Black Mask (Vol. 20, No. 8 — October 1937)

Delayed Snatch by James Duncan

The Parson cracks his Luger at double-crossers.

The Montecita club on upper Leeward Road is the one spot in Cariba where you can find half the male population on any given night. Its horseshoe cabaret floor is always crowded, always noisy with conversation in three or four tongues, alive with the clinking of bottles and glasses and the scraping of chairs and feet; the blurred rhythms and dark, primitive gourd rattlings of the cubañola orchestra. It is a place meant for pleasure.

Once each week a ringside table was occupied by the beefy British resident-General and his stringy, horse-toothed British wife. Caste lines are lax in Cariba, “the little Paris of the Caribbean,” and Lee Fong, the plump smiling Chinese proprietor of the Montecita, stood at the glass curtain which is the street entrance and warmly shook the hand of each patron — black, yellow, white and the in-between color variants.

A warm landward breeze was setting the glass curtain into gentle motion that night in May when it was thrust aside and the Parson entered, dainty as a doll in his suit of midnight black.

Lee Fong was not the person to lose his composure but his smile was merely mechanical and polite when he said in his high-pitched, cackling voice, “Much welcome, my goo’ fliend.”

The Parson gave a harsh, dry laugh. “Hi yuh, Confusius.”

He stood running his somber-lidded eyes the length and breadth of the circular room. He first saw Soo Gee, Fong’s bodyguard. Soo Gee was looking upstairs. Lee Fong ran gambling rooms upstairs above the cabaret. The Parson had played once or twice. An adept at games of chance, he had caught Lee’s croupier switching dice. The Chinaman had smilingly fired the croupier but glinting shafts of malignity shone in his eyes whenever he beheld the Parson. Lee Fong had never forgiven.

A man half rose from a booth far in the rear and beckoned. The Parson strolled toward him with that light, sidling gait of his. When he reached the booth, he said, “ ’Lo, Jake,” in an off-hand deep voice and hung his hat on a hook.

Jake Mund was nervous and inwardly excited. He lighted a cigarette, holding the match with trembling fingers. He was a compact, lithe, handsome man with crisp blond hair. His thin, well formed wrists slapped leanly against his starched white cuffs; his strong fingers, ivoried by nicotine, were eloquent in motion.

The Parson had known him back in New York when Mund had driven an armor-plated, bullet-proof-glass Rolls for Carl Dorn. It was a hard mob that Dorn ran but somehow they couldn’t knock the innate honesty and decency out of young Jake Mund. He merely drove the car and the dirt around him did not even touch his trouser cuffs.

The Parson, in those days, had been running the gaming tables for the Vince Guard-Poggi syndicate. The Parson’s nickname had come with him from New York. He had acquired it by his precise and almost gentle manner. It had nothing to do with the incredible speed of his draw.

There had always been something about Mund that had attracted the Parson. Once Mund had tried to break out of the rackets and the Parson had half-heartedly tried to help him with a stake but Carl Dorn had cracked down and forced Mund back into line. That was the last the Parson had seen of him in many years until he had turned up in Cariba with a wife. The Parson was in Cariba because he had crossed his gang and both they and the police were interested in him.

Mund sat across from the Parson, his lips moving without opening, the corners twitching. Presently he said, “You’ll have to lend me ten grand. I’ve got to get out of town with Nina in a hurry. Dorn’s gang have found me here and they’ve put the finger on me.”

“Hm,” said the Parson. “Tell me about it. Does Nina know?”

There was a bottle of brandy on the table and two glasses. The Parson poured drinks. He downed his but Mund merely toyed with his glass, turning it round and round.

“You’re the only person in this town I can turn to,” he said. “I ain’t scared for myself — it’s Nina. She knows nothing yet.” His voice hardened. “Lee Fong’s on to something. He’s had us shadowed for a week.”

The Parson was surprised. “What’s Fong got to do with it?”

“Hell, how should I know? They shouldn’t have a connection with him but somehow they have. The whole thing’s driving me nuts. How about it? Can you let me have the money?”

“The dough’s O.K.,” the Parson said crisply. “But why so much?”

“I got to get far so no one will ever find us again. That’s why! I haven’t a cent to my name!” His fists clenched. “Me, I’m a sweet man. I live off what Nina makes singing here. Isn’t that funny? Me, livin’ off a girl!”

“Nina don’t mind,” the Parson interrupted. “Forget it. Who of Dorn’s crowd traced you?”

Jake Mund’s voice cracked with bitterness. “Dorn himself and Alex Morton and a wren named Eva. She’s plain poison.”

“Don’t know her. Morton’s name is familiar, though.”

“He’s Carl’s pulse man. Eva is Carl’s woman.”

“Oh. Well, look, liquor’s no good in a glass.”

Mund laughed. “I ain’t scared, see, just rattled. Liquor won’t help; I tried it. It just feels hot and hard inside. Gosh, it’s ten o’clock. I come here every night and wait for ten o’clock.”

“Why?”

“To throw curses at myself. Y’see, Nina goes on in five minutes. That’s when I begin cursing. God, I’m a heel! Making her sing in a cabaret owned by a Chink, exposing her to danger. You don’t know the kind of girl Nina is. She’s different, see? She ain’t used to a life in a cabaret. Why, she used to have twenty servants waiting hand and foot...”

“Button your fool mouth!”

There was such savagery in the Parson’s voice that Mund subsided, limp against the back of the bench He rubbed a hand over his forehead, smiled weakly. “For about a second I thought I was going to blow my top.”

“I’ll help all I can,” the Parson said.

But inwardly he was revolving the whole thing in his head. A boy and girl get into trouble and there he is ready to step in and play godfather. And a lot of guys thought he was tough! He had thought so himself. His shoulder twitched with irritability.

Then another thought crowded out the first. Carl Dorn was no kill-crazy mobster but a business man. He wouldn’t be down in Cariba merely for his health. Something mere was involved, something big. What? The Parson mulled over possibilities. Well, anyway it would be something involving a lot of money; that was a safe bet. A lot of money...

The Parson’s eyes narrowed speculatively; he fingered a cigarette. A lot of money... Why not cut in? Jake Mund, wittingly or unwittingly, was offering him the chance. His eyes glittered and a mocking half-smile touched his lips: perhaps he’d jockey himself into a position where he’d be able to outsmart Carl Dorn. The idea appealed to him, a crook outmaneuvering a crook. Yeah, he told himself, why not help Jake Mund, especially when he could help himself at the same time!

“Parson,” said Jake, cutting in on his thoughts, “you’re swell!”

“Huh? I can get along without the soft soap.” He leaned forward. “Listen, once. I ain’t got the dough on me but I can get it, say midnight.”

Jake nodded eagerly. “Then bring it to the cottage.”

“What about your getaway?”

“That’s all arranged.”

“How?”

“A motor launch will be waiting at the fruit pier. The guy who owns it said we’d make Port of Spain by morning. From there we get a liner.”

The Parson sat silent a moment. Then he said, “Look, when you broke from Carl Dorn, you broke clean, didn’t you?”

“Yeah. Yeah, sure I did.” But Jake’s voice lacked conviction.

“I mean there was no reason for a kickback, was there?”

“Of course not. Gosh, Parson, I know you got reason to be suspicious but you’ll have to trust me, see? I can t—”

“Why did Dorn follow you down here?”

Jake’s face was working. He leaned wearily across the table. “Parson, listen to me. I can’t tell you. I... well, I can’t, is all. If that means you won’t help me,” his lips came together in a firm line, “that’s my hard luck. I’ll see it through alone somehow.” Sitting there, white-faced, a desperate shimmer came into his eyes, his fists clenched and his jaw muscles knotted.

The Parson’s chin was sunk to his chest. “O.K., boy. I was only trying to make conversation. Forget it. I’m with you. But,” his voice was low, hushed, “what are you going to tell Nina?”

Jake Mund groaned. “I’ll tell her something; I haven’t thought it out yet.” He broke off speaking suddenly; his gaze whipped across the room. “She’s coming out for her first number.”

She was fragile and pale with luminous black eyes beneath a coronet of braided black hair. She drifted across the floor almost shyly, her hands limply clasped before her.

All at once the noisy cabaret became hushed as a cathedral. Her face was nun-like in its reserve; she looked about her with a combined wonder, exultancy and sadness. Then she began to sing.

Her voice was not strong; it was even meager; but it had a touching almost child-like inflection of purity that chained her listeners. No matter how tawdry her surroundings, she brought with her the armor of simplicity and innocence. Her fresh treble recreated the smoke-filled Montecita into a cottage or a flowery lakeside retreat. Her wide-spaced haunting eyes were open with the magic of her voice as if she could follow with them the waves of music, dissolving and recurring with the whisper of the orchestra.

Suddenly there was a commotion at one of the packed tables. A man stood up as though with his action he were breaking a spell. The Parson had a glimpse of him — a tall, white-haired man of about sixty-five, the rigid bar of his white mustache trembling with the tremble of his lips. Instantly, a shorter, much younger man, with sandy hair, who looked vaguely familiar to the Parson, stood up beside him and said something. The older mustached man shook his head violently and strode forward.

The girl stopped singing. Her face lost color; she took small retreating steps. Jake Mund leaped to his feet, dived toward the rear of the cabaret. The Parson saw his hand snake up toward the master switch.

The place was plunged into darkness. People became frightened. Feet pounded. As the Parson moved out from his table, he was caught in a milling throng. Minutes later, the lights went on. Lee Fong himself had clicked the switch. His arms were upraised and he was bawling like a banshee, “Evlybolly him happy! No mo’ tlubbul! Evlybolly him dance!”

He signaled the orchestra to play. People quieted down. The Parson looked about. Jake Mund and Nina were not to be seen. He remembered that there was a back door to the cabaret. The sandy-haired man was gone, too. Then with curiosity he watched the tall, white-haired man speak to Lee Fong. Lee Fong was smiling, he bowed profusely but he looked troubled. At length, he took the arm of the old man and piloted him to his tiny private office. The door closed.

The Parson squinted at the door, wondering who the tall man with the white military mustache might be. He shrugged and strode out.

Triangular shaft of moonlight broke through the leaves, slashing the Parson’s body from shoulder to hip. It left his chiseled features in semi-darkness but showed up his black suit and black tie in striking relief against the brightness of his scrupulous white shirt. His shadow was firmly stenciled on the powdery white coral dust of the roadway as with black ink.

It was ten minutes past midnight. The town of Cariba was asleep. Here and there through the close-woven roof formed by interwining mango and guava trees, a sudden shaft of moonlight struck down. Under the leafy tunnel nothing, moved. The branches themselves were never quite at rest. The warm breeze traversed them by slow vibrations, breaking into ripples through the leaves.

There was just the one house at the end of the straggly street. Two hundred yards beyond it were the phosphorescent waters of the Caribbean, endlessly slapping against the sunken piles of the tarred-wood docks. The house was a one-story bungalow built on stilts which were concealed by rotting lattice-work.

Thick, rope-like vines reached from the ground to the roof; flowers, fragile and white, crowned their highest point like very delicately wrought diadems.

The Parson knew the house well. On a number of occasions he had accepted the hospitality of Nina and Jake Mund. It had been for him a sort of oasis for his loneliness, a refuge in his exile. The two young kids had made him welcome, had granted him a niche in their lives.

Shades were drawn to the sills of the three front windows, cutting off the light from within, but themselves glowing orange. The Parson had a fleeting impression, not of catastrophe, but of ominous danger. He could not explain the feeling but he did not try to shrug it off. He felt the ten thousand dollars he was going to loan Jake Mund. Then he reached under his coat and transferred his Luger from the shoulder holster to his pocket. From another pocket he took a handkerchief and studiously wiped his fingers dry. It was a meaningless gesture but characteristic of him. He liked a dry finger on the trigger of his gun.

Then he walked down the brick walk toward the front steps. On either side of the walk was a patch of lawn. Directly below the porch grew a stunted banana plant. Its broad, shirred leaves, mottled with reflected traceries of leafage, were bright under the silver-white glare of the tropical full moon, which sometimes is almost as luminous as sun. All else surrounding the plant was in darkness. The effect was that of an intense spotlight.

The Parson stepped up on the tiny front porch and the harsh murmur of a voice reached him. Then another voice cut in. The Parson rapped sharply on the door.

The murmur of voices was louder now, but nobody came to the door. The Parson turned the knob, flung the door wide and went in.

He nearly collided with a red-haired handsome woman in a suit of white flannel who apparently was coming to answer his knock. The Parson had never seen her before. She had a .45 pocket automatic in her hand. Her hand was small and white and the gun looked enormous in it.

She stepped back, pointing the gun at him. Her eyes were wide but not frightened. Her eyes were bright green with strange gold flecks in the pupils. Indecision and a sort of puzzlement was written in the lines of her creased forehead. She was waiting for his move.

The Parson said sharply, “Put that gat away!”

The tawny flecks in her eyes glinted, but she lowered the gun to her side. The Parson moved quickly, grabbed her wrist. She offered no resistance; the gun clattered to the floor.

“That’s better, sweetheart. If I should call the cops in, you wouldn’t want them to catch you with a gun.” He stopped picked it up. It had a comfortable, balanced feel.

Wrinkles appeared and disappeared on her smooth forehead. “Oh, then you’re not the cops?”

“Did you think I was?”

“Nothing less. That’s why I didn’t shoot. Who are you, mister?”

“Are the Munds at home?”

“I think they’re out for the evening,” she said. Then she smiled, showing white, even teeth. “Yeah, they’re out for the evening. I asked who you were, runt.”

“I heard voices a little while ago — men’s voices, not a woman. Where did the Munds go? And don’t call me runt.”

“You go to hell, runt.”

His hand struck out like a rapier flash. It didn’t look like a hard blow but all his fingers were traced in red on her cheek. She went back, brought up against the side wall. He went past her and looked in the open door on the right. She was gasping for breath, muttering behind him, but he paid no attention.

A man lay face down on the rug. He was a fat man, broad-beamed and short. A couple of chairs near him were overturned. The rug under him was twisted. The dark flooring was marred by scratches.

The top of his head was a mass of blood. Some blood had dripped on the rug, directly beneath his head. One arm was pillowed under his head and the other was outflung at right angles to his body. A carved mahogany stick, such as the natives sold in Cariba’s waterfront markets, lay close to him. Short black hairs stuck to the end of it. The hair was plastered with blood.

The Parson walked into the room, knelt and turned the body over. It was Lee Fong, the owner of the Montecita. Lee Fong was dead.

Something creaked. It was a door opening. The Parson turned his head sidewise without moving his body. A thick-set, broad-shouldered man in a white linen suit came in. The suit was dark with sweat under the armpits, though the rest of it looked freshly laundered. The man was smiling, jovial.

“Parson,” he chortled. “Parson, of all people! Remember me?”

“You’re Carl Dorn. I remember you.”

“A small world, eh? A small world.”

Another man came through the door. It was the white-haired old man the Parson had seen at the Montecita. He was followed by a thin, eagle-nosed individual with a gun in his hand. The white-haired man’s shoulders drooped wearily. He looked like a thoroughly cowed and beaten old man. His was the whitest face the Parson had ever seen. The thin, eagle-nosed man standing beside him wriggled his gun but he did not point it at anything or anyone in the room. He did not look at the Parson.

Eagle Nose growled, “Who’s the clerical looking gent?”

Carl Dorn laughed coarsely. “Hah! You took the words right outa my mouth. He sure looks like a peaceable parson, don’t he? Well, that’s what they call him — the Parson. Hey, Parson, meet one of my boys, Alex Morton.”

The white-haired old man looked as if he were about to say something. Alex Morton took a step closer to him. The old man looked at him, did not speak.

The red-haired woman swaggered in, pointed a finger at the Parson, bawled, “That son-of-a — whammed me one!”

Carl Dorn scowled sharply. Beady eyes regarded the Parson. Then the smile of joviality returned to his face. He said, “Don’t count that one, Eva. The Parson’s really a gentleman. He was one of the boys in New York.”

When she began to curse, Dorn put fingers in his ears. “Such language!” And when she stopped for breath, “That’s about enough, you!”

She looked at him with her green, gold-flecked eyes but subsided.

The Parson said, “Excuse me for pointing but there’s a dead guy on the floor.”

Dorn laughed again. “Hah! So there is. So there is.”

“How come?”

Dorn said, “Well, I guess it was self-defense. The fool Chink came at you and you gave him a couple of hard ones on the beano. With a little rehearsing Alex, Eva and me can tell the story that way.”

The Parson’s eyes merely widened a trifle. “Don’t you think I’d need the old gent here as a witness, too?”

Dorn made a gesture with his hand. “Why, I imagine that could be arranged.”

“Why not ask him?”

“He can’t talk so good.”

“Hm. Who is he?”

“Just a pal.”

The Parson let the .45 he had taken from the woman slap against his trouser leg. “Correct me if I am wrong, but I am under the impression that this house is occupied by a guy named Jake Mund and his wife, Nina.”

“You call the turn every time,” said Dorn.

“You wouldn’t happen to know why they’re not here, would you?”

“That’s where you got me, pal. Yes-sir! I’d sure like to know where Jake Mund and his wife are, myself.”

The Parson shot him a quick look. “Why did you follow Jake Mund down here?” He added quickly, “I’m just asking for my own sake. If he ain’t strictly on the up and up, to hell with him.”

“Why, Jake’s fine,” Dorn said soothingly. “We just dropped in for a kinda social visit. Jake’s fine.”

The Parson shot him a sharp, biting glance and abruptly changed his line of attack. “Where does Lee Fong tie in?”

Dorn looked blank. “Who?”

The Parson pointed impatiently to the dead man.

“Oh, him. The Chink. Well, look my friend, I don’t know.” He looked genuinely puzzled. “I’m just damned if I know.”

The white-haired old man took a deep breath, said quickly, “The poor Chinaman was simply slaughtered. When I came in and found him murdered — ugh! Only about an hour and a half ago, I was talking to him in his office in that cabaret. I promised him five hundred dollars if he would give me the address of this place. He wanted ten thousand to guarantee that no harm would come to Nina. I said I’d give him five thousand. But I didn’t know that he’d be killed.”

“Who killed him?” the Parson snapped.

The old man glanced at Dorn meaningfully. “When I came in, he was already dead.”

“Go on.”

“These two men were in the house. Upstairs.”

“Alex,” said Dorn quietly.

Alex said, “Yeah,” and turned cold eyes on the old man. “How many times we gotta tell yuh we had nothin’ to do with the Chink. Shoot off your mouth again and I’ll plant my knucks on your kisser.”

The eyes of the white-haired man flamed but he said no more, as though in fear. But not fear of physical punishment. The Parson sensed that somehow without knowing why.

The Parson said, quite dispassionately, “You lousy punks!”

“Now, now, Parson,” Dorn said placatingly.

“Tough guys, aren’t you? Yeah, with an old man. And you know what he’s aimin’ to say — that you murdered the Chink.”

“Don’t say that, pal!” Dorn protested. “We had nothing to do with it. We come in and there he was — cold meat. Just like I’m telling you.”

“The British cops won’t see that as an answer.”

Dorn laughed nastily and Alex Morton said, “This guy needs a lot of slammin’ around.”

“As a matter of fact,” Dorn told him, “he don’t slam so good. He’s tough like rubber. He bounces back at you.”

“Oh yeah? One bounce’ll be all he’ll get!”

“Ah, forget it. We’re friends! We’re goin’ to help the Parson, not pick a fight. Ain’t that right, Parson?”

“I’ll toss a coin to see if I can believe you or not.”

“Kidding won’t help.” Dorn made a sucking sound with his lips as if in commiseration; a frozen-fish smile appeared on his face. His eyes, though, were hooded, glittering, and he said levelly, “You’re in a jam, Parson.”

“Nice of you to remind me. But I can’t seem to remember — what kind of a jam?”

Dorn spread his hands in a gesture of acceptance. “Well, you killed the Chink. Just one of those things, I suppose. Too bad, too.”

“What’s too bad?”

“Too bad you whacked the poor departed Chink with that mahogany walking stick. The trouble with you, old pal, you don’t know your own strength. Now most times you hit a guy, he goes down and that’s all. He’s down maybe ten minutes, maybe even half an hour. But he gets up. He may have a headache or something but that’s all.”

The Parson gave a harsh, dry laugh. “You must be soft in the head.”

Dorn was purring, “Self-defense, though, will put you in the clear.”

“Talk sense!”

The frozen-fish smile was full of cunning, of malice, of evil. Dorn nodded his head solemnly. “Self-defense. That’s our story. Yeah. We’ll stick by you. These limey cops can’t be too bright.”

“Listen, you damned ghoul! You can’t hang such a crude frame on me.”

Dorn spread his hands indulgently. “Self-defense. You wait and see.”

“You mean I’ll see if I wait,” the Parson banged out in a grim, menacing voice. “To hell with you. You think I’ll be standing still while you pin the kill on me? Not while I’m conscious.” “We,” said Dorn, “will attend to that part of it.”

The woman had been sidling close along the wall toward the Parson. She was only a foot or so behind him. All the time Dorn had been talking, she had been moving by inches. Whipping his head about, the Parson saw the leather thong twisted about her hand. With his sudden motion, the thong leaped like a live thing from her hand. At the end of it was a weighted leather sap. The woman handled it with the elan of a virtuoso.

Mid-air, it changed direction as the Parson dodged. He didn’t dodge enough. A blow on the crown of his head seemed to split it wide open. The .45 in his hand boomed unexpectedly in response to the convulsive jerk of his whole body. But since by that time he was traveling in the general direction of the floor, the slug went wide.

He heard the woman’s voice as from far off. “That’s for the slap, runt.”

Alex, the eagle-nosed, leaped on him from behind and tore the gun from his grasp. They didn’t seem to think he had another gun on him. He lay on the floor, nostrils wide, pumping breath, waiting to summon enough strength to get at his gun.

Dorn said complacently, “Nice going, Eva.”

“Yeah. These big gun boys, they’re always suckers for a sap.”

Dorn came over, prodded the Parson with his foot. He was laughing as at a huge joke known only to himself. But it wasn’t a pleasant laugh.

The Parson looked up at him as if the effort hurt. He said, “The laugh’s on my side.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Look at the window behind you.”

Eva yelled. Eagle-nose Alex looked white. Dorn jerked his head about. His yell was louder than Eva’s.

The middle porch window had been raised and the drawn shade lifted aside. The Parson had been looking straight at it past the others. A slant-eyed Chinaman stood in the window with a gun in his fist. The Parson recognized Soo Gee; he had seen him at the Montecita before, Lee Fong’s bodyguard.

The shade whirred up with a hoarse rattle. Soo Gee didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to; the gun in his fist, the implacable expression in his face were both eloquent.

Alex jerked up the .45 he had snatched from the Parson. A shot boomed. Glass tinkled musically, showered to the floor. The Parson dug his right hand into his coat pocket and fired through the cloth. Soo Gee’s gun cut loose.

Alex shivered, dug his left hand into his groin. Two more shots burst forth as he started to crumple to the floor. The Parson jerked his gun out, free of the pocket. Something hit him a terrific blow in the shoulder, paralyzing the arm. It was Eva’s efficient little sap. The gun spun out of his hand, hit the baseboard of the wall, skidded across the floor.

Dorn was behind a chair, a gun in his hand, snapping shots at the window. Soo Gee suddenly went down; there was not a sound out of him.

Powder smoke made the air thick, gaseous. In the sudden stunned silence, the Parson thought he could hear the insects outside in the still tropic night.

He lay perfectly still, feigning death. Carl Dorn was top dog now. Soon the Parson heard footsteps, then Eva’s voice, “The damn Chink’s dead. You got him clean in the forehead, Carl.”

Dorn said, “The yellow punk was layin’ for us. He thought we’d killed this Lee Fong. Bet he was workin’ for this Fong guy.”

“Yeah. Watch the major, Carl. He’s got the fidgets.”

“Oke,” came Dorn’s voice. “You scram, major. Forget what you saw. Forget everything. We’ll get in touch with you.”

There was a muffled sound of assent. Then Dorn’s voice again, “And don’t forget the price, two hundred grand. Cash on the line.”

“You will get your money, sir.”

“Oke. Now flit. A word to the cops and you know what’ll happen.”

“I will not breathe a syllable.”

A door opened and shut close to the Parson. Footsteps hurried out in the hall. The street door opened and shut.

The Parson heard Eva say harshly, “Alex stopped a cupla fast ones. He’s croaked.” But her tone of voice was merely informational. “Hey, the Parson looks dead, too!” She poked him with her foot.

“Yeah,” said Dorn carelessly. “He musta stopped one of my bullets.”

The Parson lay quiet, breathing imperceptibly.

Dorn went on: “We got the major buffaloed anyway.”

Eva said, “Say, I wonder who did croak this Lee Fong. Maybe it was Jake Mund. He was here sometime tonight, all right, he and that doll-face wife of his. The bedroom upstairs is topsy-turvy, clothes and things lyin’ about, like he and the wife packed a bag in a hurry.”

There was a shrill whistle somewhere. Then another, answering it.

“Cops!” said Dorn. “Let’s blow, Eva. Jeeze, I wish we knew where Jake Mund and Nina are. Boy, I’d sure like to put my hands on them!”

Eva smirked archly. “The major thinks we got ’em.”

“Yeah, that’s almost as good as havin’ ’em, if he’ll kick through with the dough. Jeez, what a mess! First, we gotta find this Lee Fong dead, then Jake and Nina gone and on top of that, the Parson barges in!”

“You afraid of him?” Eva asked scornfully.

“Hell, not when he’s dead I ain’t. Too bad about Alex, though.”

“Yeah? What’s bad about a two-way split, ’stead of three?”

Dorn gasped, then laughed shortly. “I’m damned if you don’t beat all for brains and guts, kiddo! Two-way split, huh?” His voice sounded troubled again. “But what about the tipster? You know...”

“Him?” Eva spat. “What in hell’s he done?”

“Yeah. We’ll handle him. Well, let’s get going.”

The Parson heard footsteps running out of the hall. A door slammed. For about a second he lay as still as before. Then an eye slyly opened. He saw he was alone. His gun lay across the room from him. He stepped over the still form of Alex, retrieved it, then got his hat and clapped it on his head. The shrill whistle got louder. Footsteps were pounding in the street. He went through a back door and stumbled through a dark kitchen. He was surprised to find a back door there unlocked.

Voices were shouting at the front of the house as he plunged through a tiny square of garden. He stepped over a low picket fence and reeled dunkenly down an unpaved back alley. Silver-white moonbeams chased him. He slipped fast into the gloom of the shadows.

The fruit pier was at the other end of town. But the Parson did not use a cab; he walked. Twice he had the feeling that he was being tailed but when he stopped short and turned about, there was no one to be seen. He moved warily. The pain was not yet out of his head.

Only one boat was tied to the pier. It bobbed gently against the swell, straining against the ropes. There was a pleasant odor of tar. Lights hung fore and aft. It wasn’t a big boat but it looked as if it could sleep six or eight persons. Its bow lines were sharp, betokening speed. A man was pacing the foredeck, smoking a pipe.

The Parson leaped nimbly aboard, forged past empty boxes piled along the rail. The man looked at him placidly. He was a mulatto, more white than black. His face was large, ruddy in the cheeks, deeply tanned and wrinkled at the corner of either eye. His broad mouth uncurled slowly in a smile as he took the pipe from his mouth.

The Parson said, “Hello. I’m lookin’ for the skipper who was to have taken a young couple to Port of Spain.” The man’s expression did not change. “Brother, you’re lookin’ straight full and at him now.” His voice was a rumbling, dreamy baritone.

“Swell. My name’s Ormond. I’m a friend of the young couple.”

The tanned face beamed. “Glad to know you. Maybe you can tell me when they is comin’ ’board. They’s overdue maybe an hour, maybe more.”

“Oh, so they didn’t show up.”

“That’s correct, mister. I been waitin’ on ’em.”

“Maybe they decided not to go,” said the Parson.

“Mebbe you’re right.”

“Well, if they do come, will you tell ’em to get in touch with me at the Victoria? That’s my hotel.”

“Glad to, mister.”

“Thanks, Cap’n—”

“Deerman is the name.”

“Cap’n Deerman. How do you make a livin’ out of your boat?”

“Little fishin’. Take out parties.”

“And dope runnin, huh?”

“Fishin’s nice out beyond the headlands. You come around some time, mister, and I’ll show you where the tarpon run.”

A cabin door opened and a flood of yellow light flitted across the deck surface. A handsome, full-bosomed young negress stood in the doorway, applying powder industriously to her cheeks from a flat silver compact. As she came toward them, the Parson was aware that her dress reeked of gardenia perfume.

Captain Deerman said, “Tha’s my woman. Narcissa, go ’long in and fetch out the rum bottle. You like a drink, Mr. Ormond?”

“Sure.”

The woman sauntered out, swinging shapely hips. She returned in a few minutes with a plaited straw demijohn and a couple of glasses. The man held the glasses while she poured the liquor. He handed one to the Parson. They drank. Deerman grinned dreamily, sucked at the rim of his glass.

“You in trouble, mister?”

“Hell, no!” the Parson snapped.

“Well, you look like you been banged around some.” He looked out over the broad expanse of water. “That young couple now, they ain’t in trouble, is they?”

The Parson lifted his chin, his mouth hardened, his brows drew together. “What makes you ask that?”

“Why, nothin’ but idle curiosity.” Deerman was undisturbed. “They seemed like nice kids, kinda devoted to each other, like me and Narcissa. I wouldn’t see harm come to them for a thousand pesos! And I’m a poor man.”

The Parson looked at him for a long moment, then drew forth a fat wad of bills and counted off five of them.

“There’s a hundred bucks,” he said grimly. “Not pesos, American money. If you run into them kids, look after ’em.”

Deerman beamed, palmed the money. “Shu’ will, mister.”

“And tell ’em if you see ’em to get in touch with me at my hotel.”

“The Victoria, you said. I’ll do that.”

The shadow left the Parson’s face. His thin, chiseled features cracked into a tight, lopsided grin. He swung on his heel, caught hold of the pier and hoisted himself up.

“ ’Night, mister,” came Deerman’s voice.

“Good-night,” said the Parson.

He turned briefly, saw the handsome young negress stick a shiny, nickel-plated gun back into the bosom of her dress. She had drawn it when she had gone in to fetch the demijohn, held it half-concealed under her armpit when she had poured the drinks. The heady odor of the perfume which saturated her clothing wafted to him briefly, was replaced by the fetid odor of rotted fruit as he paced down the pier toward the street.

Shadows moved away from the dark warehouse, moved with him. The Parson’s hand dropped into his coat pocket, closed on the butt of his Luger. A man moved toward him with a bleak sort of smile, casually stopped about ten feet from him.

The Parson stopped, got set, muscles tense and waiting. The man said, “Take your hand off the gun, pal. I’m a friend.”

He came into the light of the moon, a tall, thin man, dressed in tan gabardine. He held his hands in front of him, palms upward.

The Parson relaxed. It was the man he had seen in the company of the military looking white-haired old gent in the Montecita.

The man said, “I followed you all the way from Jake Mund’s cottage. Carl Dorn and Eva think you’re dead but I’m glad you’re not. It’s a swell night. Mind if I walk with you?”

They walked to the cobbled street, turned in the direction of the flickering lights.

The Parson said, “I didn’t catch your name.”

“Joel Knight. Maybe you’ve heard of me.”

The Parson turned his head sidewise but kept on walking. After a while he said, “Yeah, I’ve heard of you. You were a lawyer back in New York last I heard of you.”

“Truth is, I still am. This is something of a vacation for me. I’m down here representing Major Hugh Amberly Rowe. He owns a couple of railroads, a lake steamship line and three or four continental bus companies. He pays income tax in six figures.”

“That,” said the Parson thoughtfully, “would be the old gent with the handlebar mustaches.”

“Check. I’ve wanted to talk to you for some time, Parson.”

“So you know my name, too.”

Knight grinned indulgently. “Who hasn’t heard of the Parson?” He made a sound with his lips. “Umm. Nothing doing on the little boat, huh?”

“What’d you mean?”

“They didn’t go aboard the boat, did they?”

The Parson looked at him sidewise without checking stride. “If we’re talk-of the same people, they didn’t.”

“We are. Did you like Carl Dorn and lil’ Eva? I thought it was nice that Alex Morton got clipped... the rat. I don’t think Carl Dorn is so tough. But Eva, my! She’s the guts of the outfit.”

“So you were peeking, huh?”

Knight laughed. “Uh-huh. Right through a crack in the drawn shade. I was about to take a hand myself or call copper but that damned Chinese chopper cut loose.”

“That,” said the Parson grimly, “was Soo Gee, Lee Fong’s bodyguard. But don’t blame it all on the Yellow Peril. After all, they murdered Lee first.”

“Who did?”

The Parson shrugged. “Search me. Maybe Carl Dorn, maybe Eva. And maybe Jake Mund. I’m not good at guessing games. Are you?”

“Lousy.”

“Still, I distinctly heard Dorn say that he wondered who had knocked off the Chink, indicating that he hadn’t. What about the major?”

“No. Oh, no. Not the major. I was stationed outside the window when he entered the house. Lee Fong was already dead on the floor.”

“That leaves Jake Mund,” said the Parson.

“And us out in the cold.”

“Us?” said the Parson.

“Sure. I’m cutting you into the deal. We can’t find Jake Mund and Nina, either of us. We might as well not find them together.”

“I could tell more about that if I knew what this was all about.”

Knight stopped short, looked keenly at the Parson. “You mean to say you don’t know?”

“I’m a friend of Jake’s, that’s all. But he told me nothing.”

“Whew!” Knight blew out his cheeks. “Surprised?”

“You could bend me in two with a breath of air. And I was blithely cutting you into the deal.”

“There’s dough in it, huh?”

“Interested? Hell, of course, you are! You got a rep tor keeping your eye on the main chance. Always a money player. I suppose I can bank on that. What say? Can you spare a dime’s worth of time?”

The Parson said, “What can I get out of it?”

“Maybe about fifty, sixty grand. Maybe more. It’ll be a two-way cut.”

“I’ve heard that some place before. Shoot!”

“First, you got to promise you’re in it with me.”

“If I’m in, I’m in.”

“Good. I know you don’t go back on your word. And I need help. Who do you think Nina Mund is?” And when the Parson remained silent, “Major Hugh Amberly Rowe’s only daughter!”

The Parson looked at him.

“Yessir! Nina Rowe’s her maiden name. You know who Jake Mund is, you know his connections.”

“Yeah. He was with Dorn but the kid’s a leveler.”

“Maybe so. But that doesn’t change the fact that he was planted at Major Rowe’s home as a chauffeur by Carl Dorn to kidnap Nina.”

Knight looked at the Parson with triumph, the sweat of excitement beading his forehead. The Parson looked at him wide-eyed, too dumbfounded to say anything. But his mind clicked into reverse, went swiftly over the ground. Yes, that explained a great deal. Things slipped into place, were firmly grooved. After a while Knight went on:

“But he didn’t kidnap her. The plant went sour on him. He couldn’t bring himself to follow out Dorn’s orders. He fell in love with the girl. And the girl,” he stopped, held the Parson’s arm, “went nuts over him! Do you get it? Of all the crazy things to happen, that happened. They went into a love clinch. The day Jake Was supposed to have brought her to the hide-out Dorn had prepared, he upped and eloped with her!”

“Where’d you promote all that?” the Parson asked gloomily.

“The whole set-up came out through Carl Dorn. He wasn’t in touch with the hide-out, but he took it for granted his orders had been carried out. He demanded five hundred grand from the old major for the safe return of his daughter. That same night the major got a wire from Nina. She and Jake Mund had taken a plane for Mexico, they were married and would Papa forgive. Papa wouldn’t. His daughter, heiress to millions, convent-bred, married to a common criminal! He damn near hit the ceiling. When Dorn found out what had happened, he exploded. Both he and the old man were left holding the bag. One lost his daughter and the other the biggest cash haul of his life.”

The faintest shadow of a smile wreathed the Parson’s lips. “Those kids really had guts,” he said. He looked very pleased.

“Puppy love,” said Knight scornfully.

“You,” said the Parson with finality, “wouldn’t know about that. Why didn’t the major go to the cops?”

“Because of Dorn. Dorn made him promise to keep it all a dark secret. Otherwise he threatened to put a man on Nina’s trail and have her killed. So the major kept his mouth shut.”

“He was a fool.”

“Maybe. But he thought a lot of his daughter. He wasn’t going to take a chance. Just the same, he moved heaven and earth to find her.”

“How’d he finally trace them down here?”

“That’s my work,” said Knight proudly. “Major Rowe used about six private detective agencies. They all picked up the trail — Vera Cruz, Havana, Montevideo, Buenos Aires, and lost it again. Then I came down here on a vacation cruise. I saw Nina singing at the Montecita. I cabled the major and he hired me, sight unseen.”

The Parson frowned. “Then how did Dorn get here?”

Knight shrugged. “Don’t know. Maybe he trailed the major.”

“I still don’t see where there’s any dough in this for me.”

Knight grinned very slowly, as if reluctantly. He stood still under a Spanish elm. The Parson stopped. Knight whispered:

“You heard Dorn and Eva talking when they thought you’d been killed. Dorn has talked the major into thinking that he’s got Nina. You see, Nina and Jake were gone when the major arrived. He doesn’t know where they are. And when Dorn said he had them both salted away, the major had to believe him. And two hundred grand — Dorn’s price — is pin money to the major. He’d pay a million to get his daughter back safe and sound. So he’ll pay Dorn. He won’t get his daughter back but he’ll pay.” The Parson leaned his face closer. “And what do we do, produce the daughter, my friend, and shake the major down a second time?”

The sense of menace implicit in the Parson’s voice got to Knight. His hand shook. “No,” he said thickly. “You’re too fast. We don’t know where the girl is, do we? How could we produce her?”

“Yeah. That’s so.”

“Of course,” said Knight heartily. “Hell, let’s stop kidding each other, pal. You know what I mean.”

“If there’s any kidding, it’s not from my side. Suppose you deal me another card.”

“Hell, I thought you were quick on the uptake. Here’s the layout. Dorn hasn’t got the girl but I’m pretty sure he’s going to be paid.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Well, I’m not the major’s personal adviser for nothing.”

“Oh.”

“The instant the money changes hands you relieve Dorn of the burden of counting it. Do you get it now?”

“Check. It boils down to a simple hijack.” The Parson was silent a moment, thinking. “But why cut me in?”

“Well, I couldn’t handle it alone. I’ve got a clean reputation to uphold. Besides some fancy gun-work will be needed. You’ve got a rep for work with a gun. Without you I wouldn’t get a nickel. With you I can split and still have mine. I’m no hog. What do you say? Are you in?”

The Parson drawled, “I’d be a dope to turn it down.”

“Boy, that’s talkin’. How about a cab?”

They had reached a main artery. Knight hailed a cab and they climbed in. Knight said, “Drive to Ching’s bar.” In the cab they talked plans.

But when they reached the bar, the Parson said, “I don’t believe I’m drinking.” Under his breath he added, “With you.” Aloud he went on, “My face — I can’t show such a damaged mugg in a public bar. I’ll trot along to my hotel. I’ll wait for your call.”

Knight nodded. “Boy, we sure make some team — my brains and your gun. That’s what I call a combination. We can’t lose. Now remember, there’ll be a key waiting for you at the desk. You go right up and slip into the closet. I’ll leave it to you when to crack out.”

“Yeah,” said the Parson, “you just leave it to me.”

The Parson had his breakfast sent up to his room at ten the next morning. The one English daily printed in Cariba informed him that two dead Chinamen, Lee Fong and Soo Gee, had been found, one by and one in the cottage occupied by a Jake Mund and his wife, Nina, who was a singer at Lee Fong’s Montecita. A third corpse had been discovered, that of an unidentified white man believed to be an American. Soo Gee and the white man had been shot; Lee Fong had been clubbed to death. No motive for the triple killing had been unearthed as yet. But police had sent out an alarm for Mund and his wife who were mysteriously missing.

The Parson spent the day in his room, hovering close to the telephone. He killed a couple of hours cleaning and oiling his gun. He played about fifty games of solitaire. Then he sat at the window, staring out. It was getting dusk. Lights in the street came on. Lights festooned the piers and appeared on the mast-heads of ships riding at anchor in the curved sweep of the harbor.

At last his phone rang. Nervous before, he was instantly calm when he heard Joel Knight’s voice.

Knight said, “All set, boy. The payoff is for seven-thirty. Carl Dorn is smart at that. The Pan-American plane leaves for Curacao at eight-ten. He’ll be figuring to be aboard that and away before the major tumbles to the fact he’s been taken in. You see, Dorn’s promised to produce Nina by nine. But of course he can’t. The key will be waiting at the desk. I’ve arranged for the whole transaction to take place in my room. You use the clothes closet near the window.”

The phone clicked. The Parson cradled the receiver, thoughtfully stuck a cigarette in his face, lighted it. Then he took a last look at his gun, clapped a hat on his head and went out.

The taxi took him to Knight’s hotel, the Royal Palms. At the desk he stopped, said to the clerk:

“Mr. Knight left a key for me.”

The clerk bowed. “He said you were to go right up to his suite.”

“Thanks.”

The suite consisted of a sitting room, bedroom and connecting bath. There was only one closet, though, near a window. There was no one there. The Parson took mental note of the whole layout, paced restlessly up and back. His watch said seven-fifteen.

At seven-eighteen he was electrified by carpet-muffled footfalls outside the corridor door. Frowning, he stood listening while they came closer. There was something vaguely disquieting about them. The door did not immediately open. No key was inserted in the lock. He sensed that whoever was outside was listening first with an ear pressed against the panel. Swiftly, he opened the closet door, slipped into the stuffy darkness and noiselessly drew the door shut. He estimated a thirty-second wait. Then he heard the corridor door open and close.

He pressed his ear against a crack. Hurried, yet stealthy footsteps sounded within the apartment. There were at least two men who had come in, perhaps three. No, two; he could tell by the way the footsteps sounded. But there was no conversation between the men. The sound of their movement ceased suddenly.

Minutes dragged by. The Parson wondered where the two men had gone. They had not gone out. Then he remembered the bedroom. They had gone in there. Yet strain as he would he could hear nothing. These newcomers could not be Knight and Major Rowe; they would have stayed in the living-room. Certainly, they would have talked. And they couldn’t be Carl Dorn and Eva. There had been something heavy in the tread — they were the footfalls of two men. What could it mean?

In the wait ahead of him, the Parson speculated on the identity and purpose of the newcomers. Then his thoughts were interrupted by the corridor door opening a second time. This time the show was on. He recognized Knight’s voice and afterward Major Rowe’s.

Rowe said, “Take a chair, miss,” with old-fashioned courtesy.

Eva’s voice came to the Parson, saying, “Thanks, sport.”

He pictured red-haired Eva with the green eyes and gold-flecked pupils. Instantly, a fourth voice, a man’s, said, “Oke, major, let’s get this over right away.”

That was Carl Dorn’s voice. He was across the room somewhere, farther from the closet than the girl was. The Parson had slipped his blunt-nosed Luger from the underarm holster, had soundlessly squatted on his haunches so as to bring his eyes level with the large old-fashioned keyhole. He saw the four of them. The lawyer, Knight, stood to one side but near the chair in which Eva sat, trim silken legs crossed, both hands closed over a handbag. Carl Dorn was near the hall door; a few feet from him stood the white-haired major. The major, however, moved out of the Parson’s line of vision, as he said:

“Yes. You must give me some guarantee of my daughter’s safety when I pay over the money you demand.”

“Have you got the dough on you?” Dorn asked.

“Yes.”

“Let’s see the color of it.”

The major moved back within range of the keyhole. The Parson saw him reach into the breast pocket of his coat and take out a flat manila envelope. He laid it down on the table, stepped back.

Carl Dorn leaped at it like a dog after liver. The Parson was tense, muscles bunched, lines of worry creasing the space between his eyes. He saw Knight casting anxious glances at the closet door as though inviting him to crack out. But the Parson held back. There was still unexplained in his mind the two men who had come in just after him. If they were a couple of hijackers, perhaps he had best move fast. But if not...

Dorn had torn off the flap of the envelope and had drawn out a packet of bills. But suddenly view of him was blocked by the intervening body of Major Rowe. The old man stood there with a gun in his fist!

The Parson couldn’t see Dorn but he distinctly heard his gulp of sheer astonishment. He could just barely see the girl. She had not moved but a cruel and wolfish grin suddenly appeared on her sensuous face. The most surprised person in the room was Joel Knight. He stood with mouth agape, eyes fairly popping, Adam’s apple working up and down like an agitated pulley-weight of his emotions.

The major straightened his shoulders. His jaw stood out like a chunk of granite. He said slowly and distinctly:

“Kidnapers, are you? You’ll return my daughter safe and sound? Did you think you could really get away with a bluff like that?”

Carl Dorn purpled, started to speak, spread his thick tongue over his lips instead. The gun steadied on him.

“You’re a couple of fools,” Major Rowe went on with quiet dignity. “You didn’t fool me any. I know where Nina is. You haven’t got her. You never had her.”

Dorn jerked out, “It’s a d-double-cross.”

Eva moved her legs. She was still smiling but she said nothing.

“You’ll think about that when the police have you behind bars,” the major said softly. His voice raised a bit. “All right, officers; you can come in now.”

There was movement at the other side of the room and then two men came into the Parson’s narrow gauge of vision. They were thick-fingered, burly men. Police detective written all over them. They held guns.

The foremost of them said, “The pair of you are under arrest. I advise you that anything you may say will be used against you. Put the handcuffs on them, Tom.”

Carl Dorn got white. His knees quaked. He took a backward step, brought up against a table. They were watching him. The Parson wanted to yell a warning. But he kept his mouth shut. Eva had opened her bag. She stood up with a black automatic in her hand. It coughed, ejected flame and sound. She was laughing, white teeth showing. She fired again.

The second shot struck Major Rowe. He staggered like a tree about to topple. His gun boomed. Wood splintered. Something shot past in the darkness above the Parson’s head and behind him plaster detached itself from the wall. The slug had gone through the closet door.

Major Rowe bumped to the floor on his knees with the shock of the bullet in his chest. Then he gently keeled over.

Carl Dorn snatched a gun from his pocket. It cleared the cloth and flamed simultaneously. One of the detectives spun about like a top. When he stopped spinning, he slammed down. The other detective fired. Joel Knight dragged forth a gun, too. But he ducked, went down and stayed down and didn’t use his gun.

Dorn, Eva and the second detective were all firing at once. Powder smoke reeked. The detective snapped a swift shot from behind the shelter of a chair. Carl Dorn turned as if he were going to walk out of the door; he crashed resoundingly to the floor. The Parson could just barely see his head. The head did not move.

The detective’s gun clicked as he leveled it at Eva. She streaked for the door, got it open. Knight fired at her. The bullet split the glass knob, shattered it. She was through safely and running down the hall. The detective snatched the gun from his partner’s hand and raced after her. Shots boomed distantly.

The Parson flung the closest door open and faced Joel Knight. His lips were blue, knees shaking. For a split second the two of them stood motionless. Then the Parson sidled over to the table where the money still lay.

His grin was sour, mocking. “Well, all I gotta do is take it.”

Knight gulped like a stunned carp. “N-no. We can’t dare touch it now. Listen! Get out! Before someone comes in. There’s a back staircase... door... other room.”

The Parson fingered the money lovingly, then let it fall back to the table. He looked down at Carl Dorn. He lay on his side, eyes open and sightless. Dead as a taxidermist’s window display. Major Rowe was groaning, stirring. The detective was dead.

“Somebody crossed somebody,” the Parson snarled softly. “Then somebody else crossed somebody else.” He looked at Knight. “What do you make of it?”

Knight was still dazed. He rubbed a hand over his eyes, over his sweating forehead. “I’m still in the dark.”

The Parson’s sour grin came back fleetingly. He said, “The old major was smarter than we figured, is all. Two dicks planted in the next room. Not bad, not bad at all.”

“God, what a shock!” Knight breathed like a spent runner, haggard lines lengthening his face.

The Parson said over his shoulder, “Don’t let it get you down, guy. We gotta learn to expect our share of surprises.” He knelt briefly by the major’s side. “Hm. Slug went through the top of the chest. Not much blood, either. He’ll be O.K.”

Footsteps were pounding far down the corridor. Voices were shouting.

Knight said, “You’d better get out before you’re seen.”

The Parson rose leisurely. “Yeah. But I sure hate to leave all this dough behind.”

There was silence and then Knight, his face convulsed, whispered violently, “No! I can’t allow— That detective, he’ll remember I was the last person left behind. If the money’s gone, they’ll blame me. To touch it now would be suicide.”

“Not for me,” said the Parson tranquilly. “Anyway, it wouldn’t be suicide just to touch it.”

“No, no! Don’t — I’ll—”

“Don’t run a fever. Funny thing. I broke into this shebang for the dough was in it. Now I don’t care so much about the money. All I’m thinkin’ of is them two kids. Funny, huh? With the dough starin’ me in the face.”

“Listen! They’re at the door. Get out!”

“Yeah. Well, s’long. Our combination was a bust, huh? Your brains didn’t work and my gun didn’t shoot Maybe we’ll get together again some time. Look me up.”

He slipped through to the bedroom. There was a bolt on the back door. He eased it open, stepped out into the corridor. No one saw him. The stairs were dark and odors of food wafted up from the restaurant kitchen below. He passed the kitchen. It was deserted. He walked out into the night. He crossed a wide expanse of lawn, the garage driveway and went through a gate. He walked up the street to the corner and faced the hotel’s front entrance.

The street was choked with humanity; white, black and yellow men jabbering away in three tongues. It was very lively; people spoke excitedly. There were a dozen versions of what had happened. All of them cockeyed.

After a while, the Parson saw the detective who had raced out of Knight’s room after Eva, returning doggedly to the hotel. Uniformed policemen were with him. But not Eva, Bicycle cops pedaled up with stolid urbanity. Pretty soon they formed a knot of about a dozen in front of the hotel. They talked to each other in calm British voices and shifted from foot to foot, not knowing what to do. Then it occurred to them that the crowd needed dispersing. The night boat for Curacao let forth a mournful, deep-toned blast. Her lights formed a twinkling pattern on the dark blue water.

The Parson moved away from the press of the crowd, circled the street and slouched into a broad avenue lined with restless, nodding palms.

For a long time he walked aimlessly, as if merely for the sake of walking. Then he looked up and found himself in front of Ching’s, the biggest bar in Cariba. He went in, perched on a high stool and ordered rum. He sipped thoughtfully, face expressionless and rigid. His glass was refilled and he repeated the sipping process. The bright lights, the clink of glasses and bottles, the bustle and hum of conversation passed over, beyond and through him. He spent nearly three-quarters of an hour that way. Finally, he paid up and walked back into the street. A line of cabs was parked at the curb. He crooked a finger at one, climbed in. “Fruit pier,” he said.

There were three small boats moored to the pier. The boat the Parson sought had been moved but not far. It bobbed gently against the oily swell. In the quiet, ropes creaked and sea water slapped against the pier, sucking out and slapping in with endless rhythm. Aboard the boat, nothing moved.

The Parson leaped nimbly aboard but made no effort to muffle the sound of his movements. He strode across the tiny deck. A cabin door opened and Captain Deerman’s broad bulk was outlined against the streaming panel of light. The Parson stepped into the light.

“Oh, it’s you, Mr. Ormond,” Captain Deerman said softly, recognizing him. “Come in. Come in.”

He stood aside and the Parson went into the closet-size cabin. Deerman’s colored woman was seated in a rocker. Her white teeth shone in a smile of welcome. She didn’t get up. The air was heady with the gardenia perfume that came from her clothes. The Parson sat down on a bench. Deerman closed the door and sat down opposite him. On the table before him was a stock of wood, a big clasp-knife and a pile of shavings. Deerman was whittling a sailing ship model. He took up the knife and the stock of wood and trimmed the edge with deft, graceful movements of the blade.

His dreamy voice crooned. “I got about a dozen of ’em, all types. Makin’ ’em keep your hands out of trouble. This one don’t look like much now but it’ll be the Cutty Sark when I’m finished. You like sailin’ ships?”

The Parson leaned his elbows on the table. Deerman’s woman rocked and the smile played about her handsome chocolate features. The Parson reached over with one hand and began playing with the neat pile of shavings.

“Heard what happened to Major Rowe about an hour or so ago?”

“Friend, I been aboard this here boat since evenin’ fell.” But both Deerman’s eyes were wide open and fixed on the Parson’s lips; he had stopped whittling. And he said nothing about not knowing the major.

“He stopped a piece of lead,” the Parson said.

“Daid?”

“No, just hurt.”

Deerman laid down the wood and then the knife. His eyes regarded the Parson for a long moment. “Who done it?”

“A feller named Carl Dorn and his woman, Eva. She’s a snake; she wriggled clear. Dorn got himself killed.”...

Deerman’s face was blank. He removed his gaze from the Parson and glanced over at his wife. She was no longer smiling. Both shook their heads.

“Remember them?” questioned the Parson.

“Friend, I never heard of ’em. Besides there was no woman.”

“But there was someone who came to see you, huh?” the Parson prodded.

Deerman shrugged. “Ain’t they always someone?” Without turning his head, he added, “Narcissa, put up that fool gun. This gen’l’man’s friendly.”

The Parson turned and saw the gun in her hand. She was not in the least embarrassed. The same piquant smile returned to her lips. She laid the gun in her lap.

Deerman chuckled, said, “Narcissa can hit a flyin’ fish mid-air at a hundred yards. And pick her spot. Crease his spine, nip his head or clip his tail. She is sure fond o’ guns.”

“And perfume.”

Deerman looked quizzically at the Parson and shook his head, smiling.

“Gardenia perfume,” said the Parson.

“Um. Call your play, friend. Narcissa can have some target practice or pour us a coupla swallows of rum. What you mean by that last remark?”

“Make it rum.”

“So?”

The Parson leaned forward suddenly, said into Deerman’s face, “Nina Mund used gardenia perfume. Also a silver compact with her initials. Narcissa was dolling up with the compact yesterday.” He sniffed. “And gardenia — it’s all over the room now.”

Deerman’s deep, soothing voice said, “That ain’t why you gave me a hundred dollars last night.”

“No. That hundred was a deposit on Nina and Jake’s lives. As soon as I saw the compact and smelled that perfume, I was sure they’d been aboard. But since you acted like you were waitin’ on ’em, I figured right off that Jake Mund had given you something to button your mouth. That hundred of mine was to button it tighter. Not knowin’ what the game was all about at the time, I thought it was safer for ’em to be undercover I figured that when the time came for me to find out where they were I’d find out.”

Deerman had listened impassively. “Not all of that’s correct.”

The Parson nodded solemnly. “As soon as the major got shot, I knew I’d figured somethin’ out wrong. That’s why I’m here.”

“Narcissa,” said Deerman, “get out the rum ’john.”

Narcissa did not move. Light, delicate footsteps sounded outside on the deck above the sighing of the night wind through the rigging. The footsteps approached to the door. The knob rattled and the door flung back. Joel Knight came into the cabin; a small .32 was in his hand.

“Never mind the rum,” said Deerman softly.

Knight stood in the door with his eyes only on the Parson. He had been drinking. He looked at the Parson and seemed uncertain whether to show welcome or embarrassment. It was evident, though, that the presence of the Parson had thrown him off stride.

The Parson said, “Go right ahead with what you intended doing. Don’t mind me.”

“No. There’s nothing. I was just— That is, I meant—” He gulped, took a noisy breath. “There’s evidently some misunderstanding.”

“All on your part, pal,” the Parson said. “Listen to me! You’ve been the key double-crosser in this mess since it began. What kind of a sap did you take me for? Your deal with me to hijack the ransom money was about the fourth double-cross you’d attempted. By that time you were tied up in knots.”

“Please, please!” implored Knight. “What are you talking about?”

“This, fathead! You murdered Lee Fong. You’d made a deal with him to keep Nina Mund watched night and day so she couldn’t slip away before her father or Carl Dorn arrived. Not that you told Lee what it was all about. Oh, no! You were too smart. But Lee smelled money. He got a promise of five thousand from Major Rowe if he could keep Nina from harm. That’s why he hot-footed it to the kid’s cottage. But you were there first. You couldn’t have him horn in on your game. So you socked him two, three times. When the kids came in, you slipped out the back door.

“They were scared witless to find a dead man in their house. They packed a bag quick, flung things info it and scooted. They lit out to the boat — this boat. You followed them. It wasn’t hard to figure their plans — a quick getaway. You had a confidential talk with Cap’n Deerman, gave him some money. Obligingly, he tied them up for you.”

Deerman chuckled. “He gave me five hundred.”

“Yeah,” said the Parson. “His game was to cash in but with no partners. Oh, he wanted partners for the dirty work but not for the pay-off. Y’see, Jake Mund used to be in Carl Dorn’s gang. He was supposed to have kidnaped Nina so Dorn could collect a five hundred grand ransom. Instead he fell in love with the girl and she with him. They skipped, got married; her father spent a small fortune trying to find her and take her back home.”

“So that’s how it was.”

“Yeah. Our pal, Knight, decided he’d collect two or three times. Instead of handing them over to Dorn, he was going to hold them for himself, then fleece the major when the right time rolled around. But before that he had to let Carl Dorn and Eva get theirs from the major. He’d overheard them speaking; he knew they hadn’t much use for him and that they’d freeze him out if they could. So he took me on as a temporary partner to get the shake-down dough from them but principally to see that they got wiped out. After that, he figured it as clear sailing to squeeze some real money out of the major for the return of Nina.

“The major himself spoiled the party by planting a couple of dicks in the next room. The ground was cut from under Knight’s feet. He put two and two together. That’s why he’s here, Deerman. To kill you so you can’t spill what you know.”

Deerman smiled. He looked over at Narcissa. She smiled.

“I don’t think he will do that,” said Deerman dreamily.

No one moved. It was very quiet in the cabin. Then Knight, his face gone gray, said:

“He’s raving mad! I brought Jake and Nina Mund here myself to... to protect them from Dorn.” His voice gained shrillness. “That’s it — to protect them!” He caught at the phrase as though it automatically cleared him.

“Did you?” said the Parson gently. “Then why did you bring Dorn and his killers to Cariba in the first place? At the same time that you informed Major Rowe, you tipped off Dorn. Yeah. When I first ran into you on the dock, you asked me if I remembered you. I remembered. I remembered that about twelve years ago when Dorn was dealing in beer you were counsellor for his gang. Not many people knew that. You always had a cover of respectability. When he planned to snatch Nina, you were probably still his attorney. That’s how come you knew all the ins and outs.”

“You got it wrong!” Knight mopped his face and turned to Deerman, said, “If only you’d listen. Don’t believe his insinuations. It...”

His voice trailed to silence. He turned a tortured face toward the open door, haunted eyes groveling in his head. Footsteps clop-clopped over the deck in slow, measured tread. A head appeared suddenly in the oblong of yellow light.

Major Rowe stood in the doorway. He wore no hat. He carried his shoulder stiffly.

Knight backed up out of his way and brought up against the wall. The major stared hard at him, as if not quite understanding his presence. Deerman slipped past the major and out the door before anyone could stop him.

The Parson said, “Just in time. Knight and I’ve been talking. Sort of threshing things over. He’s the baby responsible for the whole mess.”

Major Rowe jerked a glance at the Parson without comprehending what he meant. He came into the room. The slight bullet wound had weakened him obviously. He put one hand on the table to support himself.

“I have come for my daughter,” he said.

“Sure,” said the Pardon. “And the guy who planted her here — Joel Knight.”

Again the major looked at the Parson. Then he looked at Knight.

Knight’s lips were quivering. “D-don’t believe a word he says. Let me explain. He’s got it all wrong.”

“He’s got it right,” said a voice from the doorway.

The Parson’s head pivoted about.

The red-haired woman, Eva, stood there holding a gun in her hand and looking very menacing with drooping lids over her green-gold eyes.

The Parson laughed. He made it a hearty, diverting laugh to cover the slight movement of Narcissa’s hand toward the gun in her lap.

“Li’l’ Eva,” he said warmly. “And just in time.”

She looked at him not without surprise. “The runt, eh? I thought you’d been plugged. I’ll get around to you in a moment. I’ll kill the rat first, then you, then the old man. He got Carl killed. I’ll kill him!”

The word seemed to intoxicate her. Her nostrils were dilated.

“Hoist the mitts,” she said. “All of you. You too, chocolate. I said hoist!”

Nobody moved. Her wild face said plainly that she would shoot at the slightest movement, even to obey her commands. Knight swayed slightly as if he would faint. Her glittering orbs flicked to him.

“You were bright, huh? You tipped the major to the bluff; you told him we didn’t have his damn daughter.”

Knight tried to shake his head. He tried to smile reassuringly. But he couldn’t move a muscle.

“I slipped back to the hotel,” she went on, “to watch for you. I didn’t care any more about being caught; I just wanted to burn a bullet through your heart. I saw you come out and I followed you. Then just as I was about to come aboard, the old gent showed. I slipped behind a barrel and let him go first. I wanted him, too. But I wanted you most.”

Knight made a bleating sound with his lips but no words came forth. Suddenly there was a diversion. Eva stiffened, crouched. An inner door to the right of Narcissa opened. Jake Mund stood there with Nina beside him. Deer-man was behind them.

Eva looked at them and her teeth showed. “Jake! This is swell, swell! Now we’re all here. Come in, come in!”

“Dad!” It was Nina. She ran across the room, flung her arms about the quivering old man. “Dad, you’re hurt! Is anything—”

“Let go of him!” Eva snapped. “Just step aside. Yeah. Now watch me cut him down. Just like—”

The Parson realized that there was no time to go for his gun. Something quicker was needed. He saw Eva’s gun move until it was on a line with Major Rowe’s heart, saw her finger whiten under pressure on the trigger. Nina screamed. The Parson was about to fling himself out of his chair.

Jake, from the doorway, moved faster. He hurtled across the room under Eva’s gun. Her trigger finger twitched. The gun blasted and a slug burned Jake’s ribs. Almost perceptibly it seemed to halt him. He shivered but came on doggedly. He hit her sidewise and she flung into a corner.

Narcissa got her gun up and shot her twice in the chest. Eva’s shoulders hit hard into the V of the corner; she was grinning.

Knight was throwing himself toward the open doorway that led to the deck. It was that which brought forth the grin.

Eva shot him in the back.

The gun action jolted her away from the corner. Her feet tangled but with her left hand she caught the table and stopped her fall. She bumped against the major, held herself erect. Knight was falling through the door. She shot him again.

The Parson had jerked his Luger out His mouth was pulled down grimly. Before he could fire, Eva moved her head slowly toward him; the grin was still on her face. Then her knees buckled, struck the floor. She pitched forward on her face.

It was deafeningly still in the cabin. Gun smoke swirled to the overhead light. Water lapped gently against the boat’s side. Jake Mund got to his feet slowly, his handsome young face grave and haggard.

Nina fluttered to him. “Jake, are you hurt?” She began to cry.

He sank into a chair, smiled wanly, put his hands on her cheeks. “Don’t cry, sugar. I’m all right. Everything’s all right. You’ve got your Dad now and we got the Parson. He’ll make it all right. The Parson’s our friend.”

The Parson moved out to the deck. Deerman followed him. A crowd was gathering on the pier. Deerman looked out over the water. The Parson said, “You tipped off Major Rowe, didn’t you?”

Deerman nodded. “I got to thinkin’ after I tied up that boy and girl. I listened in at the cabin door while they was talkin’. It was mostly about her father Major Rowe and how she was scared he’d come to take her home. So I just went aroun’ to all the hotels in Cariba until I found a man answerin’ to the name, Major Rowe. That boy and girl was in trouble and I figured her father ought to know about it.”

“But weren’t you afraid he’d go to the cops?”

“Ah, he was a gentleman. He promised to tell the cops nothin’ until the whole thing was cleared. He was to have come aboard and gotten them himself and the police’d never know I was mixed up in it. When he came aboard a little while ago, why I just went back and untied them an’ brought them in here. Glad I did, too. That young feller handled that red-head woman good.”

“Yeah,” said the Parson thoughtfully. “I guess he’s got guts at that.” He looked pleased. “But why did you mix in the mess at all?”

“Well, the fishin’ this time of year is poor and that feller Knight’s five hundred looked big.”

“Hm. But how come you went to the major at all after Knight had paid you five hundred to be on his side?”

Deerman cocked his head to one side as if that were something to puzzle over. “I’m damned if I know, ’cept I got to thinkin’, I guess, an’ I don’t mind makin’ a dollar by winkin’ at the law but when you got a chance to make a little honest money and help out a couple of kids just married besides, well I guess that’s all there’s to it.”

“Yeah,” said the Parson, “I know just how you feel.”

Jake Mund appeared beside him and said, “Parson, I don’t know how I’m going to thank you.”

“Phht! Listen, once. The cops will be here in a jiffy. Here’s your story. You weren’t tied, see? Deerman’s a friend who gave you shelter because you were afraid of Carl Dorn and Eva and Joel Knight. That’s the mugg Eva shot. Got it straight?”

Mund’s face darkened. “You’re wrong. Deerman crossed us.”

“You listen to me,” the Parson said savagely. “Deerman’s your friend. You’ll find out why soon enough. You’ll do as I say. Is that clear?”

Mund looked at him. “All right,” he said.

“How’s your side?” asked the Parson with unexpected gentleness.

“All right, I guess.”

“Hurt much?”

“No.”

“Then why in hell ain’t you in there with your wife?”

“No,” said Mund. “I guess they caught up with us. She’ll be going back with her father.”

“Listen,” said the Parson. “I blew fifty grand getting you clear of Carl Dorn. I could’ve had the dough. All I had to do was take it. I’ll be damned if I don’t have to get you out of this, too.”

“What are you talking about?”

The Parson gripped his arm. “Come on.” He pushed into the cabin, dragging Mund behind him. “Listen!” his voice crackled. Major Rowe and Nina looked up. “This kid’s gone through hell with your daughter. If you think you’re going to snatch her back home and leave him behind, you got another think coming. These two belong together. Why, he even saved your life a few minutes ago.”

“Don’t yell,” said the major. “Nina’s been telling me about him. Jake, I’m proud of you! Will you shake hands?” The Parson turned to go. “Wait a moment. Nina’s explained about you, too. Jake told her. I don’t know if I can repay you for all you’ve done but if money will help.”

“Money? Money!” said the Parson. “Mister, I could fall over with surprise at that crack.”

He stalked out on deck. The crowd had parted and two big policemen in white drill jackets and blue trousers were pounding toward the boat with beefy determination.

The Parson moved forward to meet them at the rail.