I'll Get You for This

1

A POLICE siren wailed in the still night air. Car tyres bit gravel. Doors slammed. Feet pounded on concrete.

I stood in the shadow of the wall facing the rear exit of Miss Spence’s apartment block. It wasn’t a particularly good place to be in with a flock of buttons buzzing around, but I’d been in worse places.

The alley was narrow and sealed at one end. The other end, opening on to the front drive, was lit by a white-blue overhead lamp.

I held the Luger in my right fist, and edged along the shadows. I came to the dead end, looked up. A couple of feet above me I could see the dark sky and the stars. I looked back down the alley. A flat, capped figure was peering around the corner of the wall. He couldn’t see me, but I could see him.

He was very cautious, but I could have drilled him between the eyes without buying myself a truss. He seemed shy of showing me any more of himself. Maybe he thought his head was made of bullet-proof steel. Maybe it was.

I went down on one knee, waited.

He did exactly what I thought he would do. He pulled a flash and sent a long bright beam of light in search of me.

The roar of the Luger rolled around the narrow alley, bounced off the walls. The cop’s flash disintegrated; darkness settled down again.

I had about sixty seconds to get moving before he recovered his nerve. I moved.

The top of the wall was gritty under my hands. I was glad I’d learned the trick of rolling over walls instead of sitting astride them. I was dropping into the far-side darkness when the cop opened up with a chopper. Slugs threw up a little cloud of mortar and brick dust six feet above my head. I didn’t wait.

Beyond the wall was an expanse of trees, shrubs and darkness. I guessed it was the garden of the apartment block. I melted into the darkness; kept edging to my right, where I knew I’d eventually come out to the main street.

There was much shouting in the front drive. Heads peeped cautiously out of windows. The chopper continued to grind away. No one was taking chances.

I kept on. The Army certainly did a swell job in teaching me how to act like a Red Indian. Sitting Bull had nothing on me. Moving through the shrubs and trees, I made no more noise than a ghost and was a lot less visible.

The night was now full of police sirens, some near, some distant, some almost too faint to hear. There seemed a lot of Law on the move.

I reached the wall surrounding the garden as some bright boy decided to turn on a floodlight. I had just pulled myself up and was lying on top of the wall when the lights came on. I felt like a nudist in a subway on a Saturday in the rush-hour.

Enough artillery opened up to slaughter an army. Slugs hummed and buzzed. One of them nicked my sleeve. I dropped into the street faster than a lizard.

A cop from across the street took a pot-shot at me as I zigzagged along the sidewalk. I took a pot-shot at him. He fell on his knees, clasping his wrist. He yelled blue murder.

I got into my stride. Maybe I did touch the ground twice in my sprint for a friendly archway, but I doubt it. The archway led to a big house that loomed white above high white walls, capped with red tiles that reflected the moonlight.

Bullets skipped by me, struck sparks from the road. I reached the archway, ducked under cover. I was breathing like an old man with asthma, sweat ran down my face. Keeping close to the protecting wall, I looked into the street. Men moved, darted for cover, edging nearer to me. The street was lousy with cops.

I drew a bead on one of them. The slug passed through his hat, and he fell down, half-dead with fright.

I ducked back as soon as I’d fired. Three choppers opened up, and for the next three minutes death hung in the air. I let them blaze away, sneaked backwards, took the bend of the wall, and did another sprint. I was over another wall into another garden before they had made up their

minds that it’d be safe to advance,

I was getting tired of this cat-and-mouse business. Instead of climbing the next wall I turned towards the house. It was a big one with a wide verandah overlooking the garden. No lights showed.

I kicked in a window, entered a room that smelt of cigar smoke and perfume. I crossed the room, opened the door and stepped into a passage.

There was a man and a woman in the passage, standing against the partition wall, out of the way of flying glass and slugs.

“Hello.” I said, smiling at them. “How are you liking the circus ?

The man was tall and beefy with a red face and a military moustache. His eyes were hard and stupid, his neck thick. The woman was a dark, nicely moulded trick in an interesting Grecian affair—black crepe with gold bands crossed high on the bodice and double gold bands around the hem. She was about thirty-five, and there was a wordly look in her slaty eyes that I like to see in women of thirty-five.

The red-faced guy stiffened his backbone after the first shock of seeing me had passed. He growled deep in his throat, started a ponderous swing that a battleship could have dodged.

I let the swing sail over my head and ruin a lot of air in the passage. Then I pushed the Luger into his fat ribs.

“Skip it,” I said. “You’d be better at the ballet.”

His red face went a waxen white.

I looked at the woman. She hadn’t turned a hair. She looked back at me, her eyes interested, unafraid.

“Think of the fun you’ll have telling your friends,” I went on to the man. “Chester Cain passed this way. You could even put a plaque on the outside of the house.”

They didn’t say anything, but the man had difficulty in breathing.

“Would you both go into one of these rooms?” I said, jerking my head to a line of doors. “I’m as harmless as a spinster aunt so long as no one crowds me.”

I manoeuvred them into a front room, made them sit down. The furniture was as heavy and as dull as the man’s face. The woman continued to eye me with interest.

I put my gun away to ease the atmosphere, peered out of the window.

Searchlights roamed the sky, car lights lit up the street, flat caps moved back and forth.

“I’ll stick around,” I said, sitting down so I could watch the two. “That reception committee still looks like business.” I lit a cigarette, then remembered my manners, offered the pack to the woman. She took one, giving me a long, curious stare as she did so.

“Jill!” the man spluttered. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Why shouldn’t I smoke?” she asked in a tired voice.

He opened and shut his mouth, then scowled at her.

I struck a match and lit her cigarette. I had an idea at the back of my mind that I might have fun with her.

We sat around while the cops tramped up and down, poked into bushes and scared hell out of each other.

Maybe the red-faced man thought I was harmless without my gun in my hand, maybe his manhood nudged him. He suddenly bounded out of his chair and came at me like a charging rhino.

I had my gun out by the time he arrived, but he was coming so fast he hadn’t time to apply his brakes. I cracked him on top of his skull and he stretched out on the carpet.

“I’m sorry,” I said to the woman. “But you saw how it was.”

She looked down at the mountain of flesh without a great show of interest or distress.

“Have you killed him?” she asked.

She sounded as if she hoped I had.

I shook my head. “No.”

“He won the Purple Heart,” she said, looking at me. “I wonder if you know what that means? He likes to explain the battle to people.”

“You mean he moves the salt cellar and the spoons and the pepper-box, and shows dispositions, manoeuvres and advances?”

“That is the general idea,” she said, lifting her elegant shoulders.

I looked down at the red-faced man and thought she couldn’t I have much fun with him.

“Yeah,” I said. “These boys who live in the past are hard to take.”

She didn’t say anything.

A double knock on the front door brought me to my feet.

“That sounds like the Law,” I said, twirling the Luger.

“Are you scared?” she asked, staring at me. “I wouldn’t have thought anything would scare you.”

“You’d be surprised,” I returned, grinning. “Spiders give me goose pimples.” I opened the room door. “Come on,” I said. “I want you to talk to the Law. You won’t throw an ing-bing?”

“No, I won’t do that,” she said. “I suppose if I tell them you’re here, you’ll shoot me?”

I shook my head. “I’ll have to shoot the coppers, and that’d be a shame,” I said.

We went down the passage to the front door. I stood against the wall in the shadows where I could see without being seen.

“You don’t want to be told what to say, do you?” I asked.

“I don’t think so,” she said, opening the door.

There were a couple of cops standing on the front step. When they saw her they saluted.

“Everything okay, Mrs. Whitly?” one of them asked. His voice was loaded with respect.

“Except the noise,” she said calmly. “Is it necessary to shoot so much? Surely one man can’t be as dangerous as you make him sound.”

“He’s a killer, ma’am,” the cop said, breathing heavily. “The Lieutenant’s not risking lives. We shoot first and talk after.”

“Very interesting,” she said, in a bored voice. “Well, I hope it stops soon and I can go to bed.”

“We’ll catch him, ma’am,” the cop said, sticking out his chest. “But don’t worry, we reckon he’s some way from here by now.”

She closed the door, and we stood in the dim light, listening to the cops as they pounded their way up the street.

She fingered a ruby and gold bracelet, glanced at me.

“Is that Mr. Whitly?” I asked, jerking my thumb in the direction of the room we had just left.

She nodded. “Charles Whitly, the son of John Whitly, the millionaire,” she said, in a hard, toneless voice. “We are very respectable people, and even the police salute us. Our friends are very respectable too. We own three motor-cars, six racehorses, a yacht, a private beach, a library of expensive books that no one reads, and lots of other very expensive and useless things. My husband plays polo…”

“And he won the Purple Heart,” I said, shaking my head. “It sounds wonderful.”

Her lip curled. “It does. It was when I married him.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Well, it isn’t my idea of fun.”

“It hasn’t turned out to be mine either,” she said, examining the bracelet.

We could go on like this all night, so I opened the front door. I guess I’ll be running along,” I said. “I enjoyed meeting you, and I’m sorry about the expensive things, and I’m sorry about hitting your husband on the head.”

“Don’t be sorry about that. It’ll give him another topic of conversation,” she said, and swayed towards me.

“I’m still sorry,” I said. Our faces were close.

“You don’t find life dull, do you?” she asked. I put my arm around her and kissed her. We stayed like that for a minute or so, then I pushed her gently away.

“Life’s fine,” I said, and went down the steps of the house. I didn’t look back.

2

I ran the Mercury convertible into the wooden garage next to Tim Duval’s place on the waterfront. I cut the engine and the lights, shut the garage doors and walked over to the house.

Searchlights still waved over Paradise Palms. Maybe they thought I was hiding in the sky. Every now and then a nervous cop would let off his gun. The activity was now a couple of miles away, and right where I was seemed quiet enough.

I rapped on the door of the squat, faded house and waited. There was a long pause, then a woman’s voice called from an overhead window, “Who is it?”

“Tim around?” I asked, stepping back and peering at the white blob that looked down at me.

“No.”

“This is Cain,” I said.

“Wait,” the woman said, and a moment or so later the front door opened.

“Where’s Tim?” I asked, trying to see the woman in the darkness.

“You’d better come in,” she said, standing to one side.

“Who are you?”

“Tim’s wife.” There was pride in her voice.

I wondered if a bunch of Law was waiting for me in the house, I didn’t think so. I entered, followed her along the passage to a room at the back of the house.

The room was square-shaped and lit by a paraffin lamp. A fishing net hung in folds along one of the walls. Slickers, a south-wester, rubber boots hung near it. There was a table, three straight-backed chairs, a plush arm-chair and a cupboard. There were other odds and ends. The place was clean. Somehow the room managed to look cosy and like home.

Mrs. Duval was a big woman, long-legged, big-handed, big-hipped, still handsome. She looked a young forty-five, and her red-brown face was strong. Black hair, without a strand of white, capped her head like painted tar.

She eyed me over. Her china-blue eyes, deep-set, were thoughtful.

“Tim said you were all right,” she said. “I hope he knows what he is talking about.”

I grinned. “He’s trusting,” I said. “But I’m harmless enough.”

She nodded briefly. “You’d better sit,” she said, and went over to the stove. “I guessed you’d be out here in a while. I kept something hot for you.”

I found I was hungry.

“Swell,” I said, sitting down.

She threw a clean white cloth over one end of the table, set a knife and fork and then went back to the stove.

“You men are all alike,” she said, without bitterness. “You have your fun, and then come back to be fed.”

“That what Tim does?”

“You do it too, don’t you?”

I looked at the T-bone steak she had set before me, hitched up my chair.

“I’ve had a lot of fun tonight,” I said, beginning to eat. “Where’s Tim?”

“He went over to Cudco Key.”

“Take the boat?”

“He rowed. He said you might want the boat.”

“That’s a long haul.”

“He’ll make it.”

I tapped my plate with my knife. “I appreciate this.”

She nodded, then said: “Jed Davis is out the back waiting for you. Do you want to see him?”

I frowned, then I remembered.

“The newspaper guy?”

She nodded.

“Is he okay?”

“He’s a friend of Tim’s,” she said. “Tim picks bums for friends, but he won’t bite.”

I laughed. “I’ll see him,” I said.

She went away.

I was half through my steak when the door opened again and a mountain of man came in. His face was round, fat and purple. His eyes small and reckless. He wore a tweed suit that looked as if he hadn’t taken it off since he bought it, and that had happened a long time ago. A battered slouch hat, slightly too small for him, rested on the back of his head. He chewed a dead cigar between small, even white teeth.

He stared at me, then came further into the room, closed the door.

“’Lo front page news,” he said.

“Hullo yourself,” I said, continuing to eat.

He took off his hat and combed his hair with a little ivory comb, grunted, put his hat on again and sat down in the plush arm-chair. It creaked as it took the strain.

“You certainly started something in this burg,” he said, taking the cigar from between his teeth and examining it through half-closed eyes. “I feel like a war correspondent again.”

“Yeah,” I said.

He looked at the table. “Didn’t she give you a drink?”

“I didn’t miss it,” I said.

He climbed laboriously out of the chair. “Must have a drink,” he growled. “Hetty’s a swell cook, and a good woman, but she just doesn’t understand that guys need a drink.” He opened a cupboard and produced a black unlabelled bottle. He found two glasses and poured whisky into them. He gave me a glass and went back to the chair with the other. “Clot in your bloodstream,” he said, waving the glass at me.

We drank.

“How long do you reckon to keep up this shindig?” he asked.

“Until I’ve found Herrick’s killer.”

“So you didn’t kill him?”

“No. I was the fall guy. It was a political killing.”

He took another drink, rolled the liquor round in his mouth before swallowing it. “Killeano?”

“What do you think?”

“Well, yes; it’d suit him to knock Herrick off.”

“Your rag interested one way or the other?”

“The Editor’s too fond of life. These boys are tough eggs to monkey with. We stay neutral.”

“Mean anything to you personally?”

He looked sleepy. “Well, if some guy came along and bust this Administration wide open, I’d have something to write about, providing the bust was complete. I’d do what I could to get the story, but I’d have to play it close to my chest.”

I didn’t say anything.

He eyed me narrowly, then went on. “Killeano’s a louse. But he’s got the town in his pocket, and now Herrick’s out of the way anything could happen. He’s well in the saddle, and it’ll be a hell of a job to unstick him.”

“Depends how it’s played,” I said, lighting a cigarette. “If I can get the right information, I’ll crack Killeano.”

He nodded slowly. “What kind of information?”

“Did Herrick work on his own?”

“Practically. He and Frank Brodey. Their organization was small: too small.”

“Who’s Brodey?”

“Herrick’s lawyer. He’s at 458 Bradshaw Avenue. He lives with his daughter.”

“Will he take over from Herrick?”

Davis shook his head.- “Not a chance. He ain’t built for a fight with Killeano. No, I guess he’ll stay put and let Killeano walk it.”

I made a note of the address.

“Ever thought why Herrick went so much to the Casino?” I asked.

“Yeah, but it didn’t get me anywhere. He was trying to turn up some dirt, but whether he got it or not I wouldn’t know.”

“I think he did and that’s why he was rubbed,” I said. “Ever heard of Lois Spence?”

“Ever heard of Mae West?” he returned, grinning. “Lois is famous around here.”

“Killeano know her?”

“Even I know her. She’s balanced that light a breath of wind would blow her over.”

“So she knew Killeano?”

“Yeah, about two years ago they were like that.” He crossed his two fingers. “That was before Killeano took over the town. When he got into power he ditched her. Had to, I guess. You can’t run a town and Lois at the same time: both are full-time jobs.”

“Herrick went around with her too?”

“Yeah, but there was nothing to that, although some mudslingers tried to make something out of it. My guess is he was using her to dig up dirt on Killeano, and she strung him along, took his dough and gave him nothing.”

“He paid her to play the tables at the Casino.”

That surprised him. He stared at me, lifted his hat, combed his hair while he thought. “Why did he do that?” he asked at last, putting the comb away.

“He took the dough she had won and gave her other notes in exchange. Looks like he suspected the Casino of passing dud notes.”

Davis brooded. “Well, that’s an idea,” he said, “but it wouldn’t be easy, and no one’s complained.”

“It might be worth checking. Could you do that?”

He nodded. “I guess I could. I go there off and on. I could sniff around.”

“If you knew what you were looking for, it might not be so tough.”

“Well, I can dig a little.”

“This guy Gomez seems a tough egg.”

Davis grinned. “I’ll say. You met him? Take my tip and| keep out of his way. He’s dynamite.”

“I’ve met him,” I said, shrugging. “I was with Lois when he blew in. It took my reputation and the Luger to hold him. I thought I’d have to shoot him he was so mad, but Lois grabbed him and I got out. He was the one who started the Law on the move.”

“He’s a bad guy,” Davis said, shaking his head. “He doesn’t I like anyone hanging around Lois unless it’s strictly business. One guy thought he was soft. Gomez shot him. It was fixed to look like suicide, but I know how it happened.”

“Kind of jealous, eh?”

“He certainly is, and as hot-blooded as a stove.”

“What do you know about a cat-house along the waterfront? Who owns it?”

“Speratza.”

“Sure?”

Davis nodded. “It’s the only joint of its kind in town. He must have plenty of protection to keep it open, and he makes a good thing out of it.”

“Huh-uh,” I said, giving myself another drink. I passed the bottle to Davis. “And Flaggerty? Anything on him?”

“He’s Killeano’s stooge. He puts up a front, of course, but Killeano pulls the strings; he jumps. There’s nothing to him. He’s just another crooked cop.”

“He helped in Herrick’s killing.”

Davis paused in pouring his drink. “The hell he did?”

“Yeah,” I said. “About Herrick. Was he married?”

“No. He lived in an apartment with a guy called Giles who looked after him. Give you the address if you want it.”

“Where?”

“Macklin Avenue. It lies off Bradshaw Avenue. But you won’t get anything out of Giles I talked to him. He doesn’t know anything.

“Maybe he’ll talk to me.” I got up. “I guess I’ll pay some calls.”

“They’re still looking for you,” Davis reminded me. “And it’s getting on for midnight.”

“We’ll get ’em out of bed.”

“We?”

“Sure, I’m going with you. They won’t expect me to be with you.”

He produced his comb again and ran it through his hair. “Say, that’s not such a hot idea,” he said. “I gotta keep in the clear. How’d I look if they spotted you with me?”

I smiled at him. “Come on,” I said. “You and I are going on a little trip. First we’ll go to Macklin Avenue and then Bradshaw. You got a car?”

He nodded.

“Fine. I’ll be tucked up in the back under a rug. That way the cops won’t worry us and we’ll get places.”

“I can always say I didn’t know you were there,” he said, his face brightening. “Okay, let’s go.”

3

I lay under the rug on the floor of Davis’s battered Ford and sweated. Davis sweated too, at least, he said he was sweating. “Gawd!” he exclaimed, “the place is lousy with cops. Any second now they’ll start shooting.”

“That’s okay,” I said. “They’re not likely to hit me. I’m too well protected down here.”

“But I’m not,” Davis grunted. He braked sharply. “That’s torn it. They’re signalling to me.”

“Keep your shirt on,” I said, feeling for my gun. “Maybe they want to ask the time. You know what coppers are.”

“Quiet!” he hissed dramatically

I relaxed, waited.

Voices came out of the night. Feet scraped on the road. What the hell are you doing out here?” a voice growled into the car.

“Hello, Macey,” Davis said. “I’m just passing through. How’s the battle coming? You caught him yet?”

“We will,” the voice said. “Where are you going?”

“Home,” Davis said. “Think I’ll get through?”

“You might, only don’t blame me if one of the boys shoots you. The streets aren’t healthy.”

“You telling me,” Davis said. “I’ve had twenty heart attacks in so many minutes.”

The cop laughed. “Well, don’t try any speeding. You’ll be okay at the top of the road. We’ve just been through this district. The punk’s as good as the invisible man.”

“Thanks,” Davis said, and eased in his clutch. “Be seeing you.”

The car moved on.

“Phew!” Davis said after a while. “I’m shaking like a jelly.”

“That shouldn’t be hard for you to do,” I said. “What’s it I look like?”

“He’s signalled me through. There’re cops all along the street glaring at me, but that’s all they’re doing. If there are any of them up at Herrick’s place we’d better skip it.”

“Have a drink and calm down,” I said, sliding the bottle we’d taken from Tim’s place over the back of the seat.

Gurgling sounds followed.

“Leave me some,” I said sharply.

“You don’t need it like I do,” Davis said, but he dropped the bottle back. It hit my head.

“Hey!” I said. “Do you want to brain me?”

“I wouldn’t mind,” Davis replied, accelerating. “You can come out now. The cops are out of sight.”

I threw off the rug, sat up, wiping my face. We were in a narrow street lined on each side by neat villas.

“We’re just there,” Davis said. “Next street.”

As I was looking, a big brown Plymouth sedan shot round the corner, and belted down the street towards us. Davis gave ft startled snort and swerved violently to the right. The Plymouth I missed us by a couple of inches, and was gone.

“The crazy loon!” Davis exclaimed. “What’s his hurry?”

“Maybe he remembered a heavy date,” I said. “Don’t let a little thing like that disturb you.”

We turned the comer, pulled up outside a small villa.

“This is Herrick’s place,” Davis said. “Want me to come in?”

I shook my head. “You and me had better not be seen together,” I said.

“Yeah,” he said, reaching over the back of his seat. He found the bottle and patted it lovingly. “I can keep myself amused.”

I left him and walked up the path to the house. No lights showed. I thumbed the bell, waited. Somewhere in the house the bell rang, but no one answered. I rang again, thinking the man, Giles, was asleep. But after five minutes of continuous ringing, I decided no one was home.

Davis stuck his head out of the car window. “Bust down the door,” he said. He sounded a little tight.

I went round to peer in a window. There was enough moonlight to see something of the room. I found myself staring at a large desk. The drawers were open, papers were scattered on the floor. I looked closer and saw an arm-chair had been ripped to pieces.

“Hey,” I called to Davis. “Come here.”

Muttering under his breath, he heaved his bulk out of the car and joined me.

He peered through the window, saw what I had seen, stepped back.

“Looks like someone’s been going over the joint,” he said, producing his little ivory comb. He combed his hair thoughtfully. “That’s good liquor of Tim’s,” he went on. “I think I’ll have another shot. My nerves are kind of unsteady.”

I tapped, broke a small section of glass near the window catch, opened the window.

“Hey,” Davis said, his eyes round. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m going in there to take a look,” I said.

“I’ll stick around and toot on the horn if any buttons show,” Davis said, moving towards the car.

“And leave that bottle alone,” I said.

I had a look round the room. Someone had gone over it carefully. There wasn’t anything in one piece. Even the stuffing in the chairs and settee had been hauled out and sifted through.

I went over the house. Each room had been treated in the same way.

Upstairs in the front bedroom I came upon a man in white pyjamas. He was lying half across the bed, the back of his head had been smashed in. I touched his hand. He was still warm; but he was dead. It looked as if the killer had surprised him in bed, and had bust him before he could raise the alarm.

I went down the stairs, opened the front door, called Davis.

“Come upstairs,” I said.

We went up. Davis looked at the man.

“That’s Giles,” he said, making a little grimace. “Hell! We’d better get out of here.”

“He hasn’t been dead more than a few minutes,” I said, staring down at the dead man. “Think that Plymouth’s anything to do with this?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Davis said, moving to the head of the stairs. “All I know is if Flaggerty finds us here, we’re dead pigeons.”

“I guess you’re right at that.”

We went down the stairs and out of the house.

The night was quiet now. The searchlights had ceased to I grope in the sky. Gunfire no longer sounded. It was hot and still.

We got in the car.

“You’re passing up a good story,” I said, looking at Davis with a grin.

“I’ll wait until they find him,” he said, starting the engine. “I’m not sticking my glass chin out by telling them he’s there. They might tie me to it.”

He let in the clutch and we shot away from the kerb.

4

“Is this where Brodey hangs out?” I asked, as Davis stopped the car in front of a big house on

Macklin Avenue.

“Across the way,” Davis said, pointing. “I’m not parking before any more death houses. Jeese! That was a dumb trick. If a copper had seen us come out—”

“Forget it,” I said, getting out of the car. “Show me the place, and don’t get so excited.”

“Excited? For crying out loud! I don’t like running into corpses that haven’t been turned up by the cops. It’s too dangerous.”

We crossed the road. Somewhere out of sight a car engine roared.

Davis paused in mid-stride.

“Hear that?” he said, clutching my arm.

“Come on,” I said, and started forward.

Brodey’s house was big, and it stood back from the street. . The garden was full of palms and tropical shrubs. It was difficult to see much of the house from where we were.

As we approached the front gates, which stood open, we heard the car coming down the drive. We ducked back into the shadows. The brown Plymouth sedan shot into the street, belted away. It was out of sight before we got over our surprise.

I had caught a glimpse of a man who was driving, but I couldn’t see much of him. The car was fitted with curtains which happened to billow out as the car passed me. That was how I saw the man; Davis didn’t see him at all.

“Looks bad for Brodey,” I said, and began to run up the drive.

Davis panted along behind me. “Think he’s been knocked off ?” he groaned.

“Looks like it, doesn’t it?” I said. “Same car. Same hurry to get away. They’re after something pretty important.”

A turn in the drive brought us to a big Spanish house that was in darkness.

“If they’ve killed Brodey, there’ll be a hell of a stink,” Davis gasped, following me up the steps.

“They’re sitting pretty,” I said, “so long as they can pin it on me; and that’s what they’ll do.”

“Then what the hell am I doing trailing around with you?” Davis demanded. “If you’re the killer, what am I?”

“Ask the judge… he’ll tell you.”

I touched the front door; it swung open.

“Looks bad,” I said.

“I’m not coming in,” Davis said, backing away. “I’m scared, Cain. This is getting too deep for me.”

“Take it easy,” I said. “Stick around. Don’t run out on me now.”

“I’ll stick, but I ain’t coming in.”

“What’s the matter with you? This may turn out to be front page news.”

“I’d sooner find it without you being around,” Davis said, shaking his head. “If they’re going to pin it on you, they’ll book me as a material witness or something.”

I left him arguing with himself, and entered the dark lobby. This time I’d brought a flashlight from the car. I looked into the various rooms that led off the lobby. They were undisturbed, but when I came to the last door at the end of the passage, I found what I expected to find. The room was Brodey’s study. It was big and well-furnished and equipped like an office. Here, a search had been made. Papers were strewn on the floor, desk drawers Herrick’s place. The chairs hadn’t been ripped open, nor had the pictures been taken off the walls.

There was no one in the room, and I stood looking round, wondering what to do next. It was a big house to go over; I didn’t know how many servants were sleeping upstairs: but I had to know if Brodey was dead.

As I turned to the door I heard or sensed something which made me feel I wasn’t alone. I snapped off the flashlight and stood motionless, listening. I heard nothing. The room was as black as tar. I eased the Luger out, and held it down by my side. Still no sound. I crept cautiously to the door, reached it. Nothing happened. I stood listening. No developments. I touched the door, peeped into the passage. It was dark out there and silent. I kept still, listened, and tried to see through the darkness. I stayed there a long minute, listening. There wasn’t a sound in the house, nor in the street outside, yet I was sure I wasn’t alone. I could sense the presence of someone, and that someone wasn’t far off.

I waited, hoping whoever it was out there had weaker nerves than I had. It was a nasty business standing half in and half out of the room in darkness and silence, waiting for someone’s nerve to crack.

Then I heard something. It was an almost soundless sound, and at first I couldn’t place it. After listening carefully I realized it was someone breathing near me. It gave me a spooked feeling.

Slowly I raised my flash until it was pointing in the direction of the breathing. Then I pressed the button, ready to jump if someone opened up with a gun.

The harsh beam of the flashlight lit up the passage. There was a choked gasp of terror which made the hair on the back of my neck bristle. I found myself staring at a girl crouched against the passage wall. She was slight, young, about eighteen, pretty in an immature way; chestnut hair, brown eyes. She was wearing a black and gold kimono and the trousers of her pyjamas were dark blue silk.

She stayed motionless, her eyes empty with terror, her mouth formed in a soundless scream.

I guessed she was Brodey’s daughter.

“Miss Brodey,” I said sharply. “It’s all right. I’m sorry if I scared you. I’m looking for your father.”

She shivered and her eyes rolled up. Before I could move she had slipped to the floor. I bent over her. She was out cold.

I slipped the Luger back into its holster and picked her up.

She was thin and light, and I could feel her ribs under the silk kimono. I carried her into the study and put her on the settee.

Silence brooded over the house. I wondered if there was anyone else in the place.

I went to the front door, but Davis wasn’t in sight. I found him by the car, his head back and

the bottle to his mouth. I moved silently up to him and tapped him on the shoulder.

“Got you!” I said in a gruff voice.

Davis didn’t jump more than a couple of feet, and hollered, “Yow-ee!” He nearly swallowed the bottle. I took it away from him with one hand, thumped him on his beefy back with the other. After a while he recovered from his choking fit.

“You loon,” he gasped. “You scared me silly.”

“Come on,” I said. “I want you.”

“Don’t tell me you’ve dug up another corpse?” he asked, alarmed.

“Not yet, but Brodey’s daughter has thrown an ing-bing. She’s nice, and she’s got on a kimono.”

“Japanese style, eh?” he said, interested. “Well, maybe I’d better come at that.”

Miss Brodey was lying where I had left her. She looked small and pathetic.

“The idea is to put her head between her knees and a key on the back of her neck,” Davis said, combing his hair.

“That’s for nose bleed, you dope,” I said. “At least, the key part of it is.”

“Well, give her some Scotch,” he advised. “I bet Brodey’s got a bottle somewhere around.”

He found it after a short, intensive search, took a long swig himself.

“Not bad,” he said, shaking his head at the bottle. “Lawyers always do themselves well.”

I sampled the Scotch too. He was right.

“Well, come on,” Davis said. “This is no time for boozing. Let’s get this kid on her feet. Scraggy little thing, ain’t she?”

“She’ll ripen,” I said, and lifted the girl’s head. I forced whisky between her clenched teeth. It brought her round after a while, and her eyes fluttered at me.

“Bet she asks where she is,” Davis muttered. “They always do.”

But she didn’t. She took one look at me and dived off the settee to the wall. She gave us the fright of our lives. “Now take it easy,” I said.

“Let me handle this,” Davis said, “She knows me.” He advanced towards the girl with a kindly leer on his fat face. “Hi, Miss Brodey, remember me? Jed Davis of the Morning Star? We heard there was trouble up here and blew in. What’s wrong, baby?”

She stared at him, tried to speak.

“Now don’t get upset,” he went on gently. “Come and sit down and tell me all about it.”

“He’s taken him away,” she blurted out in a thin, hysterical voice. “He made him go with him.”

Davis led her back to the settee. “All right, kid,” he said. “We’ll fix it. Just sit down and tell us about it.”

She gave me a scared look. I stood behind her so she couldn’t see me. Davis was patting her hand, clucking over her. I was surprised at his technique.

He got the story out of her inch by inch. She told us she’d been asleep, and voices coming from her father’s study had woken her. She’d gone down. The study door was ajar and she peeped in. Brodey was up against the wall with his hands in the air. A man in a brown suit was threatening him with a gun. She heard the brown man say: “Okay, if that’s the way you want to play it. Come on, we’ll go for a ride.” She wanted to get help, but she was too scared to move. The brown man hustled Brodey out of the room. It was dark in the passage and neither of them saw her. They went out the front door, and a moment or so later she heard a car drive away. Then I showed up.

Davis and I exchanged glances.

“Seen this guy before?” Davis asked.

She shook her head. She was shivering with shock and looked as if she’d pass out any moment.

Davis tried to make her take another drink, but she wouldn’t; she kept saying: “You must get him back. Please. Don’t sit there. Get him back.”

“We’ll get him back,” Davis assured her, “but we must know who took him. What was this guy like?”

“Short and thickset,” she said, putting her hands over her eyes. “He was horrible—like an ape.”

“Did he have a scar down the side of his face?” Davis asked, stiffening.

She nodded.

“Know him?” I asked.

“I guess so,” Davis said, his eyes popping. “Sounds like Bat Thompson, Killeano’s strong man. He’s one of the tough boys from Detroit, and make no mistake, brother, he’s tough.”

“Know where we can find him?”

“I know where he hangs out,” Davis said. “But we don’t want to find him. He’s a guy best left alone.”

“Where does he hang out?”

“Sam Sansotta’s gambling joint.”

“Okay. Let’s see how tough he is.”

Davis sighed. “I knew you were going to say that. You’re a nice reckless sort of a punk for me to fall in with.”

“Get the police,” Miss Brodey said, crying.

“We’ll get everybody,” Davis said, patting her shoulder. “Now go to bed and wait. We’ll get your poppa back for you.”

We left her sitting on the settee, her eyes like great holes in a sheet.

“Listen, Cain,” Davis said, when we reached the car. “You ain’t really going to call on Bat, are you?”

“Why not? We want Brodey, don’t we?”

“Listen, Bat’ll tear your ears off. He’s a bad hombre. You’re not going to scare him.”

“I can try,” I said, getting into the car.

“My pal,” Davis said, but he got in too.

5

Sansotta’s gambling joint was at the far end of the coast road, leading out of Paradise Palms. It was a squat building, three storeys high; a broad verandah, on which stood tables and chairs, circled the building. Beyond, two large glass doors gave on to the main hall.

Although it was after one o’clock, the place was still lit up. A number of people sat on the verandah, and dancing was going on in the hall.

Davis parked his car on the opposite side of the road, reached for the bottle, swished it round, drained it. He threw the bottle at the sandy beach.

“My need’s greater than yours, pal,” he said.

I was studying the lay-out of the place. You don’t think you’re going to walk in there and bring Brodey out, do you?” Davis went on, mopping his face with a not over-clean handkerchief.

“That’s the general idea,” I said. “Superman stuff, eh?”

“That’s it.”

“Well, count me out. I’m too big a target to take Bat on. He’s a killer.”

“So am I,” I reminded him.

He looked at me. “Well, brother, I’ll be sitting out here admiring the view. I’ll write you a nice obituary when they carry you out. What flowers would you like?”

“You’re coming in. I’m a stranger seeing Paradise Palms for the first time, and you’re showing me around. Somehow you’re going to get me upstairs because that’s where Brodey is.”

“Oh no,” Davis said emphatically. “Not me. I’m staying right here, keeping my nose clean. I’m not easily scared, but that guy Bat sure makes my flesh creep.”

I stuck my Luger into his fat ribs. “You’re going in,” I said, giving him the hard eye, “or I’ll make holes in you.”

He looked at me, saw I meant business, sighed.

“Well, maybe I’ll go buy a drink,” he said. “No harm in that, is there?”

He opened the car door and we walked across the road, up the steps into the brightly-lit hall.

No one took any notice of us. We went to the bar. The-barman nodded to Davis and set up a bottle. He seemed to know Davis.

We had a couple of snorts before a thin little man with polished black hair, polished black eyes and a paper-thin mouth came out from behind a curtain and joined us.

“’Lo, Sansotta,” Davis said, tipping his hat. “Here’s a pal of mine who’s blown in looking for a good time. George, this is Sansotta, I was telling you about.”

I nodded to the little man, thinking he looked a tough egg in spite of his size.

“Hi yah,” I said. “Glad to know you.”

He nodded. His puss didn’t reveal anything.

“Nice town you have here,” I said, like I thought he owned the burg.

“Fair,” he said, looking around the room. His eyes were continually on the move.

I trod on Davis’s foot.

He grunted, then said, “Any poker going on tonight? My pal’s anxious to lose his roll.”

Sansotta looked me over, and then looked at Davis. He raised his eyebrows.

Davis nodded. “He’s okay.”

“He can go up. They’re playing in room 5.”

“Thanks,” I said, finishing my drink. “Coming?” I said to Davis.

He shook his head. “I’ll stick around for a drink or two, then beat it. You can get a taxi back.”

“Okay,” I said, and started up the stairs.

Half-way up, I glanced back, paused.

Flaggerty appeared in the main doorway. He was still wearing his green gaberdine suit, and a cigar burned unevenly between his teeth. He was scowling as he joined Davis at the bar.

I shot up the stairs and out of sight, glancing back after I’d rounded the corner to make sure he hadn’t seen me. He hadn’t. Davis was combing his hair, a fixed grin on his face. Flaggerty was buying himself a drink.

I walked along the passage to room 5, listened to the hum of voices from inside and then moved on. There were three other doors in the passage, but I didn’t bother with them. I headed for the second lot of stairs.

Half-way up I heard someone coming along the lower passage; I took the remaining stairs three at a time. I found myself in a dimly lit passage with two doors facing me.

Footsteps went along the lower passage, a door opened and then shut.

I stepped over to the first door facing me and listened. Silence. I moved along to the next door, listened. A voice was speaking, but the words were lost. I stood there, my ear to the panel, waited. Then I heard a muffled groan that set my teeth on edge. I was sure Brodey, was in there.

Any moment Sansotta might discover I wasn’t in room 5 playing poker. As soon as he’d found that out, he’d be looking for me. If I was going to do anything, I’d have to do it now and fast.

I turned the handle. The door wasn’t locked; it gave as I pushed.

I walked in.

On a bed in the corner of the room was a bald-headed man in a grey lounge suit. There was blood on his face and shirt front. One eye was closed and bruised, and a patch of broken skin showed by his right ear where he had been punched. His wrists and ankles were roped to the bed, and he was gagged.

Standing over him was a short, thickset man in a baggy brown suit. He was bow-legged and his battered, apish face was moronic and cruel. He was raising his great hairy fist as I walked in.

“Grab some cloud, Bat,” I said.

He stiffened, then without moving his body he looked over I his shoulder. His small pig eyes hardened when he saw me. His right hand moved, but I showed him the Luger.

“I shouldn’t, Bat,” I said gently. “I’m Cain.”

That held him. Slowly he raised his hands to shoulder height. He grinned at me. His teeth were black and broken.

“Hullo, bub,” he said.

“Get over to the wall,” I said, watching him, “and face it.”

“You’re my meat, bub,” he went on, grinning at me. “Not now, but later. I’m as good with a rod as you.”

“We’ll try it sometime,” I said. “Get over to the wall.”

Still grinning, he sidled over to the wall.

“Turn,” I said.

He turned.

I stepped up to him and belted him over his head with the gun barrel. I hit him as hard as I could. He slumped down on; his hands and knees, but he wasn’t out. He had the hardest head in the world. He squirmed round, grabbed at my legs. He nearly had me over. I kicked him off, hit him again with the butt of the gun. I hit him so hard the gun jumped out of my hand. He stretched out flat.

I cut the ropes that tied Brodey to the bed and sat him up. He fell off the bed before I could catch him. He was out.

As I stooped to pick him up, the door jerked open and Sansotta walked in. He stopped, gaped at me, at Bat; then his hand flashed to his hip pocket.

I let go of Brodey, flung myself at Sansotta’s legs. We went down in a squirming heap. He clubbed at my head with his fist, but I wriggled away, caught him a bang under his right eye. His head snapped back, but he was on his feet before I was on mine. He was as fast and as tricky as a lizard.

The Luger had vanished under the bed. Bat was stirring, trying to sit up. Brodey was lying like a dead man a few feet from me. Sansotta jumped me. I caught him round his waist, I dragged him down, belted him about the body.

He tried to fight me off, but my weight was too much for him. He gave a strangled yell, but I had him by the throat. I squeezed.

Green gaberdine trousers came into the room. I threw myself sideways, but I was too late.

Something that felt like the Empire State Building descended on my head.

6

I opened my eyes. Bat grinned at me. “Hullo, bub,” he said. “How you feel?” I fingered a tender lump on the back of my head, grimaced. “Lousy,” I said. He nodded, looked pleased. “I guessed it,” he said. “But it ain’t nothing to what’s coming to you.”

I grunted, and looked around the room. It was fair sized, windowless and contained a bed on which I was lying, and a chair on which Bat was sitting. High up in the ceiling was a naked electric light bulb. The room wasn’t clean.

“How long have I been out?” I asked.

Bat grinned again. “Three-four hours,” he said, leaning back in his chair. He seemed to regard the whole business as the best joke in the world. “You ain’t so tough,” he added as an afterthought. His short, greasy hair was matted with blood where I had hit him, but he didn’t seem to worry about it.

“Where’s Brodey?” I asked.

“Him? They put him somewhere. That guy’s nuts. He don’t know what’s good for him,” Bat returned, fishing out a package of cigarettes and lighting one. He tossed the package and a box of matches to me. “Have a smoke, bub, you ain’t got so long to live.”

I lit a cigarette. “What’s cooking?” I asked.

He shrugged. “They’ll be along to see you when they’re through with Brodey,” he told me. “You’ll know soon enough.”

I wondered what had become of Jed Davis. I hoped he’d ducked out in time.

“Well, well,” I said, trying to blow a smoke ring. It didn’t come off. “I’m not curious. I’ll wait.”

He grinned some more. “Don’t start anything smart,” he said. “I’m as fast with a rod as you are—faster.”

I laughed at him. “You’ve kept it quiet then,” I said.

A tiny spark of rage burnt in his pig eyes. “Whatja mean?” he demanded, leaning forward.

“Bat Thompson doesn’t mean anything to me,” I said. But Chester Cain means plenty to you. Work it out for yourself.”

“Yeah?” he said, his face a dusty red. “Listen, I could take you any time with a rod, see?” That’s what you say.”

“Watch, punk,” he said, getting to his feet.

He crouched. There was a blur of white as his hand moved; a .38 sprang into sight. It was a fast, smooth draw. It surprised me.

“How’s that?” he asked, twiddling the gun around on his thick finger.

“Do that standing in front of me when I’m heeled, and you’d be a dead pigeon,” I said.

“You’re a liar,” he said, putting the gun away, but there was a look of doubt in his eyes.

“All right, I’m a liar, but I can beat you to the draw easy. I’ll tell you why. You waste time. You don’t co-ordinate your movements.”

“Don’t what?” His eyes opened a trifle.

“You’re all wrong. Show me again.”

He stared at me, his curiosity battling with his rage. Then he set himself, the gun jumped into his hand. It was fast and smooth. I knew I’d have to be extra good to beat him.

“Yeah,” I said, “the holster’s in the wrong position. I thought that was the trouble. It’s too high. You want to sling it lower. You waste time catching at the butt. When you get the rod out you have to lower the barrel before you fire. See ? Wastes time.”

“Got it all worked out, ain’t you?” he said, staring at the gun. I could see he was impressed. He put the gun back into the holster, adjusted the strap to bring the gun in a slightly lower position. “That right?” he asked.

“I’d make it lower,” I said, “but then you’re not as tall as I am.”

He hesitated, then let the strap out another knotch. The way he had it now was the way I wanted him to have it if I could lay my hands on a gun. The holster was now loose enough to go with the gun when he pulled it, and that’d mean a time lag before he could free the gun.

“Yeah,” he said, looking at the way the gun was hanging. “That’s okay.” He grinned at me. “You ain’t so smart, are you, bub?”

“What the hell?” I said, shrugging. “I still got confidence. I don’t murder guys. I give ’em a chance.”

He stared at me. “You ain’t murdering me,” he said, showing his teeth. “I know I’m good.”

“To me you’re just a tough egg from Detroit, but not tough enough to stay in Detroit.”

He was sliding across the room, his great fist set to belt me, when the door opened and Killeano and Flaggerty came in.

Bat paused, dropped his hand to his side.

“Hi. boss,” he said to Killeano.

Killeano ignored him. He stood at the foot of the bed, looked at me.

“Hullo,” I said, stubbing out my cigarette.

Flaggerty stood by the door. His face was set.

“Where’s the Wonderly girl?” Killeano snapped.

“How do I know?” I said. “Think I carry her around in my pocket?”

“You’d better talk, Cain,” he said. “We want that girl, and we’re going to get her.”

“You don’t expect me to help, do you?” I said, lighting another cigarette. “I wouldn’t tell you if I knew. We parted company last night after I’d given her enough dough to get out of town.”

“She hasn’t left town,” Killeano said, stroking the bedrail with his small white hands. “There wasn’t time before we closed the roads.”

“Then she must still be in town,” I said, shrugging. “Why don’t you look for her?”

Bat threw a punch at me, but I saw it coming. I rolled off the bed on to the floor, grabbed him around the ankles. He came down on top of me. Flaggerty jumped us, and after a little squirming around and thumping, I felt a gun-barrel against my ear. I relaxed.

Bat’s moronic face was close to mine.

“Take it easy,” he said, “or I’d blow your lid off.”

“I’m easy,” I said.

They stood away. I got up.

“Look,” I said, dusting myself down, “this won’t get us anywhere.” I sat on the bed, and reached for another cigarette. “Let me do a little talking. Maybe we’ll find out where we stand.”

Bat folded his fist, but Killeano stopped him.

“Let him talk,” he said, sat down on the chair.

Bat and Flaggerty stood behind the bed ready to jump me if I looked like starting trouble.

“I’m making a lot of guesses,” I said, looking at Killeano, out this is the way I see it. You’re the top shot in town. The only guy who might have been dangerous to you was Herrick. You own the Casino, which is a swell place for getting rid of dud currency which you’re printing. You didn’t think I knew that, did you? It didn’t take me long to figure that one out. You have the Bank and the police in your pocket, and no doubt you’re paying the boys to keep their mouths shut. The dud money circulates in the town. But if the visitors take it out of town, you’ve made sure it’s good enough to fox anyone until it’s too late to trace it back to you. But what happens? Herrick suspects that you’re passing dud notes, and he begins an investigation. He can’t go to the police because they’re playing with you. He has to work on his own. He gets some of your dud notes and he is ready to spring the surprise on the Governor of the State. But you get wise, and knock him off.” I flicked my cigarette away and grinned at Killeano. “How am I going?”

His square-shaped face was expressionless. “Go on,” he said.

“Herrick is an important citizen and is running for election! He’s not the guy you can knock off regardless. You hear I’m coming to town. It doesn’t take you long to figure I’m the boy who’s to be blamed for the killing. You fix it, and you make a swell job of it, and I’m the fall guy. Okay. But you slip up on a couple of points. You forgot that Brodey was wise and had I evidence too, and you misjudged the girl who was to lead me into this mess. She ratted on you, and you know she can blow the lid right off your racket. Without her, you’re sunk, even if you have made Brodey spill what he knows.”

Killeano took a cigar from his vest pocket, bit off the end, spat. He lit the cigar carefully and blew out a cloud of smoke.

“Finished?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I said.

He looked over at Flaggerty. “He knows too much,” he said. “We’ll have to alter our ideas. It wouldn’t do to bring him before a jury now. They might cotton on.”

“Killed while resisting arrest?” Flaggerty said, raising his eyebrows.

“That’s it,” Killeano said. “You’d better do it quick. This guy’s a tricky customer.”

“I’ll say I am,” I said, winking at Bat.

“With him out of the way, we can concentrate on finding the girl. She can’t get away,” Killeano went on.

“It wouldn’t be a bad idea to get rid of both of them,” Flaggerty said.

Killeano shook his head. “We’ve got to put on a show,” he pointed out. “We’ll fix her so she won’t talk when it comes to the trial. Girls are easy.” He looked across at Bat, who leered at him. “Could you handle her?”

“I could sort of try,” Bat said, showing his teeth.

Killeano got up. “Get rid of him,” he said to Flaggerty.

“So long, Fatso,” I said. “Don’t think you’re safe. You’re not. It’ll catch up with you in the end.”

He took no notice and went out, closing the door sharply behind him.

Bat looked at Flaggerty.

“Do it now?” he said hopefully.

“Not here,” Flaggerty said. “We’ll take him for a ride.”

“Give it to me quick,” I said to Bat, “and shoot straight.”

“Sure, bub,” he said, patting my arm. “It won’t hurt.”

7

Flaggery drove; Bat and I sat in the back. “How’s it feel to take your last ride?” Bat asked, looking at me with simple curiosity. “All right,” I said. “I got good nerves.” “You have, at that, bub,” he said admiringly. “But don’t think you’re going to skip out on this. You ain’t.”

“Doesn’t look as if we’ll find out who’s the better man, does it, Bat?” I said after a while.

“I don’t have to find out; I know,” Bat said, grinning. “I can take you any time.”

“Not you,” I said. “I’d rather meet you in a gun fight than a paralysed old lady in mittens.”

He clouted me in the face with his fist.

“Shaddap,” he snarled. “I could take you blindfolded.”

“You haven’t the nerve to try, have you?” I said.

“He ain’t going to,” Flaggerty broke in. “We’re not taking chances with a snake like you.”

“See?” I said to Bat. “Even your pal thinks I’m better than you. Hear him?”

Bat breathed heavily.

“You ain’t so good,” he said, struggling with his fury. “I could take you. To hell with that lousy flatfoot. I could take you with a guy hanging on each of my arms.”

“Pipe dreams,” I said, and jerked my head out of the way as he slammed a punch at me. His fist hit the rear window of the car and smashed the glass.

Flaggerty cursed him.

“Cut it out, will you ?” he snarled. “You’re going to plug this rat the way I tell you.”

“The tough egg from Detroit taking orders from a small-time cop!” I jeered, digging Bat in the ribs.

Flaggerty slowed down and stopped.

We had arrived at a lonely stretch of beach. The lights of Paradise Palms were fading in the light of the dawn. It still looked a nice spot, but to me, it looked a long way away.

“Come on out,” Flaggerty said. He sounded worried.

We got out.

Bat’s face was purple in the yellow light.

“I’m going to show him,” he snarled to Flaggerty. “I’m faster than he is, and I’ll make the

punk admit it!”

“You’ll do what I tell you!” Flaggerty bawled.

“Tell him to jump into a lake,” I said to Bat. “He thinks you’re a sissy.”

Flaggerty’s hand whipped inside his coat, but Bat grabbed his wrist.

“Make a move like that and I’l l blast you too,” he raved, “I don’t like coppers, see ? I’m going to prove it to this punk, and a yellow shamus like you ain’t stopping me.”

“You’re crazy,” Flaggerty spluttered. “Suppose he beats you? He’ll kill us both.”

Bat grinned. “No, he won’t,” he said. “I ain’t as nutty as that.” He took Flaggerty’s gun and broke it open. Cartridges spilled on the sand. “See?” he went on, leering at Flaggerty. “He has an empty rod. I have a loaded one. He still gets it even if he beats me to the draw, but he won’t.”

“Get it?” He looked over at me. “Suit you, bub?”

“Sure,” I said. “I’ll go happy showing you a turn of speed.”

Flaggerty backed away. He didn’t like it, but there was nothing he could do about it.

“Well, get on with it,” he said angrily.

Bat tossed me the gun. It was a blue Colt -45. It balanced sweetly in my hand.

“How’s that, bub?” he asked, grinning at me.

“Swell,” I said, and stuck the gun in the waist-band of my trousers.

“Okay,” Bat said, squaring up. “You ready?”

“Don’t rush it,” I said. “Like to make a bet on it?”

“Haw! Haw!” Bat doubled up with laughter. “You’ll kill me, bub. How you gonna pay after I creased you?”

“Cut this out,” Flaggerty stormed. “Get on with it. Kill the punk.”

“Yeah,” Bat said suddenly scowling. “Well, bub, this is curtains for you.” He crouched, shuffled his feet in the sand. I patched him, but even though he knew my gun was empty, he still hesitated.

“I’ll give you time to go for your gun, Bat,” I said, smiling at him. “A guy always has the drop on me before I kill him.”

He snarled at me. “Only this time, I’ll do the killing,” he rasped.

Then he went for his gun.

If he hadn’t loosened his holster, he’d have got me. But his gun stuck for just a fraction of a second, and it gave me time to yank out the Colt. I had it out by the time his hand was tugging at his gun butt.

“Beat you,” I said, and flung the Colt in his face. I put everything I had into that throw. The Colt whizzed through the air, hit him a hell of a belt between the eyes. He went over backwards with a startled curse.

I jumped him, grabbed his gun, twisted away as Flaggerty threw himself at me. I kicked Flaggerty in the face, turned and hit Bat behind his ear with the Colt as he floundered to his knees.

Both of them stretched out flat in the sand, their arms flung wide and their faces turned to the morning sky.

That’s the way I left them.

8

Strong sunlight was trying to force its way through the wooden shutter as I woke to find Hetty Duval standing over me. I sat up in the bed, blinked at her.

“I guess I must have slept,” I said, running my fingers though my hair, exploring the lump on my head tenderly.

“I’ve brought you some coffee,” she said. “Davis is waiting to see you. Shall I send him up?”

“Sure,” I said, sniffing at the tray she had put on the bamboo table at my side. “What time is it?”

“Twelve,” she said, and went out of the room.

I yawned, poured coffee, reached for a cigarette. I was lighting it when Davis lumbered in.

“Hi,” I said, grinning at him.

“For crying out loud!” he said, staring at me. “I didn’t expect to see you again.”

“Nor did I,” I said, waving him to the only chair in the little room. “Got any whisky on you?”

He produced a half-pint bottle from his hip pocket and handed it over.

“I was sure worried,” he said, sitting down and mopping his face. “I’m getting cast-iron arteries through you.”

I poured a couple of inches of the Scotch into my coffee and gave him back the bottle. He took a swig, sighed, shoved the bottle back into his pocket.

“Well, come on,” he said impatiently. “Give. You ought to be dead.”

I told him.

“I’ll be damned for a Red Indian,” he exclaimed when I was through.

“What happened to you?” I asked.

He puffed out his cheeks. “Brother, I thought it was all up with me. It certainly did me no good when Flaggerty blew in.”

I laughed. “I saw you,” I said. “You looked like a fugitive from a nightmare.”

“You telling me,” Davis said, shaking his head. “What a moment Flaggerty and Sansotta got together, and Sansotta mentioned you. He said I’d brought in a guy who was a stranger to him. Flaggerty was on me like lightning. He wanted to know where I’d picked you up. I acted like I thought he was crazy, and told him I’d found you in a bar, and that you wanted a poker game. I swore that was all there was to it, and I had no idea who you were, and it was phoney enough to sound true. Flaggerty wanted to know what you looked like, and Sansotta supplied a detailed description. That tore it. ‘It’s Cain!’ Flaggerty bawled, and you should see the way the crowd gaped. I acted surprised, but I needn’t have bothered. They’d forgotten about me, and they made a dive for the stairs. I drifted. There seemed no sense in hanging around. I wrote you off as a funeral debt.”

“Are you in the clear with them?”

He nodded. “Yeah, it looks all right. I’ve talked with Flaggerty this morning. He was half out of his mind with rage because you got away, and as for Bat —” He broke off to whistle.

“Why did you see Flaggerty?”

“They’ve pinned Giles’ murder on you,” Davis said, taking out his comb and running it through his hair. “I’ve just written a piece about you. Like to see it?”

I shook my head. “Any news of Brodey?”

“Only that he’s missing. They hint you’re at the bottom of it.”

I lolled back on the pillow. “We’ve got to get organized,” I said thoughtfully. “These boys are good, but there’s one way to lick them.”

“Yeah? What’s that?”

“Play one against the other,” I said. “It’ll need a little thought and planning, but it can be done. I won’t be out of this jam until I’ve cleaned up the whole mob and that includes Killeano, Speratza, Flaggerty and Bat. If I can get them out of the way for good, I guess their organization will fold.”

“I guess it will,” Davis said, scratching his nose. “How are you going to do it?”

“I’ll find a way,” I said.

“What do you want me to do?” he asked, after a pause.

“You still with me?”

He grinned. “Sure,” he said. “Keep me under cover if you can, but if you can’t, the hell with it. I’ll stick whichever way it jumps. I like your style.”

“Swell,” I said, and meant it. “I hit the dud currency angle right on the nose,” I went on. “I could tell by the way Killeano flinched that I’d guessed right. We’ve got to get hold of some of those notes, and we’ve got to find out where he makes them. A forgery plant isn’t easy to hide.

Can you take care of that angle?”

He nodded. “I’ll try.”

“Then there’s Brodey. I’m thinking about the little girl. We promised to find the old guy. Maybe you’d try to get a line on him.”

“I reckon he’s dead,” Davis said.

“I guess so too. They wouldn’t let him loose if he knows anything. Anyway, see what you can find out.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to see Tim.”

“Where’s he got to?”

“He’s looking after the Wonderly girl.”

Davis grinned. “Well, I’ll be damned. I ought to have thought of that. You watch that girl. Flaggerty wants her bad.”

“He won’t get her,” I said grimly. “Now beat it, and see what you can dig up.”

When he had gone, I dressed and went downstairs.

Hetty Duval was scrubbing the kitchen floor. She looked over her broad shoulder at me, paused.

“I’m going to see Tim,” I said. “Any message?”

“Tell him to come home when he can. I kind of miss him,” she said, and blushed like a schoolgirl.

“I’ll tell him,” I said, and peered out of the window.

Tim’s boat rode at anchor. No one seemed around.

“Like to go out and see if it’s all clear?” I asked.

She went. After a few minutes, she returned. “It’s all right “I she said.

I thanked her and walked down to the boat. I went hell for leather towards the islands. I suddenly wanted to see Miss Wonderly again. I was surprised how much I wanted to see her.

Three-quarters of the way across, I spotted a rowing boat. The guy who was pulling the oars acted like he was in a hurry. He waved to me, and then went on pulling.

I swung the boat off course and headed towards him.

It was Tim. His face was running with sweat and the look in his eyes turned me cold.

He tried to speak, but he was so breathless he couldn’t: it. He raised his fists and shook them at the sky.

I hauled him on to the boat, grabbed him by the shoulder.

I knew what he was going to say.

He said it. “They’ve got her!”