The Golden Gizmo

"Good-bye, Toddy Kent."

"Now, wait a minute…"

"Yes?"

"I didn't say I wouldn't go," said Toddy. "I just-Oh, hell!" He wobbled a little as he lurched to his feet, and she moved swiftly to him. He caught her by the shoulders, his hands sinking into the soft flesh with unconscious firmness.

"Look-" He hesitated. "Give me the lowdown. What had I better do?"

"I am here to take you to Alvarado."

"But should I-?"

"Suppose I said no; that you should remain in Mexico."

"Are you telling me that?"

"Suppose I did so advise you," Dolores continued, looking at him steadily, "and you decided to do the opposite- and repeated my advice to Alvarado?"

"Why would I do that?"

"You have no reason to trust me. In fact, you have made it very plain that you do not trust me. Why shouldn't you tell Alvarado? Particularly, if it appeared that by doing so you would help yourself?"

Toddy reddened uncomfortably and released his grip. The girl stepped away from him.

"I guess," he said, "I can't blame you for thinking that."

"No."

"But you're wrong. If I'd wanted to get you in trouble, I could have told Alvarado about-well…"

"-my warning to you last night? Perhaps you did, after you left the house."

Toddy gave up. She was dead right about one thing. He didn't trust her, even though something had impelled him to for a minute. Perhaps she didn't know what Alvarado wanted. Or perhaps she did. He'd never take her word for it, regardless of the situation. Whatever she advised him to do, he'd be inclined to do the opposite.

"Where's my coat?" he said shortly. "Let's get out of here."

"You are going with me?"

"I don't know. Maybe a drink will help me to make up my mind."

…They went out the same way Toddy had come in, squeezing past the crowded racks of trinkets and curios. The little man who had slugged Toddy was nowhere in view. The fat woman was still seated near the doorway on her camp stool. "Nice bo'l of perfume for lady?" she beamed. "Nice wallet for gen'leman?" Toddy started to scowl, but something about her expression of bland good-natured innocence made his lips tug upward. He gave her a cynical wink, and followed Dolores out the door.

It seemed like days had passed since he had arrived in Tijuana that morning, but the clock in the bar indicated the hour as five minutes of two. Seated in a rear booth, Toddy drank a double tequila sunrise and ordered another. He took a sip of it and looked across the table at the girl.

"Well," he said. "I've made up my mind."

"I see."

"I'm not going with you. I'll lay low here for a few days. Then I'll beat it back across the border and-" Toddy broke off abruptly, and again raised his glass. Over its rim, he saw the faint gleam of amusement in Dolores' eyes.

"On second thought," she said, "you will head south into Mexico. That is right?"

"Maybe," said Toddy. "Maybe not."

"I understand. It is best to keep your plans to yourself. Now, I must be going."

She slid toward the edge of the booth, hesitated as though on the point of saying something, then stood up. Toddy got up awkwardly, also. On an impulse, as her lips framed a mechanical good-bye, he held out his hand.

"I'm sorry about last night," he said. "I don't know where you fit into this deal, but I think you're playing it as square as you can."

"Thank you." She did not touch his hand. "And I think you also are as-as square-as you can be. Now I would like to tell you something. Something for your own good."

"I'm waiting."

"Wash your face. It is dirty."

She was gone, then, her body very erect, her high heels clicking uncompromisingly across the wooden floor. Toddy stared after her until he saw the bartender watching him. Then he shook his head vaguely, ran a hand over his jaw, and headed for the men's restroom.

It was at the rear end of the room, a partitioned-off enclosure inadequately ventilated by a small high window opening on the alley; a typical Tijuana bar "gents' room." There was a long yellowish urinal, and two cabinet toilets, flushed by old-fashioned water chambers placed near the ceiling. Adjacent to the two chipped-enamel sinks was a wooden table, supporting a sparse assortment of toilet articles and an elaborate display of pornographic booklets, postal cards, prophylactics and "rubber goods."

"Yessir, mister"-the young Mexican attendant came briskly to attention-"you in right place, mister. We got just what you-"

"What I want," said Toddy, "is some soap." And he helped himself from the table.

He turned on both water taps, scrubbed his hands, then lathered them again and scoured vigorously at his face. He rinsed off the soap and doused his head. Eyes squinted, he turned away from the sink and accepted the towel that was thrust into his hands.

"Thanks, pal." He dried his face and opened his eyes. "Don't mention it," burbled Shake.

"And keep your hands out o' your pockets," gritted Donald.

19

Toddy did not need the last bit of advice. One swift glance at the hideously scratched mugs of the pair told him they would kill him on the slightest pretext. Kill him and worry about the outcome later. Fury had made them brave.

Shake was holding a blackjack-upswung, ready to strike. Donald had the Mexican attendant backed against the wall, the point of his knife pressing against his throat. The door of the restroom was barred.

"Just don't try nothin'," murmured Shake. "Jus' don't try nothin' at all. You get past us, which you ain't goin' to do, I got two of my pachucos outside."

"Someone'll be coming back here." Toddy's voice sounded strange in his ears. "You can't keep that door barred."

"I c'n keep it barred long enough. Turn around."

"You tailed me down here?"

"What does it look like? Turn around!"

The blackjack came down sickeningly on Toddy's shoulder. He turned.

Shake slapped his pockets expertly, located his wallet, and extricated it with a satisfied grunt. There was a moment's silence, another grunt, and another command to "Turn around."

Toddy turned.

"What you doin' here?" Shake demanded. "What's the deal?"

"Deal?"

Donald ripped out a curse. "Let him have it, Shake. We can't wait here all day."

"No one's tryin' to bust in," Shake pointed out, his eyes fixed on Toddy. "I asked you what the deal was?"

Toddy licked his lips, wordlessly. Helplessly. The blackjack began to descend.

"Wait!" It was the Mexican attendant. "I will tell you, Seсores!" His teeth gleamed at Toddy in a warm, placating smile, a grin of apology. "I am sorry, Seсor, but it is best to tell them. These gentlemen mean business."

Donald nodded venomously. "You ain't just woofin', hombre. Spill it!"

"But you must know, gentlemen. What else would it be but-but-"

"But what?"

"White stuff," said Toddy, taking the Mexican off the limb. "As my friend says, what else could it be?"

Donald sneered. Shake gave Toddy a look of mock sanctimoniousness. "I might of knowed it," he said. "A man that'll murder his own sweet little wife an' play mean tricks on people that trust him won't stop at nothin'. Dope, tsk, tsk. You smugglin' it across the border?"

"Not at all," said Toddy. "I use it to powder my nose." He fell back from the blow of the blackjack, and Shake advanced on him. "Okay," he wheezed. "Be smart. Be good an' smart. It's gonna cost you enough. Where you got the stuff hid?"

"I"-Toddy's eyes flicked around the room, settled momentarily on one of the elevated water chambers, and moved back to Shake- "I've got it cached out in the country a few miles."

"The hell you have-" Donald began. But Shake interrupted him.

"You give yourself away, Toddy. You're losin' your grip. Get up there an' get it."

"Up where?"

"You better move!"

"Okay," sighed Toddy. "You win."

With Shake at his heels, he stepped into the first of the toilet enclosures and gripped the top of its two partitions. He gave a jump, swung himself upward, and got a knee over one of the partitions. Grasping the pipe which ran from the flush chamber to the toilet, he pulled himself up until he stood straddling the enclosure.

Donald issued a curt command, and the Mexican hastened to lie down in the adjacent booth. Then the little shiv artist crowded in next to Shake, holding his knife by the blade.

"Don't try nothing'," he warned. "I can't reach you but the knife can."

"Yeah," said Toddy. "I know."

He gripped the ends of the heavy porcelain lid of the water chamber. Grunting, he moved it free and edged backward.

"Have to help me with this," he panted. "It's-"

"Now, wait a-" wheezed Shake. And Donald's knife flashed with the swift action of his hand. But he was too late. They couldn't stop what Toddy had started. They couldn't get out of the way.

"-heavy!" said Toddy. And he hurled the heavy lid downward with all his might.

It caught Shake full in his fat upturned face, one end swinging sickeningly against the bridge of Donald's nose. They sprawled backwards out of the enclosure, and Toddy scrambled down hastily from his perch.

He need not have hurried. The Mexican attendant, apparently, had exactly anticipated his actions. Now he was on his feet, administering one of the most thorough, expert yet dispassionate kickings that Toddy had ever seen. It was a demonstration that would have been envied even by Shake's pachucos.

Not a kick was wasted. Each of the two men received two kicks in the guts, by way of obtaining temporary silence. Each received a kick in the temple, by way of making the silence more or less permanent. Each received three kicks in the face as a lasting memento of the kicking.

"Bien!" said the Mexican, smiling pleasantly at Toddy. "I think that is enough, eh?" Then he bent over the motionless thugs, stuffed their wallets and Toddy's inside his shirt, and picked up the knife and blackjack.

"I have been put to much trouble," he beamed. "You do not mind the small present?"

"That money," said Toddy, "is all I have."

"So? You want it very much, Seсor?"

"I guess not," said Toddy. "Not that much… How do I get out of here?"

"The table, Seсor. Drag it over to the window… You will excuse me if I do not help? It is an easy drop to the alley."

Toddy nodded, dragged the table to the window, and stepped up on it-deliberately destroying as much of the display as he could.

"It is all right, Seсor," the Mexican laughed softly. "Everything is paid for."

"Yeah." Toddy grinned unwillingly. "What happens to these characters? And their pachucos?"

"People come back here," the Mexican explained, "but no one go out. So, soon, very soon, my father will be alarmed."

"Your father?"

"The bartender, Seсor. He will summon my brother, the waiter, who will call my two cousins, officers of the police…"

"Never mind." Toddy hoisted himself into the window. "I know the rest. Your uncle, the judge, will give them ninety days in jail. Right?"

"But no, Seсor"-the Mexican's voice trailed after Toddy as he dropped into the alley-"he will give them at least six months."

Toddy plodded down the alley to the street, lighted the last of his cigarettes, and threw the package away. He thrust a hand into his pocket, drew it out with his sole remaining funds. Sixteen cents. Three nickels and a penny. Not enough to-

A hand closed gently but firmly over his elbow. A blue-uniformed cop looked down at the coins, and up into his face.

"You are broke, Seсor? A vagrant?"

"Certainly not." Toddy made his voice icy. "I'm a San Diego businessman. Just down here for a little holiday."

"I think not, Seсor. Businessmen do not take leak in alley."

"But I didn't-" Toddy caught himself.

"For vagrancy or leak," said the cop, "the fine is ten dollars. You may pay me."

"I-just give me your name and address," said Toddy. "I'll have to send it to you."

"Let's go," said the cop brusquely, in the manner of cops the world over.

Toddy started to protest. The officer immediately released his grip, unholstered a six-shooter, and leveled it at Toddy's stomach.

"We do not like vagrants here, Seсor, even as you do not like them in your country. A ver' long time ago I visit your country. I am a wetback, yes, but no one care. The lettuce must be harvest' and I work very cheap. Then I complain I do not get my wages an' I am sick from the food-cagada, dung-and everyone care ver' much. I am illegal immigrant. I am vagrant. I go to jail for long time… It is good word, vagrant. I learn it in your country. Now move. Anda!"

The gun pointing at his back, Toddy preceded the cop down the side street, across the main thoroughfare, and so on down another side street. Tourists and sightseers stared after him-curiously, haughtily, grinning. Mexican shopkeepers gazed languidly from their doorways, the dark eyes venomous or amused at the plight of the gringo. Toddy walked on and on, his jaw set, his eyes fixed on the walk immediately in front of him. He knew something of Mexican jails by reliable hearsay. When you got in down here, brother, you were in. The length of sentence didn't mean a thing. They took weeks and months, sometimes a year, to get around to sentencing you. They just locked you up and left you. And-and Shake and Donald!… Toddy's step faltered and the cop's gun prodded him… There wasn't a chance that he could persuade the two thugs to play quiet. They'd squeal their heads off about Elaine's death and the supposed dope racket, and- Somewhere a horn was honking insistently. Then a car door slammed, and Dolores called, "Un momento!"

The cop grunted a command to halt, and swept off his cap. "Si, Seсorita?" he said. "A servicio de-"

He didn't get a chance to finish the sentence, or any of the several others he started. After three minutes of Dolores' rapid Spanish, he was reduced to complete silence, answering her torrent of reprimand only with feeble shrugs and apologetic gestures.

At last she snapped open her purse and uttered a contemptuous "Cuбnto?-how much?" The cop hesitated, then drew himself erect. "Por nada," he said, and walked swiftly away.

Toddy said, "Whew!" and, then, "Thanks."

The girl nodded indifferently. "I must go now. You are going with me?"

Toddy said he was. "Shake and his boys were trailing me. I-"

"I know; I saw them enter the bar. That is why I waited."

"It didn't occur to you," said Toddy, "to do anything besides wait?"

"To call the police, for example? Or to intervene personally?"

"You're right," said Toddy. "Let's go."

As they neared the international border, Dolores took a pair of sunglasses and a checkered motoring cap from the glove compartment and handed them to him. Toddy put them on, glanced swiftly at himself in the rear-view mirror. The disguise was a good one for a quick change. Even if his mug was out on a pickup circular, he should be able to get past the border guards.

He did get past them, after a harrowing five minutes in which the car was given a perfunctory but thorough examination. He had to get out and unlock the trunk compartment. On the spur of the moment-since he had neglected to do so sooner-he had to invent a spurious name, birthplace and occupation.

He was sweating when the car swung out of the inspection station and onto the road to San Diego. As they sped past San Ysidro, he removed the cap and glasses, mopped at his face and forehead.

"I am sorry," said Dolores, so softly that he almost failed to hear her. She was looking straight ahead, her eyes intent on the road.

"Sorry?" said Toddy vaguely.

"You are right to be angry with me, to be suspicious. What else could you be? Except for me you would not have been involved in this affair."

Well, Toddy thought, she'd called the turn there. But what he said, mildly, was, "Forget it. I was asking for it. A guy like me wouldn't feel right if he wasn't in trouble."

"Wouldn't he?"

Toddy looked at her, looked quickly away again. She couldn't mean what she seemed to, not with Elaine murdered and himself the principal suspect. That, and everything else that was hanging over him. Of course, she wouldn't be any angel herself but… But he couldn't think the thing through. It was a hell of a poor time to try to.

"I don't know," he said shortly. "Probably not."

"I see." Her voice was flat.

"I"-Toddy hesitated-"maybe. It would depend on a lot of things."

20

The house was in the Mission Hills section of San Diego, located on a pie-shaped wedge of land overlooking the bay. On one side a street dropped down to Old Town. On the other side another road wound downward toward Pacific Highway. In the front, a multiple intersection separated the house from its nearest neighbor by a block. There were no houses in the rear, of course; only a steep bluff.

Toddy sat in the front room-a room as sparsely furnished as the one in Chinless' Los Angeles dwelling. He had been sitting there alone for some fifteen minutes. As soon as he and the girl had arrived, Alvarado had spoken rapidly to her in Spanish-too rapidly for Toddy's casual understanding of the language-and she had gone down the hallway toward the rear of the house. Alvarado had followed her, after politely excusing himself, and closed the door; and dimly, a moment later, Toddy had heard another door close. Since then there had been silence-almost.

It seemed to Toddy, once, that he heard a faint outcry. A moment later he had thought he heard the dog bark. Thought. He wasn't sure. He strained his ears, held his breath, listening, but the sounds were not repeated.

Toddy waited with increasing uneasiness. In the far corner of the room was a desk littered with papers. When he and Dolores had arrived, Alvarado had been working there, and something about the sight had given Toddy an inexplicable feeling of danger. He wanted to get a better look at those papers. He wondered whether he dared risk the few steps across the room and a quick glance or two.

He decided to try it.

Rising cautiously, an eye on the hall door, he tiptoed across the floor and looked swiftly down at the desk. The papers were covered with rows of neatly written figures, interspersed occasionally with what appeared to be abbreviations of certain words. They were meaningless.

"Meaningless, Mr. Kent," said Alvarado, "unless you have the code book."

He came in smiling, closing the door behind him, and crossed to the desk. He picked up a small black book that had been lying face down and riffled its pages of fine, closely printed type.

"This is it. Regrettably, it is much too complex to explain in the brief time we have."

"Better skip it, then," said Toddy, matching the other's irony. And as he resumed his seat on the other side of the room, Alvarado chuckled amiably.

"A man after my own heart," he declared, sitting back down at the desk. "I cannot tell you how disappointed I am that we shall not work together… For the time being, at least."

"No?" Toddy crossed his legs. The air was heavy with perfume. Alvarado apparently had doused himself with it.

"No. Unfortunately. But we will come to that in a moment. I have had you visit me so that I might explain-explain everything that may be explained. You are entitled to know; and, as I say, I hope we may work together eventually. I did not wish you to be left with an unfavorable opinion of me."

"Go on," said Toddy.

"After I dispatched you to Tijuana, I communicated the fact to our supplier of gold… the man I suspected of killing your wife. He, reacting as I believed he would, ordered you murdered. To be slugged and disposed of permanently as soon as it was expedient. As soon as the first half of the order was carried out, I intervened. I had the proof I wanted."

"Proof?" Toddy frowned. "I don't get it."

"But it is so simple! He killed your wife-I was certain-merely as a means of disposing of you. He hoped to involve you, and through you me, in a crime which would break up our syndicate and release him from duties which have long been onerous to him. Now you understand?"

"No," said Toddy. "I don't."

"But it is-"

"Huh-uh." Toddy shook his head. "Up to a point, I'll buy it. He killed Elaine. I thought you'd done it. If I played the cards he gave me, I'd have either gone after you myself or hollered to the cops… But I didn't do that. You and I squared our beef. He didn't have a thing to gain by getting rid of me in Tijuana."

"Hmmm." Alvarado drummed absently on the desk. "I see your point. It was stupid of me not to think of it… Of course," he added, smoothly, "I was not completely sure of this man's motive. There was a strong possibility that he might have been motivated by revenge."

"Remember me?" said Toddy. "I'm supposed to be the bright boy. So stop kidding me… This guy tried to get me killed; I'll go along with that. And when he did he proved that he'd killed my wife. Why? I'll tell you. Because he was sure that, given a little time, I'd be able to dope out who he was. You were sure I would, too, and, until you got your orders from abroad, you had to protect his identity. You had to pin the rap on him good before I did too much thinking."

"Really, Mr. Kent…"

"That's the way it was. That's the way it has to be. Now why beat around the bush about it?"

Alvarado stared at him thoughtfully, a quizzical frown on his pale shark's face. Then, gradually, the frown disappeared and he nodded.

"Very well, Mr. Kent. I suppose there really is no longer need for secrecy. The man you mention has served us well… in the opinion of my superiors. He is now closing out his affairs and will soon be out of this country. Possibly-probably-we will find use for him elsewhere. But that is no concern of yours. Lone before you can discover his identity and confirm it, he will be beyond your reach."

Amazement choked Toddy for a moment. He could hardly credit himself with hearing the words that Alvarado had spoken. Before he could find his voice, the chinless man was speaking again.

"I can well understand your confusion, Mr. Kent. I share it. But there is nothing I can do about it. Our entire hypothesis was wrong. This man we suspected did not kill your wife."

"You're lying!" Toddy snapped. "Murder or no murder, this guy is valuable to your bosses. They're going to protect him at all costs. That's the whole story, isn't it?"

"It is not. My bosses, as you call them, do not act so whimsically. The man was able to prove, irrefutably, that he did not kill your wife. As an unfortunate result, our superiors retain their original high regard for him while I- for the moment, at least-have been made to appear a clumsy and vindictive fool."

"You're forgetting your lines," Toddy said grimly. "A minute ago you were saying that-"

"I was speaking in theoretical terms. Like you, I was speeding down a trail of theory and I am at a loss when the trail disappears."

"My getting slugged wasn't any theory!"

"Be grateful you were not killed, and dwell no more on the matter. Nothing good will come of it."

Hands shaking, Toddy lighted a cigarette. After an angry puff or two he ground it out beneath his foot. Alvarado nodded sympathetically.

"You are annoyed. I am withholding information which you feel is vital to you. Does it occur to you that I might easily be annoyed with you for much the same reason?"

"I'm not holding back anything."

"Knowingly, no. And I am not doing so willingly."

"I don't," said Toddy, "get you."

"You yourself had the best opportunity to kill your wife. You had ample motive, also. You are not the type to kill with premeditation, but I can readily imagine your doing so in a moment of temporary insanity. And since such a crime is inconsistent with your nature, your conscious mind would refuse to admit it… All this is conjecture, of course. I know nothing. I want to know nothing."

Toddy laughed shortly. "Tell me why I was slugged. Maybe I'll sign a confession, then."

"You invite the obvious retort, Mr. Kent. Tell me how you disposed of your wife's body and I will tell you why you were slugged."

Toddy stared at him helplessly. "You don't believe that," he said. "You know I didn't kill her. Maybe this guy, the supplier, didn't do it either, but-"

"He didn't."

"Then, what's it all about? What are you trying to steer me away from?"

Alvarado shook his head. Turning back to his desk, he opened the code book. "So that is the way it is," he murmured. "You will excuse me if I work while we talk."

Toddy started to speak; his hand started to knife out in a gesture of angry exasperation. The gesture was unfinished. He remained silent-staring, trying not to stare.

That code book was in unusually fine print. And yet Chinless was studying it without difficulty and without his glasses. He couldn't be-shouldn't be-but he was. What the hell could it mean? Why had he claimed that his eyes were bad right from the moment of their first meeting? Why had he pretended that he couldn't read Milt's card? What reason was there-

"Now," said Alvarado, "let us leave theory to the theorists and take up practical matters. As I indicated, we are ceasing activities in this country indefinitely; but we hope to resume them. When that time comes we can find a profitable place for you…"

"Suppose I don't want it?"

"That is up to you. We have no fear of your talking."

"All right," said Toddy, "I'm listening."

"There is a Pullman train leaving here tonight; what you call a through train. I have reserved you a stateroom. It will not be necessary for you to leave that stateroom until you arrive in New York. You will be given a thousand dollars in addition to your passage. That should maintain you in some degree of comfort until I get in touch with you."

"How will you do that?"

"A detail. We will work it out before you leave. Does the idea, generally, please you?"

"It doesn't look like I have much choice," said Toddy. "I want to know why you're jumping the country, though. I'm hot enough without getting any hotter."

"You will not be. I, at this point, am the sole recipient of the heat. The informer in our midst has chosen to make no mention of you to the authorities."

"Informer? Who is he?"

"That need not concern you." Alvarado turned a page of the code book and ran a pencil down the column of symbols. "This informer is one of our unwilling operatives. We were able to obtain his"-Alvarado slurred the pronoun-"cooperation through a brother, a political prisoner in one of my country's excellent labor camps. It was necessary for the brother to die. Our confederate discovered the fact through a relative. He made the very serious mistake of confronting me and charging bad faith."

Toddy nodded, absently. He was staring at the code book, at Alvarado. Something warned him to look away, but he couldn't. "I see," he said. "You knew he'd turn stool pigeon."

"He already had," grimaced Alvarado, "though I was unaware of it until yesterday. I had assumed that his tirade against me was immediately subsequent to the news of his brother's death. Then, through a slip of the tongue, he revealed that he had known of it for a month. He had known of it but said nothing, continued the regular course of his affairs, until his sense of outrage overcame his discretion. Obviously, he had done so for only one reason… You followed me, Mr. Kent?"

Toddy didn't speak. Alvarado looked up from the desk.

"I am boring you, perhaps?"

"What?" Toddy started. The answer had come to him at last, at the very moment of Alvarado's question. A beautifully simple yet almost incredible answer. "I don't quite get it," he said, with forced casualness. "This guy has squealed. Why haven't the Feds moved in on you?"

"Because they hope to trap the man who supplies our gold. He is to meet me here-or so I advised our informer-tomorrow night. The efficient T-men will not come near the place, nor do anything else to arouse my suspicions, until then."

Toddy nodded absently, his mind still working on the riddle of Alvarado's "bad eyesight."… Let's see, he thought. Let's take it from the beginning. I gave him that frammis about a friend sending me to him, and then I gave him the card. He let me into the house. Then… well, I didn't have much to say for a minute or two, and he began to freeze up a little. Asked me my business. Said he couldn't read the card. He must have, but-

Toddy started slightly. Why, of course! Chinless had thought he'd been sent there to the house. When he discovered the truth, that their meeting was sheer accident, he had pretended that…

The chinless man looked down at the code book. He looked up quickly, and his gaze met and held Toddy's. A frown of regret spread over his dead white face.

"Well?" said Toddy.

"It is not well," said Alvarado, and his hand dipped into his pocket and came out with the automatic. "You have an expressive face. Like our informer, Dolores, it tells too much."

21

Toddy forced an irritated laugh. "What the hell's the matter with you anyway? What have I done now?"

"It is not so much what you have done. It is what you surely would do… now that you know. I am sorry. I, personally, am sorry you cannot do it. But I have my orders. The man must be protected."

"I still don't know-"

"Please!" Alvarado gestured fretfully. "You know and I know you know. In a little while, a few weeks, it would not have mattered. The man would have vanished. You, I believe, would have grown more philosophical about the matter. Now-"

"About murder?" Toddy dropped his mask of bewilderment. "Why would I stand still for a murder that this guy committed?"

"He did not commit one. At least, he did not kill your wife."

"But-All right," said Toddy. "He didn't. I did. Is that good enough?"

"Not nearly, Mr. Kent. You are certain that he did kill her. You would act accordingly. There would be much talk-many secrets would be aired. It would not do."

"You're forgetting something," said Toddy. "I'm in no position to make trouble for anyone."

"You mean," Alvarado corrected, "you are in no position to make trouble for yourself. And I am sure you would not. You and I both know that the position of this man is a precarious one. He is, as we noted in an earlier conversation, a sitting duck. You would pick him off, Mr. Kent, even though you did not believe he was the murderer of your wife."

Toddy's eyes fell, and his shoulders drooped. He leaned forward a little, disconsolately, his wrists resting on his knees.

"Do not try it, Mr. Kent."

"You won't shoot," said Toddy. "Someone might hear it."

"Someone might," Alvarado nodded, "but I will shoot if necessary."

"I want to ask a question."

"Quickly, then. And lean back!"

"I know this man didn't kill Elaine. He was with me at the time. But he had her killed, didn't he?"

"He did not. It was the last thing he would have wanted."

"Put it this way. He knew the watch was in our room. He sent someone to get it. Elaine put up a fight, and the guy killed her."

Alvarado shook his head. "This man, with more money than he can spend, would go to such lengths for a watch?… And that is two questions you have asked."

"All right, then," Toddy persisted, "she'd found out something about him. She tried to work some blackmail and-"

"She did not," interrupted Alvarado. "Let me repeat, he did not want your wife dead. And now, stand up!"

"All right." Toddy got carefully to his feet. "What about giving the departing guest a drink?"

"Of course." Alvarado did not hesitate for so much as an instant. "The cellarette is there… and the carafe is heavy. It would be futile to attempt to throw it."

"I don't intend to," said Toddy, honestly.

"And instead of the large drink, which you doubtless desire, take two very small ones. Not enough, to be explicit, to have any effect if thrown."

Toddy sidled along the lounge to the corner cellarette. His eyes watchful, apprehensive, he turned his back on the chinless man and picked up the carafe.

Toddy tipped the carafe and slopped a fraction of an ounce of brandy into a highball glass. He raised it, holding his breath; but Chinless apparently was also holding his. Either that or he hadn't moved: he was still standing by the desk.

Toddy lowered the glass, his thumb pressing with restrained firmness toward the lip. It gave against the pressure; a little more and it would break. But would it break as it had to-and when it had to? There wouldn't be time to turn. The blow would have to be on its way down. If it wasn't, Alvarado would shoot. He'd have to, and he would.

Toddy set the glass down again, rattling the carafe against it as he poured his second drink. He heard it, then: an almost imperceptible squeak of the floor, all but masked by the sound of the glassware.

He lifted the glass, pressing steadily, harder. Suddenly there was no resistance to his thumb, and he heard the swift uprush of air; and he thrust the broken glass up and back, dropping into a crouch in the same split second.

The glass exploded in his hand. His whole arm went numb. There was a wild curse of pain and the clatter of metal against wood. He whirled, awkward in his crouch, and threw himself at the gun. Alvarado kicked him solidly in the solar plexus. He sprawled, paralyzed, and Alvarado kicked him again. He lay fighting for breath, every nerve screaming with shock.

Alvarado picked up the gun. Cursing frightfully as it slipped in his grasp, he shifted it to his left hand. He advanced on Toddy, his right hand scarlet, dripping with blood.

"It is bad, eh, Mr. Kent? But do not worry about it. I will bind it up in a minute. A very few minutes… Actually I am grateful for what you did. What was a painful duty now becomes a pleasure."

He grasped Toddy's ankle with the lacerated hand, grimaced painfully, and dragged him toward the hall door. "Do not resist me, Mr. Kent. Make no overt move. If it should mean my instant death, I would not hesitate…"

Toddy didn't try anything. He couldn't. It was still a desperate struggle to get his breath.

"Now…" Alvarado opened the door, tugged him through it, panting, and kicked it shut again. "Now-" Alvarado regrasped his ankle, backed and dragged him down the hallway. His eyes glinted insanely. He was incoherent with fury.

"Now, you will see, Mr. Kent… You will be one of the dogs. Pobre Perrito's twin, yes. The one the obliging gentleman from the crematory did not see… Dolores was to have served, but it will be all right. The added weight is excusable. It is the practice, the gentleman tells me, to enclose the pet's belongings… the bed… the eating and drinking receptacles… So many things and such big dogs…"

He opened a second door, tugged furiously, and slammed it shut. And Toddy knew at last the reason for the chinless man's perfume.

The air was heavy with the odor of chloroform. The room with its tightly closed windows swam with its sickening-sweet stench.

Alvarado released his ankle, and Toddy tried to sit up. He fell back, groaning, and his head banged against the wall. He lay there, not quite prone, staring dully at the two long pine boxes on the floor. Alvarado chuckled.

He had wiped his sweating face, and now it and his hand were both scarlet. He was smeared with blood; his face was a hideous, blood-smeared mask.

The mask crinkled in a mirthless grin, and he picked up a hammer from one of the boxes. He hefted it in his hand, gazing steadily at Toddy, inching a little toward him. And then he burst into another laugh.

"Do not worry, Mr. Kent. There is nothing to worry about yet. I would first have you observe something…"

He inserted the claw of the hammer between one of the boxes and its lid. He pried downward, moved the hammer, reinserted the claw and pried again.

"You do not understand, eh?" he panted. "So much effort-so much more, thanks to you. Why not, simply, since I am leaving, leave the bodies here? It is this way"- he wiped, smeared, his face again-"there is always the chance of some flaw in planning; the possibility of apprehension. And murder is regarded much more seriously than smuggling. But even without that, without error or misfortune, there would be great unpleasantness. Your squeamish countrymen would be outraged, your newspapers vocal. In the end, my government might be faced with demands for my person…"

He laid down the hammer and tugged at the lid with his hand. Wincing, he looked carefully at Toddy. He nodded, satisfied with what he saw, and dropped the gun into his pocket. He grasped the lid with both hands, pulled and swung it open on its hinges.

"Now," he said, and started to stoop. "No," he shook his head. "She must lie on the bottom. Otherwise…"

Picking up the hammer, he turned to the other box and began unsealing its lid. The gun remained in his pocket, but the fact meant nothing to Toddy. He was breathing more easily, but he still felt paralyzed.

"Evidence…" Alvarado was murmuring. "But there will be none, not a particle; only ashes scattered to the winds… Strong suspicions, yes, but no evidence. Nothing to act upon…"

The lid swung free. Alvarado lifted out the girl, held her for a moment, then shrugged and tossed her to the bed. "Still alive, like the dog doubtless. It does not matter. I will prepare another sponge, and it has several hours to work."

He started to turn. Then, catching Toddy's eye, he nodded solemnly.

"You are right, of course. They weigh little, but the weight already is overmuch. They will have to come off."

He jerked off her shoes, and dropped them to the floor. Then the stockings. He grasped the dress at its throat, and ripped it off with one furious tug… The brassiere, then. And then…

He glanced down critically at the nude, undulant figure, and grinned spitefully at Toddy. "Tempting," he said. "You are incapacitated, unfortunately, but there is no reason why I… You could enjoy that, Mr. Kent? You would derive pleasure from mine?"

"Y-you,"-Toddy rasped-"bastard…"

"I shall kick you some more," Alvarado promised. "As for Dolores, she shall lie with the dog, poor Perrito. He deserved it, eh, Mr. Kent? It is small recompense for the death which expedience forces me to inflict… If he were smaller, if he could not talk, I might have…"

Going down on his knees, he looked regretfully at the dog. He got an arm under it, stroked the head absently with his bleeding hand.

"Pobre Perrito," he murmured. "I am sorry."

A shudder ran through the dog's body. His tongue lolled out, touched Alvarado's hand. It moved against the hand, licking.

"Cruel," murmured Alvarado. "You are nearly dead, and I let you revive. I let in the air. I kill you twice…"

He got up abruptly, brushing at his eyes, and turned to the bed. He lifted the girl and lowered her roughly into the box from which he had taken her.

"Now," he said, bending over the dog again, "it will soon be over."

This time he put both arms under the great black body, and grunting stood erect with it. The animal's eyes slitted open. The huge jaws gaped lazily. Alvarado bent his head-his scarlet face.

The dog's jaws snapped shut on it.

The blood scent… Like a dream, a nightmare, a scene at the Los Angeles house came back to Toddy… Shake and Donald, their faces spouting blood. And Alvarado holding the lunging dog.

Alvarado was bent over, staggering. His fists flailed against the dog and his muffled, smothered shrieks emerged as a horrible humming… "Hmmmm? Mmmmmm! MMMMMM!…"

Toddy yelled. He got to his hands and knees and lurched forward, tried to grasp the dog by a leg. How this had come about didn't matter now. He only knew that it had to be stopped.

There was a roar in the room and Toddy dropped to his stomach. Alvarado had got out his gun, but he couldn't aim it. He was pivoting in a slow, pain-crazed waltz; doubled over, the automatic sweeping the walls. And the dog waltzed with him, eyes closed, jaws clamped, its hind claws rattling and scratching against the floor.

Suddenly, Alvarado's right arm shot straight out from his body. The dog moved-they moved together-and the gun swerved. It steadied, pointing at the girl.

Toddy could never say how he did it; he could never recall doing it. But somehow he was on his feet, his hands gripping a bony scarlet wrist. He threw his weight forward, and there was a long staccato roar-that and the shattering of glass as the windowpane behind a drawn curtain was blown into bits.

Then, somewhere, in the not too distant distance, a motor raced and an automobile horn tooted angrily.

Toddy staggered backward and sat down on the bed. Alvarado and the dog lay on the floor, motionless. One paw rested against Alvarado's shoulder, and Alvarado's left hand lay on the dog's black hide. The dog had released his hold at last. What the jaws had clung to was no longer there.

Toddy bent forward suddenly and retched. His dizziness disappeared and he could think again.

He'd have to get out of here-he gripped the edge of the bedstead and pulled himself upright. Those shots had made a hell of a racket; it sounded like they might have grazed a car. It might take the cops a little while to discover their source, but when they did… Well, they wouldn't find him here. Alvarado had dough on him. Plenty of it. And the keys to the convertible were in the switch. By the time the cops got a line on him, he'd be through Tijuana, heading for one of the fishing villages below Rosarita Beach. From there, for a price, he could get passage to Central America.

Of course, he'd be on the run for the rest of his life. He'd always have Elaine's murder hanging over him. That couldn't be helped. When you couldn't fight you had to run.

He got up. Eyes averted, he was bending over Alvarado's body, starting to search for the money that must be there, when something made him pause. He straightened, shrugged irritatedly, and stooped again. He stood up again, Cursing.

He picked up the girl and laid her on the bed. His tanned face flushed, he pulled one side of the spread over her.

That was all he could do. He wasn't any doctor. Anyway, she'd be all right. She…

He pressed his thumb and forefinger against her wrist. At first there seemed to be no pulse. Then he felt it, faint, stuttering, strengthening for a few beats, then fading again.

His voice trailed off into silence. Angry, desperate. Someone might not be there. Not soon enough. They might- but they might not. She was right on the edge. A little longer and she might be over it.

He dropped her hand-almost flung it from him-and raced into the front room. His shoes grated against the broken glass, as he snatched up the brandy carafe. He let it slide from his fingers, fall gurgling to the floor.

He knew better than that, after all the talks he'd had with Elaine's doctors. Alcohol wasn't a stimulant but a depressant. An anesthetic. Taken on top of the chloroform it would mean certain death.

Running to the kitchen, he yanked open the cupboard doors. No ammonia. Nothing that would act as a restorative.

He glanced at the stove. A coffee pot stood on the back burner. It was half full.

As soon as the coffee began to simmer, he grabbed the pot and a cup and hurried back to the bedroom. He got down on his knees at the bedside, filled a cup and set the pot on the floor, and raised the girl's head.

Her head wobbled and coffee ran from her lips, down over her chin and neck.

He put an arm around her, under her left arm, and rested her head on his shoulder. He poured more coffee in the cup.

This time she swallowed some of the liquid, but a shuddering, strangled gasp made him suddenly jerk the cup away. Too fast-he'd given it to her too fast. She'd smother, drown actually, if he wasn't careful.

He waited a minute-an hour it seemed like-and again placed the cup to her lips. Mentally, he measured out a spoonful, and waited until her throat moved, swallowed. He gave her another spoonful, then waited, and another swallow.

Slowly, a little color was returning to her face. Maybe it would be all right now if he… He felt her pulse. Sighing, he refilled the cup.

He had almost finished doling it out to her, a spoonful at a time, when her heart began to pound. He could feel it against his hand, skipping a little, still a little irregular, but going stronger with every beat.

He started to remove his hand, but her arm had tightened against her side. Her eyelids fluttered drowsily, and opened.

"You're all-" he began.

"You… all right… Toddy…?"

"Yeah, sure," he said, somehow shamed. "Now, look, I've got to beat it. Alvarado's dead. The cops'll be here any minute. I-"

"They do not know about…"

"They'll find out!" Toddy didn't know why he was arguing. He didn't know why the hell he didn't just beat it. "Anyway, there's plenty without that. I'm wanted in half a dozen-half a dozen-"

Her arm had gone around his neck. Her other arm held his hand against her breast. The beat of her heart was very firm now. Firm and fast.

"I tell you, I've got to-"

Her lips shut off the words. She sank back against the pillows, drawing him with her… Faintly, then louder and louder, a police siren moaned and whined. Toddy didn't hear it.

22

In the early afternoon of his third day in jail, he sat in semi-isolation in a corner of the bullpen, mulling over his situation.

He knew he was being held at the instance of the federal authorities. Which meant that, since a murder charge would take precedence over others, Elaine's death hadn't been discovered. That seemed impossible; Alvarado himself had seen detectives in his and Elaine's hotel room. But the fact remained. He wasn't-couldn't be-wanted for murder. Yet.

He also knew that Milt Vonderheim was the smuggling ring's gold-supplier, and, more than likely, the man who had had Elaine killed. Why the last, he didn't know; but the first was indisputable. It was no wonder that Milt had wanted him disposed of quickly. Since Toddy's original visit to the house of the talking dog, he had held most of the clues to the little jeweler's real identity.

He had presented Milt's card that day and mentioned being sent by a friend. And Alvarado, not knowing what might be in the air, had admitted him. He had discovered almost immediately, of course, that Toddy knew nothing of Milt's illegal activities-that he had simply stumbled onto the house. But Alvarado had been prepared for that eventuality… His eyes were "bad." He hadn't been able to read the card. In other words, Toddy's entry had not been obtained through Milt.

It was a shrewd subterfuge, but it had one great weakness. It could only be explained, if explanation became necessary, on one basis. Milt was the ring's key man: the gold-supplier. Since he was operating in the open and was confined to his shop, he could handle no other end of the racket.

Toddy's fingers strayed absently to the shirt pocket of his jail khakis, and came away empty. No cigarettes. No dough. And he'd hardly been able to touch the jail chow except for the coffee. The lack of comforts, however, troubled him much less than the reason for the lack. He'd never been able to do time. He couldn't now. And he was going to have to do a lot unless-

They'd have his record by now. They'd know where he was wanted and for how much. Sixty days. Ninety. A hundred and ten. Six months. A year and a… And Elaine. Why think about those other raps when they were certain to pin a murder on him?

He tried to accept that fact and salvage what he could from it. He'd killed her, say, but not with premeditation. She'd slugged him with a bottle, and he'd blanked out and killed her. Not intentionally. In a fit of temper. That was manslaughter; second degree manslaughter, if he had the right lawyer. If he was lucky, he'd get off with five years.

He thought about that, those five years. He thought about Dolores, then thrust her firmly out of his mind. Jail was hard enough to take without thinking about her, knowing that she'd come into his life too late, that never again… never again…

All day long an oval of men circled the bullpen, moving around and around in silent restlessness. When one man dropped out, another took his place in the oval. Its composition changed a hundred times, and yet it itself never changed.

"Kent!"

The oval stopped moving. Every eye was on the door.

"Todd Kent! Front and center!"

Toddy got up, dusted off the seat of his trousers, and pushed his way through the other prisoners.

Clint McKinley, bureau chief of investigation for the Treasury Department, was a stocky mild-looking man with thin red hair and a soft, amiable voice. He wasn't a great deal older than Toddy, and, in his first brief sizing up, Toddy decided that he wasn't too sharp a character. He wasn't long in revising that opinion.

McKinley seated him in a chair in front of his desk, tossed him a package of cigarettes, and even held a match for him. Then he folded his hands, leaned his elbows on the desk, stared straight at Toddy and began to talk. About Dolores, or, as he called her, Miss Chavez.

"We have a lot of admiration for her," he said. "She did the right thing at great personal risk and without hope of reward. We're going to do the right thing by her. She's in this country on a student's visa. We're going to pave the way for her to become a citizen. We're going to do everything else that's in our power to do. That can be quite a lot."

Toddy nodded. "I'm glad for her. She's a nice girl."

"Now we come to you," said McKinley. "We've gone into your record pretty thoroughly. We find it remarkable. You've preyed on your fellow citizens with one kind of racket or another ever since you went into circulation. You get a chance in the Army to redeem yourself, and you throw it away. You sell out. You help to tear down the prestige of the flag you swore allegiance to. You've never been any good. You've never done a single unselfish, honest deed in your whole life."

The soft, amiable voice ceased to speak. Toddy pushed himself up from his chair. "Thanks for the sermon," he said. "I don't think I'll stay for the singing."

"Sit down, Kent."

"Huh-uh. You people can't make a charge stick against me. You've had no right to hold me this long."

"We can see that you're held by other authorities."

"Hop to it, then."

"What's the hurry?" said McKinley. "It always gets me to see a man throw himself away. Maybe I said a little too much. If I did, I'll apologize."

Toddy sat back down. He had intended to from the beginning. It had simply seemed bad, psychologically, to let McKinley crack the whip too hard.

"As a matter of fact," McKinley continued, "I think my statement was a little sweeping. If you hadn't tried to help Miss Chavez there in San Diego, you might have escaped. That's something in your favor. Of course, you may have had some selfish motive for staying. But-"

"Try real hard," said Toddy. "You'll think of one."

"Don't coax me." McKinley's eyes glinted. "You want to get along with me or not, Kent? If you don't, just say so. I've got something better to do with my time than argue with two-bit con men."

Toddy swallowed harshly and got a grip on himself. He'd been kidding himself about that psychology business. A little, anyway. He was losing his temper. He was letting a cop get his goat.

"You're trying to do a job," he said, "but you're going about it the wrong way. You're not softening me up. You're getting nowhere fast. Now why don't you drop it and start all over again?"

"Who supplied the gold to this outfit, Kent?"

"I don't know."

"You've got a good idea."

"Maybe."

"Let's have it, then. Come on. Spit it out."

"No," said Toddy.

"You want a deal, huh? All right. You play square with me, and I'll do what I can for you."

"That," said Toddy, "isn't my idea of a deal."

"I'll give you one more chance, Kent. I don't believe you know anything, anyway, but I'm willing to give you a chance. Turn it down and you'll be touring jails for the next three years."

Toddy grinned derisively. Three years, hell! McKinley misunderstood the grin. He jabbed a button on his desk, and the deputy jailer came back in.

"Take him out of here," said McKinley. "Lock him up and throw the key away. We won't want him anymore."

The jailer took Toddy's elbow. Toddy got up and they started for the door. He was sick inside. He'd played his cards the only way he could, but they just hadn't been good enough. Now it was all over.

"Kent."

The jailer paused, gave Toddy a nudge. Toddy didn't turn around. He didn't say anything. He was afraid to.

"This is your last chance, Kent. You go through that door and you'll never get another one."

Toddy hesitated, shrugged. He took a step toward the door and his hand closed over the knob. He turned it. Behind him he heard McKinley's amiable, unwilling chuckle.

"All right. Come on back. I'll talk to Kent a little longer, Chief."

The jailer went out the door. Toddy, the palms of his hands damp, went back to his chair.

"All right," said McKinley calmly, as though the scene just past had never taken place. "You were saying I was going about my job the wrong way. Could be. I've been in this work for fifteen years, but I learn something new every day. Now tell me where you think I was wrong."

"You want something definite from me," said Toddy. "You haven't offered anything definite in return."

"We can't actually promise anything. Except to use our influence."

"That's good enough for me."

"Call it settled, then. We'll try to wipe the slate clean." McKinley smiled. "You haven't committed any murders anywhere, have you? I don't think we could square those."

Toddy shook his head. "No murders."

"Good," said McKinley. "Now, let's see what we've got. You were buying gold. You accidentally-accidentally on purpose, maybe- picked up a valuable watch-a chunk of bullion-at Alvarado's house. He checked on you, found out you were hot, and offered you a job. If you turned it down, he threatened to-"

McKinley broke off and made a deprecating gesture. "Maybe," he said, "Miss Chavez doesn't have her facts straight. Maybe you'd better do the talking."

"She has them straight," said Toddy.

"Why did you go to Tijuana, Kent?"

"Alvarado told me to. I"-Toddy coughed-"I was to go there and wait for him. He didn't say why."

"Cough a little longer," McKinley suggested. "Maybe you can think of a better one."

"No," said Toddy. "I think we'd better let that one stand. There's something in the rules about impeaching your own witnesses. If I did take a little gold across the border, it's just as well that you have no knowledge of it."

"Mmmm," drawled McKinley. "You don't know why he wanted you to go there-you weren't in any position to ask questions. So you went, and you got slugged. And if Alvarado hadn't intervened you'd have been killed."

"That's right. It's this way," said Toddy. "After it was all over, Alvarado told me why he'd wanted me to go to Tijuana. He had it in for the gold-supplier. He was trying to wash him up. So Alvarado let him know I was going to this place in Tijuana, hoping that he'd try to kill me."

He paused, conscious of the pitfall he was approaching. How to tell a plausible story without mentioning Elaine.

"Did you ever try telling the truth?" said McKinley. "The complete truth? You might enjoy it."

"I am trying to." Toddy frowned earnestly. "But it's a pretty mixed-up deal. It's hard to explain something when you don't completely understand it yourself. You see, Alvarado wanted to get this guy but he got orders to leave him alone. So he had to back up. He wouldn't tell me anything. I had to guess why I was slugged."

"You knew who the gold-supplier was, in other words?"

"He thought I did-or could find out; it was the only reason he could have for wanting to kill me."

McKinley ran a stubby hand through his thin red hair. He sighed, stood up, and turned to the window. He stared down into the street, hands thrust into his pants pockets, teetering back and forth on his heels.

"It doesn't figure," he said to the window. "It doesn't because you're holding out something. I don't know why, but I'm reasonably sure of one thing. You know who the gold-supplier is."

"I think I know."

"You thought in the beginning. Then you found out. Something Alvarado did or said-something you saw there in the San Diego house-tipped you off." McKinley sat down again and placed his elbows back on the desk.

"Knowing and proving are two different things. Suppose I gave you his name and address. You go there. You don't find anything. He won't talk…"

"That's our problem."

"Is that a promise? Regardless of whether my tip works out, you'll get me that clean slate?"

"Oh, well, now,"-McKinley spread his hands-"you can't expect me to do that. You might give us any old name and address and- and-yeah," said McKinley. "Mmm-hmmm."

He squirmed in his chair, looking down at some papers on his desk. Fumbling with them absently. Abruptly he looked up. "It's Milt Vonderheim! Don't lie! I've got the proof!"

Toddy laughed. After a moment, McKinley grinned.

"It's a good thing you didn't tell me it was Vonderheim. I'd have known you were trying to throw a curve under me."

"I'd pick a better goat than Milt," Toddy said. "Everyone knows that-"

"We know. I don't care about everyone. How would you go about landing this man, Kent?"

"Nothing's been in the papers about Alvarado or-?"

"Nothing yet. I don't know how long we can keep it quiet."

"I'll need a few things. A gun, some money, a car. I'll need a few days. I've got to see some people."

"Why?"

"To make sure," said Toddy, evenly, "that you don't have a tail on me. At the first sign of one, the whole deal's off."

"Why? If you're on the square."

Toddy explained. He was plausible, earnest, the soul of sincerity. If McKinley wouldn't believe this, he thought, he wouldn't believe anything.

"That's the way I'll handle it," he concluded. "He'll have a lot of dough. I'll go through the motions of taking it, highjacking him. Then I'll put him in the car and head for the country. Someplace, supposedly, where I can bump him off and hide his body."

"That part I don't get. Why would you want to bump him off?"

"Because that's the way I'd have to feel about him. When a man's killed"-Toddy caught himself-"when a man's tried to kill you, you want to get back at him. He'll talk. He'll spill everything he knows in attempting to get off the hook."

"Yeah. Maybe," said McKinley.

"But I've got to be left alone. No tails. Nothing that might possibly lead him to think I was working with you… You see that, don't you? It's got to look like I'm giving you the double-cross. Otherwise, he won't talk and you'll never find out how he manages to get pounds of gold every week-you won't be able to prove that he has got it. And if you can't prove that-"

"But suppose," said McKinley. "Suppose you are giving us the double-cross?"

Toddy shrugged and leaned back in his chair. McKinley sat blinking, staring at him.

"I'd be crazy to do it," he said, at last. "I give you a car and a gun and a clear field with a man that's loaded with dough. I give a guy like you a setup like that. It doesn't make sense any way you look at it."

He pressed a button on his desk and stood up. Toddy stood up also. It was all over. There was no use arguing.

"Only fifteen years in this game and I've gone crazy," said McKinley. "Chief, take this man back to jail and dress him out. I'll send over an order for his release."

He said one other thing as Toddy headed for the door. Something that made Toddy very glad his back was turned: "We'll spring your wife, too, Kent, as soon as you pull this off…"

23

After visiting a barber shop, Toddy went to a pawnshop- where he purchased a secondhand suitcase-a drugstore, a haberdashery, and a newsstand which sold back issues. Then he checked in at a hotel.

With deliberate slowness he unpacked the suitcase, the clean shirts, socks and underwear, the toilet articles, cigarettes and bottle of whiskey. He knew what the back-issue newspapers would tell him. He had seen an evening paper headline, BAIL RACKET PROBE LOOMS, but without that he would have known. Miracles didn't happen. Elaine couldn't be in jail.

Still, he didn't really know, until he read the papers. He spread them out at last, a drink in his hand, and read. The foolishly unreasonable hope collapsed.

Only two of the papers carried the story; one gave it a paragraph, the other two. The latter paper also carried her picture, a small, blurred shot, taken several years ago. The former "character actress" had surrendered at a suburban jail. She'd worn sunglasses and was "apparently suffering from a severe cold." Somebody was filling in for Elaine.

Toddy sighed and poured himself another drink. It was about as he'd figured it.

He ordered dinner and put in a call to Airedale. The bondsman arrived just as the waiter was departing.

His derby hat was pulled low over his eyes, and his doggish face was long with anxiety. His first act was to step to the window and draw the shade.

"Can't you smell that stuff, man?" he rasped. "That's gas. It's driftin' all the way down from that little room in Sacramento!"

Toddy poured a glass of milk, handed it to him, and gestured to the bed. Airedale sat down, heavily, fanning himself with the derby.

"Where'd you go," he said. "And why ain't you still goin'?"

"Save it," said Toddy, taking a bite of steak. "Now tell me what happened."

"Me? I tell you what happened?"

"They cracked down on your connections. You had to produce Elaine. Take it from there."

"I go to your hotel and get ahold of lardass. We go up to your room. We can't raise no one, so we break in. You ain't there, Elaine ain't there. Period."

"Comma," said Toddy. "How'd the room look? I mean was it torn up?"

"You ought to know… No," Airedale added hastily, "it wasn't."

"There weren't any cops around? No detectives?"

"Just me and the house dick, but-"

"What time were you there?"

"Eleven-thirty, maybe twelve."

"Oh," said Toddy, "I get it. You were there when…"

"When," Airedale nodded. "When Elaine was going up in smoke. Jesus, Toddy, did you have to draw a picture of it? Couldn't you have done it outside somewheres? You're up there raising hell-everyone in the joint hears her screamin'-and then-"

"That doesn't mean anything. She was always doing that."

"She won't anymore," said Airedale. "I honest to Gawd don't get it, Toddy. Getting rid of the corpus delicti won't make you nothing. Not with that incinerator stack running right through your room."

Toddy abruptly pushed aside his steak and poured a cup of coffee. "I didn't kill her, Airedale. Let's get that straight. I didn't kill her."

"Am I a cop?" said Airedale. "I don't care what you did. I ain't even seen you. I ain't even telling you to get away from here as far and as fast as you can before they put the arm on you."

"There hasn't been any rumble yet."

"There will be," Airedale assured him grimly. "It's building up right now. That little hustler, the ringer that's standing in for Elaine, don't like jail."

"So?" Toddy shrugged. "She's in up to her ears. It would be easier for her if she liked it."

"She don't like it," Airedale repeated, "because she's on the dope. She's a heroin mainliner."

Toddy gulped. "But why in the hell did she-"

"Why do they do anything when they're hitting the H?" growled Airedale. "She spent so much time in the hay she was starting to moo, but she still couldn't pay for her habit. So she stands in for Elaine, and then she gives me the bad news. I'm over a barrel, see? I've got to take care of her. I got to put in a fix and see that she gets the stuff. Either that or I'm out of business. She'll squawk that she ain't Elaine."

Airedale paused to light a cigar. He took a disconsolate puff or two, and sat staring at the glowing tip.

"Well… I've had a doctor in every day. Cold shots, y'know. But that can't go on more'n a few more trips. Even if no one wised up and I was getting those shots for a buck instead of a hundred, I'd have to break it off. I wouldn't play. I've got my own kind of crookedness. It don't drive people crazy. It don't kill 'em."

He paused again, and gave Toddy an apologetic glance. "Not," he said, "that some of 'em don't need killin'. It's just a manner of speaking."

"Skip it," said Toddy. "Will she keep quiet as long as she gets the stuff?"

"Why not? She ain't a bad kid. She doesn't want to cause any trouble. She's beginning to see that I can't keep her fixed, and she ain't kickin'. She'll just go out on her own again."

"She won't be able to do that. They'll stick her on a conspiracy charge."

"Huh-uh." Airedale wagged his head. "She'll get out. She'll get all the stuff she wants. You've read them papers? Well, that little gal's worth her weight in white stuff to certain parties."

The bondsman stubbed out his cigar, sighed, and reached inside the pocket of his coat. He brought out a railroad timetable and proceeded to scan it. After a moment, he looked up.

"What do you think about Florida this time of year?"

"I'm not going anywhere," said Toddy. "Not yet, anyway."

"I am," said Airedale. "I like my fireworks on the Fourth of July. Here's hoping it'll be safe to come back by then."

He waited, as though expecting some comment, but Toddy only nodded. Naturally, Airedale would have to get out of town. The scandal would die down, eventually, be superseded by other and livelier scandals. Meanwhile, Los Angeles would be made extremely uncomfortable for the bondsman and his various political connections.

Airedale rose, looked into the crown of his derby, and emitted a bark of pleasure. "Well, look at that," he said, pulling forth a roll of bills. "And just when you'd changed your mind about leaving!"

"Thanks." Toddy pushed back the roll. "It isn't that. I've got money."

"So? What else do you need?"

"Nothing you can help me with."

"I can help you a little," said Airedale. "I can tell you to forget it if you're figuring on copping a plea. Juries don't like these cases where the body is disposed of. It shows bad faith, see what I mean? You try to cover the crime up and then, maybe, when you see you can't get away with it, you ask for a break. They give you one. Up here."

"But-Yeah," said Toddy, dully, "I suppose you're right."

Airedale slammed on his derby and started to turn away. "I don't get it," he snarled. "What are you hanging around for? Why ain't you on your way?"

"I want to find out who killed Elaine."

"Brother," said Airedale, "that does it!"

"If I run," said Toddy, "I've got to keep running. A few hundred or a few grand won't be enough. I've got to be squared for life."

"You've got something good lined up, huh?" said Airedale. "Why didn't you say so in the first place? What-never mind. Can you pull it off by yourself?"

"It's the only way I can do it. But I'll need more time, Airedale. A couple of days, anyway. I really wanted three, but-"

"Two," said Airedale. "I'd figured on twenty-four hours-enough time for me to clear out. But I'll fix the gal for two; I'll pay for that much. She may not get the stuff if I'm not here, but… Oh, hell. I guess it'll be all right."

They shook hands and Airedale left. A drink in his hand, Toddy sat down on the bed and mulled over the situation. Some of his normal fatalism began to assert itself. He grinned philosophically.

He undressed and climbed into bed. Lying back with his eyes open, he stared up into the darkness.

McKinley had promised not to have him tailed. It wouldn't be necessary. Placed at strategic points, a mere handful of men, with the license number and description of a car, could follow its movements even in a city as large as Los Angeles. So there was only one thing to do- rather, two things. Change the license, change the description.

Milt would be stubborn. He'd do nothing unless he was made to-so he'd be made to. There'd be no spot-check, no tails, no T-men to interfere.

24

At nine-thirty the next morning, Toddy finished a leisurely breakfast in his room and called McKinley. The bureau chief sounded annoyed as he told Toddy where to pick up the car.

"You haven't seen Miss Chavez?" he asked.

"Seen her? Why the hell would I? I don't even know where-"

"Good," said McKinley, in a milder tone. "She's been after us to find out what happened to you. Wanted to see you in jail. Wanted to send you a note. I finally told her we'd turned you loose, and you'd left town."

"That's-that's fine," said Toddy.

"Yeah. You've got a job to do, Kent. You've got a wife. And Miss Chavez is as straight as they come."

"And I'm not."

"You're not," agreed McKinley. "You took the words right out of my mouth."

He hung up the phone. Toddy slammed up his receiver, and finished dressing.

He was irritated by the conversation, but more than that, worried. Dolores knew about Elaine's death. She'd be wondering why, after holding him, Toddy, three days, McKinley had suddenly freed him. She'd be sure that instead of merely leaving town, as McKinley had told her he had, he'd try to leave the country. She'd know that he'd need plenty of money to leave on and that he could only get it in one way.

As long as he was in jail, her deal with the government was safe. They wouldn't care, when the news of the murder broke, whether she'd known about it or not. But if he skipped the country and committed another crime in the process of skipping…

No-Toddy shook his head. That wasn't like her. She wouldn't be concerned for herself, but him. She'd want to help him. And that, in a way, was as bad as the other. He couldn't tell her anything. This had to be a one-man show.

Toddy took a final glance around the room, left it, and headed for the elevator.

The car was parked a few blocks away. He almost laughed aloud when he saw it. It was a medium-priced sedan, exactly like thousands of others of the same make to a casual observer. But Toddy was not observing casually, and neither would the T-men.

They'd hardly need to look at the license plates. The gray paint job, the white sidewall tires and the red-glass reflector buttons by which the plates were held would be sufficient identification. They'd be able to spot him two blocks away.

He slid under the wheel, and opened the dashboard compartment. The keys and the gun were there, and-he checked it quickly-the gun was loaded. Everything was as it should be.

He drove north and east, winding back and forth through a maze of side streets, avoiding anything in the nature of an arterial thoroughfare. He didn't think McKinley would have his spot check set up so soon, but he might; and there wasn't any hurry. He had the whole day to kill.

The houses he passed grew shabbier, fewer and farther apart. Many of them stood empty. Most of the streets were unpaved. It was one of those borderline, ambiguous areas common to most cities; an area surrendered to industry but not yet made part of it.

Toddy pulled onto a brick-paved street, and rounded a corner. On the opposite side of the street was an abandoned warehouse. On the right, the side he was on, was an automobile salvage yard, its high board fence set back to allow room for the dingy filling station at the front. A four-wheel truck trailer, all its tires missing, stood between the street and the closed-in grease rack.

Toddy drove into the inside lane of the station. He spoke a few words to a cold-eyed man in greasy coveralls and a skullcap made of an old hat. The man leaned against the gas pump. He looked up and down the street, said "Okay, Mac," and jerked his head. Toddy drove into the greasing tunnel; then, as the rear wall slid up, into the yard beyond.

The job took two men three hours. When it was over Toddy himself, if he had not watched the transformation, would not have believed it was the same car.

A chromium grille disguised the radiator. The white sidewalls were replaced with plain tires. A sunshade sheltered the windshield. The roof and fenders of the car were dark blue; the rest of the body a glossy black. The red reflector buttons were gone, of course, as were the original license plates. The plate holders, with the substitute plates, had been moved to a new position.

Toddy paid over one hundred and fifty dollars, adding a five-dollar tip for each of the workmen. That left him with a little less than ten dollars, but that was more than enough for what he had to do. He wouldn't be paying his hotel bill. He wouldn't be going back to pay it.

He took one of the main streets back toward town, stopping once at a restaurant-bar, where he passed the better part of two hours, and again at a drugstore where he bought faintly tinted sunglasses. The glasses were disguise enough; not really necessary, for that matter. They'd be looking for a car, not a man.

It was dusk when Toddy reached the city's business section, and a light drizzling rain was beginning to fall. Driving slowly, Toddy turned north up Spring Street.

Milt wouldn't be buying gold, now. Moreover, he wouldn't be receiving his nightly visit from the driver of the beer truck. He wouldn't because there would be no more scrap gold to go out in the empty bottles.

Toddy swore suddenly and stepped on the gas. Almost immediately, he slowed down again. So what? What difference did it make if he passed by the hotel, the one where he and Elaine had lived? They didn't know anything or want to know anything. All they were interested in was the rent which was paid through tomorrow.

He parked on Main Street, and sat in the growing darkness, smoking, listening to the patter of rain on the roof. For a panic-stricken moment he wondered whether Milt had already skipped; then grinned and shook his head. Milt would see no need to hurry. He'd move cautiously, safely, taking his time.

So that was all right. He wished he had nothing to worry about but that.

It was seven o'clock by the time he had finished his third cigarette. He tossed the butt out the window, transferred the gun from the dash compartment to his pocket, and started the car.

He drove up Main a block, swung over to the next street, drove back three blocks. On a dark side street he turned right and cut the motor. He coasted to a stop a few doors above the entrance to the Los Angeles Watch & Jewelry Co., brokers in precious metals.

Luckily, he waited a moment before reaching for the door of the car. For Milt hadn't stopped buying gold. Doubtless he felt that it was too soon, that he had to go through the motions a little longer. Or perhaps he was waiting for a weekend to beat it. At any rate, the door of the shop opened suddenly and a rain-coated figure carrying the familiar square box dashed toward Main Street. A few minutes later, two other buyers came out together and trotted toward Main.

Crouched low in the seat, hidden by the rain-washed windows, Toddy waited ten minutes more. But no one else emerged from the shop, and, he decided, no one was likely to. It was too late.

He slid over on the seat and rolled down the window. He looked swiftly up and down the street. Then he rolled up the window, opened the door, and got out.

He walked close to the building fronts, pausing as he passed the one next to Milt's shop. He could see in from there-see a scene so familiar, so associated with warmth and friendliness, that what he was about to do seemed suddenly fantastic and hateful.

Milt, seated back in his cage, the bright work light lifting him out of the shadows, draping him in a kind of golden aura. Milt… how could he…?

But he had. And his friendliness-his faked friendship- only made matters worse. Toddy reconnoitered the street quickly, strode to the door, and stepped inside. He was halfway down the long dark aisle before Milt could look up.

"Toddy! Iss it you? For days I have been worrying about… about…"

"Yeah," said Toddy. "I'll bet you have."

He moved swiftly through the wicket of the cage, and brought a hand down on the gooseneck of the lamp. It flattened against the workbench, casting its light upon the floor. No one looking in from the street would see anything.

Milt had started to rise, but Toddy shoved him back in his chair. He seated himself, facing the little jeweler.

"That's right," he nodded grimly. "That's a gun. If you don't think I'll use it, give me a little trouble."

"But I do not understand! Trouble? Have ever I-" He broke off, staring into Toddy's cold set face, and abruptly his mask of bewildered innocence vanished. "Stupid Toddy. Oh, so stupid. At last he awakens."

"Get it out," said Toddy. "Every goddamned nickel. And don't ask me what."

"Ask?" Mitt shrugged. "I am not given to foolish chatter. As for it, I have anticipated you. It is already out." He started to reach beneath the workbench, then paused abruptly, arm half-extended.

Toddy nodded. "Go ahead. Just don't try anything."

He took the heavy briefcase that Mitt drew out, laid it on the bench, and slipped the catch. He shook it slightly, his eyes swerving from the jeweler to the bench. There was one packet of scat money-fives, tens and twenties. The rest of the horde was in thousand-dollar bills, dough too hot for the dumbest burglar to touch. Milt couldn't spend it in this country. Abroad, there'd be no trouble. Violation of income tax laws was not an extraditable offense.

"Your visit was most inopportune," sighed Mitt. "A few hours more and I would have been gone."

"You're still going. You're going out to Venice with me, out to the beach. We're going to have a nice long talk."

"We can do that here. We are alone on this street. No one will come in."

"Someone will tomorrow."

"But… Oh," said Milt. "Still, is it necessary, Toddy? You have the money. By tomorrow, you can be very far away. In any case, my hands are tied. I dare not complain."

Toddy jerked his head. "I'll be a lot farther away the day after tomorrow. And you'd talk, all right. Everyone that's had anything to do with me will get a going-over. I've been in jail, and-"

"Yes. I know."

"Then you probably know how I got myself sprung. You know I can't keep my bargain unless I dig up the guy that killed Elaine."

"Which you cannot do," said Mitt. "Not"-he added- "that you have any intention of keeping your bargain. Another, perhaps, almost any other man, but not you." He grinned faintly, his hands clasped over his fat stomach. "You do not want to keep your bargain with the government agents. You cannot keep it. A confession you may extract from me, but it will be worthless. I can prove that I did not kill Elaine or cause her to be killed."

"Maybe." Toddy studied the bland, chubby face. "Maybe," he repeated, "but I'm taking you with me, anyway. No one knows how you worked this setup here. I'm going to find out, just in case I ever get back to this country. If you come clean with me I may just tie you up and dump you somewhere. Some place where you'll be found in a few days. Otherwise…"

He gestured significantly with the gun. Milt laughed openly.

"Yes? You were thinking of the dunes, doubtless? Oh, excellent! It will be a wonderful place to leave a body… or should I say two?"

"Two?" Toddy frowned. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Bodies," said Milt. "Yours and Miss Chavez'."

Toddy's chair grated against the floor. "Damn you! If you've hurt that-"

Behind him the curtains rustled faintly. Something cold and hard pushed through them, pressed into the back of his neck.

Milt nodded to him, solemnly. "That is right, Toddy. Sit still. Sit very, very still. Yes, and I think I shall just take your gun. Miss Chavez"-he glanced at the clock- "should be here at any moment. Your hotel, your former hotel, I should say, was kind enough to refer her to me. I suggested that she return here tonight when you, in your hour of dire emergency, would most certainly come to me for aid. So… So"-the front door opened and clicked softly shut-"she has come."

She came down the aisle, hesitantly at first, then with quick firm steps as she saw the two men in the dim glow of the lamp. "Toddy! I am so glad I-I-"

"Do not scream," said Milt. "Do not move."

He thrust himself up from his chair, moved around Toddy and out through the wicket. Toddy waited helplessly, his hands carefully held out from his sides… This was the one thing he hadn't foreseen-the fact that Mitt might have a confederate. Who the hell could it be, he wondered, and why had Milt behaved as he had? What had he hoped to gain by appearing defenseless, letting Toddy talk?

Toddy didn't know, and there was no time now to think about it. The person behind him came through the drapes, and the gun barrel dug viciously into his neck.

He got up slowly. He looked into Dolores' pale strained face, and tried to grin reassuringly. He heard Milt's chuckle as he pushed her forward through the wicket.

He turned around.

"Hi-ya, prince," said Elaine.

25

Through a blinding downpour of rain, the car moved cautiously, steadily westward. Toddy drove, bent over the wheel, staring through the windshield. Dolores was at his side, Milt and Elaine in the rear seat. It was almost an hour before the city proper was left behind them, and silently, except for the humming of the tires and the wet lash of the windshield wipers, they went rolling down Olympic Boulevard. It ran in practically a straight line to the ocean. There was almost no traffic on it now.

Toddy eased up on the gas a little more. He'd outsmarted himself this time. In outwitting McKinley, he'd handed Milt a setup. Now there was nothing to do but stall, postpone the inevitable as long as possible.

The air was thick with the odor of Elaine's cigarettes and whiskey. She coughed, choked, and a fine spray showered Toddy's neck. Milt cleared his throat, apologetically.

"Perhaps, Liebling, it might be well to..

"What?" said Elaine. "You trying to tell me when to take a drink?"

Milt hesitated. Toddy felt a faint surge of hope. If she and Milt should start fighting, if she'd only throw one of those wild tantrums of hers… But she didn't. Moreover, Toddy knew, she wasn't going to.

"If you put it that way," Milt said, coldly, "yes. Rather, I am telling you when not to drink. And I am telling you that now. There is too much at stake. Later it will be all right; I would be the last to interfere."

There was a moment of silence. Then, "All right, honey," Elaine said meekly. "You just tell li'l Elaine what to do and that's what she'll do."

"Good," said Milt complacently. "We must give our Toddy no advantage, hein?"

"Whatever you say, honey."

"He is a very intelligent man," Milt went on. "He tells me in substance how much time the police have given him. He informs me, indirectly, that there is no one following his movements. Finally, by a reverse process, he makes excellent suggestions for disposing of himself. Do you wonder that I fear him, this intellectual giant?"

Elaine's giggle tapered off to a troubled note. "Yeah, but honey. I don't-"

"Consider," Milt continued, enjoyably. "Everything he is told, yet nothing he sees. He knows that Alvarado has told the anonymous gold-supplier of the theft of the watch. He knows his wife detests him, and he is thoroughly familiar with her talents as an actress. But does he draw any conclusions from these things? Not at all. He is baffled by her strange death and the subsequent disappearance of her body. It does not occur to him that she had simulated death, that she followed him down the fire escape taking the watch with her."

Dolores half-turned in the seat and her eyes flashed. "He is not stupid! He trusted you! It is easy to-"

"Of stupidity," said Milt, "you are hardly a competent judge. You who revealed his release from jail to a stranger. Now if you wish to take full advantage of your remaining minutes of consciousness, you will turn around."

"You are too cowardly! I-"

"Turn around," said Toddy softly. "She called the turn on you, Milt. I trusted you. On top of that, you had a lot of luck. If I hadn't chased off after Donald, I'd have found out that Elaine was pulling a fake."

"There was no element of luck," Milt said. "I telephoned Elaine when you left the shop. There was ample time to locate the watch and prepare for your arrival."

"But if I'd examined Elaine…"

"If you had-well, it would be a prank; and later we should have tried again. But we-I-knew you would not do that. So many predicaments has your stupidity placed you in, and always you react in the same manner. You place no faith in the wisdom or mercy of constituted authority. You make no study of the factors behind your contretemps. Tricks you have, not brains; tricks and legs. So, where tricks are futile, you run."

Toddy grunted. "You're a funny guy, Milt. Very funny."

"Oh, there is no doubt about it. Everyone has always said so. There is only one person who did not."

"Me," cooed Elaine, snuggling against him. "I knew better right from the beginning."

"So you did," Milt nodded benignly. "So now, I think, you should have another drink. A very small one."

Ahead and to the right, blurred lights pushed up through the shrouds of rain. Santa Monica. It wouldn't be long now.

A car came towards them, fog-lights burning, moving rapidly. Toddy's hand tightened on the wheel… Sideswipe it?… Huh-uh. Milt had nothing to lose. An accident, any sign of trouble, would only make him kill more quickly.

Toddy forced a short ugly laugh. Elaine lowered the bottle, squinted suspiciously in the darkness.

"Something funny, prince?"

Toddy shrugged.

"Goddammit, I asked you if-"

"Quiet, my treasure." Milt drew her back against his shoulder. "And, yes, I think I will take charge of the liquor. He is trying to disturb you. Drink makes the task easy."

"But-all right, honey."

"There's one thing I don't understand," said Toddy. "Why was the room straightened up before Elaine skipped out?"

"On the night of her supposed death? Merely a precautionary measure. The police might have been notified if the condition of the room happened to be observed. I felt sure you would hold Alvarado responsible. I wished to make sure you had no interference."

"That part of your plan didn't work out very well, did it?"

"It worked out well enough," said Milt, "as your present situation proves… But you were laughing a moment ago?"

"I was just thinking." Toddy laughed again. "Wondering about you and Elaine; how long it'll be before she turns on you… when you least expect it."

"Because she turned, as you put it, on you? But there is no similarity between the two cases. You could give her nothing. I can. She never needed you. She needs me. You tried to hold her against her will. I would never do that. If parting becomes necessary, it will be arranged amicably. We will share and share alike, and each will go his own way."

"That's sound logic," said Toddy, "but you're not dealing with a logical person. Elaine gets her fun out of not getting along. It's the only entertainment, aside from drinking, that she's capable of. She's a degenerate, Milt. She's liable to go in for killing as hard as she does drinking. I wouldn't believe the doctors when-"

Something hit him a painful blow on the head, the car swerved. He swung it straight again at a sharp command from Milt. In the rear- view mirror, he saw the jeweler turn, hand raised, toward Elaine.

"Dummkopf!" he snapped. "I have a notion to…" Then he smiled, and his voice went suddenly gentle. "It seems we both have the temper. It is not a time to give way to it."

"I'm sorry, honey. He just made me so damned sore…"

"But now you see through his tricks, eh? You see where they might lead to?"

"Uh-huh." Elaine sighed. "You're so smart, darling. You see right through people."

"He doesn't see through you," said Toddy. "If he did he'd take that gun away from you. He'd know what you're thinking-that all of that dough would be better than half."

Elaine made a mocking sound with her lips. Milt chuckled fatly.

"It is useless, Toddy. In the regrettable absence of attraction, there would still be the factor of need. It was I who planned this, and there will be yet more planning, thinking, to be done. Even an Elaine as elemental as the one you portray would not destroy something necessary to survival."

"Anyway," said Elaine, "I don't want the old gun; I wouldn't know how to use it. You take it, honey."

Mitt pushed it back at her. "But you must know! It is imperative. Look, I will show you again… The safety, here. Then, only a firm, short pull on the trigger. Very short unless you wish to empty it. It is automatic, as I told you previously…"

His own gun was in his lap for the moment, and Toddy knew another surge of hope. He couldn't, of course, do anything himself. But Elaine…

But Elaine didn't. Milt picked up his gun again. Toddy turned the car off Olympic and onto Ocean Avenue. They reached Pico Street, and he turned again. Less than a mile ahead was the ocean.

"No more questions, Toddy? Nothing else you would like to inquire about?"

"Nothing."

"After all, the opportunity will not arise again."

"No, it won't," said Toddy. "Look, Milt…"

"Yes?"

"Let Miss Chavez go. She won't-"

"I will not go," said Dolores, calmly.

"You will not," agreed Milt. "I am sorry. It is a terrible penalty to pay for allying oneself with an imbecile."

He rolled down the window of the car and peered out, and the rain sounds mingled with the roar of the ocean, the breakers rolling in and out from shore. Toddy made the last turn.

"You made one mistake, Mitt. There's one thing you didn't count on."

"Interesting," murmured Milt, "but not, I am afraid, true… This is the place you had in mind, I believe? Yes. You will stop, then, and turn off your lights."

Toddy stopped. The lights went off.

There was a moment of silence, the near-absolute silence which precedes action. Before Milt could break it, Toddy spoke.

This was his last chance, his and Dolores'. And he knew it was wasted, no chance at all, even before he started to speak. What he had to say was incredible. His strained, hollow voice made it preposterous.

"Really, Toddy." Milt sounded almost embarrassed. "You do not expect us to believe that?"

"No," said Toddy. "I don't expect you to believe me. But it is true."

"Only stupidity I charged you with," Milt pointed out. "Not insanity. You did not know Elaine was alive. You were sure you would be accused of her murder. Willing though you might be to pass up a fortune, and I sincerely suspect such a willingness, you would not dare abide by your bargain. In this case, you had no choice but to run."

"I was tired of running." (Elaine giggled.) "I knew I hadn't killed her. I was going to fight the case."

"Without money? With all the evidence against you? With a long record of criminality? And if, by some fluke of justice, you cleared yourself, what then? You have no trade but to prey upon others. You-"

"I could get one." The words, the tone seemed ridiculously childish.

"We waste time," said Milt. "You would have me believe you pursued one futility to achieve another. You, risking your liberty- perhaps your life-by keeping a bargain? You, placing your faith, at last, in the courts? You, Toddy Kent, doing these things for a so-called good name, a job, perhaps Miss Chavez-"

"It would not have been perhaps," said Dolores.

"Even so," Milt shrugged. "I know him too well, and he knows himself too well. He does not fit the part… Now, I think…"

"Let Elaine think," Toddy persisted doggedly. "You can't pull out. You want to get her in as deep as you are. Don't let him do it, Elaine! There's a tape recorder in the car. I-"

"Elaine," Milt interrupted, "is not required to think. And, of course, there is a recorder. How else could you obtain the evidence you were supposed to get? I do not deny the existence of a bargain. Only that you had no intention of keeping it."

"I did intend to keep it! I know it looks like I didn't, but I had to make it look that way! I was supposed to meet them here-I called them just before I went to your shop. Elaine-"

"Tonight?" said Milt. "You were to meet them there tonight, or tomorrow night? Or perhaps even the next? You are transparent, Toddy. Your government men would have given you two days without surveillance as quickly as they would give you two hours. Never would they have agreed to such an arrangement."

"They didn't agree to it, but they had to take it. I'd already ducked out on 'em. It was either play it my way or-"

"Nonsense. You insult my intelligence."

"Now, wait a minute," said Elaine, worriedly. "Let me-"

"It is not necessary," said Milt. "I have already thought. Of everything… You were to meet them here, eh? Bah! Where are they, then?"

Toddy licked dry lips, helplessly. It was no use. The evidence was all against him. He couldn't make them believe something that was incredible to himself.

"I don't know," he said, almost indifferently. "It's a big beach. Maybe they don't recognize the car. I don't know where they are, but-"

Milt's curt, bored laugh cut him off. "They would not recognize the car, certainly. You would see to that. And we both know where they are-anywhere but here. Now, enough!"

"But Milt, honey…" Elaine began.

"Enough!" snapped Milt. "Must I explain everything twice? Why do you think I played with him there in the shop, found out exactly where he wished to go? Because it would be safe. It would be the last place his whilom friends would expect to find him."

"All right, honey. I was just-"

"We will proceed! And-please!-the bottle will remain here!"

Dolores was shoved over in the seat, squeezed against Toddy. Elaine pushed past her, and got out. She stood back in the sand a few feet, covering the door as Toddy and the girl emerged.

Milt came out last, grunting from the exertion, blinking his eyes against the rain.

"Now," he panted, "we will just…" He gestured with the gun. Elaine spoke apologetically.

"Milt, baby, are you sure, really sure that…?"

"I have said so! It is all finished. Now we have only to-"

He saw, then, heard the childishly delighted laugh- mischievous, filled with the viciousness it could not recognize, signaling triumph in a game without rules. It seemed to paralyze him. The gun hung loose in his fingers.

"Liebling!" he gasped. "Darling! There is so much. Why-?"

There was a brief, stuttering blast. "W-why?" Milt said, and crumpled to the sand. And he said no more and heard no more.

Elaine snatched up his gun, and leveled it quickly.

"Huh-uh, prince. You gave me an idea, but I get ideas, too. L'il Elaine's dead. L'il Elaine's in the clear. This is your gun and you shot him, and he shot you and her. And-"

"Elaine!" Toddy's voice shook. "For your own sake, don't! The government men are bound to be near here. They probably missed us in the rain, but those shots are sure to-"

"D-don't make me laugh, prince. D-don't make me laugh..

She began to rock with laughter; it pealed out, shrill, delighted, infectious. And suddenly Toddy was laughing with her. Laughing and ridding himself of something, the last, fragile, frazzled tie. "L-like"-she was shrieking-"like Milt said, prince, you d-don't fit the part!"

That was the way he would always remember her-the monkey face twisted with merriment, the scrawny, rain-drenched figure rocking in the abrupt pitiless glow of floodlights, laughing as the guns of the T-men began to chatter.

So he would always remember her, but it was like remembering another person. Someone he had never known.

The gizmo, the golden, deceptive, brass-filled gizmo, was gone at last.

THE END