maria, Maria, come down, quick.” He could hear her feet. Then Switzer stirred, and Lennox warned him hoarsely. The next moment he was pushing the little singer into the coupe, telling Houser to pull up to the corner and stop.

Maria protested, “But I live here.”

Lennox’ voice was tense. “Listen, kid. That crowd isn’t fooling. The further away from them you stay, the better.” The coupe leaped forward, Lennox riding the running-board. It jerked to a stop beside the cab. Bill flung the driver a bill, had a glimpse of the man’s white face. Then they were gone, Lennox squeezing inside.

Houser said, excitedly: “Where to?”

“Anywhere,” Bill told him. “How did you muggs happen to show up?”

Nancy laughed softly. “We didn’t happen to. Ben knew where Maria lived. I know you and thought there might be trouble.”

Bill didn’t answer at once. When he did, he said: “We’ve got to find a safe place to park this kid tonight, somewhere where Zimm can’t find her.”

Nancy nodded. “What about that cabin of mine in Topanga?”

Lennox said: “Swell. We’ll run you two kids up there, then come after you tomorrow.”

“Why not let me get my coupe and drive up?” Nancy suggested. “What’s the need of your going?”

“None, I guess.” He gave Houser her address and was silent as the coupe went across town. Finally he said: “Listen, Maria. Won’t you tell me what this is all about?”

The girl started to speak, stopped, and was suddenly crying against Nancy’s shoulder. Nancy glared at Bill in the light from the passing street lamps. “You big lug,” she said, “let her alone.”

When the car pulled up to the apartment Lennox said: “Drive into the alley and stop this side of the garage entrance.” He waited until the car stopped, then opened the door and, climbing out, helped the girls. “I’ll get the coupé if you’ll gimme your keys.”

Nancy handed them over. “I’ll go with you.” They went down the concrete ramp together. At the bottom Lennox said: “Sorry to spoil your evening, kid, but thanks.”

She said: “If you think I’m going to the mountains for you, you’re screwy. She’s sweet, Bill, and scared plenty, but she’s game. You lay off. What difference does this numbers business make? I’m going upstairs and get some clothes. If you question her while I’m gone, I’ll brain you.” She turned and went towards the elevator.

Lennox drove the coupe up the ramp and found Houser standing beside his car. “Where’s Maria?”

“She’ll be back in a minute.” Houser fumbled with a match as if he were trying to say something and couldn’t get it out. Maria came through the door of the garage office and walked towards them. “I can’t thank either of you enough for helping me tonight. I hope—” Her voice broke. “I hope that you don’t get into trouble.” Her eyes were puffy, swollen.

Houser’s voice sounded sharp in Lennox’ ears. “Don’t thank me, kid. Please, will you let me send you out of town? I’ve an announcer friend in...”

She said: “No, no, I can’t. I’ve got to stay here. Something terrible might happen if I went... I...” She broke off as Nancy came out, carrying an overnight case. She handed the bag to Bill and slid in under the wheel. He put the case at the back of the seat, helped Maria in and said to Nancy, “Call me from the store in the morning.” Then he stepped back and watched the car pull out of the driveway.

Houser took a deep breath. “I’ll run you home, Bill. Get in.”

Lennox said, “Thanks,” and climbed in. As he put the car into gear, Houser swore. “If anything happens to that girl I’ll never forgive myself. I could have stopped this.”

Bill stared at him. “What do you mean?”

Houser took time to answer. “I knew that there was something screwy. Zimm arranged it all, her appearing on my program, her winning. I thought at first he was in love with her. I don’t know now. I don’t know what to think.”

Lennox was still staring. “How do you mean, Zimm arranged it? What the hell does he have to do with your radio program?”

Houser’s smile was twisted. “He has plenty, he owns the sponsor company. That bird owns a lot around this town that people don’t know about. He’s plenty powerful. Switzer called me last week. He said some dame named Mussaco was sending in an application, that I was to put her on. I tried to argue and he got tough. He said that if I wouldn’t play they’d get an announcer that would.

“It was my first big chance and I didn’t want to muff it. I told her to come to rehearsals and I found she had real talent, I also found that she didn’t know Zimm, I mean the name. I got interested then. I had a hunch that he wanted a chance to get to know her, or something. That’s one of the reasons I wanted you to hear the broadcast. I figured that if she got a break in pictures she wouldn’t work in his lousy club.”

“But what is Zimm’s idea?”

Houser shrugged. “You got me, pal, but I’ll kill the greasy swine if he makes a pass at her. That kid is right, Bill. Take my word. She’s on the level.” The car drew up in front of Bill’s apartment and he climbed out. Houser said: “Gimme a ring after you hear from Miss Hobbs in the morning, will you?”

Lennox nodded. “Sure.” He turned and went thoughtfully towards the door.

Lennox was up when the phone rang. He picked up the instrument and heard Nancy Hobbs say with relief. “So you’re all right?”

Lennox said: “Sure. Why wouldn’t I be all right?”

“I never know,” the girl told him, “and Zimm is tough. What had I better do with the little girl?”

He said: “Keep her out there and talk to her. Maybe she’ll tell you things when she won’t me. That kid’s in a spot of some kind. How is she?”

“Nervous. I’ll try, Bill, but I feel so darn sorry for her that I’m afraid I won’t get far. I’ll call you back.”

She hung up and Lennox tried to read the paper. He was half through the sport page when the phone rang again.

Nancy said, excitedly: “She’s gone.”

“Gone? What do you mean, gone?” His voice rasped.

The girl said: “I mean gone. Old man Stewart, who has the cabin below mine, says that a car went up the road while I was at the store and stopped at my place.”

“But who... how could Zimm know where she was?”

The girl said: “I don’t know. It’s my fault. I should have brought her down to the store with me, but I thought she’d be safer up there. I’m coming in. We’ve got to do something.” The phone clicked before he could answer. He had hardly hung up when it rang for the third time.

It was Houser. The radio man asked, “Heard from Miss Hobbs?”

Bill told him and there was silence for a moment at the other end of the line. Then Houser almost shouted, “Zimm’s got her.”

“Maybe.” Lennox agreed, “but how the devil could he know where she was?”

“It’s my fault.” Houser’s voice sounded broken. “I shouldn’t have let her telephone her mother.”

“What? When? Where’d she call from?”

The radio man said: “Remember last night when you were down in Miss Hobb’s garage? Maria went into the office and called her mother. I didn’t have the heart to stop her.”

Lennox swore, and Houser asked: “What do we do now? Call the police?”

“We can’t yet,” Bill told him. “We’re not even sure that anyone took her. Certainly we can’t prove that Zimm did. I’ll have to see. You sit on your hands for a while and don’t do anything screwy.” He hung up, sat thinking for several minutes, then started towards the door. He had almost reached it when the phone rang again.

He swore, recrossed the room, and answered it. Spurck’s voice was labored. “Bill! Bill! A man just called me and said we should lay off the numbers or something I shouldn’t like would happen by my family,”

“What?”

“Positively, I’m telling you. He said I was to call you and that you should keep your nose clean. Honest. Those were his words, or anyhow they would do something to Rose. Bill, you would think he was the President or anyhow the Governor of California the way he gave orders. Gott soll huten that them tough loafers should do things to Rose.”

Lennox said: “So we let numbers alone?”

Spurck’s voice sputtered. “You should say such a thing! Is it that you think I am yellow? Honest, Bill, you hurt me.”

Lennox said: “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it that way, Sol. These boys are tough. I think I know who’s behind the number racket, and he won’t stop at anything. I’m warning you. We can’t let anything happen to Rose.”

“You’re telling me. But right away I send her to New York by plane, y’understand. If them bad boys think they can run things they should think some more. I already called the authorities.”

“You called the cops?” There was alarm in Lennox’ voice.

“Did I say cops? Phooey! I called those G-men. Positively, I’m telling you, them G-men really do things like in that picture we just made. What a picture! And if it don’t break box-office records without one star in it even I’ll...”

Lennox cut in. “Who was it you called?”

“I called Harker and told him that you would come right over by his apartment. He lives at number — Normandie. You go there and tell him what you know. We’ll show these hard boys they can’t run things like their name was Hitler.”

“All right, I’ll go down there, but for — sake, get Rose out of town. Get her on the noon plane, and tell her to take care of herself.” He hung up and went for his hat. He was boiling inside, but his face showed nothing. That Zimm should threaten Rose Spurck struck Lennox directly where he lived. Out of his hundreds of friends in Hollywood, Rose meant more to him than almost anyone else. In her whole life she had never done a small or mean thing. She was big, good, and very kind.

He slammed on his hat and went to the door, jerked it open and stared. Mike Payman was in the hall outside, his hand raised to knock. The reporter grinned. “This is service.”

Lennox’ eyes narrowed. “What the hell do you want?”

Payman moved his shoulders. “Is that the way to greet a pal on Sunday morning?”

“I’m in a hurry, Mike,” Bill told him, and tried to step past.

The reporter said: “I’ll keep you only a couple of minutes. You know that numbers racket you were talking about last night? Well, I got to thinking. It might be smart if my sheet hopped on the thing, make a good page-one story, and help you.”

Lennox hesitated. “Is this your own idea?”

Payman said: “Well, I thought it up, yes, but I also talked it over with Rube Bailey, the assistant city editor. He went for it. He said that if you’d give me the dope you’ve got, we’d print just what you want printed and hold the rest until you give us the word.”

Lennox shrugged. “The trouble is, Mike; I don’t know a thing.”

Payman’s eyes were on Lennox’ face. “Yeah? Come on, Bill. Play ball. The Tribune can help and you know it. Tell me what you know.”

For a moment Lennox hesitated, suddenly coming to a decision. “All right, Mike. I’ll play ball, but you can’t print it. Spurck got a phone call this morning, warning him to lay off or his family would get hurt. He just called me. As far as I’m concerned, there isn’t any numbers racket.”

Payman’s eyes glinted. “Don’t kid me, I know you, Bill. You don’t scare.”

Lennox’ voice was deliberate. “I’m working for Spurck. Wouldn’t you lay off if you were in his shoes? After all, it isn’t his job to police this burg.”

Payman hesitated; his eyes on Lennox’ face were speculative. Bill’s eyes told nothing. Finally the reporter laughed. “I guess at that Spurck’s right. It’s no skin off his nose.”

Lennox said: “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. Now I’ve got to run. I’ve a very swell date.” They rode down in the elevator together.

Payman said: “I’ve got a cab. Can I drop you somewhere?”

Bill thanked him. “I’m walking. Be seeing you.” He watched the reporter’s taxi pull away, then turned and walked up the street.

Allen Harker was young, twenty-eight or nine, with black hair and a thin, firm mouth. He looked like a professional man, a doctor or lawyer. He was a lawyer, one of the first of Hoover’s schoolboys, as gangland had derisively called them when the department was first formed.

He worked quietly, without publicity. In the year that he had headed the local bureau his name had been in the papers but once. He ducked publicity, but he got things done. Lennox had met him twice, liked his quiet efficiency. He said: “Spurck called you and told you I was coming.”

Harker nodded. “I’ve been expecting you.” He closed the door and led the way to the living-room. “Now tell me about it.”

Lennox told him everything that he knew. “The girl’s missing,” he ended. “I have reason to believe that Zimm has her, but I can’t prove it. I can’t prove much that I’ve told you.”

Harker nodded. “Frankly, I wish that Spurck had kept out of this. I admire his stand, but we’re working on the same thing from a different angle, and I’m not sure but that this will complicate our plans.”

Lennox watched the Federal man through the smoke which curled up between them. “Are you after Zimm?”

Harker took time to answer. “The number or policy racket is one of the strongest and most vicious in existence. It’s not as strong here as it is in the East, but it’s growing. We’ve been watching Zimm for some time. One of my men, Dan Lawton, was killed about six weeks ago.”

“By Zimm?”

Harker shrugged. “If we could prove that, then we’d be getting somewhere. Thank you for coming over. That’s all I can say now. If you were anyone else I wouldn’t have said as much, but you’ve made a nice record out here, Lennox. I wish I had you in the bureau. Do you think this little singer was kidnaped?”

Lennox shook his head. “Not in the usual sense of the word. I mean that if Zimm did get her it was to keep her from talking, not to hold her for ransom. She knows something, but some of the gang have a hold on her and she won’t talk. You can always reach me through the studio if I’m not at my apartment.” He rose. “I won’t take up your time. I’d like to see Mrs. Spurck before she starts East.”

He shook hands, went through the door, and down in the elevator. As he reached the street he thought he saw a man disappear around the corner of the building. He raced towards it and stared up the empty concrete drive. There was no one there, and he went back to his cab, told the man to take him to Spurck’s Beverly Hills address, and climbed in. He was almost certain that he had not been followed to Harker’s, but he couldn’t be sure. As they went out Wilshire he lit a cigarette and thought things over. Harker had not told him much, but the Federal man was certainly interested in Zimm.

Spurck’s sedan was in the drive when Lennox paid his cab and went up the walk. He saw that the front door was open, saw Rose Spurck in the big two-storied hall, her hat on, her bags piled inside the door. She turned and gave a little cry of gladness as she saw Bill. Her short arms extended as she came forward. “Bill, mein knabe.” Her arms were around him, gripping him tight.

“Is this the way for a respectable lady to act, even in Hollywood?” Bill’s tone was chiding, but there was a lump in his throat.

She said: “I knew you’d come, Bill. Please, for me, make Sol see he should go too.”

Spurck was behind her, patting one plump shoulder with a short-fingered hand. “Nonsense, Mama. Positively, I’m telling you that there ain’t no danger. Is it that you would have me run from a lot of loafers, yet? I’m surprised at you. If it weren’t that your own sister Irma is sick with gall trouble and she can’t get well in the best hospitals even, I wouldn’t want you should go.” He looked at his extremely thin watch. “Come. Planes don’t wait for no one, not even when they are important.”

Rose managed a smile, but her brown eyes were moist as Bill helped her into the car, nodded to the chauffeur, and followed Spurck in. Sol said: “Remember this car, Bill? We bought it for that Arkin picture where Bob was a gangster. Remember? The car it has bullet-proof glass, all of it, even the windshield. Frankie Cane owned it before he was shot in St. Louis.”

Rose shuddered and snuggled closer against Bill’s shoulder. The car moved down the drive and swung into the street. Lennox was talking to Spurck. He did not see the cheap sedan which swung in from one of the side streets until it was almost abreast of them. Then he cried a sudden warning and threw his body forward to protect Rose, tugging at his gun. But there was no shot. Instead, a package was tossed from the other car as it pulled ahead, a square package which landed on the running-board of the Spurck car.

Lennox shouted a warning to the driver, tried to get the door open, but he was too late. There was a blinding flash. The car rocked, seemed to be coming to pieces. Then something struck Lennox, and everything was black.

When consciousness came back he was lying on the grassed parking, an ambulance surgeon bending over him. He tried to sit up, saw the crowd of people held back by the uniformed police. There was a buzzing in his ears, but he muttered, “How’s Mrs. Spurck, and Sol?”

The interne said: “They’re suffering from shock, but they’re all right otherwise. The chauffeur is dead.”

Lennox sat for a moment feeling his head, then climbed unsteadily to his feet. Spurck was standing beside Rose, his face, white, set, his arm strapped to his side. “Bill’s all right, Mama. Look. He’s all right.”

Rose was rocking back and forth. “Poor Eddie, olav hasholom.”... Lennox guessed that she was hysterical. Eddie was the chauffeur. He stepped out of the way while they helped the Spurcks into an ambulance, answered the questions of the uniformed policeman, refused to go to the hospital, recognized an electrician from the studio, and had the man drive him to his own apartment.

The electrician said: “I was ten blocks down and saw the explosion. When I found it was you and Mr. Spurck it was terrible.”

When the car pulled up before his apartment Lennox got out.

The man said: “Anything I can do? Can you get upstairs okey?”

Lennox nodded. “I’m all right. See you tomorrow.” He turned and went into the building. The clerk’s eyebrows rose when he saw Bill’s torn clothes, his bloody head. “Miss Hobbs is in your apartment, Mr. Lennox. What happened?”

Bill said: “Little accident,” and went on to the elevator.

Nancy was standing in the middle of the room when he pushed open the door. At sight of him she caught her breath sharply, and the color drained from her face.

“Bill?”

He said: “I’m okey, kid. Nothing to worry about. They tried to blow up Spurck’s car. Killed the chauffeur. Sol and Rose are all right.”

“Zimm?”

He shrugged, and took a look at himself in the mirror. He wasn’t nice looking. “Must be Zimm. Who else?”

She was helping him out of his torn coat. “You should be in the hospital.”

He grinned. “That’s what the doc thought, but you’re both wrong. I’ve got things to do.”

Her eyes widened, then narrowed. “Bill, you’re going to quit this right now. Think I want you in little pieces?”

He said: “Haven’t forgotten Maria, have you? Listen, Nance. We can’t take this lying down. If we do, we’re licked. We might as well get out of town. This burg is the most beautiful spot for chiseling games that ever was invented. The only reason there aren’t more is because we fight them all the time. We’ve got to fight this, and we’ve got to find that girl. If she hadn’t talked to me last night, she wouldn’t be in a spot now. They weren’t afraid of her until I jumped into the picture, and I would be a swell heel if I ducked out and left her sawed off, wouldn’t I?”

She said, stubbornly, “At least lie down a little while. You’re still shaking from the shock.”

He said: “All right. I’ll lie down if you promise to call me in an hour.”

She hesitated, then nodded. “All right, I promise.”

The sharp sound of the ringing phone roused him. He was off the couch before the girl could answer it, saying into the instrument. “This is Lennox. What do you want?”

A man’s voice said, “What you and Spurck got was just a sample. Keep out of things or you’ll get really hurt. We know you went to that damn’ Fed. Don’t make that mistake a second time.” There was a click, and Lennox hung up slowly.

The girl said, sharply: “What is it? Who was it, Bill?”

His thin lips curved. “That was our friend, the one that sent that Xmas package, just tipping me off that it was only the beginning unless I keep clear.” He picked up the phone, called the hospital, and got Spurck’s secretary. “How’s Sol?”

The secretary said: “They’re just leaving now. He’s chartered a plane and sending Mrs. Spurck East. I tried to get him to go also, but he won’t. He’s going to stay here and fight. There are two men from the D.A.’s office with him, so I guess he’s safe for the time, but I wish he’d go.”

“So do I,” Lennox agreed, and hung up.

Nancy said: “You’d better lie down.”

He shook his head. “I’m going over to that restaurant and see what Maria told her mother when she telephoned last night.”

Nancy rose. “All right, then, I’m going with you.”

Lennox shook his head. “You’re not, and we’re not going to argue about it. You’ll stay here. I’ll take your car to make sure you do. Where are the keys?”

Their eyes locked. She opened her mouth to argue, closed it and tossed him the leather book of keys. He said: “Thanks, Nance. You’re swell,” and went out the door.

The restaurant was long, narrow, with three rows of tables running back towards the kitchen at the rear. Lennox went in, looked around and said to the waiter who came forward, “Where’s Mussaco?”

The waiter hesitated. “He’s not here at present.”

“Where is he?” There was a curt note in Bill’s voice which brought sharp color to the man’s cheeks. His dark eyes were stubborn, but they dropped before Lennox’ stare.

“He’s upstairs.”

Without a word Bill turned, left the restaurant, and went through the door he had defended the night before. The bricks showed fresh scars where the shotgun slugs had marred them. He went up the steps two at a time and pounded on the door at the top. A small man with curly hair and dark eyes opened the door, stared at him, then asked:

“What is it?”

“I want to see Mrs. Mussaco.”

The man did not move. “My wife? She is very sick.”

Lennox’ voice was crisp. “It’s about her daughter, Maria. She’d better see me.”

Fear leaped into the man’s eyes. “Maria! Maria! Where is she? What have you done with her?”

“That’s what I want to talk to your wife about, Mussaco. Come on. We’re wasting time.”

For an instant longer the Italian hesitated, then turned and led the way along a dark hall to a cluttered bedroom.

Mrs. Mussaco was in a chair beside the window, large, shapeless. Her reddened lids bore mute witness that she had been crying. “My baby! Where is she?”

Lennox said: “That’s what I’m trying to find out.” His voice had gained kindness. “She called you last night, told you she was going up to Topanga canyon. Who’d you tell? Who knew where she was?”

The woman said: “I tell no one, no one.” She started to cry. “Such a good girl, Maria. Please, you no hurt her, Mister.”

Lennox said: “I’m trying to help. You must have told someone. Did you tell May, Tom May?”

The woman nodded. “Sure, I tell Tom. He was here, Tom. He like one of my own. I said, Maria, she go with nice lady to Topanga.”

Lennox swore under his breath. “Where can I reach May?”

The father made warning sound in his throat, but the woman paid no attention. “You wrong, Mister, Tom no hurt Maria. Tom like my own bambino.”

Lennox masked his impatience. “I know, but where is he? Where does he live?”

She told him the address without hesitation. “You see Maria, you tell her come home.”

He nodded and went hurriedly to the door, conscious that Mussaco was following. The restaurant-man said: “Please, Mister, we good people. We no want trouble.”

Lennox said, “Sure,” and went down the stairs, his brows twisting. Fear hung above that apartment like a cloud; fear of something. He wondered what. He came through the door and ran directly into Mike Payman.

The reporter stared at him with surprise. “As I live and exhale carbon dioxide, Bill Lennox.”

Lennox said: “Sure. How’d you happen to be in this part of town?”

Payman grinned. “Food. This little joint puts out the best spaghetti in town. Come and have some.”

Bill lied. “I’ve eaten. Be seeing you.”

He moved towards Nancy’s car, conscious that the reporter’s eyes followed him. He watched his rear-view mirror to see if he was followed, but saw no sign. The coupe went across town fast, dodging Sunday traffic, until he parked it before May’s apartment and went in. He climbed to the third floor, knocked on the door, and waited. It came open after a moment, exposing the ex-grip. The man’s hair was mussed, his collar open, and his face flushed with liquor. He tried to shut the door, but Bill’s foot was in the way.

“What the hell do you want?” His words sounded thick.

Bill pushed the door wide, went in, one hand sunk in his coat pocket, gripping the gun. May backed away, his eyes burning. He tried to bluster. “Who the devil do you think you are, crashing in here?”

Lennox snapped. “Save it. You act like a five-year-old with a cap-pistol. Come on. Where’s Maria?”

“How should I know? She went with you last night.”

Lennox’ left hand snaked out and grabbed the man’s shoulder. He shook him, hoping to sober him. “I’m through fooling, May. You told Zimm that she was at Miss Hobb’s mountain cabin. They took her from there. Where is she?”

May wrenched himself free. “Go to hell.” He picked up the bottle from the table and started to raise it to his lips. Lennox grabbed it, tossed it through the half-open door of the bathroom, and heard it smash against the tiles. “Get smart, you fool! Someone tossed a bomb at Spurck’s car. Someone grabbed the girl. Do you know what kidnaping means in this State? You think your big shot has this town by the tail. You’ll find out different before you’re through, and you’ll be the first to get it in the neck unless you play smart.”

May jeered. “I’m crying for Spurck.”

Lennox’ anger almost choked him. “Forget Spurck. He’s okey. You’d better start whining for yourself. You’re going to answer questions for me or talk to the Federals. Maybe you know how they work. Don’t think your big shot can spring you there. They’ll sweat you and sweat you plenty. Make no mistake about that.”

May stared at him, licking dry lips. His bluster was gone, and the liquor was wearing off. He said, suddenly: “Okey, I’ll show you.” He turned, walked towards the desk against the wall, pulled open the drawer, and snatched up a gun. He pivoted, but Lennox had moved up behind him. As he turned, Bill’s fist crashed against his jaw, sending him down, the gun sliding from his fingers to land with a dull sound on the thin rug. Bill stooped, caught it up, and rubbed his bruised knuckles.

“Get up.”

Slowly, May climbed to his feet, all the fight gone out of him.

“Ready to talk?” Lennox still held the gun.

The man whined, “They’ll kill me if I do.”

“You can get out of town.”

May’s laugh wasn’t pleasant. “What with? I haven’t a thin dime.” He was arguing with himself. “I’d be crazy to leave. I’ve got a good thing here and you can’t touch me. Bring on your damn Feds.” His courage was returning.

Lennox’ eyes narrowed. Time was essential. Every hour that passed added to Spurck’s danger, to everyone’s danger. He knew that if May talked to Zimm, the racketeer might move again. He said: “How much do you want?”

May’s eyes lighted. “Now you’re talking. Ten grand.”

“You’re screwy. I’ll give you five hundred.”

May said: “I’m laughing, and it hurts. I know plenty, Lennox, even something which your damned Feds could use.”

Lennox shook his head. “There isn’t five thousand dollars’ worth of information in the world, let alone ten. I’ll give you a thousand and that’s tops.”

May licked his lips. Lennox weighed the gun in his hand. “Come on. We’ll go down and talk to them.”

May backed away. “Try to take me. Two grand. I know where the girl is.”

Bill hesitated. “Fifteen hundred,” he said, finally, “or not a dime. Take it quick, before I change my mind.”

May was studying his face. “Okey, chiseler. You win.”

With his free hand Bill pulled out his check book. The man said: “Ixnay, Cash on the line or the deal is off.”

“You’re nuts,” Lennox told him. “Where would I get fifteen hundred on Sunday?”

“That’s your grief. Take it or leave it.”

Bill’s voice snapped. “I’ll take it. You wait for me here and lay off the liquor. I want you sober enough to talk when I get back.”

The man said: “What the hell would I drink? You broke the bottle, and I told you I haven’t a dime. Snap it up. I want to get the night plane.”

Lennox was backing towards the door. “I’ll be back in half an hour.” He raced down the stairs and to the coupe. At the first drug-store he called Nancy Hobbs. “Listen, bum. I’ve got to raise fifteen hundred in twenty minutes. Call up everyone you can think of. I’ll be over there in about fifteen minutes. I’m buying May off.”

“You’re what?”

He said: “I know. I don’t like it either. But I haven’t a thing on him except numbers selling. I tried to run a bluff and it didn’t stand up. Get going.”

He replaced the receiver and returned to the car. He was in Hollywood in seven minutes, making the rounds of every restaurant where he could cash a check. In twenty-three minutes he brought the car to a stop before his apartment. Nancy was waiting at the curb. “I’ve got seven hundred. I had them send it around by messenger.”

He took the money from her hand. “Swell work, kid. Be seeing you.”

She was already crawling into the car. “No you don’t. This is one time that I go along.”

He did not stop to argue, but shot the coupe away from the curb. She said: “Think May will play it square with you?”

Lennox’ voice was grim. “He’d better. He made the mistake of telling me he was taking a plane out. If his story doesn’t check, he’ll find coppers waiting when his plane lands.”

He was silent, pushing the coupe fast. At the apartment he did not stop to park but slid out, leaving Nancy to find a parking space. She called, “Be careful,” but he did not hear her. He was already through the door and racing up the stairs. No one answered when he knocked at May’s door. He swore, knocked again, then tried the knob. It turned under his hand and he went in.

May lay in the middle of the rug, lay on his back, his eyes staring. Someone had cracked the side of his head and struck too hard, or had they? Perhaps they had meant the blow to kill. Lennox bent above the man, listening for heart action which wasn’t there. Then he saw a piece of white paper, stuffed into May’s stiffening fingers. He pulled it out, saw it was printed crudely in pencil, read: “Get smart, Lennox. You can be next.”

He swore again, turned and went to the door. May had been dead minutes only. The assailant must have come in almost immediately after Bill had left. There could be only one answer to that. He’d been followed.

Bill went slowly down the stairs and along the sidewalk to where the girl had parked the coupe, half a block away. She said, her eyes widening, “So soon? Did he talk?”

Lennox told her soberly: “Dead men never talk.”

“You mean...”

For answer he passed her the penciled note. “This was in May’s hand. You can figure it for yourself. They’re so damn’ sure of themselves, Nance. This scares me. It beats anything I’ve been up against. There’s more money in it, a hell of a lot more, and money means power. We’ve got to crush it or it will crush us.”

“So where do we go now?”

“Back to the apartment, I guess.”

Without a word she kicked the motor into life and turned the car north. Neither spoke until they reached the apartment hotel. As they walked into the lobby Ben Houser rose from one of the leather seats and came forward. His face was drawn and white. “I tried to call you. Didn’t get an answer, so I came over. Any news?”

Lennox shook his head. “Sorry, but there isn’t.”

Houser said: “This is all my fault. I should have warned her against Zimm. I shouldn’t have let her make that phone call. I’m going to have a talk with Zimm.”

Lennox said, sharply, “You’re not. You keep out of this. It’s gummed up enough the way it is.”

“But...”

“Do as I tell you, and don’t argue. Keep away from Zimm.”

Houser still hesitated. “I read about Spurck’s car being bombed in the paper.”

“What paper?”

For answer Houser pulled a folded Tribune from his pocket. “They got their bulldog out early, an extra.” He handed it over.

Lennox took the paper. “Thanks, and Ben, do me a favor, will you? Go on home and sit on your hands. I’ve got plenty on my mind now.”

Houser hesitated, then turned towards the door. “All right. But if you hear anything, let me know.”

Bill said: “Sure,” and opened the paper.

Nancy said: “You’re a little rough on Ben, aren’t you? He’s pretty well gone on that girl, Bill.”

Lennox looked up at her. “He’d better get over it, then. She was in love with May.”

“I don’t believe it.”

He shrugged. “You women! Wasn’t she worrying about May, about his losing his job? Just because he happened to be a heel is no reason why a woman wouldn’t fall for him. They fall for birds who aren’t worth kicking into the gutter.”

She stared at him. “All right. But you don’t know as much about women as you think, Bill Lennox.”

He snorted and looked back at the paper. Banners screamed. “Producer’s Car Bombed. Spurck Escapes Death. Chauffeur Killed.” Almost the whole of page one was devoted to the bombing. There was a three-column picture of the wrecked Rolls, a paragraph telling that the car had been the property of a former St. Louis gambling czar... Lennox read the whole thing, his brows drawing across his eyes in a puzzled frown. “I don’t get it.”

She asked: “You don’t get what?”

He said: “The Tribune is Mike Pay-man’s sheet. Say what you will about the bum, he’s a good reporter. It says here that the police are at a loss to account for the bombing. There’s not a word about the numbers racket, not a line.”

She said: “Which means, what?”

“I’m trying to dope it out,” he told her. “Payman knew that Spurck had been threatened. I told him not to print it and he promised, but after this the bridle would be off, and yet there isn’t a mention. I’m going to get hold of him and find out why.”

Her eyes were very wide. “You mean...”

He said: “I don’t know what I mean,” and went towards the phone, called the Tribune and asked for Bailey. When the assistant city editor answered, he said: “Did Payman talk to you about this numbers thing? This is Bill Lennox, of General.”

Bailey said: “What numbers thing? I haven’t seen Payman for a week.”

“A week? Doesn’t he still work for the sheet?”

“As far as I know. What’s this numbers thing you’re talking about?”

“Skip it,” Bill told him. “How does Colonel Clark stand for legmen who don’t show up for a week?”

There was marked hesitation in Bailey’s voice. “The Colonel is out, Lennox. He’s lost control.”

“Lost control, and Payman stands in with the new owner. Is that it? By the way, who does own the Tribune?” Lennox’ voice had sharpened.

“It’s not generally known.” Bailey was stalling.

Bill had a sudden hunch. “It wouldn’t be Zimm, would it?”

“Er... I’m not saying a thing.”

Lennox’ mouth twisted. Bailey’s voice told him that his guess had clicked. He said, “One thing more. What’s Mike’s address?”

Bailey gave it without hesitation and Bill hung up and went back to the waiting girl.

She said: “What did you find out?”

He gave her a twisted look. “Plenty. Zimm now owns the Tribune.”

“No...”

“Right, and Mr. Payman is going to talk and like it.” He went out the door with her at his heels. He said: “You stay here. You can’t go.”

She didn’t bother to answer. Instead, she beat him to the car and slid in. “What’s the address?”

He swore at her as he climbed in. “You might get killed.”

She said: “You’re still alive. What’s the address?” He gave it to her and was silent as the coupe turned east.

The building was old, of yellow brick, with long bay windows jutting out on either side of the entrance. Bill left the girl to park the car, went in, found Pay-man’s name on the mail box and climbed the stairs. He stopped before a door on the third floor, knocked, and waited. There was sound within. Someone fumbled with a night chain. Then the door opened and a man’s face showed. It wasn’t a nice face; the eyes were small, piggish, and there was a stubble of reddish beard.

“What do you want?”

Lennox said: “Payman.”

The eyes got smaller. “He ain’t here. Scram, fella.” The door started to shut. Lennox’ foot was in the way. The man kicked at Bill’s sport shoe, his face getting redder. Lennox grinned, gave the door a sudden shove. The big man was off balance, and almost fell as the door crashed back. He took backward steps, trying to get his balance, clawing at his shoulder-clip. Bill was after him like a cat, giving him no chance to get the gun. He drove his fist against the man’s jaw, saw him fall and jumped on to him, digging his knees into the man’s ribs while he got the gun. Then he rose.

“Get up.”

Slowly the big man crawled to his feet. “You’ll get yours when the big shot hears. You don’t know who you’re monkeying with.”

Bill said: “I’m beginning to have a faint idea. Where’s Payman?”

“Never heard of him.”

“So that’s the way it is. Want some more?” He swung the gun suggestively. “Get over against that wall, quick.”

The man moved. Lennox kept one eye on him as he circled the room and peered through the bedroom door. Then he swore his surprise. Maria Mussaco was tied to the chair beside the window.

Bill said to his prisoner: “Come in here where I can watch you. Don’t get any screwy ideas, either. Get your nose into that wall.” He watched while the man obeyed. Then he untied the girl. “What happened?” he asked, when he removed the gag.

She shook her head. “Nothing happened. I came with friends.”

Lennox swore. “And they tied you up, just to be sure that you wouldn’t walk out on them? Stop lying, kid. I’m trying to help.”

The big man laughed. Lennox whirled. “Another sound out of you, and I’ll poke your tongue down your throat.” He said to the girl, “I’ve spent the day hunting you and you hand me a runaround. What’s the idea? Have they bought you off?”

Her eyes were on his face, wide, dark pools which mirrored fear. He couldn’t stay mad. She was scared, shivering with fear. A sudden noise from the hall made him move towards the connecting door. The hall door was opening slowly. He held his gun, waiting. Then he relaxed as Nancy appeared. “You should whistle, kid. I might have shot you.”

There was a small pearl-handled gun in her hand. “You were so long, I got nervous.” Then she saw Maria and her eyes widened, went back to Lennox. “I couldn’t whistle. I wasn’t sure who might be here.”

He said: “You’re swell, honey. Come here and watch this punk while I find some tape.” He found some in the bathroom, forced the man to lie face down on the bed, and fastened his ankles and wrists. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

Maria said: “I’m not going. I can’t. I don’t dare.”

“You’re not go— The hell you’re not.” He swung her up lightly into his arms. “You keep still, kid, or I’ll get tough.”

Nancy said: “Bill!” sharply, but he paid no attention, was already in the hall.

“You don’t get the angle, Maria. People who mean plenty to me are on the spot unless I get Zimm, and I haven’t got a thing on him. You know something. What’s the matter? What are you afraid of? What hold has he on you? Tell me and let me help.”

She was crying as he carried her down the stairs and put her in the coupe, but she did not answer. He hated bullying women, but he knew that at any moment Zimm might strike again at Spurck. He had to stop the man and he was beginning to get an idea. He said to Nancy, who was back at the wheel: “My apartment as quick as you can. Where does Payman come into this, Maria?”

Still she did not answer and he said, suddenly: “If it’s Tom May you’re protecting, stop it. He’s dead.” It was brutal, but he had to snap her out of it, had to make her talk. If she were in love with May...

She said: “Tom... dead... Does my mother know?”

He stared at her. She wasn’t taking it the way he had expected. Maybe he’d been wrong. Maybe she hadn’t been in love with the grip. “I don’t think so. I haven’t told her. Why?”

The girl was speaking to herself. “Tom was no good, but mother didn’t know that. She loved him.” Then she said to Lennox: “Tom’s father used to be a waiter in the restaurant. He died, and mother raised Tom.”

Lennox stared. “How long has he lived with you?”

“About seven years.”

“You were born in this country, weren’t you, Maria?”

Her eyes widened. “Yes.” There was a funny note in her voice. “What made you ask that?”

He was thinking about something else and did not answer. At the apartment he helped her out and hurried her through the lobby to the elevator. Once in his own rooms he called Nancy into the kitchenette. “So you were right. She wasn’t in love with May.”

The girl did not smile. “Looks like it.”

He said: “You don’t rub it in; you’re swell. But how did you know?”

Nancy’s lips twitched. “She’s in love with Ben Houser.”

“With Houser? You’re nuts. What makes you think that?”

Nancy shrugged. “No man would understand, but I’ll tell you one thing. If anyone can get her to talk, Houser can, but it’s a dirty trick.”

He said: “We won’t worry about that part. It isn’t nice to go throwing bombs around, either. You take her over to Ben’s place and see what he can chisel out of her. I hope you’re right. I hate to do it this way, Nance, but I’ve got to think of Spurck.”

Her eyes were suddenly soft. “You don’t have to tell me, Bill. I understand. But why not bring Ben here?”

Lennox said: “Because I don’t want Maria here. It might be dangerous for her after what I’m going to do.”

Her eyes got suspicious. “What are you up to?”

He said: “I’m just going to try a bluff. I haven’t time to explain. Take her over to Ben’s. Tip him off that she has to talk, and if you learn anything, phone me at once. If she won’t talk to him I’ll have to turn her over to Harker, the Federal man. I hate to, but it’s the only other out. Now scram, and don’t argue.” He watched Nancy speak to the girl, watched them disappear through the door, heard Maria say: “You mean that Ben Houser was worried about me?” and grinned sourly. From the sound of the girl’s voice he judged that Nancy had guessed right again. He shut the door, went to the phone and called the Corn Club, asked to speak to Zimm, Phil Zimm.

The man who answered said: “He’s busy.”

Lennox snapped, “He’ll be busier if he doesn’t talk to me. Tell him that and that it’s Bill Lennox.” He waited almost five minutes before Zimm answered.

Bill said grimly: “That was a swell present you tossed at us this morning, but your aim was poor. Don’t try a repeat.”

Zimm said, sharply, “What are you getting at?”

Lennox said: “Only this, Zimm I’ve found the girl, found her at Mike Payman’s apartment. She talked, and that tells you where you stand.”

Zimm swore. “I don’t believe it.”

Lennox laughed. “Send a man over to Payman’s joint. I left a big heel tied up on the bed. He’ll tell you I’m not lying, and don’t bother to look for her. When I hold an ace, I protect it...”

He wondered whether his bluff would stick. All he was playing for was time. If Houser got the girl to talk it would be okey. What puzzled Lennox was why she was still alive. That her knowledge was a threat to Zimm he knew, and it wasn’t like the man to let a threat live.

Zimm was saying, “Well...”

Lennox told him, “Go ahead. Check up on Payman’s place, then call me back.” He hung up without giving the man a chance to answer, lit a cigarette and waited. It was ten minutes before the phone rang. When he answered it was Nancy Hobbs, not Zimm.

She said excitedly, “He’s not here, Bill. He’s gone. Houser’s gone to see Zimm.”

Bill swore. “How do you know?”

“The clerk here at the apartment heard him threatening Zimm over the phone, heard him say ‘I’m coming over for a showdown, you cheap grafter.’ Then he slammed the receiver and dashed out.”

Lennox swore under his breath. “The crazy fool! Did Maria hear?”

“She was standing right beside me,” Nancy told him. “What shall I do with her?”

He thought a moment. “Take her to your place, and don’t open the door for anyone.” He slammed the receiver, and sat waiting for Zimm to call. The phone rang and he caught it up, but it wasn’t Zimm. It was Nancy.

“Maria’s gone.”

“Gone? Where?”

“After Houser, I guess. She took my car while I was calling. Drove away just as I reached the door. You should have seen her face. What will the crazy kid do?”

Lennox spent no time wondering. He did not even answer. He was on his feet, already diving for the door. A car was pulling up before the apartment as he dashed out. He jumped to the running-board and yelled, “Take me to the nearest cab-stand. It’s life and death.”

The driver slashed in the gears and the Packard jumped ahead, made the turn with rubber screaming. At the intersection a red light stopped them. Lennox hit the pavement running. He dived across against traffic, jerked a cab door open, panted, “Corn Club,” and fell in. His apartment was much nearer to the Corn Club than Houser’s place was. There was just a chance that he might head the little singer off.

The cab slid to a stop before the club entrance, its wheels throwing loose gravel over the doorman. Lennox was out of the cab in a moment, said to the doorman: “Has a little girl come in alone in the last few minutes?”

The man looked uncertain. “I don’t know. We’ve got quite a crowd.”

Lennox swung back to the taxi-driver. “Park your hack and stand here. If a girl about so tall,” he held up his hand, “comes along, keep her out of the joint.”

“What if she yells copper?”

“She won’t.” Lennox thrust him a bill. “There’s another ten in it when I come out.” He wheeled and was gone, pushing his way through the crowded foyer towards the office. It was dark, deserted. He swung about and went down the steps and along the tunnel which led to the gambling rooms. A big man with a thick jaw and reddish hair got in his way.

“Where’s your card?”

Lennox reached inside his coat and brought his gun out. He let the guard take a look at it, then shoved it against the man’s ribs and got the gun from his shoulder-clip. The guard said, hoarsely, “What is this? A hold-up?”

“Wrong guess. Where’s Zimm?”

“Go to hell!”

Lennox said, “You’re very dumb. You don’t get paid for getting roughed.” His gun tapped the man’s head smartly. “Move,” he said, and jammed the muzzle against the guard’s back.

The guard was through arguing. He led the way to a door in the side of the tunnel, pushed it open, and went down the cross tunnel to the door at the end. Lennox said: “Careful,” as the man knocked.

A voice called, “Who’s there?” and the guard answered, “Varco.”

“What the hell do you want?” The bolt was shot and the door started to open. Lennox gave the guard a sudden shove and he fell headlong into the room, taking running steps, trying for his balance. There were three men in the room, Zimm, Switzer, and Houser. The radio man sat in a chair beyond the desk, one eye discolored, his lips bloody.

Lennox was inside the door, his gun swinging slowly. Zimm stared. “What the hell do you want?”

Bill made himself grin. “I figured you’d have had time to check up. I wanted to talk, and I don’t like phones. Get their guns, Ben.”

Houser recovered from his surprise and moved from one man to the other.

Lennox said: “You know I’ve got the dead wood on you, Zimm, but for a reason of my own, I’m giving you one chance. You can get out now, get out of town and stay out. If you ever show up in this country you know what will happen.”

Houser said: “Why let them go? Why not turn them over to the cops? They’ve got Maria.”

Lennox said, “They haven’t got Maria. I have.” He was praying that the girl had not yet arrived, that he could get Zimm away before she did.

Zimm said, slowly, “How’d you like to have a million dollars, Lennox?”

Bill laughed. “Not a chance, Zimm. You’re going to leave here with me, and head for the airport, you and Switzer, or you’re going down and talk to the Feds. Think it over.”

Switzer stiffened, said under his breath, “What’s the big shot going to say?”

Lennox hid his surprise. “The big shot?” He’d figured Zimm for the big shot. He said: “You’re wasting time. I’ll take care of him. Do you want the chance, or don’t you?”

A voice apparently from the ceiling said: “You and who else? Drop that gun, Lennox.”

Bill pivoted and a bullet tugged at his shoulder. “Drop it!” He let the gun slide from his fingers and stared upwards. An elevator was descending into the corner of the room, Mike Payman standing in the car, a gun clenched in his small hand. “What’s going on here?” The car reached floor level, stopped, and Payman stepped out.

Zimm said, hoarsely, “He’s got the girl.”

“The hell... I don’t believe it.”

“It’s the truth,” Zimm insisted. “I sent a man over to your place. Harry was taped up. She’s talked.”

“Yeah, talked.” Switzer had been grabbing the guns from Houser. He turned, handed one to Varco, and another to Zimm. He faced Payman now. “It’s your fault. You could control her, keep her from talking. You fell for her and wouldn’t let me rub her out...”

“Shut up.” Payman’s voice was icy.

Switzer sneered. “I won’t. You don’t have to take the rap. It’s me, me and Zimm. If the Feds get me I’ll spill...” He never finished. The gun in Payman’s hand flashed up and down. A red spot appeared on Switzer’s forehead. The bodyguard swayed for an instant and went over on to his face.

Payman swung to face Zimm. “What about it, Phil?”

The night-club man said, hurriedly: “I’m with you, Mike, all the way, but if that girl talks...”

“Lennox is lying,” Payman said. “I know her. She won’t talk. She doesn’t dare. Have you ever known me to be wrong, Phil? That girl hasn’t talked. I heard what Lennox said as I came down. Do you think that if she had, he would let you leave? He’s trying to bluff, trying to get you away for some reason.” His eyes switched to Bill, whom Varco was covering. “Where is she, Lennox?”

Bill said, “Find her.” He was cursing the luck, cursing the chances which had brought Payman. If that girl arrived now...

The reporter said: “I understand you’re a tough guy. Well, I like making tough guys talk.” His eyes were glistening as if the thought of the torture gave him immense pleasure. Lennox knew suddenly that he was seeing the real Payman for the first time. He decided to play for time.

He said: “If I tell you where Maria is, do Houser and I go free?”

“Sure.” Payman said it too quickly. Lennox knew he was lying, that he dared not free them. Payman was grinning. “So the great Lennox can’t take it? He’s yellow. I always thought so, but I never had a chance to find out.”

Houser had started forward, said through clenched teeth: “You yellow—” and Zimm hit him, knocking the radio man to the floor.

Payman paid no attention. His eyes were burning on Lennox’ face. “Where is she?”

“Back in Miss Hobbs’ cabin at Topanga.”

The reporter said to Varco: “Get a couple of men and get out there fast. You know where it is. You were there this morning.”

The man nodded, went to the elevator, pressed a button in the wall, and the car moved upwards until its base formed a section of the ceiling.

There were two buttons in the wall. Lennox said: “Mind if I look?” He crossed without permission. Varco had pressed the right one to make the car rise. Bill judged that the left one brought it down. He said: “It’s cracked the wall, here by the floor.” Bill spoke as if quite at his ease, as if he expected they would free him shortly and was now merely curious over a clever device.

Payman came towards him. “Where?”

Lennox pushed the left button as he bent down. “No, I guess I’m wrong.” He straightened, noted that Payman now stood beneath the descending car. He swung about slowly, moving just out from under the car. He saw Houser climbing slowly to his feet, said sharply, “Don’t try anything, Ben.”

Both Zimm and Payman looked towards the radio man, who was on his hands and knees, glaring at them. He had seen what Bill had done, had caught the cue and now began to talk volubly, desperately, doing nothing to invite another attack but straining to hold their attention.

The car was coming down slowly, too slowly. If Payman would not move, would not notice...

Lennox almost held his breath. Then the bottom of the car touched Payman’s head. The reporter ducked, jumped sidewise with an oath. Lennox caught him as he jumped, with his left hand wrenched at the man’s gun while he drove his right against the reporter’s jaw.

Payman swayed, grabbed Lennox, and carried him to the floor. They rolled over, fighting for the gun. Pay-man’s strength was surprising. His slender arms were like bands of iron. One hand came up, the fingers outspread, searching for Lennox’ eyes. Bill ducked under and drove his fist against the man’s mouth.

The reporter’s lips were bruised, bloody, but he still fought on. He tried to lock his legs around Bill’s body. Lennox broke the grip, rolled free, saw Zimm kick Houser in the side, saw the radio man writhing on the floor. The night-club man swung about. He had a gun, reversed. He circled Payman and Lennox as they closed again, trying for a chance to strike. He struck once. Bill saw the gun coming, got his head out of the way, and the butt crashed down on Payman’s shoulder.

His grip relaxed, and Lennox rolled over, grabbed Zimm’s legs, and dragged the night-club man down. He got his fingers into Zimm’s throat, clung. He saw Payman on his knees, one arm useless, the other reaching for a gun. Lennox let go his grip, struggled upward, swung a haymaker from the floor which crashed against the side of Pay-man’s head.

The reporter went down and Bill dived forward, scooped up the gun and came to his knees, Both Payman and Zimm were trying to rise. He rasped, “Stay down, or get it.” They stared at him, their eyes bloodshot, their breath coming in gasps, as he struggled to his feet.

“Hurt, Ben?” He dared not look towards Houser.

The radio man moaned. “Never mind me. Save yourself. Get to Maria.”

Lennox laughed as the phone rang. “She’s all right. She isn’t in the mountains.” He picked up the receiver, tried to make his voice sound like Zimm’s. “Yeah?”

Lennox grinned suddenly. “Send them down...

“You heard me.” He hung up, stood waiting, steadying himself against the desk.

Payman was glaring at Lennox, Houser’s breathing was labored, and Bill guessed that he was hurt badly. He wished the men would hurry. Then there was noise from the tunnel and Harker swung the door open, his gun raking the room. “Lennox!”

Nancy Hobbs pushed past him. “Bill! Bill! Are you all right?” She was at his side, steadying him. Maria rushed in, knelt at Houser’s side, and cradled his head in her arms.

Lennox said: “I’m swell. How’d all this happen?”

Nancy said: “I came over here, right after I called. I knew you’d come, but a fool cabman stopped me at the door, wouldn’t let me in. Then Maria came with these men. They arrested the taxi-man. He must be crazy.”

Lennox laughed. “He was earning ten bucks. How’d Maria get with the Feds?”

“She brought us,” Harker explained, coming over. “She came rushing into the office like a crazy woman; said she knew who killed Dan Lawton. Lawton was that man of mine who got killed, checking on Zimm. She saw him killed in the basement of her father’s restaurant. Payman knew that she saw the killing, but he was in love with her. He arranged for her to win the radio contest so he could get her to Zimm’s place and she could be watched.

“He wasn’t afraid that she’d talk, because her parents are in this country illegally. They were here before the war. Maria was born here. Then they went back to Italy and returned without a quota number. Payman was in the gang in San Diego that helped them enter. He’s blackmailed them ever since. She kept quiet until she learned that Zimm had Houser. Then nothing else mattered. She was afraid of the police. She knew that Lawton had been a Fed, so she came to me.”

He crossed to where his men were examining Houser and asked, “How is he?”

One of the men straightened. “He might have a smashed rib. Nothing more, I guess.”

Nancy was watching the girl. She said: “It looks like a wedding. Weddings always make me sad.”

Bill grinned at her. “That’s why I’ve never married you, kid. I hate it when you’re sad.”