The Garaucan Swindle

CHAPTER VIII. DEATH RIDES BY RAIL

TEN o’clock found the Southern Limited past Wilmington, on its way to Baltimore. Harry Vincent was seated in the club car, smoking a cigar and reading a magazine. Rudolph Zellwood was in the same car nervously puffing at a cigarette. Harry was watching him.

Zellwood’s nervousness appeared to be that of a man who had some secret apprehension. Yet the bank cashier did not appear to be worried by fear of secret watchers. It seemed rather that some secret was preying on his mind, for he was much occupied with his own thoughts.

Harry had tested the fellow. When Zellwood had gone into the diner, shortly after the train started, Harry had followed him. Harry had deluded the conductor into thinking that they were together; thus he had been seated opposite Zellwood.

During the meal, Harry had struck up a slight acquaintance with the man. He had learned that Zellwood was going to spend a vacation in North Carolina. Though Harry had not asked Zellwood in what car he was traveling, he knew that the man must be in 3 D, for that car, alone, was shunted off the train at Washington.

Zellwood had finished dinner before Harry. He had not been in the club car when Harry arrived there, but he had shown up later. Harry had made no effort to continue the acquaintance. He was wondering right now how he was to do a neat job of following his man; for he had unwisely told Zellwood that he was going further south.

There seemed but one course: namely, to wait until after Zellwood had gone back to his car. Then Harry could arrange for accommodations in 3 D. On the morrow, he would have to keep out of Zellwood’s sight. That seemed the only feasible plan.

The club car was well filled. Among the passengers were two men who had gotten on at Wilmington.

They were seated at one of the tables, playing cards. Their bags were on the seat beside them. Harry decided that they must be going to Baltimore or Washington.

AT Philadelphia, Harry had received a telegram. Its message, referring to sales reports, had been enlightening. The telegram meant that no one had followed Zellwood from New York; that Harry’s instructions were simply to keep watch on him. There might be danger to Zellwood — or from him — that, of course, was understood. But there had, at time of departure, been no indication that others were concerned.

The two men at the card table were cagey fellows. Harry had recognized that fact; but no more. He did not know that one of them was watching Zellwood. This was the man whose back was toward the engine. Every time the fellow played his hand, he looked up at his companion. This enabled him to see back to the spot where Zellwood was seated. Yet the action was natural enough to escape Harry’s detection.

Between them, the two were conducting a low conversation, covered by the rumble of the train. Harry, a dozen feet away, did not catch their words.

“He ought to go back before Baltimore, Jake,” remarked the man who was facing forward.

“Yeah,” growled the one who was watching Zellwood. “But he ain’t made a move yet, Ox. Well — there’s an hour to go.”

“What’re you goin’ to do about the tickets?”

“What is there to do? We’ve got ‘em to Washington, ain’t we?”

“Sure. But this mug is on the Carolina car—3 D. That’s what Dobey told us. We ought to be takin’ berths there, oughtn’t we? If we don’t, the porter may put up a squawk.”

“Not him. I’ve got a way to fix the porter. Leave it to me, Ox. Say — the mug looks like he’s goin’ back. Sit tight. I’ll tell you when to move.”

Rudolph Zellwood had risen from his chair. He was strolling to the rear of the car. He paused there, apparently about to remove a magazine from the shelf; then changed his mind. He went on back through the passage.

“Give him time, Ox,” growled the man who was watching. “Remember, Greaser was watchin’ this guy when he got on the train. Heard him give the berth number to the porter. Lower six. It’s a while yet into Baltimore. We’ll let him get settled.”

“Okay, Jake.”

Harry Vincent had watched Zellwood leave the car. The Shadow’s agent was also planning to wait until Zellwood settled. Then Harry intended to look up the conductor and arrange for a berth in car 3 D.

Minutes passed while the train whistled on through the dark. The Limited was rapidly nearing Baltimore.

THE club car porter was approaching the table where the card players sat. Jake spoke to him, in a tone that Harry heard. The growl denoted displeasure.

“Say — where’s the conductor?” demanded Jake. “Don’t he ever come up this way?”

“Liable to be heah any minute, sah.”

“Any minute won’t do. He’s got a ten spot of mine an’ I’m waitin’ for the change. We’re gettin’ off at Baltimore. There ain’t much time left.”

“He’ll be heah sure, sah.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. I’m goin’ to take a look for him.”

Jake arose. Ox followed suit. Talking together, the two men started through the car. Harry watched them, half-suspiciously. Then he remembered Jake’s statement that they were getting off at Baltimore; he noted the bags that lay as mute evidence that the men had no berths in any sleeping car. Harry decided to wait for several minutes longer. He figured the conductor would soon be forward.

It was good reasoning on Harry’s part; particularly because he did not want Zellwood to know that he was taking a berth in car 3 D. But The Shadow’s agent was soon to learn that he had made a grave mistake. While he was lingering, his suspicions of the two men lulled, crime was in the making aboard the Southern Limited.

Jake and Ox had passed through two cars on their way rearward. On the platform of the third, Jake drew his companion into the vestibule to let the conductor pass. He was going forward. Jake did not speak to him. He drew Ox on into the next car.

“See how these berths are made up?” whispered Jake, as he pointed to the side walls of silent green curtains. “With the end berths open?”

Ox nodded.

“That’s the way 3 D will be,” added Jake. “These trains are travelin’ light. The porters don’t make up the end berths unless they have to. The conductor’s out of our way — 3 D is the next car. I’ll manage the porter.”

Ox nodded again. They had reached the end of the car. As they stepped through the rattling vestibules, Jake drew a shining object from his pocket; then let it slip back. It was a key of the sort that porters use to unlock upper berths.

They reached 3 D. They encountered the porter. Jake beckoned the fellow into the passage.

“We’re ridin’ down to Carolina,” said Jake. “Want a couple of berths in this car.”

“You got to see the conductah, sah.”

“I know it. We saw him. He’s coming back in a few minutes. We’ll be in the smoking compartment. But we’ve got a couple of bags up in the club car — see? Along by the card table. Here’s half a buck — go up an’ get ‘em for us.”

“Yes, sah.”

The porter started on his way. As soon as he was gone, Jake motioned to Ox. The car was clear; conductor and porter both out of range. Jake produced the key from his pocket.

“Wait’ll I pull down one of those end berths,” he whispered. “If anybody hears it, they’ll think it’s the porter.”

Stepping up on a seat, he unlocked the berth and brought it down with as little clatter as possible. In the aisle, he motioned to Ox. The man drew a blackjack from his pocket. They moved on lower six.

Jake twisted one of the lower buttons of the curtain. It unfastened. He performed the same operation on the second, working through the cloth. With a quick move, he whisked the curtain aside.

Rudolph Zellwood was rising in his berth. Jake shot two paws swiftly forward, aiming for the man’s throat. A suppressed gargle came from the cashier’s lips. As the man writhed, Jake twisted his body forward, head out toward the aisle.

As the back of Zellwood’s head came into view, Ox saw his opening. He delivered a savage blow with the blackjack. Zellwood slumped in Jake’s arms. That single stroke had been a killing one. The thugs had worked to precision.

It was the same system that they had used in slaying Sigby Rund. Choking hands — Jake’s — to prevent an outcry. A murderous blow — Ox’s — to end all struggle. In response to Jake’s growl, Ox grabbed Zellwood’s feet. The two gorillas lifted the man’s body into the aisle. Six quick steps and they had reached the end section.

Together they hoisted Zellwood’s body into the upper berth that Jake had brought down. Pushing up, Jake started the berth back into place. With Zellwood’s weight added, the berth resisted. Ox lent a hand.

The berth clattered into position and locked.

Thirty seconds later, the killers were seated in the hitherto deserted smoking compartment. They had made little noise in murdering Zellwood. As Jake had predicted, any berth occupant who might have heard the lowering of the upper had probably attributed the noise to the porter.

Zellwood had been in pajamas when the killers encountered him. Ox mentioned this fact to Jake as they lighted cigarettes in the smoking compartment. Jake shrugged his shoulders.

“That don’t matter,” he said. “What if they do find his clothes an’ bag there in the bunk? It won’t be ‘til mornin’. They gotta find the body some time, don’t they?”

MEANWHILE, in the club car, Harry Vincent was arranging for a lower berth in car 3 D. He remarked that he had intended to change in Washington, not knowing that there was a car on the train that would take him to his Carolina destination. The conductor made the space arrangement on the chart.

It was while Harry was talking to the conductor that the porter from 3 D arrived for the bags. Harry saw him, pick them up. His half-formed suspicions were restored. Taking his own bag, Harry followed along to see which car would be the porter’s destination.

The train was rolling into Baltimore. Despite the slackened pace, the twisting in the yards made walking difficult. The train had nearly reached the depot when the porter and Harry reached car 3 D. Harry saw the porter go into the smoking compartment. He moved along to his own berth, dropped his bag and came back to the passage.

There he saw the two men, bags in hand. Jake was arguing with the porter, who stood somewhat bewildered.

“We changed our minds,” said Jake. “Thought maybe we was goin’ on, but talked it over an’ decided different. Here’s another half buck for your trouble.”

“All right, sah.”

The train had stopped. The porter hurried ahead to raise the platform by the steps. Harry followed. He arrived in the vestibule just as the two men were alighting.

Passengers were getting on. Harry brushed by them to reach the station platform. He watched Jake and Ox start away from the car. Ox turned to glance over his shoulder. He saw Jake grab his arm; he heard Jake’s growl:

“Come along, Ox.”

As the two men walked rapidly away, Harry pondered. His full suspicions were aroused. He felt that the men might be enemies of Rudolph Zellwood. Yet Harry could not see how they could have accomplished any harm in so short an interval. He did not realize that a considerable time had elapsed between their departure from the club car and the arrival in Baltimore.

Ox. The name persisted in Harry’s mind. Not having been on duty with Cliff, Harry did not know the names of the two gangsters for whom the other agent had been searching. He intended, however, to remember that name. As for the faces of the ruffians, Harry knew that he could give an excellent verbal description of them. He decided to forward a written report from Washington.

Harry checked on all passengers who came aboard 3 D while the train stood in the Baltimore depot. He looked through the car when he came aboard. Then, when the train was starting, he decided to go up to the club and write out his report.

The Southern Limited resumed its speed. Blazing southward toward the national capital, the huge locomotive tugged a train of silent cars where sleeping passengers lay comfortably in their berths.

In car 3 D, the porter was still wondering why the two men had changed their minds at Baltimore. As he passed lower six, the porter noted that a curtain was hanging loose. He stopped to fasten the buttons, holding the curtains together as he did so. He did not want to wake the passenger within.

He did not know that that passenger had involuntarily changed his berth from lower six to upper two.

Nor did he realize that no disturbance — not even a wreck — could arouse the former occupant of lower six.

For Rudolph Zellwood, despite the cramped confinement of his present quarters, had no complaint to register. Of all the passengers in the car 3 D, he was sleeping most soundly. His repose was the permanent slumber of death.