This Way for a Shroud

I

“COME in, Paul,” Forest said, pushing aside some papers he was studying. “Sit down. What’s the news?”

Conrad sat down, and as he shook a cigarette out of a pack he said, “The treatment’s worked at last. Weiner’s talking.”

Forest nodded.

“I thought he would. It was a gamble, and we’d have looked pretty silly if he had accepted bail, but somehow I didn’t think he would have the nerve to go out in the cold hard world. How about the girl?”

Conrad pulled a face.

“No. She still swears she didn’t see anyone at Dead End, but at least she isn’t asking to go home any more. I think she realizes she’ll have to stay hidden until things cool off a little.”

“We’ll come back to her in a moment,” Forest said, reaching for a cigar. As he removed the band, he went on, “What’s Weiner got to say?”

“He’s admitted going after Miss Coleman. He says he was told to kill her by Seigel, but I can’t get much more out of him.”

“In other words, he’s given you enough to hold him and to keep him out of danger, but no more.”

“That’s about right. He says he doesn’t know anything about Maurer. He makes out he is Seigel’s man, that he doesn’t even know Seigel works for Maurer. He’s lying, of course, and I’m hoping to persuade him to change his story. There’s no point in going after Seigel. We want Maurer, and if we arrest Seigel we’ll only be side-tracking ourselves.”

Forest nodded.

“We’ve got to hook Seigel to Maurer if Weiner’s evidence is going to be of any use.”

Conrad frowned. He flicked ash into the glass bowl on Forest’s desk.

“I just can’t make Weiner believe he is safe with us,” he said irritably. “He’s completely convinced that sooner or later the organization will reach him. If I could convince him they can’t get at him, then I think he would open up.”

“Is he safe, Paul?” Forest asked quietly.

Conrad nodded.

“Yes. I’ve taken every precaution. It’s impossible for anyone to get near the lodge. That’s why I picked the place. There is only one road to the lodge. It is cut through country that doesn’t offer a scrap of cover. The only other way is up a two-hundred-foot precipice that a fly couldn’t climb. I have men patrolling the top just in case someone attempts to get up with ropes and climbing tackle. Miss Coleman and Weiner are never left for a moment. So long as they stay at the lodge they’re safe enough.”

“And yet Weiner still imagines he’ll get wiped out?”

“The trouble there is he knows none of the mob have ever talked and survived. It’s become the accepted thing to believe Maurer’s arm will reach anywhere. Once I can break down that idea, I think he’ll give us all the information we want, but at the moment nothing seems to convince him.”

“Frankly, I don’t blame him,” Forest said seriously. “Maurer has an unpleasant habit of silencing people who talk. Have you considered the human element, Paul?”

“Of course that comes into it,” Conrad admitted, “but I’ve taken the precaution to pick men with good records. I’ve also taken the precaution to make certain no guard works alone. He has with him a companion at all times. Sergeant O’Brien, whom you know, is in charge of them. O’Brien is as safe as I am.”

“Sure,” Forest said. “I’ve known O’Brien for years. He’s my idea of a first-class policeman. How about leave? Isn’t there a danger that these men can be got at when they take a day off?”

“They’re not having any days off,” Conrad returned. “I’ve told them this is a full-time job until it is over. The only three who are allowed to leave the lodge are Van Roche, O’Brien and myself. If I can’t trust those two then I can’t trust anyone.”

“Well, you’ve certainly got the situation in hand. I’ll come out over the weekend and see for myself.”

“I wish you would. Any other ideas will be welcomed. If only I could convince Weiner he was safe.”

“Maybe he’ll come around. We have a little time. Keep after him, Paul.” Forest shifted his chair back so he could cross his legs. “Now tell me about the girl.”

“She’s a bit of an enigma,” Conrad said, rubbing his chin. “I’m damned if I know what to make of her.”

Forest, who missed nothing, was surprised at Conrad’s despondent tone. He glanced quickly at the lean, strong face and wondered at the unhappy frown. He looked away, alert now. Why the sudden change of tone in Conrad’s voice when the girl was mentioned? he wondered. From long experience in court he had learned to suspect any relation between man and woman. Was there something developing here?

“In what way, Paul?” he asked mildly.

Conrad lifted his shoulders.

“I’m as certain as I sit here she saw Maurer at Dead End. Why doesn’t she admit it? After all, by keeping silent, she’s making herself an accessory after the fact.”

“Have you reminded her of that?”

Conrad looked up. His eyes shifted away from Forest’s inquiring gaze.

“Not yet. I thought it would sound as if I were threatening her. She’s not the type to be threatened.”

“But she must be told. If we get other evidence that she saw Maurer she could be prosecuted.”

“I know, but I’ll hold off a little longer if you agree,” Conrad said. “I still think I can persuade her to talk. Since Gollowitz scared her, she’s much more amenable.”

“Is she? In what way?”

“Well, she’s more friendly. She’s lost the chip on her shoulder. I — I think she’s coming round.”

Forest moved a glass paper-weight aimlessly, his face was expressionless. The despondent look on Conrad’s face began to worry him.

“We can’t keep her for ever,” Forest said. “You realize that?”

“I know. It’s a hell of a problem. The only way in which she can ever be really safe now is for her to admit she saw Maurer so we can deal with him. So long as Maurer is at liberty she won’t be safe unless she remains under our protection.”

“And she realizes that?”

Conrad shrugged.

“I suppose so. I’ve told her often enough.” He reached forward to stub out his cigarette. For a long moment he stared frowning down at the carpet while Forest watched him without appearing to do so. Then Conrad said. “There is another problem I don’t know how to handle. Maybe you can make up my mind for me.”

“Go ahead. What is it?”

“I think these two have taken a liking to each other. I’ll go further than that: I think they’ve fallen in love with each other.”

“What two?” Forest asked sharply.

Conrad shifted restlessly; the despondent expression deepened.

“Miss Coleman and Weiner.”

“Fallen in love with each other?” Forest repeated, startled. “How did they fall in love with each other?”

Conrad looked up then.

“How do people fall in love with each other?” he asked quietly. “It’s one of those damned odd things that can’t be explained. Two people meet and then something happens. It’s like two pieces of a jig-saw puzzle that have been floating about for years. Then suddenly through no known reason they come together and fit. It can happen as easily as that.”

“Are you sure about this?”

“I’m pretty sure. Miss Coleman asked me yesterday if she could talk to Weiner. Up to now we have kept them apart, but Miss Fielding, who is looking after Miss Coleman, tells me she remains at the window watching Weiner as he exercises in the grounds, and I hear he watches her when she is in the grounds.”

“But that doesn’t mean they’re in love with each other,” Forest said a little impatiently. Conrad shrugged.

“You have only to see them when they talk about each other to know how they feel.” He got up abruptly and began to pace up and down. “How the hell a nice girl like that could fall in love with a little rat like Weiner beats me. There’s nothing to him. He’s got that hideous birthmark. He’s been a crook all his life. I just don’t know how she could have any feeling for a man like that. It beats me.”

Forest raised his eyebrows. Surely Paul couldn’t have fallen for this girl, he asked himself. He was certainly behaving like a rejected suitor. But surely not. Forest had met Janey and had been very impressed by her beauty. He had thought Conrad was a lucky devil to have married such a lively, glamorous girl.

“Maybe it’s because of his background and his birthmark,” Forest said quietly. “Girls can be damned funny animals.”

“I guess so.”

“But what’s the problem, Paul? It’s not our business if they have fallen in love with each other, is it?”

“No, but am I to let them meet? Miss Coleman asked if she could share Weiner’s exercise time; a couple of hours a day.”

“I should say not. What do you think?”

Conrad continued to pace up and down.

“It’s not as easy as that,” he said slowly. “We mustn’t lose sight of our objective. We want to persuade this girl to give evidence against Maurer. If she were allowed to talk to Weiner there is a good chance he’ll talk about himself. It’s possible he might even talk to her about Maurer. She’s bound to want to know why he accepted the order to murder her. To justify himself in her eyes he may let her into the secrets of the organization. Coming from him it may have a startling effect. Up to now, she doesn’t believe a word I say. She imagines I’m only interested in getting her to give evidence, and that I’m deliberately colouring the background to influence her. Coming from Weiner it might make her realize where her duty lies. I don’t know. It’s a problem, but I’m inclined to let them meet and talk.”

“Hmm, yes; there’s something in that. But suppose he puts her off still more? He may throw a scare into her that’ll keep her permanently quiet. Thought of that?”

“Then he won’t be practising what he’ll be preaching. At least, he’s talked himself, and she knows he has admitted he was ordered to kill her. I’ve told her.”

“Well, all right. We’ve got to try something. We can’t hold her much longer. Let them meet, but they are to be under constant surveillance. They are not to be allowed to go off together. Instruct the guards to keep out of earshot, but not to lose sight of them.”

“All right,” Conrad said. “Well, I guess that’s all. I’d better be getting back.”

“There’s one thing we haven’t decided,” Forest said, “and that’s why this girl, if she did see Maurer, won’t admit it. That’s something we’ve got to find out, Paul.”

“The obvious reason is she’s scared of Maurer.”

Forest shook his head.

“I doubt that. A girl of her type wouldn’t know much about Maurer, only what she’s read in the press. I admit his reputation is damned bad, but people who learn about gangster’s reputations from newspapers aren’t really convinced they are as dangerous as the papers make them out to be. There’s something more important than that that’s keeping her quiet. Ever thought she might have a record and she’s scared Maurer’s counsel might bring it up at the trial?”

“That’s a little far-fetched, isn’t it?” Conrad said sharply.

Forest gently touched off the ash from his cigar.

“Yes, it’s far-fetched, but we don’t know. It might be something else. She might have run away from home or she may have a husband who’s looking for her. What I’m getting at is this: if she does give evidence against Maurer her photograph and her name are going to be splashed on the front pages of every newspaper in the country. It may be she wants to avoid this publicity for a personal reason, and that’s why she’s keeping quiet. I think we should dig around and see if we can turn up this personal reason, always supposing it exists.”

“Yes, I think we should do that,” Conrad said in a flat voice.

Forest was now almost sure the girl had made a big impression on Conrad, and the discovery startled him. Could Conrad have fallen in love with her, he asked himself.

“All right, then let’s dig a little,” he said. “Would you like to handle it? Do you want to remain at the lodge out of circulation or would you rather come back here and are what you can find out about the girl’s background?”

Conrad didn’t hesitate.

“I’ll stay on at the lodge. The important thing is to keep her safe. I’ve accepted the responsibility and I want to see it through. I’ll send Van back. He can do the digging.”

It was then that Forest became sure Conrad had fallen in love with Frances Coleman.

He spread his hands on the blotter and his hard eyes searched Conrad’s face.

“What do you think of this girl, Paul? I mean how does she strike you as a man regarding a woman?”

Conrad looked at Forest.

“Does that come into it? Does it matter what I think of her?”

Disconcerted by Conrad’s straight look, Forest lifted his heavy shoulders.

“No, you’re quite right.” He stubbed out his cigar. “I shouldn’t have asked that. Well, I guess I’ve got to get on with my work. Let me know how things develop.”

“I will,” Conrad said, and made for the door.

When he had gone, Forest stared gloomily down at his blotter.

He sat thinking for a few moments, his face worried, then with a sudden shrug of his shoulders, he reached for the pile of papers that were waiting his attention.

II

Sergeant Tom O’Brien stood at the foot of the bed and looked down at his son. O’Brien’s usually granite-hard face had softened, making him look younger, and there was a twinkle in his eyes never seen by either his colleagues or by his customers.

“Go to sleep,” he said, “or you and me will run into trouble when your mother comes home.”

His son, a freckle-faced youngster within reaching distance of a seventh birthday, gave his father a wide, disarming smile.

“How’s about telling me how you cornered Little Caesar and the fight you had with him?” he inquired hopefully. “It won’t take long, and we needn’t tell mummy.”

O’Brien pretended to be shocked. His son’s hero-worship was the biggest thing in his life. For a moment he wrestled with the temptation to tell the old favourite again, but it was already past nine o’clock and he had promised his wife he would have the kid in bed and asleep by eight.

“Can’t do it, son,” he said gravely. “We’ve got to keep a bargain. You said you’d be satisfied if I told you about Lingle, and we’re late as it is. I’ll tell you about Little Caesar when next I get some time off.”

“Is that a promise?” his son asked gravely.

“Yes, it’s a promise. Now go to sleep. If you want anything give me a call, but no false alarms.”

“Okay, pop,” his son said, accepting the inevitable. He had long learned it was useless to argue with his father. “See you in the morning.”

“God bless, son.”

“God bless, pop.”

O’Brien turned off the light and went down the stairs to the hall. The little house was very quiet. His wife had gone to the movies with her mother. She wouldn’t be back for another hour. O’Brien wondered if he should wash up the supper dishes or take a look at the fights on the television. The fights won after a minor wrestle with his conscience.

He pushed open the sitting-room door, then paused, frowning. He hadn’t remembered leaving the standard lamp on. He was usually pretty good about turning the lights off. He entered the room and shut the door. He had scarcely taken three steps towards the television set when he came to an abrupt standstill, his senses suddenly alert.

O’Brien was a tough, hard cop, with nerves like steel, but in spite of his toughness he felt his heart skip a beat when he saw a small figure in black sitting in an armchair.

The figure was in the shadows, and at first glance O’Brien thought it was a child, but then he noticed the small feet in black suede shoes that hung a few inches from the floor and the spindly legs and bone thin ankles. They had a matured look about them, and couldn’t belong to a child.

He had a sudden creepy feeling that he was looking at a ghost, and he felt the hairs on the nape of his neck stiffen. Then he pulled himself together and took a step forward.

“What the hell…?” he growled, and came to an abrupt standstill as the glittering barrel of a .38 automatic appeared in the light and pointed at him.

“Hello, sergeant,” a husky voice said. “Sorry to have startled you. Don’t do anything brave. At this range I couldn’t miss you.”

O’Brien felt sweat start out on his face. There could be only one owner to that husky, menacing voice. Years ago, when he had been on the New York force as a patrolman, O’Brien had once run into Vito Ferrari. It had been an experience he had often thought about, and there were times when he had gone to bed after a heavy dinner that he had even dreamed about it.

He peered down at the chair, and Ferrari looked up so the fight touched his face. The two men stared at each other.

“I see you remember me, sergeant,” Ferrari said.

“What are you doing here?” O’Brien demanded, not moving a muscle. He knew how deadly dangerous Ferrari was, and his immediate thought was Ferrari had come to kill him. Why, he had no idea, but the Syndicate’s executioner never made social calls. He only paid business visits.

“Sit down, sergeant,” Ferrari said, waving to an armchair opposite. “I want to talk to you.”

O’Brien sat down. He was glad to; his legs felt shaky. He thought of his sleeping son upstairs and his wife due back in an hour. For the first time in his career he was aware that his work was putting his own family in danger, and the thought made him feel sick.

“What are you doing in Pacific City?” he asked, determined that Ferrari shouldn’t know his fears. “It’s off your beat, isn’t it?”

Ferrari put the automatic in a shoulder holster under his coat. This move gave O’Brien no hope. He knew Ferrari could get the gun out and kill him before he could lift himself a few inches out of his chair.

“Yes, it’s off my beat, but I’m here on business. I’ve come for Weiner,” Ferrari said mildly. He crossed his spindly legs and swung one tiny foot backwards and forwards.

O’Brien stiffened, and for a moment he felt relieved. He should have thought of Weiner the moment he had seen Ferrari.

“Then you’re unlucky,” he said. “Weiner’s inaccessible.”

“No one’s inaccessible,” Ferrari returned. “People just think they are. I want you to tell me how I can get at him.”

O’Brien was well aware of Ferrari’s reputation. He knew Ferrari would never make a statement unless he was sure he could back it up.

“What makes you think I’m going to tell you?” he asked in a voice that was far from steady.

“What makes you think you’re not going to tell me?”

O’Brien stared at him. He felt himself change colour, and his great hands closed into fists.

“How’s your little boy, sergeant?” Ferrari went on. “I saw him this morning. A fine boy.”

O’Brien didn’t say anything. He had a sick feeling of being trapped. He could see what was coming.

“Shall we talk about Weiner?” Ferrari asked, after a long pause. “You don’t want me to draw you a map, do you, sergeant?”

“You won’t get away with it this time,” O’Brien said hoarsely. “And you’ll be crazy to try.”

Ferrari lifted his emaciated shoulders.

“Let’s skip talking crap,” he said curtly. “What time does Weiner take a tub at night?

“Ten o’clock,” O’Brien said. “How the hell do you know he takes a tub at night?”

“I always study the background of my clients. It’s little things like a bath-anight habit that makes my work easy. Is he alone when he takes the tub or does a guard stay with him?”

O’Brien hesitated, but not for long. He was being threatened with something much worse than his own death.

“He’s alone.”

“Describe the bathroom, please.”

“It’s like any other bathroom. It’s on the second floor. There’s one very small window with a bar. There’s a shower, a cupboard, a tub and a toilet.”

“Has the shower curtains?”

“You’re wasting your time, Ferrari. Don’t kid yourself. You couldn’t get into the bathroom. A mouse couldn’t get in without being seen. We’ve really got this setup organized.”

Ferrari wrinkled his upper lip into a sneer.

“I can get in. I’ve cased the joint already. There’s nothing to it. I walked around the joint this morning.”

“You’re lying!” O’Brien said, shaken.

“Think so? Okay, I’m lying.” Ferrari ran his bony finger down the length of his nose. “Before Weiner takes a tub is the bathroom searched?”

“Of course it is.”

“Who searches it?”

“Whoever’s in charge for the night.”

“When are you in charge, sergeant?”

O’Brien drew in a deep breath

“Tomorrow night.”

“I was hoping you’d say that. Now listen carefully: here’s what you do. When Werner’s ready for his tub, carry out the search in the usual way, but be damned careful how you look in the shower cabinet. That’s where I’ll be. Understand?”

O’Brien wiped the sweat off his face with his handkerchief.

“You don’t know what you’re saying. You can’t get into the bathroom. I don’t believe you’ve been up there! The road’s guarded so tight a cat couldn’t get through without being seen.”

“I didn’t go by the road,” Ferrari returned. “I went up the cliff.”

“You’re lying! No one could get up that cliff without ropes and tackle!”

Ferrari smiled.

“You’re forgetting I have a certain talent for climbing.”

O’Brien remembered then he had heard that Ferrari’s parents had been circus acrobats, and Ferrari had been trained for the circus. Years ago he had earned a lot of money as ‘The Human Fly’, giving exhibitions of fantastically difficult and dangerous climbs. He had once stopped the traffic on Broadway when he had climbed the face of the Empire State Building for a publicity stunt.

“I shall be there, sergeant,” Ferrari went on. “Make no mistake about it. Can I rely on you?”

O’Brien started to say something, then stopped.

“Some hesitation?” Ferrari said mildly. “I’m surprised. After all, who is Weiner? A cheap, treacherous little crook. You’re not going to risk the fife of your nice little son, are you, for a punk like Weiner?”

“We’ll leave my son out of it,” O’Brien said hoarsely.

“I wish we could, but I have to be certain I can rely on you. You know I never bluff, don’t you, sergeant? It’s his life or Werner’s. Please yourself.”

O’Brien stared helplessly at the dreadful little man, watching him. If Ferrari said it was his son’s life or Weiner’s, he meant exactly that. O’Brien knew there was nothing he could do to prevent Ferrari either killing his son or killing Weiner. He knew that Ferrari wouldn’t give him a chance to kill him: he was far too cunning and quick for O’Brien. Ferrari had never failed to make good a threat. There was no reason to suppose he would fail this time.

“And let’s get this straight,” Ferrari went on. “Don’t try to set a trap for me. Maybe it’ll come off, but I promise you your son won’t live five minutes after you’ve betrayed me. From now on every move he makes will be watched. If anything happens to me, he will be killed. I don’t want to sound dramatic, but that’s the exact situation. You play straight with me, and I’ll play straight with you. Can I rely on you?”

O’Brien knew it was a straightforward, simple situation; he had to make a decision on his son’s life or Weiner’s.

“Yes,” he said in a voice that had suddenly hardened. “You can rely on me.”

III

Conrad had not been entirely correct when he had told Forest that Frances and Pete had fallen in love with each other.

Pete had certainly fallen in love with Frances. Love was something he had never before experienced, and it reacted on him with a tremendous impact.

But he realized the experience could be but short-lived, and could never come to fruition. He had no illusions about Maurer’s power. He had been safe now for eight days, and this he considered to be a major miracle. He knew there could not be many days left for him to live: the margin, as the hours passed, was whittling away. Before very long Maurer would strike, and the combined vigilance of the police guards, Conrad’s careful planning and the supposed inaccessibility of the hunting lodge would then be proved to be as flimsy a protection as a thin veil held up to ward off the scorching flame of a blow lamp.

Pete’s discovery of love came to him with an added poignancy because he knew it would be so short-lived, and he realized the experience would only be a kind of waking dream in which his imagination would play the major role.

Whenever he caught sight of Frances when she sat in the walled-in garden and he stood at the window of his room, he conjured up vivid scenes in his mind of what they could have done together, how they might have lived, the house they might have owned, the children they might have shared if there had been no such man as Maurer to make such mind images impossible.

He was quite stunned then when Conrad told him that he could talk to Frances if he wished.

“She seems to think you saved her life,” Conrad said, moving about the big room where Pete slept. “She wants to talk to you. Well, I have no objection — have you?”

Looking at the thin, narrow-shouldered young fellow with his serious eyes and the livid birth-mark across the right side of his face, Conrad suddenly realized that perhaps a girl like Frances could fall in love with such a man.

During the week Conrad had been staying at the lodge, seeing Frances every day, he had come to love her more each time he saw her. She seemed to him, especially now she was no longer angry with him, to be the exact antithesis of Janey. Her voice, her movements, her eyes, even the way she moved her hands, expressed a kindness and an understanding for which Conrad had unconsciously been groping all his life.

Janey had bitterly disappointed him. She took everything and gave nothing in return, but even then he might have been content to have an outlet for his affection had she not demanded more and more attention as if she were determined to find out the exact depth of his love.

The depth was deep enough, but it revolted against Janey’s unreasonableness and her selfish and constant demands.

Frances wouldn’t be like that, Conrad told himself. Experience had opened his eyes. He wished he had his time over again, and he cursed himself for being such a fool to have persuaded Janey to marry him.

His love for Frances had the same poignancy as Pete’s, for he believed, like Pete believed, that his love would never come to fruition. Instead of Maurer standing in the way as in Pete’s case, it was Janey.

Conrad had made the mistake that Frances’s interest in Pete was founded on love when in fact it was founded on compassion.

Frances wasn’t in love with Pete, but she was sorry for him, and in a girl of her sensibility, pity was as strong, if not stronger, than love.

She knew he had had the chance to kill her. He had had the weapon and the opportunity. He had been ordered to kill her, and he had risked his own life by staying his hand. That act made a great impression on her, and the fact that the crude naevus that disfigured his face must have embittered and soured his life made her want very much to try to make up in kindness for the years of bitterness he must have suffered.

When they met in the garden on the afternoon of the day Conrad had talked to Forest, Frances was very kind and sweet to Pete. They talked as other young people will talk to each other for the first time. They were shy and hesitant, groping for common ground.

It wasn’t an easy meeting. They were sharply aware of the guards who patrolled the garden and who watched Pete with stony hard eyes.

Pete was painfully conscious of his birth-mark; he sat on Frances’s right, and he kept his face turned so she shouldn’t see the birth-mark. When he did turn to

look at her, his hand went instinctively to cover the mark.

Frances felt that this embarrassment was a slight on her own feelings, and after they had talked for a little while, she said suddenly, “That mark on your face is called a naevus, isn’t it?”

He flinched and blood rushed to his face, and his eyes suddenly angry and hurt, searched for the slightest hint that she was about to bait him.

But he couldn’t mistake the kindness he saw in her eyes nor the sudden friendly smile she gave him.

“I want to talk about it,” she said quietly. “Because it so embarrasses you, and it shouldn’t. I believe you think it shocks me, but it doesn’t. Don’t you realize when I’m talking to you I look beyond that, and I don’t really see it?”

Pete stared at her, and he was convinced at once that she was speaking sincerely. He realized she had said something he had longed to hear said by someone — anyone — but had never believed he would hear it. He was so moved he had to turn his head while he struggled to control his feelings.

He felt her hand on his arm.

“I didn’t mean to upset you, but isn’t there something that could be done about it? I’ve read, I’m sure, that people can be cured. Haven’t you thought about it?”

“I guess so,” he said, not looking at her. “It means an operation, and I’ve got some blood condition that makes an operation unsafe.” He swung around to face her. “But never mind about me. I want to talk about you. I’ve never met a girl like you before. You’re real and kind and decent.” He looked down at her hand, still on his arm. “You don’t mind touching me. What a fool I’ve been! If I’d met you before I wouldn’t have done what I’ve done. It was because the way people treated me, the way they looked at me, that I hooked up with the gang.” He moved closer to her. “But never mind that either. I’ve got to tell you something. This guy Conrad wants you to give evidence against Maurer. You’ve got to realize what I’m saying is right. I know. Don’t listen to Conrad or any of these coppers. They don’t know; they only think they do. They think you saw Maurer at Dead End. Now listen, I don’t want to know if you saw him or if you didn’t see him. The thing that matters is you must never admit having seen him; not to me, nor Conrad, nor anyone; not even to your mother or your father. You must never admit you saw him; not even to yourself! You stand a slight chance of keeping alive so long as you say nothing. It’s not much of a chance, but it is a chance. But understand this: if you let Conrad persuade you to tell him what you know — if you know anything — then no power on earth can save you!”

Frances was a little shaken by his tense fierceness, but she wasn’t frightened. Conrad had explained the impossibility of anyone reaching her, and she had been impressed by the precautions he had taken.

“I know I can’t stay here for ever,” she said, “but so long as I’m here, I’m safe, and so are you.”

Pete stared at her blankly.

“Safe? Here? Of course we’re not safe! Do you imagine Maurer couldn’t reach either of us if he wanted to? How many guards are there here? Twenty? If there were a hundred, they wouldn’t stop Maurer. No one has ever survived when he has given the word for him to the. No one! You don’t know that guy. The moment he failed to make good a threat, the Syndicate would wipe him out. It’s his life or ours, and it won’t be his.”

“Aren’t you letting your imagination run away with you?” Frances asked. “Of course we’re safe here. Mr. Conrad has shown me the precautions he has taken. No one could get near us.”

Pete clenched his fists and beat them on his knees.

“Maurer can go through those guards like a hot knife through butter. I didn’t want to tell you this, but I’m going to, because you’ve got to realize what you’re up against. When I warned you about Moe I disobeyed an order, and Maurer can’t afford to let me live. If he lets me get away with it, some of the others will start disobeying his orders. That’s why I talked to Conrad. I was buying a little time. I didn’t tell him much, but enough for him to hold me. But in a while Maurer will get me. My time’s running out. I’m not kidding myself. I haven’t much longer to live; maybe an hour, maybe three or four days, but not longer.”

Frances suddenly felt sick. Although Pete spoke calmly, she could see the terror in his eyes. It was this terror that convinced her he believed what he was telling her.

“But they can’t get at you,” she said, gripping his arm. “You mustn’t be frightened. How can they get at you?”

“Of course they can, and they will. When they’re ready to take me. they’ll take me.”

“But how?” Frances asked. “With all these policemen watching you…”

Pete threw out his hands in despair.

“Do you think I trust any of them? If Maurer offered them enough money one of them would sell me out. Maurer could buy them all if he wanted to. When the time comes for him to take me, he’ll pay them to look the other way. It’s been done before, and it will be done again.”

“But he can’t get at them!” Frances pointed out. “Mr. Conrad assured me these policemen are incorruptible.”

“Yeah, he assured me that too. I don’t even trust him. He might be the one to sell me out for all I know.”

“Oh, that’s nonsense,” Frances said sharply. “I don’t believe that for a moment. You are letting your imagination run away with you.”

“When I am dead,” Pete said quietly, “please remember what I’ve told you. And please remember your only chance to survive is to say nothing. If Conrad persuades you to tell him what he wants to know, no one, no power on earth, can save you. Please remember that. No one, do you understand? The organization will never let you reach the witness-box. So say nothing, admit nothing, and there may be a chance that Maurer will believe you do know nothing and you’ll survive. It’s your only chance. Please, please, remember this.”

“Yes, of course,” Francis said soothingly. “But you’re not going to the. You mustn’t think that.”

Pete stood up abruptly.

“You’ll see,” he said. “Time’s running out. There’s one other tiling I want to say: you’re the only girl who’s ever been kind to me — ever, and I love you for it. You’ve given me more happiness in the short while we’ve been together than I’ve ever had in my life.”

While he was speaking, Conrad came across the lawn towards them, and Pete abruptly turned away and walked quickly to the house. Three of his guards went after him. By the time he had reached the entrance to the hunting lodge, they

were close on his heels.

Frances sat staring after Pete, her face a little pale, and her eyes troubled. She didn’t look up as Conrad joined her.

“What’s wrong, Miss Coleman?” he asked. “You look worried.”

She looked up then.

“He doesn’t believe he is safe.”

“I know.” Conrad sat down beside her and lit a cigarette. “He’s a neurotic type. After he’s been here a few weeks, he’ll begin to realize just how safe he is. It’s an extraordinary thing what suggestion will do. He’s so convinced Maurer is all-powerful that no amount of persuasion can make him think otherwise. But don’t worry about him. He’ll be all right.”

She looked at him gratefully. His quiet voice gave her confidence.

“Will I be all right too?”

Conrad smiled.

“Of course, but with you I have a special problem. I can’t keep you here much longer. I shall soon have to think what I’m going to do with you.” He looked down at his hands, frowning. “The solution to your problem, and to Werner’s for that matter, would be the arrest of Maurer. Once I have got him behind bars, there would be little danger to you both. I could then hold you both as material witnesses and protect you until after the trial. When Maurer’s convicted, I could arrange for you to go to Europe until all the fuss has died down. You could then come back and start your life over again and in perfect safety. But I can’t get a conviction against Maurer unless you’ll give evidence against him.”

He saw her immediately stiffen.

“I have a hunch you did see Maurer at Dead End,” he went on before she could speak. “I believe you have a very personal reason for avoiding the inevitable publicity of the trial. Isn’t this something we can discuss? Couldn’t you trust me and let me help you?”

Frances didn’t say anything. She had gone a shade paler and her hands began to tremble.

“Now look,” he went on quietly, “we’re alone together. No one can hear what we’re saying. There are no witnesses. Won’t you take me into your confidence? Forget I’m a police officer. Let’s talk as private individuals. Put your cards on the table and let me advise you. I give you my word I won’t use anything you tell me unless you say so. I can’t be fairer than that, can I?”

He saw her hesitate, and for a brief moment he began to hope he was at last going to succeed.

But Frances was thinking of what Pete had said: The thing that matters is you must never admit having seen him: not to me; nor to Conrad, nor anyone; not even to your mother or your father. You must never admit you saw him; not even to yourself! You stand a slight chance of keeping alive so long as you say nothing. But understand this: if you let Conrad persuade you to tell him what you know — if you know anything — then no power on earth can save you!

She stood up.

“I have nothing to tell you. If you don’t mind I’ll go in now. I’m finding the sun rather hot.”

She turned and walked back towards the house, leaving Conrad staring after her.