Three to Conquer

12. Every Hour Counts

The warehouse proved to be an ancient but solid red-brick building with six heavily barred and shuttered windows, and a cumbersome steel door. Two cars were lined up outside, and three police were standing defeatedly nearby.

“We’ve three men waiting around the back,” one of them told Norris. “The place is locked. Nobody answers the bell; no sounds inside. Looks like it’s empty.”

“Then we’ll break through the door.”

It took some time to do that, but they managed without overmuch damage. Not a soul lurked within. The first floor held a number of flat glass showcases exhibiting costume jewelry arrayed on black velvet. The floor above was littered with light crates and cardboard cartons, some full, some empty. A small office of clapboard and plastiglass stood in a comer.

Entering the office, Norris moved around carefully, and said to one of the police, “Fetch the fingerprint man. Given enough luck, we may be able to discover who was waiting here.” To Harper, he added, “It takes a professional criminal to wipe a place clean of prints—and the characters we’re after don’t fall into that category.”

He went to the desk and slid out its drawers. The contents were not enlightening—mostly billheads, invoices and other business items. A metal filing cabinet proved no more informative.

“Tell you one thing,” remarked Harper, sniffing the air. “The Baums and their associates seem fond of cold-cure.”

“What makes you say that?” asked Norris.

“Ambrose had a faint odor. So did Philip. And I can smell it again here.”

Norris twitched his nostrils a couple of times. “Your sense of smell must be a great deal sharper than mine.”

“People vary that way; so do dogs. I can detect it, all right, and I know what it is.”

“What is it?”

“Eucalyptus."-

“Well, that’s mighty useful,” commented Norris sardonically. “Now all we need do is track down somebody stinking of eucalyptus.”

“You could do worse,” Harper opined. “Three smellers in a row, and in one day, means something. Like tobacco. If I’m in a deep forest and smell burning tobacco, I know a man is somewhere near.”

“So—?”

“Maybe somebody likes eucalyptus.”

Norris frowned at him and reached for the telephone, handling it delicately so as not to spoil any latent prints. He dialled, spoke to someone.

“This is no more than a wild guess, but you’d better note it: check all suspects for an odor of eucalyptus.” He racked the instrument and admitted, “It would sound silly to me if this entire business wasn’t so crazy.

“Not being a full-time Sherlock,” said Harper, “I tend to miss things that are obvious to you, but spot others that you may overlook. For instance, what’s the scientific conclusion to be drawn from a liking for eucalyptus?”

“I don’t know.”

“That elsewhere the natural prey is vegetarian and feeds on aromatic shrubs, its favorite food being something akin to eucalyptus. So here the host feels a need, born of centuries of conditioning. In other words, they’ve found a local drug that reminds them of home.”

“What the devil are you talking about?”

“Sorry; I forgot you’ve been told only part of the story,” said Harper. “You’ve got to know the whole of it to guess the way I’m guessing.”

“Eucalyptus isn’t a drug,” declared Norris, baffled.

“Not to us, it isn’t. God knows what it is to some other guppies.”

“Look, did you sniff the stuff when you shot that girl?”

“No; I didn’t go near enough, or hang around long enough. Her case being the first, I was in a jam, had to get out fast, had no time or inclination to look for what I suspect only now.”

“Humph!” Norris thought a bit, resorted to the phone again, called the Baum house and spoke to Rausch. “We’re out of luck here. The bird had flown.” He listened to some comment from the other end, then continued, “Harper smells eucalyptus, says the Baums smelled of it, too. I didn’t notice it. Did you?”

Rausch said, “Yes. But I thought nothing of it.”

Cutting off, Norris observed, “I should have my nasal passages irrigated.”

“This is important,” Harper pointed out. “Ambrose and Philip carried the odor. Whoever was here reeked of it. Maybe they stumbled across the stuff with the same glee as a bunch of hopheads discovering a field of Mexican hemp. If so, they’ll pass the news on.”

“Well?”

“The habit will hand humanity a small advantage. If you can’t tell what’s going on in a suspect’s mind, you can at least smell his breath.”

Norris lapsed into silence as the fingerprint man arrived and set about his business. The newcomer raised prints all over the place, most of them undoubtedly being those of the Baum brothers. When he had finished, Norris ordered, “Get them checked as quickly as possible and let me know the results.” He turned to Harper. “Momentarily we’re stalled. Let’s get back to your office.”

Morning brought news. Norris poked a head into the office and beckoned Harper away from Moira’s hearing.

“Things are beginning to break, he announced. “There were two calls to the Baum house during the night. The caller hung up immediately when Rausch answered. Both calls emanated from public booths. That means the Baums’ contact man is still in town.”

“Assuming there’s only one of them,” said Harper. “For all we know, there may be a dozen.”

“Perhaps. Anyway, we got identifiable prints out of that warehouse office. They are McDonald’s.”

“Ah! So he was waiting there?”

Norris nodded. “We missed him by minutes. Further, we’ve found that he was with the Baums in a hotel one evening. He left with them in Ambrose’s car and hasn’t been seen since. Two waiters and a bartender have identified his picture.”

“When did he pick them up?”

“Six days ago.”

“Just the time we estimated,” Harper remarked.

“We’re searching the locality for him right now,” Norris continued. “If he’s still here today, we’ll find him.”

“That may prove more difficult than you expect.”

“Why?”

“He doesn’t have to stay at a hotel or rooming house, so you’ll gain little making the rounds of those. He doesn’t have to rent an apartment. He doesn’t have to sleep out in the open.”

“Then what does he do?”

“He lives in a private house, as one of the family—having made himself one of the family.” Harper eyed him skeptically. “How are you .going to search several thousand private homes?”

“We won’t try. There are quicker ways of picking up leads.”

“How?”

“Every street has its gossip, its incurable snoop. We have enough photos of McDonald to check with every busybody for miles around. What’s more, he can’t operate while sitting in a back room, behind drawn curtains; he has to emerge sometime. If it was he who called Rausch, he went outside his hole-up to do it. He took a risk and was mighty lucky not to be recognized.”

“How about sounding the drugstores for abnormal sales of eucalyptus?”

“We’ve thought of that. Four agents are on the job.”

The phone shrilled in the office. Moira picked it up, called to them, “It’s for Mr. Norris or Mr. Rausch.”

Norris went inside, listened for a while, came back and said to Harper, “That was Jameson.”

“Anything new?”

“Yes. Langley’s dead.”

“So they caught up with him?”

“He was spotted in a stolen car at dawn. Two men were with him, Waggoner and a fellow now known to be a certain Joe Scaife. Langley and Scaife were shot dead; Waggoner used his last bullet on himself. That was about an hour ago. The big problem now is what to tell the newshawks.”

“This looks bad to me,” Harper admitted.

“Bad isn’t the word for it,” said Norris seriously. “Waggoner’s deed speaks for itself. If these reactions are any criterion, we’re up against a crazy crowd who’d far rather be killed than caught.”

“The Baums behaved the same way,” Harper reminded. “The death-before-dishonor touch.”

“It’s inhuman.”

“Of course it is! Get it into your head that we are fighting against mentalities with standards far different from yours and mine. To them, capture may seem a fate considerably worse than death.”

“Our orders are to take them alive at all costs.”

“Easier said than done.”

“Well, you’re supposed to be an ace in the pack,” Norris pointed out. “How would you go about it if you happened to find one of them—McDonald, for instance?”

Harper mulled the problem, then said, “The all-important thing would be not to let him suspect that he’d been tagged. I don’t see anything else for it but to sit around in patience and wait for a chance to knock him unconscious, or pin him down before he can make a move.”

“That comes well from the man who got Ambrose Baum on the run.”

“I had to make him react to find out who was which. McDonald’s different. We know what he looks like. We don’t have to make him betray himself; his face is sufficient giveaway.”

“True enough.”

“If it comes to that,” Harper went on, “and I could organize things my own way—which, unfortunately, I can’t—I wouldn’t try to take McDonald alive or dead. I’d let him run free.”

“Why?”

“So that he could lead me to others.”

“He wouldn’t play sucker for long,” Norris scoffed. “If you think you could exploit him for months, you’re mistaken.”

“For what reason?”

“Because there’s no darned use in him leading you to others unless you profit by it. Therefore you’d have to grab them, sooner or later. And directly his contacts start disappearing he’ll take alarm, scoot out of sight or blow his head off.” Sniffing his disdain of amateur tactics, Norris finished, “If we can capture him unscratched and intact, he’ll do all the leading we require, and whether he likes it or not. We’ll see to that!”

“Have it your own way.” Harper returned to his office, saying, “I’m going to carry on with business; otherwise it will never get done.” He squatted behind his desk, spent half an hour - considering a large bluprint, then gave ten .minutes to the long letter that had come with it. “All right, Moira, wet your pencil and be careful with the big words. I—”

Norris looked in and commanded, “Put your hat on; you’re wanted again.”

“Oh, not now, surely?” growled Harper. “I’ve important work to do.”

“You bet you have,” agreed Norris. “But you can’t do it there.”

Throwing him an ugly look, Harper said to Moira, “Much more of this and you can have the business as a gift, you being the only one left to cope with it unchivvied.”

“Hurry up!” urged Norris. “Never mind the gripes.”

Harper did as bidden, went out, followed him down to the car and clambered in.

“They think they know where McDonald has hidden himself,” Norris explained.

After a brief run, the car halted at one end of a long, tree-lined road sided by tidy bungalows. No other official cruisers were in sight as Norris pointed through the windshield and spoke.

“It’s a pink-washed house halfway down on the left. The boys are keeping clear of it so as not to raise an alarm. We’ll roll casually past. Take a look as we go by and tell me what you think.”

He shifted into gear and let the car move forward at modest pace. They trundled by the pink house, which had a close-clipped lawn in front and a garage at one side. Nobody could be seen about the place; nobody maintained a lookout from a window. Reaching the end of the road, Norris parked by the curb.

“What’s the verdict?”

“Nothing doing.”

Norris registered acute disappointment. “Are you sure of that?”

“We’ll circle around and try again, if you’re not satisfied.”

They circled.

“Nothing doing,” repeated Harper. “For all I can tell, the house is empty.” He glanced at the other. “How did you get a line on this address?”

“One of our agents went the rounds of the taxi companies, on the theory that if it was McDonald who made those calls to the Baum house, he did not walk to or from the booths. The agent found a driver who recognized McDonald’s picture, claimed to have picked him up after midnight and run him to this place.”

“After which McDonald walked around the corner and made for wherever his sanctuary really is,” Harper suggested.

“The driver saw him use a key and go in. That’s likely enough. After all, McDonald isn’t a hardened crook, wise in the ways of the underworld. He would be naive enough not to think of a taxi-trace.”

“That’s so. Anyway, all I can tell you is that he isn’t there at this moment. Maybe he’s in my office making preparations for my return. Moira wouldn’t like that. Let’s go back.”

“Bide your time,” Norris ordered. “Your correspondence can wait. It’ll wait a hell of a while when you’re dead, won’t it?”

“I’ll worry none at that stage. I don’t have to eat then.”

Taking no notice, Norris pondered a moment and decided, “I’ll take a chance on setting off the alarm.” Turning the car round, he drove to house standing next to the pink one. A middle-aged woman was at the door watching him. He beckoned to her and she crossed her lawn, examined him with beady-eyed curiosity. “Can you tell me who lives next door?” he asked, pointing.

“Mr. and Mrs. Reed.”

“Nobody else?”

“No. They have no family; they’re not the kind who would, I reckon.” She thought again, added, “They’ve a nephew staying with them just now.’ He’s from somewhere out West, so I’ve heard.”

“Would this be the nephew?” inquired Norris, showing her McDonald’s photograph.

“Yes. Only he looks a bit older than that.”

Norris took a deep breath. “How long has he been rooming there?”

“About a week.” She reconsidered, went on, “Yes, I first saw him last Thursday.” Her sharp eyes studied his plain clothes, had a look at the car. Her mind showed her to be impressed by Norris’s official tones. “Are you police?”

“If we were, we’d have said so,” Norris evaded. “We just want to make sure of the Reed’s address.”

“That’s their house all right,” she confirmed. “But you won’t find anyone in; they took their car out this morning and haven’t come back.”

“About what time did they leave?”

“Eight o’clock. And they were in a real hurry, I can tell you that.”

“Don’t happen to know where they’ve gone, do you?” put in Norris, with faint hope.

“Oh, no. They said nothing to me and I didn’t ask. I mind my own affairs and leave other people to mind theirs.”

“Quite proper of you,” said Norris. “I suppose there’s nothing for it but to come back later when they’re in.”

“Heaven knows when that will be,” she volunteered. “They took a lot of luggage with them. It gave me the idea that they were going for quite a piece.”

Norris asked, “Have they any friends locally who might put us in touch with them?”

“Not that I know of,” she answered. “Those Reeds aren’t’ overly sociable and became even less so after that nephew arrived. In fact, if you ask me, they’ve been downright surly these last few days. Wouldn’t speak unless spoken to, and then said no more than they could help. Acted as if I were a complete stranger to them—me, who’s lived next door for twelve years. It made me wonder what on earth had come over them. That nephew had something to do with it, I’m sure.”

Harper put in, “Who told you that he was their nephew?”

“Mrs. Reed. I said to her, ‘Who’s the young man?’ and she gave me a sharp look and snapped, ‘Just a nephew’.”

“Thanks for the information,” said Norris. He got the car going while she remained on the lawn and showed deep disappointment at giving so much and learning so little.

“If that female minds her own business,” remarked Harper, as they rounded the end comer, “how much might we get out of someone who doesn’t?”

Norris grunted and offered no comment.

“What do you propose to do about McDonald?” Harper pursued. “Are you going to stake this place as thoroughly as you’ve staked mine?”

“It has been watched continually since nine o’clock, but evidently we started an hour too late. And although you saw no sign of the fact, it’s still under observation.” He weaved the car through traffic, went on, “First thing is to get the tag-number of the Reed car from the vehicle registration bureau and put out a general call for it. The second step is to have that house searched, on some pretext or other. The third is to find how and where McDonald picked up the Reeds and, more important, whether he’s had contact with anyone else besides the Reeds and the Baums. Lastly, I want to know how he’s managed to smuggle himself out of this area. Maybe he’s hidden somewhere nearby.”

“We’ll soon learn.” Norris drove another mile, asked, “Well, what are you thinking about?”

“Langley’s dead. McDonald’s not too far away, and now being sought.”

“What of it?”

“Strange that there hasn’t been a whisper about the third fellow, Gould.”

“No, there hasn’t,” Norris admitted. “He appears to have vanished into thin air. That proves nothing except that luck run better with some than with others.”

“If it is luck.”

“What do you mean?”

“It doesn’t have to be luck. Perhaps he’s the cleverest of the three, a really crafty character. If so, he is also the most dangerous.”

“He’ll fall over his own feet eventually,” Norris assured. “They always do!”

“I’ve been the subject of a nation-wide hunt myself,” Harper pointed out. “Admittedly, it wasn’t so urgent and intensive—but I had to jump around plenty to stay free. I know what it means to be on the run, which is more than you do, always having been the chaser and never the chased. The man who can disappear like Gould is good. He’s too good for comfort.”

“That won’t save him forever.”

“We haven’t got forever. Time is running short. Every day, every hour counts against us.” He shoved open the door as they halted at their destination. “You know only as much as they’ve seen fit to tell you. I’ll tell you something more.”

“What’s that?”

“If progress proves too slow for success, if we’re compelled to face defeat, you’ll have another bird’s egg in your mental nest before the new year. You’ll be really cuckoo, in a new and novel sense of the term. Just like everyone else. At least you’ll be in the fashion—when it’s the latest thing to be one of the walking dead!”