Time for Murder

Chapter One Brokay Goes West

George Brokay latchkeyed the front door of his palatial residence, where he maintained de luxe bachelor quarters. There was a yawn twisting his lips, and complete boredom in his eyes.

The hour was but five minutes after midnight, which was no time for a wealthy, eligible young bachelor to be returning home. And George Brokay was doing it only because he could think of no better place to go.

His hand reached for the light switch and was almost on the point of pushing the button, when he noticed a ribbon of light coming from under the side of a doorway at the end of the hall.

He paused, staring at the ribbon of light.

Grigsby, the butler, should have retired long since. Brokay had left specific orders that his valet was not to wait up for him. There was, therefore, no good reason why anyone should he in the library. Yet, unmistakably, a light was burning in there, and, as Brokay watched the strip of yellow which showed beneath the door, he saw moving shadows cross it.

There was someone in the room; someone who was moving.

Brokay stepped silently into the little den which was at the left of the corridor. He noiselessly opened the drawer of a desk and took out an automatic. Moving as silently as a shadow, he slipped through the dark corridor and paused, with his hand on the knob of the door to the library.

He listened and could hear nothing.

He turned the knob slowly, exerting pressure on the door as he did so, so that the latch would give no audible click. When he felt the knob turn as far as it would go, he pulled on the door, opening it an inch at a time.

The door swung back upon well-oiled hinges. Brokay, the wicked-looking automatic held in his right hand, kept to one side so that he could see through the opening of the door.

The portion of the library which was visible through the partially opened door was the corner which contained the wall safe. The panel which concealed the safe had been swung open. A man was standing in front of it, moving with swiftly silent rapidity.

Brokay watched him with fascination.

The man took a cake of soft yellow laundry soap, kneeded the soap into a cup-shaped container, which he fastened to the door of the safe, just at the point where the door joined the body of the safe. Then, with deft fingers, he pressed the soap along the crack between the door and the safe. The man’s fingers moved so swiftly and so capably that Brokay realized he was watching a master workman.

It was when the man bent to a leather satchel on the floor and took out a bottle of thick, slightly yellowish, viscid liquid, and was about to pour a measure of that liquid into the cup-shaped container at the top of the safe, that Brokay announced his presence.

“Don’t move,” he said.

The man was facing the safe, the bottle held in his right hand. The cork had been removed. As Brokay spoke, the man froze into immobility, without moving so much as a muscle.

Brokay, who had rather expected the man to give a guilty start, to whirl and face him with terror upon a countenance grayed with fear, thought that perhaps the man had not heard him.

“I said don’t move,” Brokay repeated. “I’ve got you covered with a gun. I’m rather expert in its use. I most certainly shall drill you right through the back if you make any sudden moves or try to escape.”

The man still kept his back turned and spoke over his shoulder.

“Don’t ever do that again,” he said.

“Don’t ever do what?” asked Brokay, puzzled and interested at the well-modulated tone of the man’s voice.

“Don’t ever interrupt a box-man when he’s pouring ‘soup’ into a box. I was just getting ready to make a jamb-shot, and you came along and pulled that line of yours. Don’t you know that there’s enough nitroglycerine in this bottle to blow all of us to Kingdom Come? It would wreck the house. If I dropped it, it would probably go off. There wouldn’t be two sticks left standing around here. They wouldn’t find enough of us to be able to tell what had happened. You couldn’t even have a funeral.”

“Well,” Brokay said, “what of it?”

“I’m just telling you,” the man said, “don’t ever do that again.”

Slowly and deliberately he inserted a cork in the bottle, stooped and put the bottle back in the bag. During all of this time, he had kept his back turned to Brokay.

There was a twinkle of lazy humor in Brokay’s eyes. “Be very careful with your hands,” he said, “when you take them out of that bag. I’d hate to have to shoot you.”

The man straightened, turned toward Brokay, presenting a face that was quick and alert, eyes that were a dark brown, and dancing with excitement.

“Don’t worry,” he said, “I know when I’m caught. But you haven’t got me in the hands of the police yet. I’ve been in tighter positions than this before.”

“Would you mind,” Brokay asked with genuine curiosity in his voice, “telling me exactly what you expected to find in that safe?”

“Oh, just a few trinkets,” the man said.

“Did you have any specific article in mind?” Brokay inquired.

“No. Why?”

“Nothing,” Brokay said, “only, I suppose there’s no harm in telling you now, I happen to have a very valuable diamond necklace that I put in that safe yesterday.”

“Wouldn’t that have been a break for me!” the man said.

“And no one tipped you off?” Brokay inquired.

“Not a soul. That’s on the level. I was just on the prowl, and this joint looked easy to me. I figured that a young, good-looking bachelor like you, who had inherited a million and boosted that million to about five million by good business judgment, was pretty likely to have a lot of stuff hanging around the house. In other words,” figured you’d be careless with money.

“It’s rather interesting, in case you’re at all interested in psychology. A person who has acquired money by scrimping and saving doesn’t usually have anything valuable around the house unless he’s one of the kind that distrusts the banks and hoards his money. A sap that makes money easily and rapidly gets careless with things. He’s very much inclined to get pieces of value and leave them hanging around in safes that don’t offer much more protection against a burglar than a bread box.”

“Look here,” Brokay said suddenly, “you’re no ordinary crook!”

“Who said I was?” asked the burglar.

“You’re talking, of course,” Brokay said, “to gain time. You’re simply stalling for a break. You figure that if you can get my interest, you’re going to delay my call for the police.”

The burglar laughed, and there was genuine amusement in his laugh.

“And,” Brokay went on, “you’ve got rather a magnetic personality. You think that if you can engage me in conversation and get me to have a liking for you, I won’t be quite so ready to pull the trigger when you rush me.”

The smile faded from the man’s face. “Listen, brother,” he said, “you’re too good a mind reader. No wonder you made four or five million bucks in a couple of years.”

“Apparently, you’ve looked up quite a bit of my history,” Brokay told him.

“Oh, sure, we always do that. We know the kind of a lay we’re running into before we crack the joint.”

Brokay suddenly lowered the gun. “Look here,” he said, “suppose I’d make a bargain with you?”

“What sort of a bargain?” asked the man, his eyes suddenly hard and appraising.

“A bargain by which you can gain your freedom,” Brokay said. “I wouldn’t call the police.”

The man’s eyes studied Brokay’s face carefully. “I suppose,” he said, “some jane’s got some letters of yours. You want me to bust into her apartment and rob the safe, or something of that sort.”

“No,” George Brokay said, “the thing that I have in mind is something entirely different.”

“Well, let’s hear it.”

“What’s your name?” Brokay asked.

“You can call me West — Sam West,” said the burglar.

“Is that your name?”

“If you don’t like West, you can call me East — William East would be a good name. Or, there’s nothing wrong with North — you might call me Carl North.”

“I think I’ll call you Sam West,” Brokay said.

“O. K., chief. Now tell me what’s on your mind.”

Brokay abruptly tossed the gun to the big library table, crossed the room to an overstuffed leather chair, dropped into it and put his feet on a footstool.

“Sit down, West,” he said, “and have a cigarette.”

Sam West’s eyes slithered across to the gun.

“Listen,” he said, “you’re taking chances. We’re playing opposite sides of this game, you and I, and you haven’t put me on my honor, or anything of that sort, so let’s not have any misunderstandings.”

Brokay gestured toward the gun. “Go ahead and pick it up if you want to,” he said. “I’m not going to turn you over to the police, anyway.”

Sam West edged slightly further toward the table.

“Go on with your proposition,” he said.

“You know about me,” Brokay said. “I inherited some money. My uncle, who left me that money, had skimped and slaved all of his life. He left me more than a million dollars, but he lived like a pauper. He didn’t get any good out of his money. I took his money and started investing it. I didn’t invest it in stocks and bonds, the way my uncle had; I invested it in little business ventures, where I took a chance on my judgment of character and human nature. I made a lot more money. Then there was nothing else to do. I’ve got more money than I need. I drift around like a butterfly. I go to balls and teas. I dance and talk. I clip coupons, and ride horseback. I travel in the best social circles in the city. And what has it done to me?”

Sam West let his right hand slide over to the top of the table, so that it was within some two feet of the gun. “I’ll bite,” he said, his eyes hard and glittering. “What has it done?”

“It’s made me bored with life,” George Brokay said. “It’s made me feel like an old man, when I’m not yet thirty. Now, what I want is to get away from the whole damn business. I want to have some adventure; I want to have some fun. I want to have some excitement. That’s the reason I’m making this proposition to you.”

“What’s the proposition?” West asked.

“I want to become a burglar,” Brokay said.

Sam West, whose hand had slid across the table until it was less than a foot from the butt of the gun, became rigidly immobile. “You what!” he asked.

“I want to become a burglar,” Brokay said. “You’re getting a great kick out of life; you’re living a life of excitement; you’re matching your wits against the police; you’re taking chances all the time.”

“You’re taking chances on getting put away for a long, long time in the big house,” Sam West said bitterly. “Did you ever stop to think what that would mean? Locked in a stone cell with iron bars staring you in the eyes all the time? No women — no life — no action — no variety — no—”

“That’s exactly it,” Brokay said. “That’s what makes the game so interesting. If there wasn’t a big penalty if you lost, there wouldn’t be so much fun winning. That’s why I can’t get a kick out of gambling. No matter how much I lose, I still have plenty left. Money means nothing to me.”

“By God!” Sam West said, his eyes staring intently into Brokay’s steady, gray eyes, “I believe you mean it!”

“Of course I mean it,” George Brokay said.

Sam West abruptly leaned forward and picked up the gun from the table. He snapped the mechanism back far enough to make sure that there was a cartridge in the chamber.

Brokay laughed at him. “Now what are you going to do?” he asked.

Sam West pocketed the gun. His eyes were glittering. “I’m going to ask you a couple of questions,” he said.

“Go ahead and ask them.”

“Who do you want to rob?”

“Oh, anyone,” Brokay said.

“What do you want to do with the stuff?”

“I’d send it back after I’d stolen it,” Brokay said carelessly. “Or give it to you, or give it to some poor panhandler I met on the street, and then I’d send the man I’d robbed a check for about twice the value of the stuff I’d taken, so that he wouldn’t be losing anything.”

“A check would hardly be advisable,” Sam West said, a smile twisting the corners of his mouth.

“Well,” Brokay told him, “we could leave him the money on his doorstep or send it to him by messenger, or break into the house again and drop it in a bureau drawer. I don’t care how he gets it, just so he gets it.”

He made an impatient gesture.

“Can’t you get the point?” he said. “I’m fed up with life. I’m a good judge of character. I look at you and see in you a man who is living an existence that is outside the law. From a moral standpoint, it’s probably wicked. You’ll probably wind up by being killed, executed or imprisoned. But I can see from the expression on your face that you’re enjoying life while you’re living, and I’d like to enjoy life with you for a while.”

“And,” said Sam West, “you don’t know one single thing about me, or who I am, or where I come from.”

“I have invested a great deal of money during the past few years,” Brokay said, “because of my ability to judge character. I can see that you’re no ordinary crook. I don’t know your history and I don’t care to. All I want is a partner in excitement.”

Sam West suddenly strode across the room, his hand outstretched. “O. K., chief,” he said, “you’ve made a sale.”

The two men shook hands.

“And,” Brokay said, “I want to start tonight.”

Sam West slipped a leather-covered notebook from his pocket, turned the pages, read a notation, then looked up at Brokay and grinned.

“No questions asked?” he inquired.

“No questions asked,” Brokay said.

“O. K.,” Sam West told him. “Put your hat back on. We’re going out.”