by Jerry eBooks
At nine o’clock Drake and Johnny entered the tavern where Ogden had been when his half-brother was burned to death. They got the same back room and sat down to play cribbage. Johnny turned down the idea of chess on the plea that he wasn’t good enough at it.
Drake shuffled the cards. “Anything you like, Johnny, but I warn you this may cost you a lot of dough. The loser always buys the drinks and chess games last a lot longer than cribbage games.”
Johnny lost the first game and went out to the bar for two bourbons and two beers. They drank these slowly, while playing the second game. Which Johnny won. Drake provided the drinks this time. At ten-thirty, Johnny was purposely losing though not being obvious about it. They’d consumed several drinks by this time. Johnny went for another.
Drake raised his glass in a hand that shook slightly. “Here’s to you. I like playing with slow brains like you and Paul. I get plenty to drink without having to pay for it.”
The game was half over when Drake began dropping the little wooden pegs used in the game. His fumbles became worse than ever as the minutes went by. He yawned prodigiously and his speech became a trifle thick. But when Johnny lost again, Drake insisted on being treated to still another drink.
Johnny got it and by this time Drake was swallowing them in one toss of the wrist. Five minutes later he was sagging over the table. He held his cards firmly, put his free hand under his head and promptly fell asleep.
Johnny checked his watch, shook Drake hard without awakening him and then left the room softly. There was a rear exit through which he could come and go unobserved. There’d been exits like this in Boston and Cleveland also. Johnny rapidly began to see how Paul Ogden might have committed his murders and might still have had Drake for an alibi. In a short time he’d know for sure.
JOHNNY hailed a taxi, acting as he was sure Ogden would have done. He dismissed the cab a block from the house where the latest death had occurred, walked to the house and waited around for exactly ten minutes on the assumption it wouldn’t require more time than that to set the stage for murder.
Then he went back to the corner, hailed another cab and was driven close to the tavern. In less than thirty-five minutes, he was back in the room and seated across the table from Drake who still slept soundly.
Johnny picked up his cards. Soon Drake stirred, raised his head and with a grunt of annoyance began to play. Just as if the memory of the game had stayed with him during his nap.
“Must have dozed, eh, Johnny?” He grimaced and reached for the empty glass.
“You were nodding,” Johnny said. “But if you want another drink, you’ll have to earn it. Come. I’ve been waiting at least five minutes for you to wake up.”
“Really?” Drake blinked owlishly. “Stupid of me, wasn’t it? But just that moment or two refreshed me tremendously. Let’s get on with the game.”
Johnny threw his cards down. “Not tonight. I’ve had enough. Watching you doze for five minutes or so has made me sleepy. Besides, it’s after eleven.”
Drake looked at his watch. “Why, so it is. The evening has gone by very fast. Johnny, I’m not trying to force your hand, but you’ll get nowhere holding up Paul’s claim. Why don’t you give in?”
Johnny smiled. “Exactly what I’ve been thinking. I’ll call the home office tomorrow.”
Johnny drove Drake home, went back to his hotel and carefully laid out his next step. It involved getting a telegram, but he arranged that easily. In the late morning, he called up Drake and said he’d be out later. At six o’clock he arrived at the house to find Drake, Ogden and Felix Sinclair having dinner.
Johnny joined in for a cup of coffee. “Well,” he said, “I’ll be leaving you. We insurance dicks get little rest and too many telegrams. Like this one.”
He scaled the opened envelope at Drake who read it and handed it back.
“I wouldn’t like your job,” he said. “Not at all. You’re always following on the coattails of death.”
“You get used to it,” Johnny chuckled. “And there is always variety in the cases you handle and the climates you work in. From New York to San Pedro is a nice hop.”
“San Pedro!” Ogden marveled. “I guess there is something in your work after all. What about my claim, Johnny.”
“I authorized payment of it this afternoon. Paul, I don’t know whether or not you committed those murders. I hope you didn’t. But don’t get mixed up in any more, especially where you are involved as the beneficiary. Oh, Mr. Sinclair,” Johnny turned to the older man. “What about switching the beneficiary of your policy?”
“I didn’t have time today. I’ll attend to it in the morning. I can take care of my own affairs.”
“Then there is nothing more for me to say,” Johnny told him. He looked at his watch. “I’ve only got half an hour to reach my plane. And a rented car to bring back. Sorry I have to leave.”
“I’ll drive you and bring the car back,” Drake offered. “It will be a nice diversion for me.”
Johnny was grateful and told him so. He shook hands with Paul, cautioned him again, nodded to Sinclair who merely looked up with a grunt and then followed Drake out to the car.
They reached the airport with ten minutes to spare. Johnny took his bag out of the car. “Watch Ogden,” he said. “I’ve been patient about this whole thing, but if anyone else dies and he profits, he’ll bring down every insurance dick we’ve got. Coincidence goes so far and then becomes downright suspicion. Thanks for everything.”
“Drop in when you’re around this way.” Drake shook hands. “Unprofessionally, I hope. Good luck, Johnny.”
Johnny boarded the plane. Drake had parked the car as close to the landing field as possible and stayed there until the giant liner took off. Johnny waited ten minutes and then he called the stewardess. He showed her a letter and she escorted him forward where he met the pilot. “This letter is from your airline,” Johnny said. “I know this is an express plane, but you’ll have to let me off at Philadelphia.”
THE pilot read the letter, then shook his head regretfully.
“Philly? I’m sorry. There’s been a low ceiling there all day. It’s sweeping east but there’s too much fog at present. The best bet is Cleveland. Especially if you’re taking a plane right back. I suppose that’s what you’re up to?”
“Yes,” Johnny said. “Cleveland it is then. I’m sorry to put you to this trouble, but it’s necessary.”
He went back to his seat. The plane made its unscheduled stop, discharged Johnny and he set about getting a plane back to New York. Within fifteen minutes he was eastbound again and feeling well satisfied with things.
He felt satisfied until he noticed that they were heading into light fog. The stewardess announced that the plane would have to land in Philadelphia. La Guardia was fog bound. Johnny groaned, but there was nothing he could do about it. He had intended to reach New York again by nine. It would be close to eleven now. For a few minutes he weighed the question of calling police to guard Sinclair, but thought better of it.
The cantankerous old crab would never cooperate anyway. If Ogden had meant to kill him before he could remove the motive for murder, it would have to be tonight. Maybe Sinclair would tell Ogden he did not intend to change beneficiaries. Johnny found himself hoping fervently for that.
He rode a train back from Philly and took a taxi after checking his bag. He paid off the driver close to the house where Sinclair, Drake and Ogden lived. As he approached the place, he saw that it was dark. The front door was locked. He went around to the back. One of his reasons for being so friendly with the family had been to study the house.
He’d made certain the pantry window couldn’t be locked. Now he raised it softly, took a flashlight from his pocket and squirmed through the narrow opening. There wasn’t a sound inside the house. He closed the window and tiptoed toward the dining room.
“Nobody is at home,” he mused. “Sinclair never went to bed early, but stayed in all the time reading. I wonder—”
He reached for a light switch and snapped it on. Nothing happened. The lights were shorted or turned off. He gasped, started running and threw the beam of his flash into every room. At the foot of the stairs he paused and cocked his head. He could hear water running.
He ran up the stairs, located the source of the sound and opened the bathroom door. His flash centered on the tub. Sinclair lay in it and there was no question that he was dead. In one hand he clutched the metal pull cord of an electric light over the medicine cabinet and within easy reaching distance for anyone who stood in the tub.
The water had flowed over. It was cold water. Johnny waded through it. He touched the body and found it stone cold. There was no way of telling how long the man had been dead.
Johnny beamed his flash down the hall, looking for the upstairs phone. He heard someone insert a key in the front door lock. Johnny doused the light and drew back to the darkest corner of the hallway.
The man who entered didn’t try to turn on the lights. He climbed the stairs softly and moved toward the bedroom which Sinclair had occupied. He listened outside the door for a moment, went back to the stairway and busied himself doing something.
Johnny tried to determine just what the man was up to, but the gloom prevented that. After a few moments, the intruder slipped down the stairs. He knew his way around.
It was then that the scream ripped out. High-pitched, spine-tingling and horror-filled enough to make anyone leap into action. Johnny’s brain didn’t even try to reason out what had happened to the man downstairs. It was enough that he needed help.
IMMEDIATELY Johnny began running. He reached a point about one-fourth of the way down. Then the rope caught his ankles. He pitched forward in a headlong dive. One hand flew out and managed to grasp the bannister.
He rolled down the steps with a tremendous clatter, half conscious before he’d banged against half a dozen stairs and completely blacked out at the bottom. The last thing he recalled was that this was an attempt to kill him. He woke up thinking the same thing. He sat up slowly and waited for the dizziness to leave. Then he carefully tested one arm, the other and both legs. He stood up and groaned involuntarily for he ached from shoulder to heels.
There was nobody in the house. He sat down on the steps to think and remembered that wire or rope stretched across the stairs. It had been meant as a death trap. He climbed the steps and made a vain search for it. The would-be killer had removed it.
Johnny reeled to the kitchen and doused his face with cold water. That made him feel better and think better. He half guessed what had happened and what all this meant. There was a phone in the kitchen and he called a detective he knew. Then Johnny went to the living room and sat down to wait.
The phone rang twenty minutes later. It was the detective who reported that Drake and Ogden had both left the tavern and seemed to be walking home. Johnny went to a small supply closet at the second floor landing and squeezed into it. He left the door open half an inch. He heard them enter, heard Ogden say: “What’s the matter with the lights? A fuse must have blown. Go down and see about it, Sid.”
“Okay, but get me a candle or a flash or something,” Sidney Drake replied.
They compromised on the use of matches. When the first one scraped and its yellow flame illuminated the hallway slightly, Ogden turned to look at the stairs. From above, Johnny had a good view of him. He saw Ogden give a jerk of surprise.
Soon the lights were turned on. Drake came up out of the cellar.
“We’d better look in on Uncle Felix,” Ogden said, “Just to make certain he’s all right. If he ever dropped dead, that insurance detective would come back and turn this place inside out. He wouldn’t believe the statements of a dozen autopsy surgeons if they claimed Uncle Felix had met a natural death.”
Drake laughed. They mounted the steps and went to Sinclair’s door. Ogden opened it, peered in and turned on the lights.
“He isn’t there,” he told Drake. “The bed hasn’t even been slept in.”
“We’d better start a search,” Drake said. “Something must have happened to him.”
It was Ogden who entered the bathroom, attracted by water which had flowed out over the floor. He didn’t scream. He just closed the door quietly and waited in the hallway for Drake to appear.
“Sid, stop trying to play me for a fool,” Ogden said. “Uncle Felix is dead and you killed him.”
“Dead?” Drake cried. “Are you sure? Where is he?”
“In the tub. You fool! We’ll never get away with this. I—Sid—were you in the house when I came back? Did you trip and fall down the stairs?”
“Me? Fall down the stairs? Paul, what’s got into you?”
Ogden lowered his voice. “Sid, we’re in a mess. I came back to kill Uncle Felix. Yes, I admit it. I killed Molly and I killed Masters too. I needed the money. But I did it cleverly. Even that smart insurance detective never got to first base. I used to slip away when you dozed after drinking so much. You always did that. You always slept for better than half an hour, giving me time to come back and do the job.” Drake seemed to be stunned by those statements. “Paul! That was murder!”
“Yes. And so is the death of Uncle Felix. I didn’t do that. I planned it another way. His heart was bad. I arranged a cord across the stairs, let out an unearthly yell to make him jump out of bed and hurry down. If his neck hadn’t been broken, his heart would have given out. But he didn’t trip. It was someone else. That detective perhaps.”
“No, not him,” Drake insisted. “I saw him board a plane and take off. It was an express plane. He couldn’t possibly get back. I checked that carefully.”
“You did? Why?”
“Because I wondered if he was trying some trick.”
OGDEN’S voice was solemn as he answered his cousin.
“Sid, listen to me,” he said. “We haven’t any time to lose. You didn’t pass out tonight. I doubt if you ever pass out. You knew darned well I slipped away and committed those two murders.”
“Three,” Drake said.
“No, Aunt Laura really took that poison by mistake. That’s how I got the idea. I hated Molly. She was going to divorce me anyway. Masters was only half alive. But I didn’t kill Felix. I came back to do it. You killed him before you left to meet me at the tavern. Because you didn’t think I’d have the nerve after the blasting that insurance detective gave me.”
“Paul! You don’t know what you’re saying.”
“I know all right, and you simply can’t get away with it. These things have to be thought out. Oh, you probably electrocuted him somehow, by having him hold the light chain. Sid, you did kill him! You need my help now. What’s the difference? I admitted killing two people and that I intended to kill Felix. He was going to change his policy in the morning, thanks to that detective. He’ll be back now—Johnny, I mean. He won’t need more than one look at the evidence.”
“If Uncle Felix was murdered, you did it,” Drake accused. “Why are you trying to involve me? What did I have to gain? You were the beneficiary.”
“But the business you and he conducted would have then become yours. It’s worth a great deal. Enough to murder for. Sid, I’m not taking the rap for a crime you did.”
The voices came closer to Johnny’s hideout. He frantically felt around for a weapon. All he could find was an unwieldy mop. Then the door was flung wide. Drake and Ogden faced him.
“I thought so,” Ogden smirked. “I saw the wet footprints. He doubled back from that plane ride. It was he who fell over my trap and, Sid—he knew very well Felix was dead. He knows I didn’t kill him because why should I set a trap for a dead man?”
“We’ve got to take care of him.” Drake dipped a hand into his pocket and took out a knife. He opened the largest blade.
It was long enough to be a good murder weapon. He kept on talking, in a monotone. “We’ve got to do it now. There’s no time for finesse. We’ll decide what to do about him after he’s dead. Watch him, Paul. He’s tric
ky. I sensed it before, but I thought I could get away with it.”
“You thought you could kill Felix and let Ogden take the blame,” Johnny shouted. “Somehow you’ll manage things so he will, too. Even for my murder.”
Ogden was scowling and seemed to hesitate for a moment. Johnny took it up again, in the same vein. “It’ll be easy. I’ll be dead—knifed. Drake will say you killed me because I had you cold. It will stick too. Three different police departments have been suspicious of you in the past. This will be too much. They’ll believe Drake and burn you, Ogden.”
“Whatever happens afterward will be between Sid and me,” Ogden said. “You’ll be dead because you’re the most dangerous menace I have to face. Get him, Sid.”
Drake gulped. “I—think you’d better do it. I—can’t stand blood!
He extended the knife toward Ogden. Johnny knew what he was up to. If Ogden used the knife, there’d be even better evidence of his guilt. This flashed through Johnny’s mind. These two men were more suspicious of one another than watchful of their prisoner. When the knife moved toward Ogden, Johnny leaped.
He hit Drake with his shoulder, sent him reeling and clipped Ogden hard on the face. Drake emitted a wild yell, regained his balance and raised the knife. Johnny had time to hit Ogden once and he made it good. Then he twisted around in time to dodge the slicing attack of Drake’s blade. He grasped Drake’s wrist, whirled him half around and over to the bannister. He brought the wrist down on the railing. There was a crack. Drake howled in agony, the knife clattered to the floor below.
Ogden was coming out of it. Johnny, sore and stiff from his tumble down the stairs, knew this couldn’t go on. Drake had only one hand left, the other was broken at the wrist, but there were two of them and he was getting winded. Both men were desperate. Upon his death depended their lives.
JOHNNY shot past Drake, darted into a bedroom and scooped up a small chair. He hurled it through the nearest window. Sergeant Anderson, who’d watched this pair, must be close by. Ogden came in after him like a madman, screaming his threats. Drake had obtained a fireplace iron somewhere and held it high with his good hand.
