Black Mask (Vol. 21, No. 8 — November, 1938)

Mobster Guns by W. T. Ballard

A stunt flyer quits his movie role and Bill Lennox skirmishes with death to find out why.

Sol Spurck, vice-president in charge of production at General Consolidated’s West Coast studio stared across his massive desk at Bill Lennox, his trouble shooter.

“A fine kettle with fish you have got us into now,” his voice was accusing. The enormous diamond on his finger winked in the late afternoon sun as he pounded the desk.

Lennox looked at his chief. His eyes mirrored the tired brain, buffeted by five years of Hollywood turmoil. “What have I done now?”

Spurck seemed to gather himself together as if in preparation for an explosion, but when he spoke his tone was deceivingly mild. “Answer me one thing, please. Was it or was it not you which suggested I should cast Frank Hobbs in that airplane picture?”

Lennox said, “Sure. What’s wrong with that?”

Spurck appealed to the ceiling. “He asks me what’s wrong while Rome burns yet, or anyhow a million dollar picture goes boom. Hobbs quit. He’s through, he’s running out. The picture is half in the can and he says maybe he come back next month and finish it.”

Lennox’ eyes widened. “What’s this?”

Spurck said, “Ain’t I just been telling you? Hobbs is walking out, quitting us cold.”

Lennox said, “I’ll see about that,” and swung toward the door.

As he came out of the Administration Building and started across the big lot, a lovely girl in a knitted gray suit came toward him. He paused, waiting for her to come up.

Nancy Hobbs, feature writer for one of Hollywood’s better fan magazines, smiled. “Hello, Bill. You look as if the Hayes’ office had just ruled you out of pictures.”

He grunted. “It’s that screwy cousin of yours. You talked me into giving Hobbs a part in that ‘Air Trails’ picture, and now he’s walking out.”

She stared. “Walking out? But I thought he was doing swell!”

Lennox’ voice was bitter. “That’s the trouble. He did so well that they built up his part until he’s playing the second lead. Now he’s trying to run out on us.”

The girl wrinkled her pretty brows. “Run out on you? That doesn’t sound like Frank. I don’t get it.”

Lennox shook his head. “I don’t get it either. I want to talk to him and he’s not on the lot. Know where I can find him?”

She hesitated. “He might be over at the La Paloma. There’s a dancer over there that he’s interested in.”

Lennox said, “I’ll give him something else to be interested in,” and turned toward the gate.

The girl caught his arm. “Wait a minute. I’ll go with you. Frank’s hot tempered and if you rub him the wrong way he’s just stubborn enough to do anything. Maybe it runs in the family. Anyway, I’ve got my car outside.”

Lennox followed her to the car and climbed in.

The La Paloma was a big brick building below Alameda. It was a poor location for a night club — on the wrong end of town — but it was beginning to get a play, even from the movie trade. The atmosphere was authentic Mexican, the cooking good and the entertainment swell.

Nancy swung her car into the sparsely filled parking lot.

“They don’t get much business in the afternoons,” she explained, “but you should see the place at night. It’s a regular mad house. They didn’t expect it to be, when they started. It’s owned by some revolutionists who were on the wrong side of things in the last scrap below the Border. Frank was one of the aviators for those rebels, you know.”

Lennox nodded. He was much more interested in getting the ‘Air Trails’ picture finished than he was in Mexican politics. He said, “Come on. Let’s find Frank,” and led the way toward the entrance.

A dark-haired girl in native Mexican costume took his hat at the checkroom and they went through an arch into the big dining-room beyond. A Mexican orchestra played on a raised platform. A dozen couples swayed on the big dance floor, looking lost, almost forlorn, in the large, gloomy room. A waiter appeared, smiled as he recognized Nancy.

“Ah, señorita. You are welcome.”

Nancy nodded. “Is Frank Hobbs around?”

The waiter shrugged. “I have not seen him today. Perhaps he is in the bar.”

Nancy thanked him and she and Lennox mounted the stairs to a carpeted second floor to a long, cool barroom.

Booths lined one wall and the bar extended the whole length of the other. Three white-coated bartenders lounged at the far end. Only one of the booths was occupied. Nancy approached the bar.

“Seen Frank Hobbs?”

A tall, dark man with a knife scar across the bridge of his nose shook a pock-marked face. “We have not seen him today, señorita.”

The girl hesitated. “Is Rita here?”

The man nodded. “You wish her?”

“If she isn’t busy. We’ll wait over here. Make me a Tom Collins.”

Lennox said, “Same,” and they went to the booth.

The girl who came through the small door at the end of the bar was stunning in the bright costume she wore. Her skin was creamy velvet, her hair blue-black, her features classic. As she saw Nancy her face lighted and she almost ran forward.

“Nancy!”

Nancy rose. “Rita, darling. You take my breath every time I see you.”

The girl laughed, a tiny embarrassed sound. “You are too good, but it is nice to see you, my friend.” She spoke English without a trace of accent, but awkwardly. “Too long have you stayed away.”

Nancy said, “Business! Anyhow this funny looking mugg is Bill Lennox. Maybe you’ve heard of him?”

The girl inspected Lennox with the simplicity of a child. “I have heard such nice things, and he is not funny looking. Me, I think he is very nice.”

Lennox smiled in spite of himself. “There! You see,” he told Nancy. “You don’t appreciate me.”

Nancy made room for the girl at her side. “I have to keep him in his place,” she said, smiling, then sobered. “We want to see Frank, Rita. Have you heard from him today?”

The girl shook her head. “Your cousin is angry with me because I cannot come to his party. He will not understand that I have to work.”

Nancy nodded. “Listen, Rita. Have you any idea what Frank is up to? Bill got him that job in pictures and he was doing swell. Now he’s trying to run out before the picture is finished. If he leaves now he’ll never get another job in Hollywood.”

Lennox thought the girl’s dark eyes filmed suddenly, then she brightened and was gay again.

“Surely you mistake. That is not like Frank.”

Nancy agreed. “It isn’t. Well, if he isn’t here, we’ll have to run.”

Rita stood up. “I must go now, but finish your drinks. I will see you later.” She was gone, leaving them sipping their drinks, staring silently at each other.

Finally Bill said, “Who is she?”

Nancy said, “She’s the dancer here. Her father is General Rodriguez, the one who led that last revolution. When he and his followers escaped to the United States after the revolt collapsed, they started this place. She’s a nice kid.”

Lennox agreed, his eyes narrowing suddenly as two men slid through the door at the end of the bar, paused for an instant, then came toward the booth.

Lennox’ voice was colorless as he spoke. “Hello, Morgan.”

Butcher Morgan was large, well over six feet, weighing a good two-twenty with not an ounce of fat on his hard-muscled body. The man at his side was smaller, coming hardly to Morgan’s shoulder.

Morgan nodded. “Hello, Lennox. Mind if we sit down?” He did not wait for an invitation, but crowded in at Lennox’ side.

The smaller man remained standing. For an instant his mask of a face cracked in a tiny smile of recognition for the girl. “Good day, Miss Hobbs!”

She said, “This is a surprise. Bill, do you know General Rodriguez?”

Lennox shook hands, his face not betraying his racing thoughts as he tried to figure out what an exiled Mexican patriot was doing with Butcher Morgan.

He knew Morgan well, had known him for years, ever since the man’s liquor boat had supplied thirsty Hollywood during prohibition, but he hadn’t seen Morgan for three years. He’d heard that the man had turned legitimate and built up a very profitable business in domestic wines.

The General was ill at ease. Morgan was cool, calm, collected as always. He smiled, his thick lips drawing back in what he thought was a gesture of good humor.

“Look, Bill. We’ve always been friends, haven’t we?”

Lennox’ voice was flat. “Friends?”

Dull red came up under Morgan’s thick skin. “Oh. So, you want it that way?”

Lennox said, “What way?” There was a prickly sensation at the back of his neck. “What do you want, Morgan?”

Morgan said, tonelessly, “I want you to leave Frank Hobbs alone. He’s got a little job to do, a little job that only he can do. It’s important.”

Lennox’ eyes never flickered. “The picture he’s working on is important, too.”

Morgan laughed, sound without mirth. “It depends on what you call important. I’m not kidding, Bill. I know you and I don’t want trouble with you, so I’m giving it to you straight. Don’t mess into this. Nothing’ll stop us, and the guy that tries will get hurt. Shelve your picture for a couple of weeks. I know it costs dough, but you and General Consolidated both aren’t big enough to monkey into this game. Nobody’s going to change Frank’s mind. He’s going through with this deal, and he’s going to like it.”

Nancy caught her breath sharply. “Listen to me, Butcher Morgan,” she said angrily. “I don’t know what you re talking about, and I don’t care, and I’m telling you right now that I’ll see that Frank finishes that picture.”

Lennox patted her hand. “Easy, kid.”

Morgan said, “That’s right, Bill. Tell her I’m not joking.” He rose, his big body giving the impression of driving power. “Come on, Rodriguez.”

The general looked unhappy, more ill at ease. He hesitated for a moment, then moved after Morgan.

Nancy said sharply, “Of all the nerve! When I see Frank—”

Lennox told her, flatly. “You’re not even going to mention it. You’re going to keep out of things, kid. Morgan is no one to monkey with. He means exactly what he says.”

She stared at him. “You mean you’re going to let him get away with it? You’re going to let Frank walk out on the picture?”

Lennox told her, “I didn’t say that. But I’ll do the talking. Will Frank be at his apartment tonight?”

She nodded. “He and Mike Farnero are giving a party. They live in the same building.”

He looked at her. “Mike?”

She nodded. “Yes, you know. The man who’s working with Frank on the picture. He was in Mexico with him.”

Lennox nodded. “I remember now. I hate to crash the party, but—”

She said, “You won’t be crashing. I was going to ask you anyway. Meet me over at Frank’s about eight. I’ve got to go over early and help to get things ready. And, Bill, don’t let Frank do whatever Morgan wants him to. I don’t like him mixed up with this crowd.”

The apartment house where Hobbs and Farnero lived was three-storied, built around an open court, with balconies for halls. Lennox parked his coupé in the basement garage, mounted to the third floor and went along the balcony toward the far end.

He paused before the apartment door and knocked. Beyond the door a radio played loudly, filling the air with discordant sound. He knocked again, got no response and tried the knob. It turned under his hand and he pushed it open.

The room inside was crowded, a jumbled mass of color and shouted conversation. Over it all the radio blared endlessly. No one seemed to give it heed, no one seemed to notice Lennox in the open doorway. He stood still for a moment, his eyes sweeping the room, then he saw Frank Hobbs against the far wall talking to a tall blonde.

The flyer was chubby, short. His boyish pink and white face was flushed. His eyes were bright as he turned, then they filmed as he saw Lennox.

“Hello, Bill.” It wasn’t that he lacked cordiality, but there was an odd note in his voice.

Lennox wanted a chance to talk to the flyer alone. He steered Frank into the kitchen, sensing that Hobbs was not anxious to go. He shut the swinging door to keep out some of the noise.

“What’s this I hear about you walking out on the studio?”

Hobbs stirred uncomfortably. “Look, Bill. I told Spurck I’d get back just as soon as I could.”

Lennox grunted. “And in the meanwhile we hold up a million dollar production. What do you have to go for? Where do you have to go? Don’t you think you owe us some explanation, at least. Why the mystery?”

Hobbs twisted his glass uncertainly. The blonde came through the swinging door.

She said, brightly, “Oh, there you are,” and practically threw herself into Hobbs’ arms.

He seemed glad to have her there, glad to be relieved of the necessity of answering Lennox’ questions. He said, “Look, Bill. I’ll talk to you later. Why don’t you go down and get Nancy?”

Lennox stared at him. “Go get her? Where is she?”

Hobbs said, “She went down to get Mike fifteen minutes ago. Better go watch your girl friend, Mike’s the devil with women. He lives downstairs at the front — 212.” He turned to the ice-box and started to mix the blonde’s drink.

Lennox stared at him for a moment, then swung on his heel and left the apartment. He went down the stairs and walked along the balcony toward the door of 212 and knocked.

Nancy’s voice called, “Who is it?”

He said, “Bill. Come on, they’re yelling for you guys upstairs.”

The door swung open and he got a look at her face. It was white, strained. A moment later she was in his arms and he was staring beyond her at the still figure on the rug beside the wall couch.

He swore under his breath, pushed her away from him, stepped in and closed the door, then he crossed to kneel beside the body.

He had only seen Mike Farnero once but he recognized the tall flyer instantly. The man wore a sports coat and no vest. The shirt was a polo type with V collar of tan linen, but on the left side, over the heart, there was a blotch of red, slowly turning black around the edges. The body was still warm, but there was no sign of life.

She was watching him, her hands clenched at her sides. “Is he — dead?”

Lennox rose slowly, nodded, then his eyes focused on her right hand, staring at the gun. “Nancy!”

She looked at her hand, looked at the gun in it as if she had never seen it before. “Bill! It was on the floor. I picked it up, close to the door.”

He said, “Sure,” and took it from her. “You shouldn’t have picked it up, kid.”

She nodded. “I know. I picked it up before I came all the way in. I knocked on the door, got no answer and tried the knob. It was unlocked and I pushed it open. The first thing I saw was the gun, then I saw Mike over there. Then you rapped on the door.”

Lennox stared at her. “Your cousin told me you’d been down here for fifteen or twenty minutes.”

She looked at him, wide-eyed. “Bill Lennox! Are you suspecting me of murder?”

His voice roughened. “Don’t be a damn fool. I’m trying to get things lined up. After all, we have to talk to the cops, and although my cop pal, Spellman, may like you he’s not in love with you.”

She nodded. “Sorry, but this has shaken me up. I’ve known Mike for years, ever since Frank and he and I were kids together. I did come down about twenty minutes ago. The ginger ale was getting low.

“I walked over to the drugstore on Sunset to get some more. The place was closed. I came up here to get the keys to Mike’s car so I could drive over to the all-night market. When he didn’t answer I assumed he’d gone upstairs, but I thought his keys might be on his desk. That’s why I came on in. When I saw him lying there I...” She stared down at the quiet form.

Lennox looked at the gun. It was a thirty-two, a snub-nosed, cheap, mail-order gun. He handled it gingerly, his mind busy trying to map a course of action. He wished that the girl had not picked it up; that her finger-prints weren’t on the nickeled surface. He was almost tempted to wipe it with his handkerchief. He hated to see Nancy subjected to the grilling of the police and reporters, but he knew that, by lying, he might only make things worse. He turned and went toward the phone.

Nancy’s voice reached him sharply. “What are you going to do, Bill?”

Lennox answered, tonelessly, “Call the police.” He picked up the receiver.

“Call the police? No, Bill! Wait! I’m scared. Wait a little.”

Bill shook his head. “I’d like to, kid, but I’m afraid it won’t work. That gang upstairs knows that you and I came down here to get Farnero. They’re bound to talk. The best thing we can do is to play it straight. I’ll call Spellman and get him up here. He’s bull-headed, but he’s a good cop.”

She nodded. “Sorry, Bill. I lost my head. Go ahead and phone.”

Lennox obeyed, said into the instrument, “Is Spellman there? Yeah, Floyd? Bill Lennox. There’s been a killing out at—” He gave the number. “Yeah. Flyer named Farnero. That’s right. Someone got him in the chest... No, I didn’t exactly find the body, but I almost did. I’ll explain when you get here.” He hung up and turned around to find the girl watching him.

“What do we do now?”

He shrugged. “Wait.”

Somewhere a clock ticked, the only noise in the apartment. Above, the radio blared into the night. Nancy moved restlessly.

“I wish they’d shut that thing off.” Her voice told the strain under which she was laboring.

Lennox put an arm about her shoulders. “Steady, kid. Spellman will be here in a little while. Any idea who would kill Mike?”

She shook her head. “Not the slightest.”

Lennox’ eyes were on the stained left breast. “Well, someone did.” He went over and sank into a chair. “Relax, honey. It won’t do any good to get the jitters.” They waited...

There was noise of a car below, heavy feet tramped up the stairs, came along the balcony. Someone knocked.

SPELLMAN was big, short-necked, bullet-headed captain of detectives. He nodded to Bill, started as he saw the girl.

“Hello, Nancy.”

She said, “Hello, Floyd.”

Spellman looked toward the body. “Who is he?”

Lennox told him. “Nancy came back from the store and up here for Farnero’s keys. She found the gun just inside the door and picked it up. Her prints are still on it.”

The red in Spellman’s face deepened. “Look, Bill. I’ve known you and Nancy for a long time. How about coming clean?”

Lennox’ mouth tightened. “Just what are you getting at?”

Spellman, for once in his life, seemed uncertain. “I— Well, if she came up here and this guy made a pass or something, and she—”

Lennox said, sharply. “Nothing like that. She didn’t shoot Mike. They were pals, they grew up together. If I’d thought she was implicated, don’t you think I’d have wiped her prints off this rod and had her scram out of here?”

Spellman said, “Sure, sure.” He was staring down at the gun. “Where’s this guy Hobbs?”

Lennox shrugged. “Upstairs at the party, I guess.”

Spellman turned to one of his men. “Bring him down.”

They stood around waiting. Frank Hobbs hurried into the room. He’d had several drinks and they showed in his eyes, then he saw Farnero and he was suddenly sober, on his knees beside his friend.

“Mike! Mike!”

Spellman seized him and jerked him back with a big hand. Hobbs swung around fighting. Spellman held him easily as a child.

“Don’t touch anything. Get it?” He let the flyer go.

Hobbs looked at his cousin, then Lennox. “What happened. Who got Mike?”

Bill shook his head. “We don’t know. Nancy found him like that.”

Frank Hobbs’ face was a mask of repression. “If they—” His fists bulged at his sides.

Spellman was watching him. “If who?”

The flyer shook his head. “Nothing.”

Spellman exploded. “What the hell is going on here? Listen, if you think that just because you know me, and that you work for the studio...” He was shouting at Lennox.

Bill said, “Save it.”

“Save it, hell.” He swung back to face Hobbs. “Listen, you. Ever see this before?” He extended the gun.

Hobbs nodded. “Sure. It was Mike’s. He took it off a drunk in an east side joint a couple of months ago. But I don’t know who used it.”

The Detective Captain said, “You didn’t, of course?”

The flyer stared at him. “Are you trying to be funny?”

Spellman nodded. “Sure. I go around cracking wise whenever we have a murder. I’m funny that way. Now get this, mugg. I don’t like your attitude.”

Hobbs’ mouth had a circle of whiteness. Lennox grabbed his shoulder as the flyer started to heave forward.

“Hold it!” His tone was curt. “We’re not getting any place with this. You guys aren’t staging a battle. You’re trying to find out who killed Mike.”

Hobbs said, in a milder tone, “Then make the big lug lay off me.”

Spellman’s face gained a bloated appearance. “Lug! I’ll show you who’s a lug. When’d you see Farnero last?”

Hobbs hesitated. “At dinner. We all had dinner together. Nancy and I went ahead up to my place to get things ready. Mike had a couple of letters he wanted to write. He said he’d be up around eight.”

Spellman was trying to be subtle. “And you never left the party? You didn’t come down here — sneak down?”

Hobbs stared at him, anger again glinting in his eyes, darkening them. “I did not.”

Spellman turned to one of his men. “I’m going upstairs, Harry. Hold these people until I get back.” He was gone, slamming the door.

Lennox lit a cigarette, told Hobbs in a low tone, “Don’t rub Floyd the wrong He’s a good guy when you know him, but if he gets an idea he never gets rid of it.”

The chubby flyer sounded surly. “Then tell him to lay off. I didn’t kill Mike. I want his murderer a lot more than that big-footed mugg does.”

Lennox sounded dry. “You haven’t been exactly helpful. You were going to tell him something, then you didn’t.”

Hobbs said, “Because it was a screwy idea. It wouldn’t help and it might hurt a lot of people. I—” He broke off as Spellman came back through the door. He looked pleased, like a cat that had just found a full mouse trap.

“I thought you said you didn’t leave the party upstairs?”

Hobbs’ face set. “Well?”

The Detective Captain spoke slowly. “They tell me that you did; that you were gone almost fifteen minutes, and that you’d been back only a few minutes when Lennox came to the door.”

Nancy stared miserably at her cousin.

Hobbs said, “They’re mistaken. I stepped out onto the balcony for a minute to see why Nancy and Mike weren’t coming, but I went back in. I wasn’t out more than a couple of minutes or so.”

Lennox, watching the flyer, knew suddenly that Hobbs was lying. He wasn’t sure that Spellman knew, but Hobbs’ voice wasn’t natural. It was forced, too positive.

The detective turned toward the coroner’s man. “How long has he been dead, Doc?”

The man shrugged. “Not long. I’d say he was killed around ten, maybe a little earlier.”

Spellman swung about. “What about prints on the gun?”

The man said, “Can’t tell exactly, Captain, but there seems to be only one set — a woman’s, I’d say, and some blurred ones at the end of the barrel.”

“Those’ll be mine,” Lennox told him. “I picked it up that way.”

“Woman’s, huh?” Spellman glowered at Nancy.

Lennox said, sharply, “Don’t be a sap. I told you that she had the gun in her hand when I came in. And get this, Floyd. That gun’s been lying around for months. It would have a lot of prints on it except for one thing.”

“Yeah? What’s that?”

“The murderer — whoever it was — wiped off the gun after he shot Farnero. Otherwise there’d be a whole raft of prints on it. As it is, there are just mine and hers.”

Spellman said, “She might have wiped it off.”

Lennox stared at him. “Are you nuts? Why in the hell would she wipe it off?”

The Detective Captain shrugged. “Well, she might do it if she were covering up for someone, perhaps her—” The door slammed open and the blonde Lennox had seen with Hobbs barged into the room.

She was more than a little drunk, and fended off the homicide men with a dignity which was almost comical. She pushed her way forward until she faced Spellman.

“Ju wanna know who killed Mike Farnero? I know.”

They all stared at her. “He did.” She turned and pointed dramatically at Frank Hobbs. “He did it.”

Spellman barked, “Where’d you get that idea?”

She said owlishly, “Didn’t. Mike told me. Mike said Frank was damn fool. Said Frank was screwy and that he wasn’t going to let him walk out on studio.”

Spellman swung on Lennox. “What’s this about Hobbs walking out on the studio?”

Bill hesitated. “Nothing. Just a little matter which we’ll get ironed out Farnero didn’t have anything to do with it.”

Spellman rapped, “Then where did this dame get the idea?”

Lennox said, with obvious disgust “Out of a bottle. I don’t even know who she is.”

The blonde said, “Mike’s girl.” She was very grave, very positive about it then she collapsed into the nearest cop’s arms.

Spellman shrugged. “That cinches it.”

“Cinches what?” Lennox was staring at him.

“We hold Hobbs.”

Nancy’s eyes met Bill’s wide, urgent. They said more plainly than words, “Do something! You’ve got to do something.”

He nodded to show her that he understood, turned and going to the phone, called Sam Marx. The lawyer sounded sleepy, but he promised to meet them at Headquarters.

Morning sunlight drew a pattern across the carpet in Spellman’s office as Lennox walked in. The Detective Captain looked up and grunted a welcome which had no pleasure in it.

“What do you want?”

Lennox said, “Two things. I want you to free Frank Hobbs, and if you won’t do that, I want you to let him come out to the studio. We’ve got ten more days shooting on the picture and we’ve got to have him.”

“You’re nuts. You can’t use a murderer in pictures and get away with it. The Hayes office would kill it in a minute.”

“He isn’t a murderer. You can’t show me one motive which would stand up.”

Spellman’s smile was thick with satisfaction. “We’ve got the best motive in the world, wise guy. Greed. Farnero left half of everything he owned to Hobbs.”

Lennox was laughing suddenly- Spellman stared at him suspiciously. “What s so funny about that?”

Lennox said, “Everything. You, mostly. The idea that a tramp flyer would have any dough at all is crazy enough, but that Mike Farnero could have had enough to make someone kill him to get it is really one for the book.”

Spellman nodded. “O.K., wise guy. Get a load of this. I’ve talked to the lawyer that drew Farnero’s will last week. It seems that two years ago when Mike and Frank Hobbs were fighting for the revolutionists below the Line, Mike saved the life of a big ranchero. This mugg died recently, and he left Mike over a million in good old American dollars. Frank Hobbs gets half of that. A nephew of Mike’s in San Diego gets the rest. This nephew is flying up here this morning.”

For an instant Lennox was too surprised to speak, then he said, slowly, “That doesn’t even make sense. Farnero and Hobbs were buddies. If Frank had wanted dough, Mike would have given him the whole works. He didn’t have to kill him.”

Spellman shrugged. “That’s not the way the blonde tells it. We finally got her sober and she talked. Mike and Hobbs have been rowing for over a week.”

“What about?”

The Homicide chief spread his hands. “Better go and ask Hobbs. Maybe you can get it out of him.”

Lennox rose. “That’s exactly what I’m going to do.” He left the detective’s office, rode up in the elevator and asked to see the flyer. A call from Spellman had him admitted and a few minutes later he was talking to the prisoner.

Hobbs was pacing back and forth across the small cell. “I’ve got to get out of here, Bill. I’ve got to find out something and I’m the only one who can do it.”

Lennox told him, “You can make up your mind to one thing. You’re not getting out until Mike’s real killer is found. Spellman will see to that. He’s got his thick head set on the idea that you’re guilty. Tell me what you want done.”

The flyer shook his head stubbornly. “Can’t.”

Lennox had difficulty keeping the anger out of his voice. “What’s Butcher Morgan got to do with him — and Rodriguez?”

Hobbs started. “Where’d you get the idea that they had anything to do with it?”

Lennox told him. “It’s your turn to start answering questions. Did Morgan or the General kill Farnero?”

The flyer hesitated. “I don’t know,” then his chubby face hardened. “Keep out of this, Lennox. This is my business. Let me take care of it my way.”

Bill told him, harshly, “I’ve got a stake in this too. Remember, there’s half a million of General Consolidated’s money tied up in a picture that we can’t finish without you. And I’m the one who got you the job. This other job Morgan and Rodriguez want you to do— Is it flying for them to Mexico? Maybe flying guns?”

Hobbs frowned, lowered his eyes, refused to answer. “Look, Bill. I’m a heel, I’m anything you want to call me, but do one thing. Send Nancy down here. I’ve got to talk to her.”

Lennox gave up and left the cell. He rode the elevator to the street and took a cab to the studio. There was a memo on his desk that Spurck wanted to see him as soon as he came in. He went into the production chief’s office.

Spurck looked like Napoleon at the rout of Waterloo. “So, you find time to come to the office yet. Positivel, you would think you do us a favor, working here.”

Spurck sat down. He was short and always felt at a disadvantage when standing. “Last night I tell you Hobbs is walking out with half the picture in the can already, and you promise to fix it. You fix it! Not only has he walked out on us, but now the schliemel is mixed up with a murder yet. A fine business! A collosal business, for a man with high blood pressure. Oi!”

Lennox was geting sore. “I’ve been downtown all morning trying to straighten things out. Hobbs won’t talk, but I don’t think he killed Farnero.”

“You don’t think! Does that re-shoot the picture? Does that find us another flyer?”

“Pour it on. I’m doing the best I can.”

“And I say,” Spurck said triumphantly, “that best is not yet good enough. Look, Bill. Hire the best detectives; find out who this killer is and get this Hobbs out from jail, but when you get him, hang on to him till we finish with all the retakes. That is all. We are positively depending on you. D’ya understand?”

Lennox rode in a cab out to Nancy Hobbs’. The fan writer looked tired when she opened the door and led the way into the living-room. There was a man in the chair beside the window.

Nancy said, “This is Arthur Farnero, Bill. Arthur is Mike’s nephew. They wired him and he flew up from San Diego this morning.”

Farnero was tall, thick through the shoulders, and black-haired. He shook hands, said, “This knocks me over, Mr. Lennox. I saw Mike last week.”

Bill nodded. “I understand how you feel. Any idea as to who might have done it?”

Farnero hesitated. “Several. Mike had a sarcastic way at times. A lot of people have been burnt up about it.”

The girl cut in: “Have you seen Frank, Bill?”

“Yes, I was there this morning. He wants to see you. I wish your cousin would talk. He told me that he didn’t kill Mike and I don’t think he’s lying, but he does know something, or has an idea.”

Her voice was impatient. “Of course he didn’t kill Mike. Why, he’d kill me.”

Arthur Farnero said, “What if I went and talked to him. After all, it’s my business, too. He might talk to me.”

Lennox looked at him. “You might try it. It can’t hurt anything. By the way, you saw your uncle the other day. I don’t suppose he said anything that might help?”

Farnero shrugged. “I don’t remember. We were talking about some of the men we used to know in Mexico. I was with him down there, you know.” He smiled. “It was fun while it lasted, but it didn’t last long. We had some old crates — the wings used to fall off every time we took them up.” He rose and said, “Will you come over to Mike’s apartment with me for a second? I’d like to look around.”

“All right.” Lennox was on his feet. “I’ll be back in a little while,” he told Nancy, and followed Farnero down the steps and to Mike’s apartment.

The policeman at the door nodded as he saw Lennox and let them into the apartment.

Once inside, Farnero said, “I wanted to talk to you without Nancy hearing what I had to say.”

Lennox stared at him in surprise. Farnero went on, “I want you to understand. Mike had a bad temper, and when he was mad he said things that he regreted later. Well, I know that he was sore at Frank. Some of the revolutionists we fought for in Mexico have been talking to Frank, Mike didn’t tell me last week what they wanted, but I can guess.

“There’s trouble starting down there. They wanted Mike to go, but he wouldn’t listen. Frank did. He’s in love with the daughter of one of the leaders. He promised them he’d do something — Mike didn’t tell me what it was — but after they started working in pictures, Mike wanted Frank to pull out of the revolution. Frank wouldn’t do it. Said he’d promised, and that he wouldn’t break his word.

“They’ve been arguing for two weeks. I think maybe they started again last night; that Mike may have said something to make Frank sore and he grabbed the gun, then Mike struggled with him and it went off.”

Lennox was watching. “That’s not what the cops think. They think Frank killed Mike for the money.”

“Money! What money?” Farnero’s voice was high with surprise.

Lennox stared. “Haven’t you heard? Mike inherited plenty from some man whose life he saved below the Line. I think you are mentioned in the will.”

“The devil!” Farnero ran a hand across his eyes. “I’ll have to look into that. I haven’t had a chance to see Mike’s lawyer, but what I’m trying to say is — I like Frank and I’m very fond of Nancy. I know what Mike would want me to do. I just wanted to tell you that whether Hobbs is guilty or not, I’ll help him as much as I can. I’m going down to the jail.”

Lennox didn’t say anything. He followed Farnero to the street and watched the man get into his cab, then he went back up the block to the girl’s apartment.

Voices reached him through the thin panel of Nancy’s door. He rapped and for an instant there was silence within, then footsteps. Nancy opened the door.

“Oh, it’s you.” She seemed puzzled, a little surprised as if she hadn’t expected him back so quickly.

He followed her in, started as he recognized the slight man in the big chair across the room. The man rose quickly and made a bow, stiffly from the hips

Nancy said, “You remember General Rodriguez, don’t you, Bill?”

“I remember the General extremely well.”

The General smiled briefly. “Ah, Mr. Lennox. The pleasure is all mine.”

Lennox looked from the General to the girl, puzzled. “And to what do we owe the pleasure of your visit, General?”

The General spread his hands. “I fear that Mr. Lennox does not like me.” He was adressing the girl. “Still, señorita, I trust that you will do what I ask. I assure you that it will be the best for all of us.”

Lennox’s voice was flat, final. “Listen, Rodriguez, and get this straight once and for all. Nancy’s not doing anything for you. She’s keeping entirely clear of this mess.”

The General hesitated for a moment. Then: “It’s unfortunate that you take that attitude, Mr. Lennox. It would be much better for all of us if you would cooperate.” His voice was soft, silky with hidden threat. “What we do is so big that no one man, or group of men, can stand in the way.”

Lennox said, his jaw set: “I’m telling you to keep Miss Hobbs out of this. I mean exactly that, General. Good-by!” He turned and held the door open.

Rodriguez’ shrug was expressive. “So sorry.” He made a stiff bow and went out.

Lennox shut the door. The girl’s eyes were on him as he lowered his voice. “What did that guy want?”

She said. “He wanted me to go down and see Frank. He said for Frank to tell me where they were hidden.”

Lennox’ eyes narrowed. “Where what were hidden?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe I’d better do it. Maybe I’d find out from Frank what this is all about. Maybe then Morgan and Rodriguez would leave Frank alone.”

Lennox said, “Nothing doing. You’re keeping clear out of this. I’ll handle Morgan and the General. I’ll handle Frank, too. Now listen, Nancy, this is serious. I think it would be very, very wise if you got out of town.”

She said, “But I can’t now. Don’t forget I work for a living; that I’ve got a deadline to meet.”

He said, “I’m not forgetting anything, but it’s better to be alive and fail to make a deadline, than it is to be dead. Get your things together and get the afternoon train for ’Frisco. I’m going back to the jail and talk to that screwy cousin of yours. It’s about time he got next to himself.”

She said. “But I—”

“Now listen,” he said. “For once, do as I tell you without arguing. I don’t know Rodriguez, but I do know Morgan. If that mugg sets his head on doing anything he’ll do it, and a little thing like murder wouldn’t stop him. You get your bag packed and get out of here. When you get to ’Frisco, go to the Saint Francis. I’ll call you long distance tomorrow and let you know what’s going on.” He turned to go.

His voice softened. “So long, kid. Take care of yourself.”

She said, “But, Bill, if it’s dangerous for me, maybe it’s dangerous for you, too.”

He shrugged. “I don’t think so. I’ve been up against Morgan’s kind and came through. Anyway, what they want is something from Frank, not me. They’re evidently afraid to go down to the jail and see him themselves. I used to think they wanted him to fly for them for some revolutionist reason, but now I think it’s something deeper.”

She said, “Do you think they killed Mike?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. I’ve got to figure some way to get Frank out of jail. I’ve got to get him clear so that we can finish that damned movie. So long.” He closed the door and went along the balcony.

As he came down the steps onto the sidewalk, he saw a car parked at the curb beyond a row of huge palms. But he hardly glanced at it until Rodriguez’ voice stopped him.

“Lennox!”

Bill turned his head. The General said, “Come over here a minute. I want to speak to you.”

Bill did not move. A man came around one of the palms. There was a small gun in his hand that glinted viciously in the sun.

“Get in the car!”

Lennox walked across the wide park-Butcher Morgan was in the back seat. The General was standing beside the open door.

“Get in.” Rodriguez held no gun, but he did not need one. The man with the gun was still at Lennox’ back. Bill got in.

Morgan smiled. “You’re being difficult, Lennox. If you’d used your head this wouldn’t have been necessary.”

Bill said, “These aren’t the old racket days, Butcher, when mobsters’ guns made their own law. You haven’t got a chance to get away with this and you know it. This is about the dumbest play I ever heard of.”

Morgan said, “Not so dumb. Don’t worry. We’re not going to do anything as crude as kill you. We’re just going to lock you up out of the way until you can’t do us any more harm.”

Lennox stared at him. The man with the gun had walked around the car and crawled in beside the driver. Rodriguez was in the back seat at Lennox’ left side. The car rolled away from the curb.

Lennox said, “What’s the game anyway, Butcher? You can’t buy yourself anything by cooping me up. After all, I haven’t got Frank Hobbs. The cops have him and Spellman is pretty bull-headed.”

Morgan nodded. “All we want to do is to get a message through to Hobbs.”

Lennox said, “What message?”

“That,” Morgan told him, “is our business. But whoever tries to stop us gets — hurt.”

Lennox’ eyes narrowed. “Like Mike Farnero got his?”

The big man shrugged. “You don’t think we killed Farnero, do you? Why should we kill him?”

Bill said. “Because he was blocking your game, whatever it is, because he wouldn’t let Frank Hobbs go through with whatever he planned; because he was tryin to make Frank finish the picture.”

The big man laughed. “That’s where you’re wrong. I don’t know who killed Farnero, and I don’t care. All I want to do is get Hobbs out of jail and I am going to get him out.” He leaned forward, said to the driver, “Let us out at the next corner, Harry. Then take Lennox out to the house and keep him there until you hear from me.”

The car pulled to the curb. Rodriguez and Morgan got out. The man with the gun had it resting on the back of the front seat. It was pointed directly at Lennox.

Morgan said to the driver, “After you’ve taken Lennox out to the house come on back here. Rodriguez and I are going to talk to the girl. If she won’t listen to reason we’ll pick her up too.”

Lennox stared at them. “Hey, wait!”

Morgan shook his head. “Nothing stirring, Bill. You had your chance to play ball. Now we’re going to do it my way.”

Lennox started forward. The man with the gun grinned wolfishly. “Easy, punk. I always did want to shoot a big shot.”

Lennox stared at the man. He had chalk-like eyes, set in a flat, unimaginative face. His lips had a sardonic grin. He said, “I ain’t shot nobody for three years.” He sounded as if he was a little disappointed about it.

The car began to move. Morgan was standing on the curb laughing. General Rodriguez hadn’t said a word, but Lennox knew he would get no help from him.

The house sat far up on the hills above Los Feliz, far apart from any others. The man with the gun grinned at Lennox.

“You might as well make yourself at home, sport. You’ve got a long wait.” He was in a chair between Lennox and the door, the gun on a small table at his side.

Lennox sat down on a couch. Morgan evidently did himself well. The house looked like money. The furniture was new and very modern — the bar alone must have cost a thousand dollars. Lennox’ eyes were on the bar.

He said, “Mind if I help myself to a drink?”

The man waved a large hand. “Why not? Butcher paid for it.”

Lennox walked across, put whiskey into a tall glass, coated it with soda and downed it at a gulp. It steadied his nerves but increased the heat of his body. It was already hot in the room. The afternoon sun beat in through the full length windows. A telephone bell rang, sharp discordant sound in the quiet house.

The guard rose to answer it, taking his gun with him. Lennox’ eyes measured the west window. It was possible to throw himself through it, but just beyond was a retaining wall — forty feet of sheer concrete. He couldn’t drop over it and live.

The man was at the far corner talking into the French phone. He said, “Yeah, I got him. Sure, quiet as a baby... I’ll tell him, chief.” He replaced the phone in its cradle.

“They got your girl friend, punk. Morgan thought you might wanna know.”

Lennox said, “That’s sweet of Morgan,” and poured himself another drink.

The man with the gun stretched and yawned. He said, “I don’t like this business much. It’s too ticklish. If them saps hadn’t voted for repeal we’d still been in a good racket.”

Lennox eyed him thoughtfully and made a shrewd guess. He said, “Instead of helping with revolutions?”

The man looked at him sharply. “Oh, so you know that?”

Lennox shrugged. “It’s pretty obvious, isn’t it? Rodriguez’s been kicked out of Mexico twice. He’d like to go back again. What I don’t figure is, where Morgan comes in.”

The man yawned. “That’s because you’re not smart and Butcher is. Butcher looks ahead.” He yawned again. “This is a hell of a thing, having to sit around and play nursemaid to you. How about a game of pinocle?”

Lennox said, “Swell! Anything’s better than sitting here. But I warn you, I’m probably the best pinocle player that ever came out of Chicago.”

The guard’s lips twisted. “Oh, yeah? Well, I’m the best one that ever came from New York. And New York’s bigger than Chicago ever thought of being...”

The guard won steadily. He was a hundred and twelve dollars ahead and very satisfied with himself.

He said, “So, you’re the best pinocle player that ever came out of Chicago? I always did say that was a hick town.”

Lennox didn’t answer. He picked up the deck of cards riffling them, his long fingers making a perfect arch of the pasteboards. “Did you ever see this one?” He took the deck, made a rainbow effect with the flying cards.

The guard said, “Not bad. But I’m still winning. I—” He broke off as Lennox suddenly flipped the whole deck directly into his eyes, a stream of flying cards, the sharp edges blinding him.

The man swore, pushed back, his hand clawing for the gun on the table at his elbow. But Lennox had heaved forward, caught the edge of the heavy table, jerked it upward. It went over, sending the gun scuttling to the carpet, pinning the man to the floor, its edge across his chest, its weight holding him down.

Lennox twisted around the outstretched legs and snatched up the gun. “O.K., buddy. On your feet.”

The guard swore and pushed the table away. As he got up slowly, his chalk-like eyes were pools of light blue flame, his face was a white mask. “I’ll kill you, punk.”

Lennox told him, “You’re not killing anybody at the moment. Turn around and go on up to the bathroom.” He followed the man up the stairs. A white-coated Filipino boy was putting linen into a closet. He turned to look them over with wide, marble-like eyes.

Lennox motioned to him with the gun. “Over there.” He shut the boy in the linen closet, turned the latch. Then he took the guard into the bathroom, made the man find a roll of tape. With the tape, he fastened the man’s wrists and ankles securely, leaving his prisoner sitting on the bathroom floor, his back against the shower stall. Then he went into the hall and bound the Filipino. That done he left the house.

There was a Ford V-8 coupé in the garage, the keys in the lock. He started the motor, went sliding down the steep, winding road. His toe kicked the accelerator almost to the floor as he twisted the coupé through traffic.

His face was a tight mask. He was going to see Frank Hobbs and make the flyer talk. If Morgan had Nancy the time for all stalling was past and he was through stalling. He wheeled the car down the hill, jammed the brakes to stop at a signal. Then he became a witness to a jail break.

He saw Frank Hobbs come out of the building between two guards; saw a black car swing to the curb; saw two men step forward and jab guns into the guards’ backs. Instinctively he shouted a warning, knowing, even as the sound issued from his lips, that the words would be lost in the noise of the afternoon traffic.

Then someone lifted Hobbs and almost pitched him into the black car. He saw the machine swerve away from the curb just as the signal changed. A brief glimpse of the driver told him it was the man who had driven him to the hilltop house.

Everything in the street was confusion; a taxi had pulled directly in front of the police car, blocking its path. The driver slid from under the cab wheel, jumped to the sidewalk and a moment later was lost in the crowd. The men who had held the guards motionless seemed to have melted into the throng. A moment later everything was as serene as if the snatch had not occurred. Sound of motor horns behind him made Lennox conscious of his surroundings.

He tooled the car forward, pulled into the curb, back of the cab, parked the wrong way, and climbed out onto the sidewalk.

Spellman dashed out of the door turned as he saw Lennox. “So, it was you!” He was sputtering, hardly able to utter coherent sound. “So, you did it! I’ll break you, Bill, if it’s the last thing I do.”

Lennox jerked free from Spellman’s grasp. “Don’t be a damned fool, Floyd. I wouldn’t pull a stunt like that, and you know it.”

Spellman said, “The hell you wouldn’t! You’d do anything to shoot that picture. Well, you’re not going to shoot it. I’ll throw the whole force onto the General lot. I’ll see that a camera doesn’t turn until we get Hobbs back into the can.”

Lennox said, “Shut up a minute. You don’t really think I’m a damned enough fool to get Hobbs out that way, do you?”

Spellman stared at him. The Detective Captain’s eyes were small, very dark with rage. He controlled himself with a visible effort. “Then, how do you know so much about it?”

Lennox said, “I saw the whole thing. I was at the corner when it happened. But I didn’t pull it.”

Spellman said, “Who did?”

Lennox started to say, “Butcher Morgan,” then stopped. He remembered suddenly that Morgan had Nancy Hobbs. He didn’t know where she was and he didn’t want the cops running around shooting wildly until he did. He said, “How would I know?”

Spellman had gained partial control _of himself. He looked Lennox over with narrow eyes. “Listen, Bill. If you did plan this, I’ll get you if it’s the last thing I ever do. If you didn’t, I want to know who did, and I’m going to find out. But there’s one thing sure — this pretty well proves that Hobbs did kill Farnero.”

Lennox said, “I’m not so sure of that.”

“You’re not so sure? I suppose an innocent man would take a chance on breaking jail?”

Lennox said, “I’m not so sure that Hobbs went willingly. From where I was, it looked as if he was pretty well into that car. I’m going to find out about it.”

Bill Lennox remembered that Morgan’s registration must be on the steering wheel of the coupé and he didn’t want the cops nosing around Butcher Morgan until he found out where Nancy was and got her out of the way. He drove the coupé away from the business district and took a cab to the La Paloma. Early diners were already thronging in — well dressed Mexicans and a sprinkling of Americans.

The head waiter came forward inquiringly and Lennox slid a five dollar bill into the man’s ready hand.

“Tell Rita I want to see her. I’ll wait in the bar upstairs.”

The man’s dark eyes filmed with caution. “I am not certain she is here, señor. Her first dance is not until ten.”

Something in the man’s manner made Bill think the waiter might be lying. He said, “It’s important. She’ll regret it if she misses me. See if you can find her.”

He sat in one of the booths for fifteen minutes. He’d about decided that the waiter had told him the truth when he saw Rita come hurriedly through the door at the end of the bar. She came forward a little hesitantly, a little cautiously and paused beside the table. “You wished to see me, señor?”

He nodded. “You remember me, don’t you? I was here with Miss Hobbs yesterday.”

She bent her head slightly. He had the feeling that she was fending him off, holding him at sword’s point.

He went on, “I thought I’d come over and tell you that Frank Hobbs escaped from jail this afternoon.” He was watching her closely, but couldn’t be certain whether or not the news surprised her.

He leaned closer. “I also came to tell you that Butcher Morgan and your father are holding Nancy Hobbs prisoner.”

Her eyes flickered. “They are? Why?”

“I don’t know but I suspect that they’re planning to use the fact to force Frank Hobbs to do something for them.”

Her eyes were half closed. “And why do you tell me this?”

“Because I think you’re a friend of Hobbs. I think that you’re in love with him.”

She started to speak, but he stopped her. “Wait. I still don’t know what they want of Frank Hobbs, but I do know this. If you care anything about him at all, you’d better throw in and help me. He’s suspected of murder. They broke him out of jail. Spellman, the head of the Homicide squad, is plenty red-headed about it. There’s a general pick-up order out for Frank and I suspect the boys have been ordered to shoot to kill.”

She drew her breath sharpy. “But what can I do?”

He told her, tensely, “You can find out for me where they are holding Nancy Hobbs; where they are holding Frank.”

“You ask a lot, señor.”

“Not so much as you think. I don’t care what your father’s game is. He can promote all the revolutions he wants to.”

Her eyes changed. “You know that? Frank told you?”

He said, “No one needed to tell me. It’s easy enough to figure out. What I don’t savvy is where Morgan comes into it.” Watching her it seemed to him that she exhaled in relief.

Her words were careful, stilted. “Morgan is helping. He is our friend.”

Lennox grunted. “No doubt he’s your friend, but I’ll bet my last dollar there’s something in it for Butcher Morgan — you can be sure of that.”

She said, rising, “I will see what I can do. No! It would be better if you came with me.” She walked down the room, Lennox at her heels, pushed open the door at the end of the bar. It opened on a concrete-paved passage, the walls of rough brick. She led him down to a door at the end, shoved it open.

“If you will wait here a moment...”

He stepped past her, hesitated, started to turn, but he was too late. With surprising strength, the girl put a hand into the center of his back and pushed. Lennox stumbled, trying to gain his balance, to swing around. But the door clicked shut before he could reach it and he heard the bolt shot into place.

He swore under his breath, grasped the knob and tried to pull it open, failed, then he turned back to examine his prison. The place was evidently a storeroom for the bar. Cases of bottled liquor were piled against the wall. A single fly-specked bulb gave what little light there was. There was nothing else in the room.

The weight of the gun he had taken from Morgan’s man felt comforting in his pocket. He pulled it out, intending to drive a slug through the door’s lock, then changed his mind. He didn’t want to start anything yet, not until he found Nancy. He looked at the gun thoughtfully. Without doubt, the girl, Rita, had gone for help. That meant that he would be searched as soon as they returned. He tried to figure what to do with the gun.

It was too big to slide into the sleeve of his coat. Finally he stooped over, shoved it down into the top of his sock and pulled the supporter over the rubber grip. Unless he jiggled too much it would stay there. He’d hardly straightened when there was a noise at the door.

It opened and the chalk-eyed man with whom he’d played cards entered, with Morgan at his heels. The chalk-eyed man said, “Well, hell! This is pretty nice!” He was grinning evilly. “You owe me a hundred and twelve bucks, sport.”

Lennox nodded. “That’s right. I’m sorry I forgot about it, but I left in such a hurry.”

Morgan grunted. “What’s this?”

Lennox said, easily, “Just a gambling debt. Your boy friend’s a good pinocle player. He should go in for it in a large way. But I can still show him a few tricks with a deck of cards.”

The man swore. “You won’t be so cocky when I get through working you over.”

Morgan snapped, “Shut up and fan him”

The man stepped forward and ran a hand over Lennox, failed to find the gun. “He’s clean.” He found the leather billfold in Bill’s hip pocket, drew it out, then he examined the contents and sucked his breath. “Two hundred and ninety dollars,” he whistled. “That about makes us even. I’ll keep the rest for interest.”

“Stop clowning,” Morgan told him sharply. “We’ve got work to do. Bring the punk along.”

Lennox went down the hall between them, walking carefully. The gun against his leg was heavy, awkward. The room they entered was larger, better furnished than the storeroom.

Nancy Hobbs was in a straight chair against the wall. Her cousin sat on a big sofa, the handcuffs still on his wrists. Evidently the gang hadn’t bothered to take them off. Rita was standing at his side, one hand about his shoulder.

Morgan walked over to Nancy’s side, stood above her. “You’ve been holding out, Babe, saying that Lennox would do something. Well, here’s Lennox, and he’s not going to do a thing.”

Her face was white, but she didn’t open her mouth. Rita ran her hand through Frank Hobbs’ hair. “Where are they. Frank mio? We have the boat waiting. There is no time to lose.”

Hobbs’ voice was sullen. “Tell me who killed Mike Farnero and I’ll talk, but, until you do, I won’t say a word. Who killed him?”

The dancer’s dark eyes were unreadable. “You’re being stupid. We did not kill Mike. Mike was our friend.”

Hobbs glared at Morgan. “You’re kidding me. Both you and Rodriguez were talking to Mike when I went upstairs. You were arguing then. Which one of you killed him?”

The former liquor csar swore. “You’ve got it wrong, Hobbs. Why the hell would we kill Farnero? The only argument we had with him was about you. He didn’t want to fly our guns across the Border, and we wanted you to. That would have been a plenty dumb trick — for us to kill him, wouldn’t it? What in the hell would we buy ourselves? You’d already agreed to go through with our deal.”

Lennox said, “I thought you wanted him for flying and I guessed it was to fly guns.”

They paid him no attention.

Hobbs shook his head stubbornly. “You don’t get those guns until I find out who killed Mike.”

Morgan’s face changed. “Oke, if you want to be tough about it. We’ll put a little pressure on you. You think a lot of your cousin, don’t you?” He swung toward Nancy, motioned the chalk-eyed man forward.

“Get her shoes off, Pete. We’ll see if a couple blistered feet will make Hobbs open up.”

Lennox yelled, “Lay off that, Butcher. If you go pushing Nancy around, I’ll make you wish—”

Morgan took two short strides and hit Lennox in the face. The blow knocked Lennox off balance, sent him crashing backwards into a chair.

Morgan snarled, “Shut up, you.” He returned to the girl. “You’ve got one last chance. Tell your cousin to talk. We want those guns and we’re going to get them. I ain’t spent ten years collecting them for the fun of the thing. Either tell us where they are, or we’ll see how you like the hot foot.”

Nancy remained mute, rigid in the chair. All eyes were off Lennox for the moment. He slowly raised his leg. With his left hand he pulled up the trouser; with his right he ripped the blue automatic free of the garter.

“O.K., Morgan! The party’s over! You and Chalk-Eyes get over against the wall. You too, Rita. I don’t trust you.”

Morgan spun around, his hand clawing at the front of his coat. The gun in Lennox’ hand jumped, the bullet catching Morgan in the right shoulder. It didn’t put him down, but the shock of it shook his big body. His face was dead-white as his hands came up, shoulder high.

Rita jumped toward Lennox, a little animal cry bursting from her lips. Nancy Hobbs came off the chair, fast, grabbed the girl by one arm and pulled her back out of the way. Frank Hobbs leaped up, holding his cuffed hands helplessly in front of himself.

The chalk-eyed man glared wordlessly at Lennox. Bill told Hobbs, “Get their guns, and be careful.” The flyer obeyed. “Now tie them up,” Bill ordered.

Hobbs swore, “These damned cuffs! I can’t do a thing with them on.”

Rita was fighting desperately in Nancy’s grasp. Hobbs looked at her. “Honey, please?” She spat at him like a cornered cat.

Lennox said, “Snap it up! We don’t have a minute. Someone’ll hear that shot and come pounding up here.”

As if in answer to his words feet hammered down the hall. Lennox stepped back as the door burst open and General Rodriguez bounced into the room.

The General saw Lennox’ gun first. His lemon-yellow face turned a shade toward purple as he stopped; the high heels of his boots digging into the rough boards.

Lennox’ voice was soft. “Good evening, General.”

Rodriguez swore in Spanish. Lennox moved his gun and the General’s mouth closed slowly. With his free hand, the studio trouble shooter went through Rodriguez’ pockets. He found two guns and a wicked-looking knife and his tight lips twisted up at the corner as he tossed them across the room.

“Quite an arsenal. You should be able to win a war by yourself. Tie him up, Frank.”

The flyer hadn’t been paying any attention. He stood looking at Rita, his whole soul mirrored in his eyes.

Lennox swore sharply, “Come to life, will you?” To Nancy, he said, “Tie them all up. There’s rope around those boxes. Then herd Frank out of here and lock the door. We have no time to waste.”

Nancy got the ropes off the large boxes in one corner, tied up everyone except Frank as Bill held the gun on them all. Then Nancy guided Frank before her. Lennox followed, the big automatic still menacing the tied men and Rita. Lennox slammed the door, turned the key, then swung about and went down the hall. Nancy had Frank’s arm, was half pulling him along. They went down a service stair and into the big kitchen.

The head waiter came through the swinging door just as they entered, saw them. His mouth opened, then Lennox showed him the gun.

“We’re going out through the dining-room, mister, and you’re going ahead of us. Don’t forget, the gun’s in my pocket and it goes off easy.”

The man wasn’t forgetting anything. His face was a dirty yellow. Without a word he turned and led the way, leaving the kitchen force open-mouthed, staring.

The waiter preceded them into the foyer. When they had almost reached the outer door, a voice said, “Lennox!”

Bill stole a glance across his shoulder and saw Arthur Farnero. Mike’s nephew moved quickly toward them from the supper room.

“What’s all this? Why, Frank!” as he saw Hobbs.

“No time to explain,” Lennox snapped. “Come on. We’re going to the Central Police Station.”

“What happened?” Farnero asked as he followed Nancy, Bill and Hobbs into a cab.

Lennox told him in a dozen words. “They grabbed Nancy, broke Frank out of jail. I walked into the trap. I didn’t figure Rita was in on the play.”

Farnero said, “But what do they want?”

Lennox looked toward the silent Hobbs. “What do they want, Frank?”

Hobbs said, “Guns. Rodriguez’ party is ready to strike — another revolution, but they’re short on guns. Morgan’s got a regular arsenal, been collecting all the gangsters’ guns over the country ever since Repeal. He’s got enough machine guns and ammunition to really start a war. I was supposed to fly them into Mexico when things broke. It would have taken at least two weeks. You can carry a lot of guns that way. Then I got this job in pictures. I figured it would be finished before the trouble started down below the border, but something came up three days ago.

“They have to move now, if they ever intend to. The General called me. I’d promised to come any time they needed me. Mike was at my apartment when the call came. He told me I was a damned fool to leave the job in pictures. He tried to talk me out of going, but I wouldn’t listen. I’d promised Rita and her father — mostly Rita.

“They gave the guns to me almost two months ago and I stored them in an old house out by a little landing field beyond San Berdu. The whole point is that I’m the only one who knows where they are. I insisted that it be that way, otherwise I wouldn’t play. I was afraid of leaks. I’ve been in Mexican revolutions before and I know how much chance there is for someone to double cross.”

Farnero said, “Is that Womley Field?”

Hobbs nodded. “Yeah. I was going to start on the first trip last night after the party. Rodriguez and Morgan came to see me about seven-thirty last night and I met them on the balcony. While we were talking, Mike came up and found us. They wanted him to join too. We all went down to his apartment. They parted to argue and I got mad and left.”

Farnero laughed suddenly. “Swell! That’s what I wanted to know.” A gun appeared in his hand. They all stared at it aghast. He rapped on the glass, motioned the driver to stop the cab.

The man obeyed and Farnero swung out, slammed the door, then stood on the running-board and stuck his head in over the meter, so that his gun menaced the driver as well as those in the back seat. Lennox didn’t dare shoot. Farnero could have gotten Nancy instantly.

“Go back to the club,” Farnero said.

The cabbie showed him a scared face. “Y-yes, sir.”

No one else said anything as the cab turned and went back toward the La Paloma.

Farnero, still on the running board, ordered the driver into the alley. They went in through a side door, up the narrow staircase.

Rodriguez and Morgan were standing in the upper hallway. The man with the chalk eyes turned around and swore his pleasure as he saw Lennox.

“By Gawd, sport, I’ll kill you yet! I hadda yell five minutes before they broke the door in.”

Morgan moved heavily toward them. “Good work, Art.”

Farnero cursed softly. “It’s a damned good thing that somebody around here keeps his head up. They were headed right for the cops when I stopped them. Another ten minutes and we never would have gotten those guns.”

Rodriguez was sputtering with excitement. “We have no got them yet, and until Frank tells us—”

“He’s told us already,” Arthur Farnero cut in. “They’re cached out in an old house by the Womley Airport. You know the place?” He was looking at Morgan.

The gang leader nodded. “I know where it is.”

Farnero said, “All right. Get your trucks and get those guns down to the boat. Well have to sail before midnight if we hope to make it down there in time.”

Morgan wheeled and barked an order to the chalk-eyed man who raced away down the hall, stopped suddenly to look back at the prisoners. “What about them?”

Farnero shrugged. “Better bring them down and throw them on the boat. We can’t take a chance on their talking. This play’s been gummed up too much already.”

Morgan nodded. “Yeah, that’s an idea.” He broke off as Rita came down the hall.

She paused at sight of Farnero, then ran forward to throw herself into his arms. “Arthur!”

He caught her closely. There was a gasping sound at Lennox’ side and he turned to see Frank Hobbs’ tight face.

“Rita!” The name escaped from Hobbs’ tight lips.

The girl’s contempt for him was very real. “Stupid fool!” she spat toward him.

Farnero laughed harshly. “You are dumb, Hobbs.”

The manacles at Hobbs’ wrists rattled. “You double-crossing—” He leaped forward.

Farnero pushed the girl to one side, then a gun appeared in his hand. “Get back!” His voice was dangerously quiet.

Hobbs stopped. Lennox watched the boy’s bitter expression change to hate.

Morgan said, “Cut the comedy. You’re too quick on the trigger, Art. Half the trouble we’ve had today is because you blasted that screwy uncle of yours.”

“Shut up!” Farnero swore at him.

Morgan said heavily, “Don’t get too big for your skin, punk. I’m still running things. Besides, what’s the difference? These muggs aren’t going anyplace where they can ever talk.”

The chalk-eyed man came back down the hall and Morgan said, “All set, Pete?”

Pete noded. “Yeah. The truck’s already rolling. It’ll take us about four hours to get them guns down to Wilmington.”

Morgan shrugged. “Well, it can’t be helped. You take a couple of the boys, get a car and ride these guys down to the boat. Lock them up in one of the cabins. We’ll decide what to do with them when we get there.”

Pete stirred restlessly. He sat on one of the cushioned lockers facing his prisoners, the heavy gun lying on his knees. Outside the winches rattled as the dirty tramp shipped the last of its cargo.

Nancy shivered in the wet, damp air. Lennox stirred and Pete yawned and looked at his watch. “Morgan oughta be showing up any minute.” He inspected the captives almost impersonally.

Lennox said, “I don’t think you’re going to like it in Mexico, Pete.”

“Why?”

“The climate isn’t healthy and General Rodriguez might find it expedient to get rid of some of you, even if he wins. If he doesn’t, there’s always the adobe wall in the sunshine. The sun is always down there, Pete, even when the firing squad is working.”

The man grunted, “Morgan will take care of me.”

Lennox said, “If he can take care of himself. A lot of Americans have gone below the Line and monkeyed into things but most of them didn’t last long.”

“Morgan will — long enough.”

Lennox’ voice was curious. “Just where does Butcher come into the play?”

The chalk-eyed one hesitated. “I guess it ain’t no harm telling you, seeing that you aren’t going anywhere. Butcher gets the gambling concessions along the Border, Juarez, Mexicali, Tia Juana, Caliente.”

Lennox stared, then he started to laugh. The man snapped, “What’s so funny about that?”

Lennox told him, “Nothing. I was just thinking. Almost every muss they’ve had down there has been backed by some business interest or other, but this is the first time I ever heard of a revolution backed by gamblers. Tell me, how many guns has Butcher got anyway?”

“Plenty. He’s been buying up mobster guns all over the United States ever since Prohibition ended. Not only that, but he picked up all the others he could get his hands on. You think it’s a gag, huh? Well, let me tell you, wise guy, it’s no gag. Morgan’s not only got the guns, but he’s got the boys to handle them. We aren’t turning those Tommys over to a lot of dumb spics. He’s got some of the best smoke artists and muscle-men in the business. And don’t think those guns aren’t worth plenty, what with the guys in Washington shutting down on arms shipments and all.”

Lennox nodded. “I get that, but what I don’t get is why Morgan needed Frank so bad. There are other flyers and he’s shipping down by boat now.”

Pete laughed as Hobbs stirred. “Frank was a very important guy. He was a friend of some big rancher. The guy just died, but Frank knew all the peons on the ranch. The plan was for him to land the arms there. If anyone else had tried it, the peons would have talked.”

Lennox looked inquiringly at Hobbs, who nodded. Bill said, “You really didn’t expect it to work, Frank? You really didn’t expect the government to stand by and let a bunch of gangsters take over Mexico?”

Hobbs shrugged. “I know it sounds crazy, but Rita’s father is well liked in most of Mexico. There’ll be plenty of natives in his army. All they lacked was guns.”

The chalk-eyed man snickered. “And did that dame play you for a sucker, mister, getting you to agree to fly those guns across. And all the time she was playing around with Art Farnero.”

Hobbs half rose. “You’re crazy!”

Pete said, flatly, “Sit down.” He had the big gun in his hand. He seemed to take delight in torturing Hobbs. “Crazy, am I? That shows how much you know. Why, she and Farnero slipped across to Yuma and got married three days ago.”

Hobbs’ face was dead white. “I don’t believe it.”

Pete was jeering at him. “Of course you don’t. You’re a sap — that’s what they counted on. Mike Farnero threatened last night, that unless Morgan and Rodriquez left you alone, he’d tell you about her. Art Farnero and I were on the balcony, and heard. Art came bustin’ into the room and his uncle called him a dirty, double-crossing — and told him he’d cut him out of his will. Art snatched up the gun and let Mike have it.”

Hobbs wet his lips. “You’re lying! Art wasn’t in L.A. last night. He was in San Diego.”

Pete laughed loudly. “He flew up, you fool, flew up to see that black-haired slut.”

With a wordless cry Hobbs leaped toward the man. Pete’s gun spoke once, the slug tearing through the flyer’s stomach. But it failed to stop Hobbs completely. He was on top of the chalk-eyed man, his manacled hands rising and falling, battering against the top of Pete’s head.

“Call her a slut!” His words had an insane sound, as if he did not know what he was saying. The gun had slipped from Pete’s fingers to the floor of the cabin.

Lennox dived for it, straightened. He reached over to pull Frank back, but there was no need. The hands rose half way, dropped slowly and the flyer pitched forward onto the cushion beside the unconscious gunman.

Nancy jumped toward him. “Frank! Frank!”

Hobbs did not answer and Lennox guessed that he would never answer again. Bill turned and raced up the companionway to the deck. At the entrance he met the captain and two of the crew.

The captain was short, heavy, in pea-jacket and cap. “What the hell?”

Lennox slammed the gun against the side of the captain’s head, let the body slump to the deck, turned, menacing the crew members. They stared at him. The gun in his hand held them rigid. He backed them toward the forecastle.

Two more came running forward, stopped when they saw his gun. None of them had arms. He looked them in the forecastle, barred the door, then mounted to the bridge.

The spotlight caught his attention. He turned it on, pointed it directly upward toward the starlit sky. With luck, some of the harbor police would see the light, come out to investigate. The sound of a boat made him swing and run toward the landing stage. He had almost reached it when Morgan’s head came over the rail.

“Turn off that damned light!” The gang leader’s voice was hoarse. “What the hell are you trying to do, Cap, get all the cops in the world on our necks?” He swung to the deck. Other figures followed him — Rodriguez, Farnero and Rita.

Lennox crept forward in the shadows. His voice was tight. “You’re all through, Morgan. Get your hands in the air!”

Butcher Morgan cursed savagely. “Lennox!” Flame lanced out from his side. A bullet struck the superstructure close to Bill’s head and whined down the deck as it ricochetted.

The gun in Lennox’s hand belched twice. There was a cry from Morgan, a short, sharp sound as he staggered backward. The ship’s rail struck him just above the knee. He hesitated for an instant, then his body plunged over. There was a splash, lost in the pound of gunfire as both Rodriguez and Farnero drove shots into the darkness. Lennox dropped flat on the deck as the bullets pinged against the steel plates. A slug screamed down at an angle past his head and tore through the fleshy part of his leg.

He steadied himself, gritting his teeth against the pain and fired in return. There was a grunt and the General slipped to the deck. Lennox squeezed his trigger again, heard the pin strike on an empty cylinder. He reared upright as Farnero, seeming to sense that Lennox’s gun was empty, jumped forward.

Lennox heaved the useless automatic directly into the face of the charging man, then jumped. But his wounded leg hampered him. His fingertips barely grazed Farnero as he went down. He fell heavily to the deck, lay for an instant not moving. He could see Farnero above him in the uncertain light, saw the man’s lips twist wolfishly.

“You’ve been asking for this, Lennox.” The automatic steadied.

Nancy Hobbs said from the right, “Drop that gun, Art!”

With an oath, Farnero pivoted, snapping a shot toward the direction of her voice. Lennox heaved himself forward, his arms locked about Farnero’s knees, dropped the man to the deck with a clean tackle.

Farnero twisted, trying to bring his gun up against Bill’s side. Lennox rolled over, caught the man’s wrist with his right hand, fighting desperately for possession of the gun. Someone was standing over him, battering the back of Bill’s head with a leather purse. It was Rita, swearing at him in Spanish. The swinging purse stopped suddenly. Lennox heard Nancy’s voice, realized that Nancy had dragged Rita back. Then all his attention was centered on the gun, and the man beneath him.

They struggled without sound. Lennox’s lungs seemed to be bursting, then suddenly Farnero weakened. The gun came around quickly, exploded. There was a convulsive jerk in Farnero’s body, then he was still.

Lennox rose slowly, a little dazed. As he came to his feet he saw Rita break free from Nancy, swing her purse at the fan writer’s head, turn and dash toward the rail, but she never reached it.

The harbor police were coming over the side; a flashlight cut through the gloom. With a choking cry Rita spun and raced toward the bow of the ship.

A gun spoke from the darkness at the rail. She threw up her hands and fell forward onto her face.

The harbor police were around Nancy and Lennox. One of them walked forward and turned his lamp on Rita. Bill heard him swear, saw him wipe his forehead with the back of his hand. “Jeeze! A woman! And I shot her!”

Everything was confusion; everyone was asking questions. The lieutenant in charge said, “But what were they — smugglers? What were they hauling on the boat?”

Lennox said, “They were revolutionists. They were hauling an arsenal.” He limped over to the open hatch and pointed down.

The lieutenant stared at the stacked cases. “Where in hell did all those guns come from?”

Lennox said, “Mobster guns — probably the largest collection of gang weapons ever made in United States. Morgan’s been gathering them for a long time.” He turned and went back to Nancy.

The girl was standing quietly at the head of the companionway. He told her, a little hoarsely, “I’m sorry about Frank.”

She didn’t say anything. There wasn’t anything to say.

The police helped them down the ladder into the boat. Lennox looked back at the dark ship. A lot of plans had gone haywire that night. There wouldn’t be a revolution below the Line. And suddenly he remembered the picture.

He’d have to call Spurck — tell him that Frank Hobbs was dead. He knew of a lot easier jobs than that, but it had to be done.