The Silver Tombstone

Chapter Nine

Johnny Fletcher promptly dropped to his knees between the two detectives. Sam Cragg lunged forward, his powerful arms held out. They swept the two detectives together, cracking their heads. Then Sam slammed them back violently. Both men hit the wall on the far side of the hall. Johnny, meanwhile, scuttled into the elevator. “Come on, Sam!” he cried.

Sam leaped back into the elevator. Lieutenant Meeker was struggling to get out his gun.

“Down!” yelled Johnny to the elevator operator. The boy, however, was paralyzed with fright and Johnny shoved him aside. He slammed the lever forward, as far it would go. The car plummeted downwards. Johnny kept the lever depressed until they reached the first floor, then began to ease up on it. Even so the car overshot the basement by a few inches and he had to bring it back.

“Let’s go,” he shouted to Sam and led the way into the basement. Sam followed willingly enough and they skidded past the boiler room toward a metal-sheathed door at the far end. Johnny had a little trouble getting it open, but then they were outside, in the alley behind the hotel.

Without pausing in his stride, Johnny hit a stone wall across the alley, clambered up, then turned to help Sam, who wasn’t too good at the climbing stuff.

“Alley oop!”

Sam gained the top of the wall, fell over into the yard beyond. Johnny dropped down and they rushed at top speed through a small yard, down a narrow walk and to the street beyond. A stout woman shaking out a rug on the pack porch looked at them in astonishment.

“Well!” she gasped.

“It ain’t well at all, lady,” Johnny replied.

“Take it easy, Johnny,” Sam panted as they reached the street.

“They don’t hang you in California,” Johnny retorted. “They gas you.”

They started across the street, entered another yard, cut through and came out on a street that was two blocks from the front of the hotel. Only then did they slow to a fast walk.

A bus was just pulling up at the corner. Johnny nodded to Sam and they made it by sprinting the last few yards.

Ten minutes later they got off the bus at La Brea and Wilshire.

Sam Cragg surveyed the busy intersection with an air of bewildered helplessness. “All right,” he finally said, “we lost the cops, but how long can we keep away from them? Night’s coming on; we can’t walk the streets and we dassn’t go to a hotel.”

“Somebody snitched,” said Johnny. “Somebody snitched to the flatfoot and I’m going to find out who it was.”

Sam grabbed Johnny’s arm. “What difference does it make, Johnny? I’ve been thinking — I don’t think I like gas. Let’s get out of town. I’ve changed my mind about California. I don’t like it.”

“I’m beginning to like it less every minute, myself, Sam. But we’re behind the eight-ball. I don’t even know if we can leave town... You and your astrology.”

“It ain’t astrology, Johnny — you can’t blame the stars for what’s happening to us.”

“Why not? Doesn’t your book tell you that everything is written in the stars at the moment you’re born...”

“No-no,” exclaimed Sam. “It don’t say anything of the kind. It says that you can be guided by the stars. You know what they mean, you know what to do...”

“I know what I’m going to do,” said Johnny grimly. “Look over there, across the street...”

“Where?” asked Sam, looking.

“That sign — Princess Astra...”

Sam scowled. “Cut it out, Johnny, that’s a fortune teller’s joint. You know what I think of fortune tellers.”

“You’re entitled to your opinion, Sam; I’m entitled to mine. Your astrology’s let you down — I’m going to take a peek into the future. Come on...”

“I won’t go in,” protested Sam, as he followed Johnny across the street.

“All right, then wait outside.”

But when they reached the two-story building, Sam followed Johnny up a dingy flight of stairs. At the top was a tiny waiting room, hung with velvet drapes on which were sewed silver stars.

A woman with straight black hair, tied in a knot, sat at a desk playing solitaire.

“Princess Astra?” Johnny asked.

The woman shook her head. “Princess Astra is meditating.”

“How much would she charge to do a little meditating for me?”

The woman sized up Johnny Fletcher. “Five dollars.”

“That’s a lot of dough,” Johnny said. “There’s a lady over on Sunset Boulevard tells your fortune for a buck.”

“Princess Astra is not a fortune teller,” said the woman with the black hair.

From behind the velvet curtains suddenly came a wheezy voice. “Who is it, dearie?”

“A customer,” chuckled Johnny Fletcher. “A two-dollar one.”

The curtains parted, revealing Princess Astra. She weighed about two hundred on the hoof, had a short fat neck and a mannish haircut. She wore a black tent for a dress.

“Which one of you’s the comic?” she demanded.

“I want my fortune told,” Johnny said. “But I only want two dollars worth.”

Princess Astra regarded Johnny through eyes that appeared as mere slits in her fat face. “You couldn’t be a cop, because a cop wouldn’t come right out and say he wanted his fortune told. We don’t tell fortunes, you know. We give spiritual guidance. But what’s this two-dollar nonsense?”

“Do you read horoscopes?” Sam asked.

The princess gave Sam a scornful look. “That bunk!”

Sam bristled. “Whaddya mean, bunk?”

“You heard me.” She gestured beyond the curtains. “Come in.”

Sam scowled, but followed Johnny and the princess to a large, square room that was hung with draperies. In the center of the room was a small table on which stood a crystal ball.

Princess Astra seated herself behind the table and motioned for Johnny and Sam to pull up chairs.

“Now, let’s have your five dollars — each of you.”

“Two for five,” Johnny said.

The princess tapped the crystal ball with a beringed hand. “I don’t have to look into this to tell that you’re a cheap skate.”

Johnny chuckled. Then he took out his roll and carelessly peeled off a five dollar bill. He allowed the princess to catch a glimpse of a fifty.

“Would you be interested in a complete reading?” the princess asked. “Past, present and future.” She coughed. “For twenty-five dollars.”

Johnny shook his head. “The sample five-dollar one will do.” Then he pursed up his lips thoughtfully. “What do you do for twenty-five bucks? I mean, could you pull off a regular seance with horns and manifestations and such?”

The princess gave Johnny a thoughtful look. “You been readin’ a book, dearie.”

“Not lately. But I’ve got twenty-five bucks for a regular show, with, ah, the right answers for a friend of mine.”

“All right,” said Princess Astra. “Now, we’ve got the cards on the table. Just what do you want?”

“I want to ask a man some questions... and give him some answers.”

The princess patted the crystal ball. “Bring your friend here and I’ll give him the god-damndest answers he ever heard.”

“There may be a little trouble getting him here.”

“What’s his name? Where’s he live?”

“His name’s Dan Tompkins and he’s staying at the Fremont hotel. He’s a desert rat, from Arizona.”

The princess got up heavily. “Say no more.”

She started for the anteroom. Sam looked at Johnny in bewilderment. “Johnny,” he whispered, “it won’t work.”

Johnny shook his head. “Shh!” He followed the princess out to the other room.

“Dearie,” said Princess Astra to her receptionist, “get me Dan Tompkins at the Fremont hotel.”

The woman with the tight black hair began making the phone call. After a moment she handed the instrument to Princess Astra. Then Johnny whispered in the princess’ ear, “Mention the Silver Tombstone...”

The princess nodded and spoke into the phone. Her voice was suddenly hushed and dramatic. “Mr. Tompkins, this is the Princess Astra welcoming you to Los Angeles. You probably don’t even know it, but you are here because I summoned you... Yes, while you were wandering out there in the vast reaches of the desert, I communicated with you... the Silver Tombstone... what’s that?... what’s that?... You’ll be here? In a half hour... The Princess Astra, on Wilshire, near La Brea... In a half hour, then...”

She hung up. “The man positively drooled,” she told Johnny Fletcher. Then she sighed. “Why can’t I get customers like that up here?”

“You’re getting him.”

“I meant on my own.” Then a gleam came into her eyes. Johnny chuckled.

“You can have him, all for your own, after tonight.”

“I’ll give him such a show that he’ll be afraid to eat breakfast without consulting me first.” She swished aside the drapes. “Now, come in and tell me what you want from him.”

Johnny was still telling the princess when a light flashed on the table beside the crystal ball. The princess exclaimed. “My goodness, he’s here already.” She hurried to the left wall and sweeping aside the drapes revealed a small door. “Get inside there. You can leave the door open when the drapes are in place.”

Johnny and Sam crowded into a room that was no more than a closet and devoid of furniture.

“I don’t like this,” complained Sam. “It’s a dirty trick.”

“So’s murder... Shhh.”

From the seance room came the rumble of Dan Tompkins’ voice... and the voice of someone else. Johnny reached for the drapes, parted them slightly so he could look into the room.

Dan Tompkins was just seating himself beside Laura Henderson. There was an eager expression on Tompkins’ face which was absent from that of the girl. In fact, Laura seemed quite dubious about the whole thing.

“I’ll be frank,” Laura said bluntly to the princess. “I don’t believe in psychic phenomena.”

“Neither do I,” Astra retorted. “I don’t believe in any of the hocus-pocus that spiritualists go in for. You show me a medium that resorts to table lifting and horns blowing in the dark and I’ll show you a fraud.”

“Then what do you do?”

“Nothing. You ask me questions and I give you answers — that’s all.”

“What sort of answers?” cut in Dan Tompkins eagerly.

“How do I know? I say what comes into my mind — that’s all. Whether the answers are the right ones or not, I don’t know.”

Laura sniffed. “You see, Mr. Tompkins.”

Even Old Dan was beginning to lose his enthusiasm. “If I’m going to spend good money...” Then a shrewd look came into his eyes. “How’d you get my name?”

The princess shrugged. “How should I know? I was sitting here, doing nothing, when all of a sudden your name popped into my mind...”

“But how’d it pop into your mind — if you didn’t know my name?”

“Let’s not go back over that,” the princess said, tartly. “I told you I don’t know how I know things. I just know, that’s all. Some people think it’s a gift. I, frankly, don’t know.” She made an impatient gesture. “Go ahead — ask your questions and see if the answers suit you.”

“All right.” Tompkins hesitated, then shot out: “What’s the Silver Tombstone?”

“Don’t you know yourself?” the princess shot back.

“Of course I know. I’m asking you, though.”

“Testing me, eh? Well — the Silver Tombstone is a mine. A silver mine in Arizona.”

Tompkins grunted. “Who owns it?”

“You’d like to own it. But the real owner is a... a woman. Her name doesn’t register clearly in my mind. It’s something like Ellen... no, Helen.”

Dan Tompkins was all interest now. “That’s right.” He shot a triumphant glance at the still skeptical Laura Henderson.

“Let me ask you a question,” Laura Henderson said, suddenly.

“Go right ahead, dearie.”

“What’s my name?”

The princess almost choked. “Why, don’t you know, dearie?”

“I know, all right, but I’d like to have you tell me.”

Princess Astra gazed into her crystal ball. Johnny had coached her, given her the names of several people, but there had been two women’s names. And the princess had neglected to ask the name of Dan Tompkins’ consort upon arrival. So she had to guess now — and the wrong guess would end the seance right then and there. Her brain worked rapidly; Helen Walker had been described as the owner of the Silver Tombstone, a self-possessed, independent type of girl. Laura Henderson, she had been told, was gay, a bit on the forward side.

This girl was certainly self-possessed... and suspicious. You could call her independent. That would be Helen Walker. Yet... would Dan Tompkins, who was trying to get the Silver Tombstone from Helen Walker, bring her here?

The princess didn’t know. Silently, she cursed Johnny Fletcher. All this for a measly twenty-five...

“Walker,” she said, suddenly to Dan Tompkins. “That’s the girl’s name — the one who owns the Silver Tombstone...” There was a slight narrowing of the old desert rat’s eyes — a touch of doubt and suspicion and Astra whirled toward Laura Henderson.

“And you, of course,” she said smoothly, “are Laura Henderson.”

She had won.

“All right,” conceded Laura. “Now, just one more question... where is Johnny Fletcher?”

Behind the drapes, Sam Cragg winced. Johnny poked him in the ribs with his elbow.

At the seance table, the Princess Astra smiled blandly. “Who?”

“Johnny Fletcher.”

“Oh, him,” said the princess. She looked into her ball. “I see a small room — a hotel room. Johnny Fletcher is stretched out on the bed. He is sleeping.”

“Where’s the hotel room?” Laura persisted.

“The Fremont Hotel...”

“No,” said Laura. “He isn’t there — not now.”

“Oh, but he is.”

“Not any more. He ran out — with the police after him.”

“The police?” A sharp note came into Astra’s tone.

“Didn’t you know?”

“Of course I knew.” But there was a scowl on the princess’ face.

“That’s one of the things I want to ask you about,” said Dan Tompkins. “As a matter of fact, I sized up this Fletcher as a pretty shrewd bird. A hard customer to get the best of. So when I heard about this, uh, trouble, I got to figuring. Somebody put the finger on him... Who was it?”

Again the princess had to guess. Tompkins was asking the question. He seemed anxious for an answer. So that eliminated him. Which left Joe Cotter, Charles Ralston — and Mike Henderson, to take in all of the men’s names Johnny had given her. Since Tompkins couldn’t immediately prove her wrong, she could guess fairly safe.

“Charles Ralston.”

Dan Tompkins exclaimed. “The dirty rat! So he’s afraid of me.”

“Yes,” said the princess, taking it up from there. “He is in deathly fear of you. At this very moment he is cringing... lest you learn his secret...”

“What secret?” asked Tompkins eagerly.

“...The secret of the Silver Tombstone.”