by Jerry eBooks
Was I sure? Was I crazy? A dead man’s writing, in his own blood!
I looked again. Yes, it was there. “C-O-L.” You could pass it off as a bloody smear if you weren’t standing where I was.
Doyle carefully picked up the gun beside Ordway and showed it to the girl.
“Your father’s gun?”
She looked at it and nodded.
“It hasn’t been fired,” Doyle said. He gave me, suddenly, that bulldog look. “I want to see your apartment, Ames.”
“Okay.” I shrugged.
I stopped by the girl on the way out.
“Miss Ingles—I mean Miss Ordway,” I said, “I’m just a lad who wants to helps you. You’ve got to believe that!”
She had her hand over her eyes and didn’t look up.
“Come on, Hennessy,” Doyle said. “Cobb, you stay here.”
When we reached my apartment, the cop began to prowl around like a movie dick looking for clues.
“Isn’t a search warrant in order for this sort of thing?” I said.
Doyle smiled.
“Did you have a search warrant when you climbed through that window upstairs?” I shut up and watched Doyle snoop around. He picked up something from my dresser. It was my ticket north.
“You were figuring on leaving town,” he accused.
“Yeah,” I said. “I got a job coming up in Seattle.”
“You’re not going anywhere, Ames,” he answered as he shook his head. “Joan Ordway’s swearing out a trespassing charge.” Hennessy plowed into the room.
“Chief, I found this pushed down back of the cushions in the davenport.”
HE HELD it by the muzzle—a .38. While Doyle examined it, I stared stupidly. I could see it had been fired.
“She says trespassing,” I thought out loud. “So now you make it really what she’s thinking. Murder!”
Doyle wrapped the gun in his handkerchief.
“Don’t talk if you don’t want to,” he advised. “Is this your gun?”
I shook my head.
“I hate guns. Ever since the war.”
Doyle gave me a keen look. “You a war vet?”
I nodded. They looked at me a while, and I got the idea of what a third degree is like. Then Hennessy whispered in Doyle’s ear, but so loud I caught it:
“Maybe he’s one of these psycho-neurotics.”
“Quiet, Hennessy.” Then he spoke to me, but not unkindly, “Ames, you’re in a tight spot. I’ll have to book you as a material witness.”
“That means,” I said, “I go to the jug.” He nodded.
“Hennessy, stay here till he finishes dressing. I’m going upstairs and check this gun with the M.E.”
He went out. I sat down on the bed and started putting on my shoes. Directly in front of me the cop leaned against the dresser. He had one leg crossed over the other, loosely. That’s when the idea came to me.
The girl thought I was guilty. The cops could hold me in the clink till this whole mess was cleared up. I had to prove her wrong. And I couldn’t prove it in the clink.
I finished with my shoes and then, still with my head down, I reached out, grabbed Hennessy by the ankles, and pulled him violently off his feet. He came down fast with a thok. I swarmed over him, ready to land the kayo punch. It wasn’t needed. The back of his head had hit the dresser coming down. Hard. He was out cold.
I was in it now up to my neck. Housebreaking and resisting arrest. They would throw the book at me, and that gun along with it. But who had planted the .38 in my apartment wasn’t so important right now. Those blue eyes usptairs were on my mind, I had to prove how wrong she was.
I went out the window, down the fire-escape, along the court, and out through the back alley. I knew a hideout where I wouldn’t be disturbed.
Hatch Welton’s flat was five blocks away. I saw a light under his door as I went down the dark hall. He looked sleepily surprised when he let me in. I shut the door, locked it.
“If anybody asks, I’m not here. I’m just not around.”
His slow brain told hold of that.
“What’s up, Bill? You been evicted?”
“That’s one way of putting it.”
He sat down, a puzzled look on his face, “If you don’t wanta talk about it, Bill, it’s okay with me.”
I saw it was getting late and I had a lot of thinking to do.
“I’ll flop here on the couch, Hatch,” I said. “And don’t worry. Everything’ll pan out all right.”
“I wonder,” he said. “You got a genius for getting into trouble. Now if you’d just get married and settle down—”
“Not a chance. Women”—my mind was on a certain blonde—“are dangerous. Good night, Hatch, and don’t believe everything you read in the papers.”
I tossed for an hour before I dropped off. About all that thinking did was tire me out. It didn’t solve a thing.”
Hatch woke me up the next morning. He was standing there with the morning paper in his hand.
“I mighta known it,” he said. “Not just fun. You gotta get mixed up in murders.”
“I told you not to believe everything you read in the papers,” I said.
But there it was on the front page. John Ordway, the murdered man, had been a professional buyer for a wealthy collector of valuable gems. He had come West to purchase one of the world’s most perfect diamonds, the Paris Star, from a private owner. Although Ordway had tried to keep the story quiet, a reporter had broken it, and then trouble had begun for John Ordway and his daughter Joan.
A bodyguard Ordway had hired had been slugged and laid up in the hospital. Once, while father and daughter had been out, their hotel rooms had been ransacked. Followed wherever they went, they had done some fancy dodging around while waiting for plane reservations east, and had ended up at Marlow Manor under the name of Ingles. Where the tragic climax had been reached.
THE Paris Star was gone. So was the murderer, or murderers. One police theory was that “Professor” Tobin might be in on it. Tobin had been tagged Professor by the police because he looked like a lean and hungry college teacher, but actually, he was a slick jewel thief with a dozen aliases. A master at impersonation and disguise.
The Paris Star would have been big game for Tobin, who was mean enough to kill, or hire killers, to get what he wanted. And me? Sure. Bill Ames was ones of the murder suspects.
After Hatch left in his cab, I paced the floor and smoked cigarettes in a chain. Maybe I’d been a fool for running out. They couldn’t hold a man on circumstantial evidence. But now? I was Number One on Doyle’s list.
I prowled the place like a nervous cat until Hatch showed up with the afternoon papers. One look at the latest story and that spot I was on began to sizzle. The gun Hennessy had found in my apartment was the gun that had killed Ordway!
“If I didn’t know you better,” Hatch said, “I’d swear you were guilty as sin.”
I’d told Hatch the whole story. Now I said:
“Doyle was right. It’s a funny case. The killer hangs around to plant a hot burner in my apartment while I’m upstairs being grilled. Maybe the killer’s still hanging around.”
Hatch looked worried.
“Now, Bill, don’t let this throw you. Just sit tight.”
“While everybody’s yelling I did it—including that girl?” I paced up and down again. “There’re things I’ve got to know. Who tried to frame me? What was Ordway trying to write in his own blood? And I can’t find them out sitting around here. Hatch, tonight I’m borrowing your chauffeur’s cap, coat and your cab.”
“Hold it!” he yelped. “That cab’s my living. If anything happens to it, I’m sunk.”
“Nothing’ll happen to it,” I said. “I’m just going to use it as a blind to get back into Marlow Manor . . .”
I circled the block in Hatch’s cab. As far as I could make out, Doyle had planted only one lookout. He was in front of Marlow Manor, impersonating a potted fern. So I kept going and parked about half a b
lock from the rear alley.
I sat there a minute, deliberating. Maybe there was another cop hanging around the dark court, near the fire-escape. Then I shrugged. If he was there he was there.
I stepped into the alley and moved along, hugging the wall. Nobody yet. Just that loud music from upstairs. Number 411, of course. Hugh Mayo was trying to put his deaf aunt to sleep with a recorded symphony.
I saw the white framework of the fire-escape ahead, dim in the shadows. Still moving cautiously, I got to it—then stopped cold. Voices. From my apartment.
They had the lights off. Waiting in the dark for Bill Ames to come back and walk into their open arms. And I wasn’t buying.
“—we know this much,” I heard. “The girl left the station after making her report, to come back here.” That was Doyle’s voice. I’d caught him in the middle of a sentence. “She should’ve arrived an hour ago. But maybe she’s suffering from shock. It was a terrific blow. Might be wandering around town. She’ll be back.”
What did he mean—that Joan Ordway was missing?
Then Hennessy’s voice:
“First that Ames takes a powder. Now the girl pulls a vanishing act. Something’s fishy here. And just let me get hold of Ames for socking me from behind!”
“He didn’t sock you, big brain,” Doyle broke in. “You knocked yourself out when he caught you napping with that old leg-from-under trick. Now let’s get down to business before we’re all monkeys. We’ve checked the whole house. Even that sick old dame and her nephew upstairs. Nothing’s out of line except—”
I didn’t wait to hear any more. I was back-pedaling up the alley to the back entrance. I had strained my ears to catch what I had because of that music from upstairs, and even now I wasn’t sure I’d heard right.
Where was Joan Ordway? It didn’t make sense. But at the moment I was intent on one thing—the Ordway apartment. If it was momentarily unguarded, I meant to slip in.
I FOUND the rear door locked, but I had my key. The dimly lighted back stairs showed no uniformed bulk waiting to grab me. I went up two flights, then peered around the wall. Nobody. But how long would that sales meeting downstairs last?
The door to the Ordway apartment was slightly ajar, and the lights were on. That meant somebody would be back, so I had to work fast. I went in. The body had been removed and the bloodstains cleaned up, but nothing else had been disturbed.
Joan Ordway thought the Paris Star had been stolen at the time her father was killed. I wondered if I was the only one who figured her wrong. Ordway had been no fool. He knew the thieves were right on his tail. So he had picked a hiding-place for that jewel—just in case. And he had tried to tell Joan just before he died. Tried in his own blood, in that almost illegible scrawl, “C-O-L.” Then and there I finished it for him. Cold.
I was already in the kitchen of the apartment. Didn’t a diamond look like a piece of ice? Sure. And the last place a killed in a hurry would look for a precious stone would be in a refrigerator.
I was starting to pull the ice-trays out when my cocked ear caught sounds and voices. I froze like that ice. Doyle and Hennessy were coming back!
It was seconds to safety. I shoved back the trays, shut the refrigerator, and ducked out through the living room window, crouching down out of sight on the fire-escape.
I heard Doyle’s voice at the door.
“I’m leaving Cobb in Ames’ apartment, just in case the guy comes back. You stay here by the phone, Hennessy. And stay awake. That girl’s gotta be found. I’ll check back from Headquarters.”
“Okay, chief.”
Doyle must have left then, because I heard Hennessy moving around, muttering to himself. Then quiet, except for a rustle of paper. The cop had probably flopped in a chair and was reading.
The fire-escape was no place for me. Hennessy might take it into his head to wander over and look out the window. And downstairs was out, with Cobb waiting to nab me. Only one direction to go. Up.
I made it to the rail on my knees. Now! I started up. Where I was going I didn’t know, but—
I jerked back, almost losing my grip on the rail.
I was staring into two glowing eyes, hardly a foot from my face. Wide, unblinking eyes. Then I heard the clear tinkle of a bell, a lazy purr, and I drew a deep breath.
That blasted cat! It was sitting right on the fire-escape, looking at me. Joan Ordway’s wandering Persian. I pushed the animal aside and climbed on.
At the next landing there was a closed window, with no light from behind it. But from another room within, came the pounding strains of music. The Mayo apartment.
I had taken plenty of chances already, so one more didn’t matter. I tried the window. It was unlocked. Even knowing the old lady was deaf, I opened it as quietly as I could, and slid over the sill into the dark room.
Deaf people have a sixth sense. That’s what flashed through my mind as the lights went suddenly on.
It was Mrs. Mayo’s bedroom all right. And she was sitting upright in bed, fixing me with a horrified look. She wore an old-fashioned nightcap and lace-trimmed nightgown, but with her pale angular face she reminded me of some kind of unhealthy bird. A vulture. She pulled the covers up to her chin and let out a strident squawk.
“Hugh! Hugh! There’s a burglar in my room!”
The loud music just outside the bedroom was shut off abruptly. A heavy figure bounded into the room. Hugh Mayo squinted at me over the barrel of an automatic. Then, recognizing me, he lowered the gun slowly.
“What the devil? You, Ames! Don’t you ever use a door any more?”
He turned to the bed and made with the fingers—deaf-and-dumb talk, I figured. The death-faced figure in the bed seemed to relax a little, but still glared at me.
“Look, Mayo,” I said, “I didn’t mean to frighten her, but the place is jumping with cops.”
HUGH MAYO’S lips twisted in an odd smirk.
“You and the cops don’t get along, do you, Ames?”
I followed him into the livingroom. It seemed loudly quiet now without that music. He looked me over.
“That cabby’s outfit is a bum disguise.” he said. “And why’d you come back here when the cops are so hot on your tail?”
He seemed more curious than belligerent. And he had put that automatic back in his pocket. He waved me toward a straight-backed chair, but I sat down in one with deep cushions. It was near the radio-phonograph.
“I had a hunch,” I said, “about the diamond. I figured I knew where Ordway hid it before he was shot.”
Hugh Mayo squinted at me with his pig-eyes.
“What d’you mean he hid it? Wasn’t the diamond what he was killed for?”
“Sure. But Ordway was smart enough to cache it beforehand. He knew he was on the spot. Just like I am.”
I turned my head slightly. I hadn’t been sure before, when I first heard it, but now I was. A tapping sound behind a wall nearby, like somebody trying to get a message across.
Mayo got up suddenly and turned on the phonograph. Music began to blast through the room.
“Aunty’s nerves,” he explained over it. “I better give her some medicine.”
He went into the bedroom. I strained my ears over the music. Yes, a tapping sound—quick, urgent. I turned in my chair to look at the door it seemed to come from behind. And my hand touched something that had been shoved down behind the chair cushion, so that just an edge of it stuck out. A woman’s purse.
Mayo came back into the room and squinted at me.
“So go on, Ames,” he said. “You know where the diamond is?”
I fumbled for a cigarette. He came over and held his lighter to it. Over the flame his pig-eyes bored into my face.
“I could turn you in,” he said.
“Okay,” I said. “Turn me in. The cops are right downstairs.”
That smirk twisted his slot-mouth. “On second thought, they can wait. I’ve been hoping you’d come back, Ames.”
“Meaning?”
“Let’s talk about Ordway, and why you murdered him.”
I blew a cloud of cigarette smoke in his face. He stepped back, squinting. He looked mean.
“I didn’t murder him,” I said. “But I got an idea who did, Mayo—or whatever your real name is.”
His shoulders came down, like a pug getting set for some infighting.
“Any other bright ideas, Ames?” he rasped.
“Yeah.” The record ended, and in the lull before the next platter dropped, I heard it again. The tapping from the door at my left. “What is she doing here?”
“Huh?” he answered.
“Joan Ordway.”
I pulled the black suede bag from under the cushion and laid it on the chair-arm.
Hugh Mayo looked at it and smirked.
“That belongs to my aunt.”
“Try again. Joan Ordway had this bag when I last saw her. I ought to know. She pulled a gun out of it.”
He didn’t say anything. He just turned up the volume on the phonograph a little louder. I got out of the chair.
“Miss Ordway,” I said to the door at my left, “can you come out?”
The door stayed shut. I went over and turned the latch and pulled it open. It was a closet and Joan Ordway had been propped up inside. She slumped out against me, exhausted from tapping on that door with her high-heeled shoes. She was gagged, and tied at wrists and ankles. I eased her into a chair and started getting her untied.
Mayo said something through the music at me, but I went on with my work. Ungagged, she looked at me with those wild blue eyes.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t know.”
“Forget it,” I said. “We all make mistakes.”
I left her to untie her own ankles and turned to Mayo. I wasn’t surprised to see the automatic back in his hand. I’d felt it burning my spine.
“She wouldn’t talk, Ames,” he rasped. “But maybe you will.” He shoved me into a chair. “You dropped in on us. Just like we wanted. How much are you asking?”
