Detective Fiction Weekly. Vol. 62, No. 2, October 3, 1931

Quick Death for Holly Seemed Inevitable; There Was Only One Thing That Might Postpone It

I

Holly, tall, lean-faced, slouched uncomfortably in the deep chair, should, perhaps, have been pale with the fear of death. But he wasn’t; not because he failed to realize the imminence of death, but only because he was the kind of man for whom death held no terrors.

His hands were securely bound. So were his feet. And a strong rope stretched about his middle and around the back of his chair held him fast.

There was a quizzical half smile on his face as he watched the two men who had him prisoner.

Those two men were dissimilar in build — one short and heavy, the other tall and slim — yet seemed brothers in thought. They were both flashily dressed, both furtive, both on edge. And both restlessly waiting.

They were waiting for the death of the man in the chair.

Holly spoke to the short, heavy one.

“Crest,” he asked, “how long will I have to wait?”

“How the hell should I know?” retorted Crest irritably. “Until Starke gets here. That’s all I know.”

Holly turned his head toward the tall, slim one.

“How about you, Stone? Can you give me anything more definite?”

Stone scowled at him.

“I dunno,” he said. “When Starke gets here, you get croaked, see? That’s all I know. Maybe twenty minutes, maybe thirty, I dunno.”

“So we have to wait for Starke?” repeated the man in the chair.

Crest sat down in a chair opposite. The tall man, Stone, continued pacing impatiently up and down the well-furnished room.

“Sure,” Crest went on. “Starke said to tie you up good. And he would come over from Shattuck as soon as he could make it and croak you.”

“Well,” ventured Holly, “he should be here before long, surely. It shouldn’t take him long to get here from Shattuck.”

“I dunno,” growled Crest. “The sooner the better.”

“Yeah,” put in Stone. “The sooner the better. This dump gives me the willies.”

“It is rather a lonely spot,” agreed Holly, with a smile. “Three miles off the highway, and four miles along the highway to Shattuck, which is the nearest town.”

“Yeah,” said Stone again. “It gives me the willies. The bright lights for me!”

“At that,” commented Crest, “it’s a fine place for bumping a guy off. No one around to butt in, or nothing.”

“What did you call Shattuck?” asked Stone derisively. “A town?”

“Well,” said Holly, “there’s a store there, and a garage, and a livery stable.”

Crest laughed hoarsely. Then there was silence. A very deep silence. Silence seemed to hang about Holly’s retreat in the woods like a tangible thing. That was, perhaps, why Holly went there, alone, whenever he could. He was the kind of a man — reflective, whimsical — who appreciated silence.

But the other two didn’t like it. They were not reflective, and far from whimsical. They were impatient, irritable, morose, anxious to finish the job and get away. Still, they were watchful. Sitting down or pacing about, their eyes never left Holly, bound as he was, for more than a brief moment.

“I wish we could plug you now,” blurted Crest, suddenly, staring at Holly. “And then beat it. I don’t like this dump.”

“Yeah,” muttered Stone. “But Starke said to wait until he got here.”

“Too bad you’re kept waiting,” remarked Holly. “Anyway, there’s nothing to worry about, is there?”

“Hell, no,” said Crest. “But I don’t like this dump.”

He paused, shot a suspicious glance at the man in the chair.

“Starke said you’d be all alone. You are, ain’t you?”

“Almost,” said Holly.

“What do you mean, almost?”

“Well,” said Holly, “so far as I know, there’s no other human within miles. But I’ve got a horse out in the stable. His name’s Tommy, and I’m very fond of him.”

“A horse, huh?” said Crest, visibly relieved.

“Yes. A horse named Tommy. A black horse. I ride him about the hills a good deal.”

Holly’s tone was gentle as he spoke of the horse. Evidently he was sentimental about horses, Tommy in particular.

“Yeah,” said Crest. “Well, you ain’t gonna ride him no more.”

He said it savagely. Not that he had anything personal against either Holly or his horse. But he had a job to do. And he was anxious to do it, and get away from there.

“By the way,” said Holly, “how will Starke come here from Shattuck?”

Crest laughed.

“Well,” he said, “he won’t ride no horse. He’ll come in his car.”

“Then he shouldn’t be long.”

“Naw.” Crest laughed again. “When you hear that car stop outside, you can figure you got about two minutes to go!”

II

The information seemed to produce no noticeable consternation in Holly. True, he was thoughtful. But he was usually thoughtful.

He studied the rope that was biting into his wrists.

Then he glanced up at the clock on the mantel. It was within three minutes of midnight. Not that it made any difference.

“Did you notice,” he asked Crest, “what kind of a night it is, before you came in?”

“I’ll say I did,” growled Crest. “It’s a dirty night. Dark as hell. You ain’t expecting no one, huh?”

“No one,” said Holly. “No one — except Starke.”

“Yeah? Well, he’ll be along pretty quick now.”

“I might have known he’d try something like this,” Holly mused.

“Starke is a tough baby,” said Crest, tolerantly enough. “If a guy crosses him, he bumps the guy off.”

Holly chuckled. “I crossed him, all right.”

Crest looked at him with some interest.

“I dunno,” he said. “Starke didn’t say nothing much about that. He just said to grab you and hold you until he got here.”

“I can understand that,” smiled Holly. “He was half expecting me to leave here this evening. And there’s no better place to kill a man than right here.”

“Yeah,” said Crest. “It’s a great place for bumping a guy off.” Again, he paused and looked at Holly curiously. “Ain’t you the guy that’s been making trouble for Starke?”

Holly nodded.

“I suppose I have. At least, I’ve been investigating corruption in city affairs, the police department in particular. And Starke seems to be the moving spirit behind a lot of it. He doesn’t seem to like what I’ve been doing.”

“Like it!” Crest cackled. “Why, when a guy does like you been doing, there ain’t nothing to do but bump the guy off.”

“At that,” said Holly, “I suppose it’s not so much what I’ve done already, as what I would probably do in the future.”

“Yeah?”

“Of course. There’s the Grace Arlen case, in particular.”

“Grace Arlen? The broad that got croaked the other day, huh?”

“The girl was to have been an important witness. But she was shot to death a few days ago.”

“Why, sure.” Crest knew all about that. To him it was clearly a matter of course that she should have been killed. “Yeah, she got plugged.”

“And I had evidence,” Holly went on, a trifle grimly, “that Starke was responsible for the killing.”

“Yeah?”

Crest grinned at that. The news didn’t surprise him in the least.

“Yes,” said Holly. “Well, I suppose Starke concluded that it was either him or me.”

“Why, sure,” said Crest. “It was him or you. And he beat you to it.”

The tall man, Stone, stopped his pacing long enough to speak.

“He oughter be here pretty quick now.”

Holly looked at the clock. It was ten minutes after midnight.

“Yeah,” said Crest. “Starke ought to show up pretty quick now.”

“By the way,” queried Holly, “how is it that Starke didn’t come with you?”

“I dunno,” said Crest. “I think he had to see a guy in Shattuck. But he wanted to be sure you didn’t beat it, see, so he sent us ahead.”

“Wanted to see some one in Shattuck, did he?”

“That’s what he said.”

Crest, obviously, didn’t care about that. It was a matter of no consequence to him what Starke was doing. Crest had a job to do, would get well paid for it, and that was all that concerned him.

Holly’s tall form, stretched out in a reclining position, was motionless. To move either hands or legs meant only the cutting of the ropes deeper into his flesh. He stared at the ceiling for a little while.

“One thing worries me,” he said presently.

“Yeah?” said Crest, grinning.

“Yes. What will happen to Tommy?”

“Tommy?”

“My horse. There’s no one here to take care of him. There probably wouldn’t be any one else around here for days, perhaps weeks. He couldn’t get out of the stable. There’s some feed near him, but no water.”

“Well,” said Crest, indulgently, “maybe we could plug him, too.”

“Maybe that would be the best,” said Holly. “Still it’s too bad. Tommy is still young — good for a lot of years, yet.”

“Hell,” laughed Crest. “You are, too, ain’t you?”

“Yes,” admitted Holly. “But there doesn’t seem to be much chance of my living them out.”

“Naw,” said Crest. “Not much. Not the way Starke feels. I dunno much about it, but he sure is sore at you.”

“I can stand it,” said Holly, rather curtly, “but I hate to think of Tommy suffering.”

“Well,” said Crest, amused, “I dunno. Maybe Starke will stick you on the horse and then plug you both at the same time.”

He laughed heartily at his own wit.

“I’m afraid not,” Holly said. “Not Starke. He’d be afraid I might get away on a horse.”

Stone was still pacing up and down. Occasionally he stopped to shoot a vicious glance at the man in the chair, as if he had half decided not to wait for Starke.

“This dump,” he grumbled, “gives me the willies.”

III

For a few moments there was silence again. Crest, much more talkative than his partner, Stone, was nevertheless uncomfortable, nerves keyed up. This house of Holly’s, miles back in the wooded hills, was depressing. Apparently he found chatting with Holly helped to soothe him.

But there was no soothing Stone. The tall man strode up and down, up and down, incessantly.

Holly himself seemed calm, at least on the surface. Death was coming to him, fast. It was on the way from the little town of Shattuck, in the person of the underworld king, Starke. But Holly’s nerves were like fine steel; sensitive, yet resilient; yielding, yet unbreakable.

It was Holly, in fact, who kept the conversation going.

“I suppose,” he ventured presently, “that Starke had to call on Watson.”

“Huh?” said Crest.

“I said, that I suppose Starke stopped to call on Watson.”

“Watson, huh?” said Crest. “I dunno that guy.”

“Watson has a country place just outside of Shattuck. He’s supposed to be a friend of mine.”

“A pal, huh?” chuckled Crest. “That pal stuff is sure a lotta hooey.”

“Anyway,” Holly continued, “Watson was supposed to be a friend of mine. He was working with me on the girl case — the girl who was killed. Apparently, however, he is tied up with Starke.”

Crest shook his head, as if pitying Holly for his simplicity.

“Yeah,” he said. “Starke’s got all kindsa guys working with him. He’s a smart mug, Starke is.”

Holly continued to stare at the ceiling.

“Yes,” he said. “And the question is, why should Starke want to call on Watson to-night?”

“Why, I dunno about that,” said Crest.

Holly’s glance left the ceiling, rested in grim amusement on the short, heavy man in the chair across from him. Of course Crest wouldn’t know about that. Crest knew only that Holly was to be bumped off, and he was there to help do the job.

But if Crest didn’t know, Holly himself knew, and he proceeded to explain.

“Well, you see, Watson was supposed to be a friend of mine. He worked with me collecting the evidence in the girl case. Starke will want that evidence, and he’ll presume that Watson may know where it is.”

“Evidence, huh?” said Crest, not very much interested.

“Yes. The gun, particularly. The gun that was used to kill the girl. You remember that it couldn’t be found at first. But we found it — to-day. Three shots left in it. And it gives us a practically complete case against Starke.”

“You found the gun, huh?”

“Yes. And Starke will want to get it. He doubtless went to Watson to find out where it is.”

Crest yawned.

Stone again stopped his pacing long enough to speak.

“It’s about time Starke was getting here. This place gives me the willies.”

“It sure is.” agreed Crest. “Any minute now.”

Stone resumed his pacing. For a little while no one said anything. But silence was the one thing that disturbed Crest; he was all right as long as there was conversation.

“So you found the gun that croaked the broad, huh?”

“Yes,” said Holly. “And Starke will want that.”

“Well,” laughed Crest. “It’s a cinch it ain’t on you.”

He and Stone had thoroughly frisked Holly.

“No,” smiled Holly.

“But maybe you got it around the dump here, somewhere, huh?”

“Maybe.”

“But you ain’t saying, huh?”

“Not just now.”

“Aw, well,” Crest said comfortably, “I guess Starke can handle that.”

“When he gets here, eh?” added Holly.

“Yeah. Well, he won’t be long. Pretty soon you’ll hear his car stopping out front here — and that’ll be the time.”

“I suppose so,” said Holly. “But do you think Starke will take care of Tommy?”

“Tommy?”

“Yes. The horse.”

“Oh, the nag! Well, I dunno about that. I don’t think he cares much about horses.”

Holly shook his head, sadly. It was clear that the fate of the horse disturbed him.

“You’re a kinda funny guy,” Crest went on. “Worrying about a horse! If I was you, I’d be the guy I’d worry about. Not that it’d do much good.”

Holly looked at his bound hands and legs, and wryly nodded agreement. The tall man, Stone, pacing up and down, had evidently followed the sea for a while, and knew something about knots.

“No,” Holly began, “I don’t suppose—”

He stopped abruptly, listened. Stone stopped his pacing, and listened. Crest sat up straight in his chair.

Outside the house there was the sound of an automobile stopping.

IV

Crest grinned cheerfully. Even Stone brightened. Presently there was the tramp of footsteps in the hall. The door opened, and a man came in. He stopped just inside the door and coolly surveyed the scene.

An impressive man, this Starke. He was heavy, yet moved lightly. He wore his expensive clothes carelessly. Sharp features set in a broad face — a face frankly predatory, relentless, cruel.

Even his two men, Crest and Stone, betrayed a certain uneasy alertness in his presence. Holly’s face, heretofore quite pleasant, grew rigid and stern.

In dead silence, then, Starke advanced into the room. He paid no attention to his gunmen, beyond a mere glance. He made straight for Holly, stood in front of him, and regarded him without remorse, without pity.

“What about the gun?” he snapped, abruptly.

Holly gazed at him, unwinking.

“What gun?”

“You know what gun,” Starke cracked his words out like pistol shots. No wonder his man, Crest — and all the others, for that matter — had full confidence in his ability to get what he wanted.

“Of course I know,” said Holly, slowly. “You mean the gun that took the life of young Grace Arlen.”

Not a muscle of Starke’s face moved.

“You know what gun. Where is it?”

“Didn’t you ask Watson?” countered Holly.

“I did. He knows that you have it. But that’s all.”

The smile that came to Holly’s face was almost pleasant again.

“Is that all he could tell you? It took you a long time to find that out. Your men have been waiting impatiently for you. They don’t like my place.”

“Watson was not at home when I got there. I had to wait until—”

Starke stopped quickly. He was not in the habit of making explanations, and this one had been surprised out of him.

“Never mind that,” he said brusquely. “The gun — where is it?”

Holly shrugged. “Why should I tell you?”

Starke looked him over, calmly, derisively.

“You don’t seem to be in a position to refuse anything,” he sneered.

“And you,” retorted Holly, “are not in a position to demand anything.”

“No?”

“No. Now, suppose I refuse to tell you?”

“You know the answer to that.”

“I do. You’ll kill me. But you intend to do that, anyway. You can’t kill me any deader for not telling you.” Starke flushed angrily.

“No. But I can kill you quicker!”

“Not enough quicker to make any difference,” said Holly, indifferently.

Starke stared down at him, his black eyes merciless with hate. Then he turned to his gunmen.

“We’ll do the job right now,” he barked.

“Okay,” said Crest.

“Can’t be too soon to suit me,” growled Stone. “This place gives me the willies.”

“You two,” Starke went on rapidly, “can plug him as he sits there. We’ll untie him then, and take him out and ditch him where they won’t find him very easily.”

Already Crest and Stone had taken automatics from their pockets. They were ready to fire, waiting for Starke to give the word.

And Starke was about to give it.

“Just a minute, Starke,” put in Holly.

But Starke paid no attention to him. He was not the kind to hesitate.

“I’ll tell you about the gun,” Holly went on quickly.

That was enough to delay Starke, at least for a moment or two. Starke turned to him again.

“All right. Where is it?”

“I’ll tell you,” Holly amended with a smile, “on one consideration.”

“Name it.”

“I’ve got a good black horse out in the stable. His name’s Tommy.”

“What about it?”

“Well, there’s no one here to take care of him. I don’t like to leave him unprovided for.”

Starke’s lip curled contemptuously.

“Well?”

“Take care of Tommy?” said Holly quietly, “and I’ll tell you about the gun.”

It didn’t take Starke a second to decide that.

“All right. I’ll do it. Now, about the gun?”

“You’ll need it badly,” Holly parleyed.

“Well, where is it?”

“And I want to be sure that you’ll take care of your end of the bargain before I’ll tell you.”

Starke nodded impatiently. He understood. Holly wanted a guarantee.

“If Tommy were turned loose,” Holly went on, “he would know where to go.”

“We’ll turn him loose,” said Starke. “Show me the gun.”

“I’d have to turn him loose myself. Or, at least, I’d have to be present.”

Three seconds of thought and Starke motioned to Crest and Stone.

“This guy,” he said, “seems awful anxious to see that horse. Maybe he ain’t got a horse. Maybe it’s a trick. You boys go out and take a look at that horse, and make sure there ain’t nothing phony about it. I’ll keep him entertained while you’re gone.”

Reluctantly, Crest and Stone started toward the door.

“It’s in back of the house,” Holly said. “You can’t miss it. But you better light that lantern there to see by. And don’t get too close to Tommy. Tommy doesn’t pay any attention to strangers. He doesn’t bother about anybody but me. He’d just as soon step on you as not. So don’t go too close.”

This did not seem to reassure Crest and Stone any. Stone took down the lantern and lit it. Then they closed the door behind them very slowly.

When they were gone, Holly turned to Starke.

“I’m playing straight,” he said quietly. “You turn Tommy loose and I’ll show you where the gun is hidden. I think a lot of that horse. He’s a well trained, valuable horse, and it would be a shame to let him die.”

“Yeah,” said Starke. “If there really is a horse there we’ll turn him loose, don’t worry. After that it’s up to him what he does with himself. We ain’t gonna lose any sleep worryin’ over a horse.”

“No,” Holly agreed. “I guess a horse doesn’t mean much in your life — but I like horses.”

The door opened and Crest and Stone came in, visibly glad to get back in the house again.

“Well?” demanded Starke.

“There’s a horse there, all right,” Crest said. “A big horse. We went in and looked at him. But I don’t like this tooling around.”

“Never mind what you like,” Starke said. “Sure there wasn’t nothing but a horse there? Nobody hiding or anything like that?”

“Naw,” Stone said, a bit disgustedly. “We looked with the lantern. Only a horse. A big horse.”

“All right, then,” Starke said decisively. “We’ll let you turn him loose. I guess you’re on the up and up, all right.”

“Thanks,” said Holly.

“Unbind his feet,” said Starke. “Let him loose from the chair. Keep his wrists tied.”

Crest unbound his feet. Stone released him from the chair.

“This place gives me the willies,” muttered Stone.

Wrists still tightly bound, Holly got up, stretched. In a few moments they were leaving the house, walking across a cleared space in the woods a distance of about a hundred feet toward the stable.

Crest and Stone pressed close to Holly, covering him with automatics. Starke was near them, carrying a lantern. Low clouds concealed the stars. It was chill and damp.

The door of the small stable was fastened, but not locked. They trailed in. Only one of the three stalls were occupied.

“Steady, Tommy,” said Holly.

The horse, aroused by their entrance, rose up from the straw. He looked inky black in the dim, flickering light of the lantern. In obedience to his master’s voice, he stood still, a splendid, vibrant animal.

The door through which they had come had been left open.

“You can’t get Tommy out?” Holly told Starke, “unless you open both doors.”

“Both doors?”

“Yes. We came through the south door. Directly opposite — on the north side — is another door. The passage here runs from one door to the other. You’ll have to open the north door, too.”

Stone, at a decisive word from Starke, walked down the passage and opened the other door.

Starke spoke sharply to Crest.

“Drive him out!”

Crest was a little bewildered. He didn’t know much about horses.

“Come on outer there,” he instructed Tommy, presently.

The horse stood perfectly still. Crest swore, got in the stall beside the horse, pushed on him.

“Get the hell outer—”

But he didn’t finish. Tommy swept his rear sideways, and Crest was crushed against the side of the stall. Then Tommy swung back into place again, and remained motionless.

Crest got up, painfully, sidled cautiously out of the stall.

“Why not just plug him?” he whined to Starke.

Instead, Starke turned to Stone.

“Drive him out!”

Stone hesitated. He, too, was unfamiliar with horses.

“You’ll have to let me do it,” put in Holly, with a chuckle.

Starke had evidently preferred to have his own men turn the horse out, in view of the possibility of a trick if Holly did it. However, what Holly might accomplish thereby was not apparent. Too, Starke was in a hurry.

“All right,” he agreed.

They all stood back against the wall, to allow the horse room enough to swing out of the stall and down the passage. Holly was between Crest and Stone. The light from the lantern, held by Starke, played most on Holly, Clearly outlined his hands held in front of him, his wrists still securely bound.

“Tommy,” called Holly, gently.

The horse at once swung about, faced his master. His glowing eyes were fixed upon Holly.

“Tommy, take a canter,” said Holly.

The horse obeyed the simple command at once. With not an instant’s hesitation, he turned his nose toward the south door, thumped rhythmically down the passage, out of the door into the darkness beyond, picked up speed rapidly.

For just one brief moment there was silence. A silence that was cut like a knife by the sound of Starke’s metallic voice.

“The gun!” he said to Holly. “Where is it?”

“Why, it’s right here,” Holly said promptly.

“Here?”

“Yes. Here in the stable.”

“Show it to me!”

Holly sighed.

“How impetuous you are!” he objected mildly. “Now, I—”

“Show me the gun!” raged Starke. “I could find it, in time, without your help. But you promised—”

“Very well,” said Holly.

He stepped across the passage toward the stall, the others watching him warily. As he reached it he turned and faced them.

“You see,” he explained, “I wanted to be sure that the gun was safe. There was no place of concealment in the house that Watson didn’t know about. I had begun to suspect him, so I—”

“Never mind that,” cut in Starke, exasperated. “Get me the gun!”

But Holly went on doggedly.

“And I knew that it would be safe here in Tommy’s stall. In the first place, any one looking for it would not be likely to look here. And in the second place, Tommy would not allow—”

Holly broke off abruptly as Starke, with Crest and Stone, stepped away from the wall into the middle of the passage, threateningly.

Without a word, Holly turned about again and went to the far corner of the straw-covered stall. He knelt in the straw. His wrists were so tightly bound that the blood had almost ceased to flow in his hands. But his fingers, although numb, were free, and with them he raked about in the straw.

Starke put the lantern down in the passage. He, too, drew an automatic. He, Crest and Stone, all waited with weapons drawn.

“I give you ten seconds!” he called briskly to Holly.

“Ten seconds,” Holly called back, “is nothing to me. I’m only showing you the gun because I promised—”

From somewhere outside came the clatter of horse’s hoofs. Tommy had cantered away out of the south door. These were coming toward the north door.

“This dump gives me the willies,” muttered Stone.

“Look out!” yelled Crest, suddenly.

But there was no time to look out.

Through the north door, at a furious speed came Tommy. He swept along the passage like a great, black steaming ghost, wreaking havoc all the way. Along the passage and out of the south door again.

Crest, squealing and cursing in anguish, was trampled under foot. Stone was flung with terrific force against the wall, and lay where he fell, still and silent. Starke was the only one of the three to remain a menace; pushed against the wall, he was kneeling on one knee, a little short of breath, but otherwise unharmed.

The lantern had been bowled over. Even the shadowy outlines of the stalls were blackened out in the darkness.

Holly was crouching in the stall. Starke was across the passage, not a dozen feet away. For a little while, neither moved, neither made a sound.

But it was Starke’s move, since he knew best his antagonist’s position. His automatic spattered out three sharp flashes.

But he was blazing at the wrong corner.

Holly, waiting for this, answered instantly. One shot.

“Ah!”

And that was all. Starke’s form pitched across the passage.

Holly walked out of the stall, and along the passage toward the door. There his fingers found a light switch — Starke had not known that the stable was fitted with electricity — and flooded the place with light.

He walked back toward Starke, stood over him grimly. Dangling from his fingers was a gun.

“Here is the gun, Starke!” he said.

But Starke did not hear him.

Again, there was the pounding of horse’s hoofs. Again, Holly spoke to Starke.

“Tommy is taking a canter, Starke. He often does that — out the south door, around the house, and back through the north door—”

But it was a waste of time talking to Starke, so Holly went to the north door to meet Tommy.