Primal Spillane: Early Stories 1941-1942

Killer’s Return

Ripping the night apart with its shrill clang, the burglar alarm on Forbes’ jewelry shop made a curious throng collect outside the store. Bill Evans, the insurance investigator, pushed his way through and stuck his pass key in the lock. The door opened under his touch, and he stepped inside.

One hurried look told him all that he needed to know. Huddled on the floor like a bundle of rags was the body of the watchman, while the door of the safe dangled from broken hinges. Quick strides took him around the room, inspecting doors and windows. Everything was locked tight, leaving the floor upstairs the only way out. Bill had arrived seconds after the alarm went off. If only the killer hadn’t had time to get away!

He went up the stairs two at a time, crouching low when he came to the top landing. His breath came slowly, and he peered desperately through the gloom. Slowly he crept into the darkened rooms about him. There too, everything was still, and the windows locked tightly! This was too much! The killer couldn’t’ have gotten away, but where was he?

It came to him then, like a flash that left him enraged at his own stupidity. Whoever committed the crime must have hidden in the safe while he went upstairs, and by now he would be gone! Bill tore downstairs and made a mad dash for the door. He nearly knocked down the policemen that were standing outside.

Captain George Woods of the detective squad spotted him. “Hey, Bill, take it easy! Is anything gone inside?”

“Plenty, the safe is clean, and the night watchman is dead. What’s worse, the killer got out while I was upstairs.”

“Well, he couldn’t have gotten far — we blocked all the streets around here about ten minutes ago. If what you said is so, then he’s somewhere in this crowd!”

“Quick, question those that were standing around for a description of anybody that came out. Then knock off a general search for the stuff. There isn’t any place to duck it, which means that the guy that pulled the job still has it on him.”

Woods started off on his mission just as Mr. Forbes himself came up. He was a shriveled old crank, bursting with excitement. Bill and he went inside to get a list of what was stolen. “I don’t know what I’m paying your company for if I can’t get any protection!” Forbes said.

“Don’t worry, if you don’t get it back, you’ll collect the insurance.”

“I don’t give a hang about the insurance! Somebody stole the Rogers diamond! It was especially cut for a beauty contest winner in South Carolina!”

Evans whistled softly. He hadn’t known that Forbes had the stone, at least it wasn’t insured with his company.

“Well, a thing like that will take a lot of hiding!”

Bill went out to see Woods. The questioning resulted in a stalemate. Several people had seen a tall, thin man come out, but he seemed to be in no hurry, so everyone took him for a watchman or something. The search proved fruitless, too. There were a lot of tall, thin men among the several hundred in the crowd, but none of them had anything on them.

Bill went home that night with a problem on his mind. There was no doubt but what the killer had gotten out the way he thought, but what happened to him? Evidently he had looked the place over carefully before attempting the robbery, for it was only by accident that the alarm went off at all. The safe had been cut through with an acetylene torch, wielded by an expert hand.

Sleeping brought no solution, and Bill awoke as puzzled as ever. Outside a newsboy was hawking the story of the robbery, and he sent out for a copy. Perhaps the police had found a lead on the case. However, there was nothing new. A four column picture of the crowd in front of the store took up the front page, and Bill looked at it carefully. Nope, not a thing to work on.

Laying the paper down, he walked to the window and looked out at his own corner. He thought to himself, “What would I do if I had to duck a bag full of stones out there?” He shrugged his shoulders. There just wasn’t any place to hide anything!

A bunch of kids were setting up a racket on the street with their ball playing. The shouting was ordinary until there was a sudden hard “smack” of a solidly hit ball. One side was yelling their cheers, but suddenly the note changed, and everyone on both sides was hollering, “Get it! Quickly, don’t let it go down!”

The ball must have been retrieved safely, for an audible sigh of relief went up. “Queer,” thought Bill. Something was trying to pound its way into his head, but he couldn’t quite make it. He picked up the paper again and glanced through it, finally getting back to the picture. Sitting down, he fenced off the photo with a lot of squares, and went over each square separately, paying close attention to every detail.

After an hour he gave up in disgust. The situation seemed hopeless. Bill’s mind drifted back to the kids in the street. What was it they had said? “Don’t let it go down.” Why, there it was right in his lap: the solution to the whole thing! He grabbed up the picture and went over it. Sure enough, there was the thing he was looking for!

Time was precious, now. A cab took him to the front of Forbes’, and he hopped out and shot a quick glance around. Only the ordinary run of people were around, hurrying on their duties. The type of person he expected hadn’t turned up yet.

“I hope I’m not too late!” he said to himself. Inwardly he didn’t think so, for it would probably be after the working crowd had gone that the killer would attempt his plan.

He looked at his watch. Four-thirty. The streets were filling now. Bill Evans made himself as unobtrusive as possible in the shadowed doorway of one of the office buildings, his eyes sharp as he kept his watch. Two and half hours passed slowly, and nothing happened. Bill was getting ready to give up in disgust.

At that moment a brown pickup truck came around the corner and pulled up by the curb on the other side of the street, directly opposite where Bill was standing. On the side was lettered, “CITY SEWERAGE DEP’T.” Bill’s eyes narrowed. This was it, all right!

Bill was a little sorry now that he hadn’t let some of the police boys in on the job. The two mugs in the front seat looked like a mean pair. One of them got out and took a crowbar from the truck. He walked to a manhole cover, fitted the bar under the plate, and forced it out. A call brought the other guy, and he stood by the underground exit waving a red flag, as his pal went down.

Trying to act as much like a jay-walker as possible, Bill crossed the street unnoticed by the suspect. Only when a blackjack thudded dully on his head did the man with flag realize that the game was up, but then it was too late!

Bill flashed his badge on a startled pedestrian, “Watch this guy. Don’t let him wake up, and send somebody for the cops — hurry!” The guy was still yelling for help as Bill went down the iron rungs.

The sewer was as dark as a tomb, with little furry things dashing over the damp stone floor. Faintly, the splashing of the sewer outlet could be heard. Bill tried to locate himself so that he pointed toward the north corner of the street above. On tiptoes he stole forward, feeling his way along the slimy wall.

Suddenly a beam of light shot out of the darkness enveloping him in its brilliance! Just as suddenly he charged forward, and got his hands on a throat! Two figures in total darkness lashed out, fighting to the death. They stumbled about, swinging madly. Both of them connected against the other, and they grunted under the impact. Bill slipped, and the man over him headed for the tiny pinpoint of light that showed where the exit was.

But Bill was not caught napping. His hand shot out and closed around an ankle. The man fell with a thud. Bill swarmed all over him, punching madly with both hands. He swung a wicked one and it connected solidly with the point of a chin. Rising, Bill grabbed the collar of the fallen man’s coat and dragged him to the exit.

Police cars were screaming up the avenue, and two bluecoats stood with guns out peering down the manhole. Bill handed the crook up.

Captain Woods ran over. “You, Bill! What is this?”

“This is the guy that stuck up the Forbes shop,” Bill said. “You’ll probably find the stones in his pocket!” When he saw he was surrounded the night of the robbery, he tossed the swag down the sewer, and had to get to it through this manhole here. Pretty slick, I say!”

Captain Woods scratched his head. “Well, I’ll be — how did you get wise?”

“Oh, I heard a bunch of kids yelling not to let their ball ‘go down,’ and I got the idea of the sewer. That was the only possible place he could’ve hidden it!”