Detective Fiction Weekly. Vol. 118, No. 6, April 16, 1938

Speaking of fractions: when half of a century note buys lots of trouble a quarter of a dollar bill may ransom a life

I

Maybe it was a Jot of nerve to sit down in a booth and then only order a cup of coffee. The waiter didn’t seem to like it anyway. He smacked the cup on the table, spilling a little of the coffee, and grabbed my nickel. I waited until he had gone and then picked up the sugar bowl and poured about a quarter of a pound of sugar into the cup.

It’s an old trick and it wouldn’t do for a steady diet. But when a man’s only got a dime, a nickel and a few odd pennies... well, sugar gives you a lot of energy.

There was a fellow at the counter who was half turned around on his stool staring at me, a little runt of a guy with patches of those brown liver spots on his face. He must have seen me rob the sugar bowl.

He came over to me with a highball in his hand, set it on the table and slid into the seat opposite. He pulled out an almost full pack of cigarettes and held it out.

“How about a smoke?” he said. His voice was high and he talked through his nose. “It ought to go good with that — uh — that meal of yours.”

A guy hasn’t got much pride when he’s broke and hasn’t had a puff of the old weed for a couple of days. My fingers trembled when l pulled out a cigarette, but I didn’t care. He held his lighter to my cigarette and I took a long drag.

“Kind of up against it, aren’t you, son?” he asked, lighting one for himself.

I nodded and took a pull at the sweet, sticky stuff in my cup.

“Sort of think a hundred bucks would look pretty good to you?” he went on.

A hundred bucks. He might just as well have said a million, it couldn’t have sounded any sweeter.

“A hundred bucks,” I repeated. “There’s no such thing.”

He laughed. I didn’t like his laugh. It was sort of shrill and windy like the noise a sick horse might make. But he was talking about money-big money — and nothing else counted. At least, not when you’re hungry.

“Oh, yes there is,” he said. “You can make a hundred dollars for a little job I’ll tell you about. It won’t take much time and it won’t be much trouble. What you say?”

“When do I start?”

“Pretty soon. But you look like you could use something to cat.”

“A couple hamburgers wouldn’t be bad,” I admitted.

He wigwagged the waiter, ordered three hamburgers, a piece of apple pie, a cup of coffee, a rye highball and a pack of cigarettes.

While we were waiting he stuck out his hand. It was skinny and a little damp, but what of it? He had what it took to buy eats. “My name’s Mercer,” he said. “Al Mercer. When you get done we’ll drive out to the house. My partner’s there and he’ll tell you all about it.”

The hamburgers and the rest of the stuff arrived and I went to work on them. When I finished I lit a cigarette and we went out to a big, black sedan. He got behind the wheel and we started off. It was a pretty long ride. He didn’t say a word and I was too busy digesting to talk. It was dark now, must have been around seven-thirty. We were in the outskirts of the town where the houses weren’t very close together. Finally he pulled up at the curb.

“Here we are,” he said.

It was a shabby-looking, two-story frame house and there weren’t any buildings near it. He opened the door and pushed me in ahead of him. A man was sitting in a big chair under a lamp reading a newspaper. He dropped the paper, got up and turned toward us. He was about a foot taller than Mercer and he had thick eyebrows and a mean-looking mouth.

“This fellow’s going to do a little job for us,” Mercer said. “What’s your name, son?”

“Ellison. Bob Ellison.”

“Meet Homer Grant,” he went on. I shook hands with the big man and was sorry. He had a bone-crushing grip. Mercer was still talking. “Grant’s my partner, but he acts like my boss, so he may as well tell you what it’s all about.”

“Sit down,” Grant said. I parked on the davenport and Mercer perched beside me.

“I don’t know anything about you,” Grant said, “but I’m taking a chance. We aren’t honest working men, Mercer and I. In fact, we’re not above pulling a little stickup when the need arises. Understand?”

“Sure.”

“Good. Well, the last job we pulled we had a close call. Not the cops. There was another mob after the same thing, but we beat them to it. But to save our necks we had to park the proceeds — if you get what I mean — at a pawnshop run by a friend of ours. Now this other outfit knows it’s there and they’re waiting for Mercer or me to go and get it. So I sent Al out to find someone who could get it for us and not be bothered. It seems he picked on you.”

“I see.”

“Now you won’t have any trouble. You’ll just be another customer for the hock shop. And we’ll pay you well — what did you tell him, AI?”

“A century.”

Grant frowned. “That’s a little steep, but I guess it’s worth it. Are you game, Ellison?”

I grinned. “For a hundred berries I’d do most anything.”

“Okay. Do you know anything about this town?”

“A little.”

“This pawnshop is on Fourth Street, three doors east of Buchanon on the north side. Can you find it?”

“Sure,” I said. “I know where—”

Somebody was coming down the steps. A few seconds later a girl walked into the room. She was wearing a cheap-looking blue house dress and she seemed scared.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” she said, looking at Grant, “but the boy is sick. You ought to call a doctor.”

Grant frowned. “Go back upstairs,” he snapped. “When we get done here I’ll see about calling a doctor.”

She stood looking at me. Her head moved sideways quickly and back again. She had light colored hair and a thin face. I couldn’t see her eyes.

“Did you hear me?” Grant roared. “I said go back upstairs.”

She turned and left without a word. Grant looked at Mercer. “I told you not to hire that dizzy female,” he snarled. Then he turned to me. “You say you know how to get to this pawnshop?”

“Yes.”

He took a small envelope out of his pocket and handed it to me. He held it kind of funny, with his forefinger and thumb on the edges. The letters ABC were printed on it. I took it and put it in the inside pocket of my coat.

“Give that to the man at the pawn-shop,” Grant said, “and he’ll give you something. It may be a bundle or a box or a suitcase. I don’t know. But whatever it is bring it back here right away. And don’t try anything funny. If you do we’ll find you,” his voice went lower, “and when we do, by Heaven, you’ll be sorry.”

I smiled. “Don’t worry. I’ll do what I’m told. But how do I know I’ll get that hundred?”

He stuck out his lower lip, then pulled it in. He took out his billfold, extracted a bill and tore it in half. He handed me one of the pieces.

“Here’s half of the hundred,” he said. “When you deliver the goods you get the other half. Okay?”

I took it. “Okay.” I got to my feel.

“There’s a car out in front,” Grant went on, “just ahead of the one you came here in. The key is in it. You can drive that one.”

II

The bus was an old one and had seen its best days years ago. But it was kind of fun driving a car again. I took my time and it must have been at least forty minutes before I parked in front of the pawnshop.

As it turned out, it wasn’t really much of a job. I went into the store and handed the envelope to the man behind the counter. He was a little bald-headed fellow with glasses. He looked at it and then looked at me a long time like he was trying to get a picture of me in his head. He went into a room in the rear and came back in a minute or two with a small black satchel. I took it and walked out of the place without saying a word.

Nothing happened. Nobody tried to stop me and if anybody was following I didn’t notice. After I’d driven a little over a mile, my curiousity got the better of me. I came to a stop and opened the satchel. It was crammed full of packets of greenbacks tied together at the middle with brown paper. There were fives and tens and twenties and there may have been other denominations but I didn’t look any further.

When I came to the house I noticed that the black sedan Mercer had brought me out in wasn’t there. I left the key in the car and started up the walk. When I was near the steps something hit the cement in front of me. There was a half moon shining and I could see that it was a wad of paper. I stooped over and smoothed it out. Then I struck a match.

On the paper, in a big scrawl made with pencil, were the words: “Be careful. Don’t come upstairs.” I put it in my pocket, went up the steps and knocked at the door. Grant opened it and reached for the satchel.

“Wait a minute,” I said, shoving him away. “Give me the other half of that century note first.”

He glared at me, then tried to smile. “Come upstairs,” he said. “I have to see whether what you’ve brought back is all right. If it is, I’ll pay you off.”

I didn’t move. “No thanks,” I said. “There’s a lot more than a hundred bucks in this satchel. But I don’t want any of it. All I want is the other half of that bill. But I want it right here and now.”

“You’ll do what I tell you,” he growled. He started toward me. His right hand moved quickly and when I saw it again it held an automatic pistol. A lot of things happened then, so quickly it was hard to tell what came first.

I saw the girl run into the room at the same moment I swung at Grant. It was a crazy thing to do — take a punch at a man with a gun — but it worked because he wasn’t looking for it. My fist caught his chin and he staggered back across the room. I opened the satchel, had one of the packets stuck in my pocket by the time Grant pulled himself together. He started toward me with the gun up. I threw the satchel at him. Just then the door opened and a shrill voice said: “What is this?”

I whirled and ran my stomach into Mercer’s gun. Without thinking I grabbed his wrist and swung him around in front of me so Grant couldn’t shoot for fear of hitting his friend. The girl ran across the room and got beside me.

“Go on out,” I said. When I heard her crossing the porch, I gave Mercer a shove, ducked through the doorway and jumped for the car. She was already in it when I got there. I scrambled over her knees and kicked the starter. There weren’t any shots as we went away from there. We took a corner on two wheels, another on one, and then really got going. There wasn’t any signs of pursuit.

Finally we were out in the country. All this time we hadn’t said a word. I pulled up at the side of the road and turned to the girl.

“Let’s find out what we‘re doing,” I said. “Who are you?”

“Millie,” she said. “Millie Hayes.”

Her voice was kind of low and husky. Now that I had a chance to look at her in the light from the dashboard, I saw that she wasn’t exactly a strain on the eyes. Her face was thin, but a little steady eating would probably fix that up. Her eyes, in the dim light, looked as blue as any I’d ever seen. And her hair was the color of corn silk.

“Well, Millie,” I went on, “what were you doing with those two rats?”

She stared at me and hesitated. “They hired me,” she said at last. “I was down at the free employment bureau when a call came in. Somebody wanted a girl with nursing experience to look after a little boy whose mother had been called away. So I went. But when I saw them I wanted to leave. Only... only I needed the money. Maybe you know what I mean.”

I had to laugh. “Maybe I do. When was that? This morning?”

“Yes.”

“Was it you who tossed that paper wad at me tonight?”

She nodded. “After you left I came part way down the stairs and listened. I heard the little one, the one with the high voice, say that you would be — would be something else to get rid of. The other one, the big man, said not to worry. They’d done enough to burn for anyway, he said, a little killing wouldn’t make any difference. He said he’d get you upstairs and — and put you away. I guess he meant he was going to kill you.”

“You guessed right,” I said.

“Then the little one went away. I don’t know where.”

“I can guess. He was trailing me. They weren’t taking any chances of me getting away with all that dough.”

“What do you mean?”

“That satchel I threw at Grant wasn’t full of violets. Did they pay you?”

“No.”

I took the packet of bills out of my pocket. They were fives.

“Just my luck,” I said. “There were twenties in that satchel. Oh well, we can eat anyway. You hungry?”

“I am,” she said, “awfully.”

“So am I. I’ve been on a diet.” I turned on the motor and stepped on the gas.

It was maybe half an hour later when we came to a little place that had a big sign saying “EAT.” I parked in front of it and we went in.

We took the first table we came to. It was right in front of a radio that was blatting out dance music. A little man with a big, greasy-looking apron came up to us. It turned out they had chili and sandwiches, pie and coffee. We ordered some of each.

While we were waiting, the music stopped suddenly and a man’s voice, smooth and deep and a little bit sickening like some radio announcers’ voices are, started to spout.

“We have just received information, ladies and gentlemen, that clarifies the news flash we announced some time ago. For the benefit of those who have just tuned in, we will make a complete report.” He paused and then the honeyed tones continued:

“The father of four-year-old Kenneth Randall has paid the $25,ransom demanded for his release. The payment was made at a pawnshop on Fourth Avenue. The kidnaper, or his accomplice, turned over an envelope containing part of a one dollar bill that matched a part left in the boy’s sandbox when he was kidnaped. The pawnbroker, acting on instructions from John M. Randall, the boy’s father, then gave the kidnaper or his agent a satchel containing $25,000. The envelope also contained an address, ostensibly that of the place where the kidnaped boy would be found. The police immediately rushed to that place and found — nothing.”

I looked at Millie. Her eyes were wide and frightened. The man with the greasy apron set two bowls of chili in front of us and went back for water.

“Did you know about this?” I asked.

She shook her head. “They acted strange,” she said, “but I didn’t—”

“One circumstance,” the radio voice went on, “is being given careful attention by the authorities. It will be remembered that the Randall boy was kidnaped from the walled-in yard in back of his home. His nurse had left him playing in his sandbox while she went indoors a moment.”

“It just goes to show,” I said, “a guy should always read the newspapers. I didn’t even know there’d been a kidnaping. I—”

“Be quiet,” she whispered.

“—the boy was gone” the announcer was saying. “Police found one end of a dollar bill in the sandbox. They assumed the kidnapers planned to use the remainder of the bill to identify themselves when they tried to collect ransom.”

“This guy Grant,” I said, “seems to enjoy tearing up money.”

“The envelope given the pawnbroker,” the voice continued, “did not contain the entire remaining part of the bill. The piece of money in the envelope matched that left in the sandbox, but police believe the fact that the kidnapers retained part of the bill shows they will try to collect additional ransom.”

“They would,” I said.

“Mr. Randall has announced,” she speaker went on, “that he will make no further effort to contact the kidnapers. They have broken their agreement, he declares, and now there is nothing to do but give the authorities a free hand. One official asserted his belief that the kidnaped boy has been killed. Otherwise—”

Millie grabbed my hand. “He’s all right,” she whispered. “He had an awful fever, but he’s alive. He—”

“Shut up.”

“Keep this station tuned in for further developments in the Randall kidnaping—”

Millie was looking at her bowl of chili. There were sandwiches and pie on the table now.

“Let’s eat,” I said. “It looks like I collected some money for a couple rats, but there’s nothing to do about it. You can bet they’ve made tracks.”

We piled into the food. Between mouthfuls I asked her if she’d really told me everything she knew. She swore she had.

“Don’t you think we should go to the police?”

I took a big bite of a sandwich and chewed a bit. “Guess we should,” I said at last. “You can if you want to, but I won’t.”

Her eyes got wider. “You won’t? Why?”

“I have reasons. And besides don’t forget I’m the guy that collected the ransom. Maybe they wouldn’t believe me.”

“That’s right.” She started in on the pie.

We were all finished and I had fished a five from the packet to pay the bill when the band stopped in the middle of a hot number and the silky voiced announcer came on again.

“The following news bulletin has just been received from headquarters,” he said. “The man who collected the Randall ransom money early this evening has just been identified through department of justice files at Washington as Robert D. Ellison, who was released six weeks ago from the Allenwood penitentiary, where he served an eighteen-month term for grand larceny. Ellison was identified by means of fingerprints found on the envelope which he gave the pawnbroker in exchange for the ransom. The prints were sent to Washington by wirephoto and the identification followed quickly.”

Millie was staring at me. “Is that you?” she whispered.

I tried to smile. “How’d you guess it?”

“You were in jail?”

“You heard what the man said.”

“Did you — I mean, were you guilty?”

I shrugged. “I didn’t think I was but the jury had other ideas. But that’s a long story. The point is it looks like I’m going to be put back on ice again pretty quick if I don’t watch out.”

The announcer was still talking. “The numbers of the ransom bills are known to the authorities. As soon as it can be compiled a key will be broadcast by which the money can be identified quickly. The bills were in denominations of fives, tens, twenties and fifties. Meanwhile, everyone is requested to watch for a 1932 coupé bearing license number RA 364. I’ll repeat that. License...”

“Let’s get out of here,” I said and hurried up to the cash register and paid the bill. Millie followed me out to the car and we climbed in.

“What are you going to do?” she asked as I started the motor.

“I’m going to drop you off somewhere,” I said. “You’re in the clear and you better stay that way. As for me — well, I’m going back to that house.”

She grabbed me by the arm. “You’re not going to drop me off,” she said. “I know you didn’t have anything to do with this and I’m going to help you prove it.”

I laughed. “You think they’d believe you?”

“I don’t know. All I can do is tell the truth. And I’m staying with you.”

“Okay. But don’t get in the road.”

III

There wasn’t any car in front of the house when we got there. We went up to the front door. It was locked.

“Stay here,” I said, “while I look around. I should be good at breaking and entering.”

Around in the back I found a cellar window that wasn’t locked. I pushed it open and slid through. It was black as the inside of a safe and I struck a match, found the stairs and went up to the first floor. By the light of another match I made my way to the front door, opened it and let Millie in. Then I located the switch and turned on the lights.

“Keep your eyes and ears open,” I told her. “I’m going upstairs and look around.”

I didn’t find anything. A double bed in one room and a little cot in another showed signs of having been slept in, but there wasn’t any luggage or anything else that might give a lead. Of course, they’d rented the place furnished. When I got downstairs, Millie was standing by the telephone.

“Find anything?”

I shook my head.

“We’d better call the police,” she said. “Maybe they won’t believe us, but it won’t be as bad that way as it would if we were picked up.”

“Maybe you’re right.” I grabbed the phone book and looked at the front where police headquarters is generally listed. There was a phone number on it, written lightly in pencil. It was MA 6754.

I showed it to her. She shook her head. “That might have been there for months.”

“Sure. But it’s a hunch.”

I sat down and dialed MA 6754. A woman’s voice answered. “Hobson’s residence.”

“Mrs. Hobson?”

“Yes.”

“This is Homer Grant talking.”

“Why yes, Mr. Grant. What’s the matter? Isn’t everything satisfactory?”

I stalled. “Well, I don’t exactly know for sure yet.”

“Where are you now?” She sounded annoyed. “At the cottage?”

I hesitated. “Why no. You see, I... that is, we got kind of mixed up on directions. So I thought I’d call you to make sure we got the right place.”

“The right place,” she repeated, her voice getting shriller. “Why you told me you’d been to Riverside and knew just where the cottage was.”

“I must have been mistaken. If you could just tell me exactly...”

“Certainly I can. Only I don’t understand. Well, anyway, you know where Highway No. 68 intersects with Riverside Trail?”

“Yes.”

“It’s about a mile on the other side of the state line. You turn to your right there. And it’s the third lane on your left. There’s a mailbox there that says Shady Rest Cottage. Have you got that?”

“Yes. Thanks a lot, Mrs. Hobson.”

“You’re quite welcome. I hope everything will be all right. But I can’t...”

“I’m sure everything will be fine,” I interrupted. “Thanks again.” I hung up.

“Come on, Millie,” I said. “We’re going for a ride in the country.”

The place wasn’t very hard to find. Highway 68 was concrete and carried a lot of traffic, but Riverside Trail was a narrow, gravel road with as many bends as a bowl of pretzels. We took our time, watching for lanes to the left. The first two were fairly close together, but it seemed we never would reach the third and for a while we were afraid we’d missed it. But finally we spotted it and I slowed up. The headlights touched a mailbox.

Millie had good eyes. “It says Shady Rest, R.R.9,” she said.

I stopped just past the lane and then backed into it. It wouldn’t hurt to have the coupe’s nose pointed the right way if things called for a quick getaway. I kept backing till we were well off the road. There wasn’t a light to be seen, so the cottage was probably pretty far back.

“Now you stay here,” I said. “In case I’m gone longer than I should be, or you hear anything that sounds like trouble, you head for civilization and call the law.”

Her chin went up and by the light from the dashboard I could see she was getting ready to show her temper. “I’ll do nothing of the kind,” she snapped. “I’m going with you.”

“You want to be a nuisance?”

She looked hurt, but her chin stayed high. “I won’t be. You’re one against two and they’ve got guns. You’re a fool to go in there, but since you’re going you can’t stop me from tagging along.”

“So you think I’m a fool, do you?”

She touched my hand and smiled. “I know you are, so don’t argue. I’m coming along and I may be a help.”

“Lot of help you’ll be,” I grumbled and got out of the car. She jumped out on the other side and we started up the lane together. The road turned to the right for about fifty yards and then sharply to the left. Through the trees we could see a faint light.

When we were about half a city block from the cottage I grabbed her arm. “Here’s where you wait, and I mean it. I’m going to see how things look.”

She didn’t kick and I walked on as quietly as I could till I came to a side window and looked in. They were there, all right, Grant and Mercer, and they were playing some kind of a card game, with a bottle and two glasses between them on the table. There was something else on the table — Grant’s wicked-looking, blue-steel automatic. It didn’t take a Solomon to see that it would be suicide to walk into the room with nothing but a pair of lists.

I found my way back to Millie, noticing as I went a big tree beside the road twenty yards from the house that two fair sized men could hide behind. Taking Millie by the arm I led her to the tree. “Did you ever throw a rock.”

“They used to call me a tomboy.”

“Swell. The only chance we have is to get one of them out of the cottage. That’s where you come in. I’m going up and park at the side of the house. You can lean over from behind this tree and throw stones at the front door. Get the idea?”

“Of course.”

“Good. And for Pete’s sake try to hit the door. If you hit me I’ll spank.”

She let out a little laugh and I crept back to the cottage and squatted down beside the porch. A few seconds later something landed on the steps. Then another stone hit the front of the porch. Millie hadn’t got the range yet, but the lane was well graveled and she had plenty of ammunition. Her next shot hit the door. Less than half a minute later a path of light swung across the steps.

Judging from the size, it was Grant who came out on the porch. He was in his shirtsleeves and something in his right hand glittered. He came out a few steps, looked around and rubbed his chin with his left hand. Then he went in and shut the door.

Another stone hit the door, hard. And then another. The door opened again. Looking through the window I could see Al Mercer sitting at the table with his chin propped on his hand, studying the cards before him. It looked like they were playing double solitaire. They must have been hitting the bottle pretty hard, too. It was almost ready to be laid away as a dead soldier.

I tore my eyes away from the window. Grant had left the porch. It was a fifty-fifty chance he’d go the other way, but he didn’t. His footsteps sounded louder. He passed in front of me, no more than five feet away. I got out of my crouch and jumped at him, swinging my right fist. It made a perfect landing on the side of his jaw and his head snapped back. The gun dropped from his hand and I scooped it up. He had staggered back a few paces and I closed in with the gun pointing at his middle.

“Walk back into the house in front of me,” I said, “or you’ll never walk again.”

He turned without a word and I walked behind him jabbing the gun in his back. He went up the steps and across the porch. I followed, walking softly. Mercer looked up as Grant came into the room and then jumped to his feet, reaching behind him. I poked the around Grant and pulled the trigger.

Mercer let out a yell and grabbed his right arm. I gave Grant a shove.

“Get over there with your pal,” I said.

Someone was running across the porch behind me. I hoped it was Millie. It was.

“The little guy’s got a gun in his hip pocket,” I said. “Go get it.”

She ran around me and over to Mercer and pulled a little revolver from his pocket like she was used to doing that sort of thing every day in the week.

“Give it to me, I always did want to be a two-gun man.”

She handed it over obediently.

“They’re both wearing neckties,” I went on, “just as if they were gentlemen. Take Grant’s off and tie his hands behind his back. And when we get through do the same thing with Mercer. Maybe you’re not as much of a nuisance as I thought you’d be.”

She flashed me a smile and went to work. A faint cry came from somewhere in the house. It sounded like a child in pain. Millie looked around at me, but I didn’t move. She went on with her job. Two minutes later she had them sitting on the davenport with their hands tied behind them. I noticed a little table at Grant’s right with a heavy looking ashtray on top of it. And under the table was the little black satchel I’d collected at the pawnshop. Just then the crying from the other room started up again.

“Go see about that,” I told Millie. She went through a door at the back and pretty soon the crying stopped. I looked around the room. There was a telephone on a small stand.

“All the comforts of home, hunh,” I said. “That’s fine.”

Millie came back into the room. “The poor kid,” she said. “He’s burning up with fever. And he keeps asking—” Her voice broke, “he keeps asking for his mamma.”

Al Mercer set up a howl. “What about me,” he yelled. “You shot me in the arm, you crazy fool. I’m bleeding. You want me to bleed to death?”

I looked at him. “I’d love for you to bleed to death,” l said. “Go right ahead.”

I handed Millie the automatic. “If they give you any excuse at all, you shoot. If you just feel like practicing, why shoot anyway. They’ve got it coming.”

IV

I picked up the receiver, dialed 0 for operator and got her quick. “Call police headquarters,” I said, “and tell them that the kidnapers of Kenneth Randall are at Shady Rest Cottage, Rural Route 9, Riverside. You got that? Then get to work. I’m not fooling.”

Grant spoke as I hung up. “You’re acting like an idiot,” he said. “You could take that satched there with twenty-five grand in it, turn us loose and scram.”

I laughed. “l could take the satchel and scram without turning you loose. But I’m not going to do it. I can’t use that kind of money.”

“You’ve already got some of it,” he shot back.

I felt my pocket where the pack of fives still nestled. “That’s different. I didn’t know what kind of money it was when I took it. And I’m not keeping it long, now that I know.”

He sneered. “Just a brave, honest hero, aren’t you? But you didn’t mind doing a job for us when you thought we were a couple of ordinary burglers.”

“I was broke and hungry,” I said, “and burglars are just burglars. But kidnapers are something else again. I’ll have to be a lot hungrier than I’ve ever been before I throw in with kidnapers.”

“Rats.”

“That’s what you are. Now shut up and think of a good story to tell the cops when they get here.”

He must have done as he was told. Anyway he didn’t make a sound and neither did anyone else, except that the crying started up again and Millie went into the other room and then it stopped.

It must have been at least twenty minutes after I’d phoned when it happened. Maybe it was longer. I was just beginning to wonder how long it should take a fast police car to reach the cottage when I saw Grant lurch quickly to his right. His hand, which should have been tied behind him, grabbed up the ashtray from the table. I ducked, but the thing caught me solidly on the left ear and for a second everything went black.

The next thing I knew I was on my hands and knees and Grant was standing over me waving both guns. He was grinning from ear to ear.

“Times have changed,” he said. “Go over there and untie Mercer’s hands. He should be loose but he isn’t. Your girl friend doesn’t tie a very good knot.”

The door in the back opened and Millie came in.

“Sit down on that davenport,” Grant ordered. “There’s been a revolution and I’m on top now.”

She looked at me and then sat down. There wasn’t anything I could do but take the necktie off Mercer’s hands.

“Now you tie them up,” Grant told Mercer, “and see that you do a better job than the little lady did. Use the same necktie — they won’t prove anything.”

The little man did as he was told, working on me first and then on Millie. When he finished he stepped in front of me, swung his right fist and caught me flush on the chin.

“You would let me bleed to death,” he yelled.

“Never mind,” Grant said. “Pick up that satchel and come on. We haven’t got much time.”

As Mercer stooped for the satchel we heard the sound of tires grinding into gravel and headlights hit the front window.

“Drop it,” Grant cried. “They’re here”

I laughed. “Now what you going to do?”

He sat down at the table and motioned Mercer to do the same. “I’m sitting tight,” he said. “I’ve just caught a couple kidnapers with the goods.”

“How long will that story stand up? The boy will know who kidnaped him.”

He looked at me kind of funny, then snorted. “That’s what you think.”

Heavy footsteps sounded on the steps and a shot, broad man came into the room. He wore a gray suit and a felt hat pulled over his eyes and he held an automatic in his hand. Another fellow, thinner but no taller, was on his heels.

“All right,” the first one said. “If anybody moves they won’t move far. Where’s the kid?”

Grant handed him both guns.

“Thank heaven you’ve come,” he said. “My partner and I have been holding that fellow and his girl friend here for an hour. We were getting jittery.”

“Where’s the kid?”

“He must be in another room,” Grant said. “We heard something like a child crying. But we were too busy to look.”

Two other men were in the room by now. One of them, a tall slim man carrying a black case, went through the door in the back. The other, gray haired and broad shouldered, followed.

The one who had come in first seemed to be in charge. He looked at Grant. “What’s happened here?”

“We were driving by,” Grant said, “my partner there and I — we’re traveling salesmen — and we spotted the car out in front by the road. We’d heard the radio broadcast telling everyone to watch for license number RA 364 so we stopped. I had a gun in the car, the little one I just gave you, and we came in here and took them by surprise. That long drink of water there,” he went on, waving at me, “fired one shot and hit my friend but I got to him before he could do any more shooting. I clipped him on the ear, as you can probably notice.”

“That guy’s an expert liar,” I said.

“Shut up,” the fellow with the gun said. “And then what?”

“That’s about all,” Grant answered. “We tied them up and I called for the police. As I said before, I’m sure glad you’ve come.”

“You sweet thing, you,” I said.

The short, broad man jerked a chair back from the table and sat down. “Just to get things straight,” he said, “my names Jordan and I’m with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. So is he,” and he jerked a thumb at his mate who was pulling up a chair beside him. “The two men who went in the other room are J. K. Randall and Doctor something-or-other. I don’t know his name.” He looked at Millie. “You say this girl is in on the kidnaping?”

Grant shrugged. “I don’t know. She was here with him. And all I had to go on was that car out there — or rather, its license.”

The G-man nodded. “Okay. We’ll soon see what’s what.”

The gray haired man with the broad shoulders came out of the back room first. His face was wet with perspiration. He looked around the room and his eyes stopped on me. “Is he the one?” he asked. His voice was hoarse with pent-up rage.

“That’s the way it looks,” said Jordan, “but don’t—”

Randall wasn’t listening. I’d never seen eyes so crazy with hate as his. He brought his right fist around and caught me full on the jaw. That made twice in one night and it hurt. My head snapped back like it was on a hinge and everything went hazy for a minute. I remember jerking at the necktie that held my hands behind my back, but nothing gave. Then Randall had me by the throat. His fingers dug in just below the Adam’s apple. I tried to pull away, but couldn’t. The room started to look like a merry-go-round. Then suddenly the pressure was released.

Jordan was talking and his voice sounded like it came from the next county. “Cut it out, I tell you. We’ll take care of him.” He had Randall by both arms and was pulling him away.

Just then the doctor came into the room. “Is there a phone?” he asked. Grant pointed to it. “I’m calling an ambulance,” the doctor went on. “The boy’s in pretty bad shape, but I think he’ll be all right.” He dialed the phone, got his number, said a few words in a low voice and hung up.

Jordan took the floor. “Since we’ve got to wait for the ambulance,” he said, “we may as well get things straight.” He looked at Grant. “You say you and your friends were driving along and spotted that license number and—”

“They got wonderful eyes,” I said.

“Shut up, you,” Jordan barked.

Just then Mercer let out a yell. “What about me? I’ve been shot and there’s a doctor here and he doesn’t do anything about it.”

The doctor went over to him, helped him off with his coat and looked at his right arm. “Just a scratch,” he said.

“I’m sorry,” I grumbled.

Randall was talking to Grant. “I want to thank you,” he was saying. He held out his hand and Grant took it. “You can never know what this means to me. If you’re a father, you can understand. But you’ll be well paid. I offered a reward, five thousand dollars, and you and your friend will get that.”

“You can pay him out of that satchel beside the davenport,” I said. “He wanted all of it, but I guess now he’ll be satisfied with a small cut.”

Jordan jumped up, ran around and picked up the satchel. “This is it,” he said. Then he looked at me. “What do you mean, he wanted all of it?”

I stared back at him and laughed. “You’re a G-man,” I said, “and you’re letting Grant make a fool of you. He and his pal Mercer are the ones who kidnaped the Randall boy.”

Jordan took something out of his inside pocket and looked at it. “You’re Bob Ellison, aren’t you?” he said.

“That’s right.”

“Then you collected the ransom, didn’t you?”

“You’re still right.”

“Well, then, what are you talking about?”

I leaned forward and looked him in the eye. “Just this. I was tricked into collecting the ransom, I didn’t have anything to do with the kidnaping and I can prove it. As soon as I found out what I’d got mixed in with, I started out to find the kidnapers. That is, Millie and I did. And we found them. They’re right in this room and they’re trying to make you think they’re heroes. I’m talking about Mr. Grant and his friend Mercer.”

“You say you caught them. You can’t expect us to believe that. After all, the evidence shows they caught you.”

“I’m not worrying about the evidence,” I said. “Before very long you’ll have proof that neither this girl nor I had anything to do with the kidnaping. And you’ll know who did. All I ask is that you keep your eyes on that saintly pair.”

Jordan ran his hand over his face and stared at me.

“Just how do you expect to prove all this, Ellison?” he asked.

“The boy’s over four years old, according to the radio reports, isn’t he? He’ll be able to tell you who kidnaped him.”

I must have said the wrong thing. Randall got out of his chair. Jordan jumped up and caught his arm. “Take it easy,” he said. Randall shook him off and walked over in front of me. His cheeks were as close to being purple as any cheeks I’d ever seen.

“You filthy rat,” he shouted. “Trying to make us believe you didn’t know—”

Jordan jerked him back, but he pulled himself loose. “You knew,” he yelled, “you must have known all the time — long before you planned this thing — you must have known my son is — my poor little boy — is blind!”

V

The whole world seemed to slip from under my feet. I snapped my head up and looked at him. “He’s what?”

Randall’s eyes were wild. “You’re putting on an act,” he almost screamed. “The boy is blind. He was born blind. That’s why you picked on him. And, by heaven, you’re going to hang for it.”

I looked at Millie. “Did you know?”

Her face was a sickly white. She shook her head. “He was asleep most of the time I was with him. I didn’t even guess.”

Through sort of a mist I saw the six men sitting around the table looking at us. At the left was Jordan, who still held the automatic loosely in his hand. Next was his G-man partner. Then came Grant and Mercer and, closest to where we were sitting on the davenport with our hands tied behind us, Randall and the doctor.

Grant had a kind of sneering smile on his face and Randall still looked like he was just this side of apoplexy.

“I guess we’re sunk then,” I said. “At least I am. What do they do to you now for kidnaping, Jordan?”

He stared at me. “The boy was taken across state lines,” he said finally. “That puts it under the Lindbergh law and that can mean the death penalty. And to the federal government, there’s only one form of execution — hanging by the neck until you are dead.”

“No!” Millie cried. “They can’t do that to him. He’s innocent, I tell you. He’s telling the truth and you’re so stupid you can’t see it.”

“That’s enough,” Jordan said sharply.

“Yeah,” I muttered, “cut it out, Millie. It won’t do any good.” I felt like all the strength had oozed from my body. “They won’t believe me and I guess a jury won’t either.”

“Anybody who kidnaps a blind boy — and he must be a pretty sick kid, too, right now — can’t expect mercy from a jury,” said Jordan. He got up, laid his gun on the table, and came over to me. “I’m going to see what you’ve got in your pockets.”

He didn’t find so very much. The packet of fives, an empty billfold, a dirty handkerchief, the crumpled piece of paper Millie had thrown at me, three one-dollar bills, some change and half a century note.

“What’s this?” he asked, straightening out the piece of paper that said, “Be careful. Don’t come upstairs.”

“That’s a little warning Millie gave me. It’s part of a long story, but you wouldn’t believe it.”

“And this piece of a hundred dollar bill,” he went on. “You seem to have a habit of tearing up money.” He grinned. “Maybe we can get you for mutilating currency.”

“What you mean, a habit?”

He laughed. “So you don’t know? When you pulled the kidnaping you left a piece of a dollar bill in the Randall yard. We figured that was for identification and it was. The envelope you gave the pawnbroker had another piece of the same bill. But there was still another piece of the bill that you kept. You probably thought you’d use that to get some more ransom. Only—” he paused and frowned. “Only that piece of the bill should be on you and it isn’t. I guess you’ve swallowed it.”

I sat up straight, jerking my arms behind my back because I wanted to wave my hands.

“I didn’t swallow it,” I said, trying to hold his eye. “It isn’t on me because I never had it. But I think I can tell you where it is.”

He rubbed his chin with the fingers of his left hand. “So you do know something about this case. Go ahead. Where is it?”

“I’ve been trying to tell you that the men you want are Grant and Mercer and you won’t listen. Now if you found that piece of money on one of them you’d start to believe me, wouldn’t you?”

“Sure, but—”

“Well, why don’t you search them? Or do you think heroes shouldn’t be searched?”

Jordan looked disappointed. “This sounds like a stall. I thought you were getting ready to tell something.”

I stamped my feet on the floor. I had to do something and I couldn’t use my hands. “For the love of Pete,” I burst out, “I’ve told you plenty, but you’re too dumb to do anything about it. Go ahead and search them, they won’t bite you.”

Jordan looked at Grant. “Would you gentlemen object? Just to prove he’s talking through his hat?”

Grant shrugged. “Not at all. It’s just part of his game, we haven’t anything to hide.”

Jordan’s partner went through Mercer’s pockets first. He found the usual things, a billfold with about forty dollars and identification cards, some small change, keys and a pocket knife and so forth.

Then he went through Grant’s pockets with pretty much the same result, only this time the exhibits included a fountain pen and a letter from a novelty concern that said something about the sales quota being raised. When Grant’s things were all spread out on the table, Jordan looked at me.

“There you are,” he said.

“Yeah, that proves a Jot,” I came back. “That little hunk of a dollar bill would be awful hard to hide, wouldn’t it? You’d be sure to find it at a glance, wouldn’t you? If you’d turn me loose I het I’d find it on one of them.”

“Oh, shut up,” he said wearily. “I knew that’s what you wanted, to be turned loose.” He glanced at his wrist watch. “Wish that ambulance would get here.”

Grant was putting his things back in his pockets and I kept my eyes glued on him. When he picked up the fountain pen his fingers were trembling, or else it was my imagination.

“Wait a minute,” I yelled.

Jordan’s eyes snapped toward me, “Now what?” he barked.

“How about opening up that fountain pen of Grant’s?” I said. “That would be a dandy hiding place.”

“Forget it,” Jordan growled. “You talk too much — about the wrong things.”

Grant laughed. “You’ve got to give the guy A for effort,” he said. “He’s trying every trick he can think of.”

“Listen, Jordan,” I said, speaking low, “if you think I’m talking too much now, just wait till I get on the witness stand. They may hang me, but I’ll go down fighting. I’ll have plenty to say about you. All you’ve done is try to pin this thing on me. You’ve taken everything for granted. You won’t make an honest effort to verify anything I say. I may go to the gallows, but you’re going to get a real roasting before I go.”

Jordan sighed and held out his hand to Grant. “Okay,” he said, “anything to shut him up. Let’s have the fountain pen.”

Grant didn’t move. “It’s all right to be good natured,” he grumbled, “but enough is enough. You’re treating me like I was suspected of something, just on account of that guy shooting off his mouth.”

I felt like a fellow who had caught hold of a life preserver just when he was about to go down for the third time. Jordan had got to his feet and was staring at Grant the way he had stared at me.

“I said give me that fountain pen,” he snapped, “and no back talk.”

Grant shrugged and handed him the pen. He shoved his chair bark a few inches.

Jordan unscrewed the cap, looked inside it and laid it on the table. Then he pulled the pen apart, exposing the rubber bladder that held the ink. A little sliver of green fell on the table. Jordan grabbed it, his fingers moved quickly, and there it was — a piece of green paper about two inches square, with two straight sides and two jagged edges and it had originally come out of one of Uncle Sam’s mints.

Jordan turned toward Grant and then dived for his automatic. Because Grant had jumped up and was lunging for the door.

The automatic exploded three times, close together. Grant crumpled to his knees with one hand on the doorknob, then swayed a moment before he toppled over on his back. Jordan, the doctor and Randall ran over to him. The other G-man had a gun trained on Mercer who was slouching back in his scat whimpering.

“So Ellison was right,” Jordan said, looking down at the fallen man. “You and Mercer did it. What a fool—”

“You said it, brother,” Grant sneered. The words came from his mouth in a windy gasp. Little bubbles of blood danced on his lips. “I had you fooled easy. If it wasn’t for him I’d got away with it. Came pretty close at that. Everything he said was true. Me and Mercer snatched the kid and hired Ellison to get the ransom. The girl — she didn’t have anything to do with it — with it, either. You can... you can hang Mercer, but,” his voice was fading away to less than a whisper, “but you’ll never — never — hang me. I’m—” We couldn’t hear any more.

The doctor stooped over him and then straightened. “He was right,” he said. “He’ll never hang. He’s dead.”

Jordan was looking at me. He came around in back and untied my wrists. My hands felt numb and I rubbed them.

“I owe you a lot of apologies,” Jordan said. “I was a jackass, but—”

“Forget it. Is it all right for Millie and I to go now?”

“Sure. You’re in the clear. Only—”

Randall’s hand was on my shoulder. “My boy,” he said in a choked voice, “I owe you more than I can ever express. When I think of how I treated you — but I’m hoping you understand how I felt.”

I shook his hand and smiled. “In your place, Mr. Randall, I’d have done the same — only more so. Think nothing of it.” I walked over to Millie. She had stayed on the davenport like she was petrified. I took the necktie off her wrists “Come on,” I said “Let’s be on our way.”

“Just a minute,” Jordan said “You’ve got to come to town with us. The newspaper boys will want to talk with you and take your pictures. Don’t you know it yet? You’re heroes, both of you.”

I looked at Millie. “I think we’d like to duck that stuff, if it’s all the same to you. You know the whole story. You can tell them. We want to go and get something to eat. And a little sleep wouldn’t hurt, either.”

“You’ve got something there,” Millie said.

“Have you any money?” Randall asked.

I shrugged. “No, but we didn’t have any before this thing started. So we’re holding our own.”

Randall smiled. “You’ve got five thousand dollars,” he said. “I offered a reward, you know, and you’ve got to take it.”

“I’m not arguing with you,” I said. I looked at Millie and held out my hand to her. “We could do things with that kind of dough, couldn’t we, kid?”

She took my hand and pressed it. “We could try,” she said.