The Doomsday Men

by J. B. Priestley

  “Don’t know how I held on to it,” Jimmy confessed, solemnly. “But it’s a present—you know—for Mrs. Edlin. Yes, sir, it’s a nice present. Must take her back something, y’know, Brother Hofelstanger. Have to do it. Never get away if I didn’t. Fact is, Mrs. Edlin isn’t too pleased when I come away like this with the boys.”

  “Mrs. Hofelstanger’s the same way. I’ve bought her a brooch. Got it in the Indian Store. Set me back six dollars, but it’s worth it, I guess.”

  “Certainly it’s worth it.” Jimmy felt confident in the part now. “Gives the little woman a bit of pleasure, doesn’t it? And makes it easier to get away next time. That’s what I always say. How did you make out last night, Brother Hofelstanger? Burn it up all right, eh?”

  “I hit the spots,” replied Hofelstanger, with a modest cough that was not quite in keeping with his words. “Matter of fact, believe me or believe me not, Brother Edlin, but I pulled a jack-pot out of one of those fruit machines—yes, sir, a jack-pot. Only one of the nickel machines—though that’s enough for any sensible man, I guess—but I pulled two dollars twenty-five out of it—and—say—you ought to have seen ’em shooting out. First jack-pot I ever made. Well, a fellow’s got to cut loose now and again, I say. If he doesn’t he gets into a groove, and that’s bad for his business.” He was very solemn now.

  Jimmy could be solemn too. “You’re right there, brother. A man’s got to keep himself all alive and kicking, or where would his business be? And what’s your line, Brother Hofelstanger?” This ought to keep the little man busy and prevent him from asking awkward questions.

  It did. Mr. Hofelstanger was in the restaurant and caterers’ supplies business, and some fifty miles of desert road flowed under them while he described, with a deep solemnity, the strange vicissitudes of this trade, the way it shot up and then as suddenly sagged and sank, the astonishing demands it made, the unique combination of strength and subtlety necessary for the man who would cope with it. By the time they were approaching Barstow, where a halt was to be made for lunch, Jimmy felt he could have filled any vacancy in the restaurant and caterers’ supplies trade. He also felt a horrible vacancy in himself that asked for everything a caterer could do. He had had an early dinner last night, and since then not one crumb or drop of anything. Mr. Hofelstanger now confessed he was hungry. But Jimmy could almost have eaten Mr. Hofelstanger.

  They crossed the bridge where Jimmy had done his hundred yards flat, the night before, and then drew up majestically—just as if the whole expedition was under Jimmy’s command—at the side of the Harvey House. Nothing could have been more convenient. Still hugging his package, Jimmy filed out with the others, and silently blessed the Shriners or whatever they were for having brought him so neatly out of a very nasty situation. Here he was, back at the hotel, where those two nice youngsters must be wondering what had become of him, very little the worse—that is, once he had had some food and drink and a bath and shave and a change of clothes, and some more money had found its way into his pocket—and probably with some very important evidence indeed inside this package. The red hats, a little more subdued now than they had been at Baker, marched into the hotel, where the dining-room had been set aside for them, and Jimmy brought up the rear. He waited, very hungrily because there was a rich promise of steak and French fried potatoes in the air, until some of them had stopped milling round the desk in the lobby, and then when the desk was clear he approached the clerk, beaming upon him. For an instant, the clerk automatically smiled back, but then his face suddenly froze and into the stare he gave Jimmy there leapt a look of consternation.

  Jimmy realised that he must seem a fairly grim spectacle, enriched perhaps but not really improved by the addition of a Turkish fez that did not even fit him. He snatched it from his head, and now tried to look as if it had never been there, as if the clerk was now making the mistake of seeing too many red hats. What Jimmy did not realise was that as he stood there, with one arm embracing a large package, soaked in perspiration, covered with dust and bits of straw, he made the perfect image of a man who had succeeded for the second time within the last eighteen hours in escaping from an inebriates’ home. That is how the clerk, remembering last night and Dr. Johnson, saw him, and the clerk cannot be blamed.

  “Had a bit of an accident,” said Jimmy casually. “You’ll have to give me another key for my room, unless the door’s open. Twenty-two, I think it was.”

  The clerk shook his head, then looked round rather anxiously. He seemed to be muttering something about that room not being available.

  “Well, give me another then,” said Jimmy, rather impatient now. After all, he couldn’t stand there, looking as if he’d just been dragged out of the ash-can, with the clerk merely goggling at

  him.

  “We’re full.” Something desperate about that statement.

  “Now, look here,” said Jimmy sternly. “I booked a room here last night—and I’m entitled to it——”

  “Yes, but you checked out,” the clerk said, with the same desperate air.

  “I didn’t.”

  “Well, the doctor did for you—and he was responsible for you——”

  “He wasn’t.” But Jimmy did not explain why. Ticklish, this doctor business. Could he say outright he’d been kidnapped? No, too many explanations, and nearly all hard to believe.

  “I’m sorry,” said the clerk, who did not look it, “but you can’t stay here—and I’ll have to ask you to go. Y’know, you’re only making it worse for yourself,” he added, in a not unkindly tone, which Jimmy found more maddening than the other, “breaking out like this. They’re doing it all for the best. Why don’t you give them a chance?” He was a decent, kind-hearted lad, wanting everybody to lead decent sober lives and be fit to enjoy the hospitality of the Fred Harvey Company. “It’ll get you in the end, if you don’t. Go back before you find yourself in trouble. They’re doing their best for you. And we couldn’t possibly allow you to stop here again. Go back to the home, to Dr. Johnson. What d’you say?”

  “What do I say?” roared Jimmy, in a fury. “I say, don’t talk like a Goddam’ fool. Where are those two young men I met last night—y’know, Mr. Darbyshire and Mr. Hooker? Tell them I’m here.”

  “I can’t,” and the clerk was very stiff now. After all, he had tried to be kind.

  “Why not? What’s the matter with you?”

  “I can’t, because they’ve gone—they checked out this morning

  —and now you’d better go.” He turned away, pretending to look at his book, then gave Jimmy a hard look, saw that he was still standing there, so went to the telephone. And Jimmy did not like the look of him at all as he took up the telephone; he had the look of a man about to make further trouble, as if there hadn’t been enough already, Jimmy reflected bitterly. And hundreds of steaks, delectable mounds of French fried potatoes, apple pies by the score, were now being passed through from the kitchen to the dining-room. At this very moment little Hofelstanger was stuffing his already overstuffed little round carcass. “Hell’s blasted bells!” said Jimmy, as he took himself and his package outside. If those two young men had been there, it would have simplified matters, but no, of course, they had to go running off, without giving him a chance to explain. A lot of use they were! Well, what next?

  There was only one thing to do. Yesterday, he had left the Oldsmobile he had hired in Los Angeles in a garage up in the main street. He could not hang around Barstow in this condition, with only four cents in his pocket, and the sooner he got out of it, from every point of view, the better. So he walked as briskly as possible over the railway bridge to find the garage. There, the man who had taken over the Oldsmobile yesterday was still on duty, and a fine stare he gave poor Jimmy.

  “You remember me?” said Jimmy, not considering it necessary or wise to try and explain his odd appearance to this fellow. “I left an Oldsmobile here yes
terday, round about six o’clock.”

  The man still stared, and now he added a not very pleasing grin to his stare. But he made no comment on his customer’s appearance. “Sure! Got it right here.” He led the way inside, with Jimmy following. “There she is.”

  “Fine!” And Jimmy really felt it was fine. Here, at least, was the car. Nothing mysterious had happened to that.

  “I filled her up, then checked the oil, like you said, and gave her a couple o’ quarts, and looked at that starter. And the water’s okay. She’s ready now to take you anywheres.”

  “Fine!”

  “You bet!” And the man fumbled in his pocket and finally brought out a dirty little bit of paper. “Gas, oil, garage—just three dollars twenty.”

  “Three dollars twenty.” For the moment Jimmy had clean forgotten, and was about to put out a hand for a wallet that wasn’t there, when he remembered.

  “Three dollars and twenty,” the man repeated. “Here—I’ll show you, if you like. Gas——”

  “No, that’s all right. Reasonable enough. Cheap, in fact. The trouble is—well, I’ve had an accident—lost my coat, and with it my wallet and chequebook——” Jimmy’s voice trailed away, and for the life of him he couldn’t help feeling a bit of a crook. There he was with enough even in the Los Angeles bank to have bought the whole garage and everything in it, and yet he couldn’t help feeling a twister. Enough to drive a man mad!

  “Too bad,” said the garage man, but with very perfunctory sympathy. “What happened?”

  “Well,” replied Jimmy lamely, “it’s a long story.”

  “I’m not busy.”

  This wouldn’t do. He decided to try another tack. “Now listen,” he began, bluffly, boldly, “my name’s Edlin—Jimmy Edlin—and I’m staying at the Clay-Adams in Los Angeles—they know me there all right—and I bank at the Californian Unity—and they know me there too——”

  “Sure! But does anybody know you here? This is a long way from Los Angeles. Only been there twice myself—and didn’t take to it neither.”

  “You’ve only got to ring up and ask them, either at the hotel or at the bank. They both know me—Jimmy Edlin.”

  The man was doubtful. The hotel and the bank, his expression plainly announced, might know a Jimmy Edlin, but was this the Jimmy Edlin they knew? “Well, there’s the car, I guess,” he said dubiously.

  “Well, no—that won’t tell you anything. I hired it.”

  “Oh—you hired it, eh?” The man scratched his nose. He did not appear to like the sound of this hiring at all. Then, his face cleared, as if he had arrived at a solution of the problem. Jimmy looked at him expectantly.

  “We’ll call it three dollars,” said the idiot.

  Once again, and now with every reason, Jimmy lost his temper. “I tell you—you—you—numskull——”

  “No names, mister!” said the man sharply. He understood about names.

  “But I’ve told you I haven’t three dollars. I don’t care whether it’s three dollars or three dollars and twenty cents—or—for that matter, if it’s ten dollars—but the point is, I’ve lost my money—and so you’ll have to trust me, that’s all——”

  “I’ll trust you all right—we have to trust a lot of people in this business—as long as I know who you are.”

  “But I’ve told you who I am,” cried the maddened Jimmy, his voice nearly cracking with fury, thirst, hunger, heat, weariness, and growing madness. “For God’s sake—use your wits.”

  “Use your own. You don’t seem to be doing so well with ’em just now. Losing your coat and your wallet and what else——”

  “Oh, shut up! I’m taking that car.”

  “Here, wait a minute, mister. There’s three dollars——”

  It was then, when they stood glaring at one another, not knowing what to do next, that the second miracle of the day took place. Into that garage, that dim hell-hole of stupidity and mistrust, tripped the neatest little figure of a woman, with the brightest eyes beneath the sauciest little hat you ever saw.

  “Mrs. Atwood,” roared Jimmy, and pounced upon her before she could escape.

  She started back, as well she might do, at the sight and sound of this astonishing grimy fellow.

  “It’s me—you remember?—Jimmy Edlin.”

  “Mr. Edlin? So it is. But—but——”

  “I know, I know, you needn’t tell me. Please come over here a minute.” She followed him into a corner. “Mrs. Atwood, I can’t begin to tell you all about it now, but I’ve been having a hell of a time. I was kidnapped, last night. I escaped this morning, but I’ve lost my coat with my money and cheque-book in it—I haven’t had a bite or a drink or a wash since early yesterday evening—they won’t have me back at the hotel—I can’t even get my car out of this garage because I owe them three dollars—and I’m rocking on my feet, I don’t mind telling you, because they doped me last night——”

  “Who did? Not those people?”

  “Yes, that tall squinting devil, Brother Kaydick. This package here belongs to them. I gave them the slip at Baker. But ten to one they’ll be coming after me.”

  “Mr. Edlin,” she said earnestly, looking hard at him, “this is true, isn’t it?”

  “Mrs. Atwood, it is,” he assured her, even more earnestly. “Every word’s true—and a lot more there isn’t time to tell now. You’ve got to help me out of this—please.”

  “But of course! I want to. I wanted to all the time. That’s why I was so annoyed with you, on the telephone. Did you notice? I don’t suppose you did.”

  “Yes, I did. Jerusalem!—but this is a lump of luck, coming across you again. Not just because you can help me—and believe me, I need it—but y’know, Mrs. Atwood—I’ve been thinking a lot about you.”

  Mrs. Atwood had the bright-eyed look of a woman who would return to that interesting topic later, but who realised that this was the time for other things. “Must you go back to Los Angeles, Mr. Edlin?”

  “No—except I need some more money—and clothes. If it wasn’t for that, it’s a waste of time going back, because whatever that crowd is after—and it’s something grim, let me tell you—this is the lively end of it. I’m sure of that now.”

  “You see, I have a ranch up here—just a little place——”

  “You have? That’s why you’re here, then?”

  “Yes, you didn’t seem to be interested, when we talked on the telephone, so I didn’t tell you. But I have. About forty miles from here. I’ve called for my car. I always leave it here, because I don’t like driving down to Los Angeles—I go by train. Yes, I’ve a little ranch—and I was wondering if it would help—if you came and stayed a day or two——”

  “Mrs. Atwood, that’s a great idea,” he cried enthusiastically. “I could telephone or wire the bank for some money—that would be easy. And I could work out the next move almost on the spot. Besides,” he added, artfully, “having you there to explain it all to and have your advice.”

  At this she glowed and sparkled away in that dim corner like a little firework display. “But we mustn’t go on talking here. You must be dying for something to eat—poor man.”

  “I am. Now there’s just one thing I feel I ought to say, Mrs. Atwood, and you mustn’t mind my saying it. You know my name and where I was staying in Los Angeles and that I believe these Brotherhood fanatics killed my brother—but that’s all. I think I ought to tell you, right now, that I’ve done pretty well for myself lately—I was in China and then sold out—so don’t imagine, because you see me in this mess, I can’t look after myself or haven’t plenty of money behind me. You’ll have to believe that, because I’ll have to borrow some money from you right away. Of course I can fix it up easily, if you’ve a bank here.”

  All this merely made her rather impatient. “Yes, yes, I un
derstand. But never mind about that now.”

  “It’s important.”

  “Yes, but don’t you see, Mr. Edlin—and why are men so stupid?—I’d never have asked you to come to the ranch if I didn’t believe you were all right. Now, come on—we mustn’t waste time.”

  “That’s true enough. Brother Kaydick, if I know him, isn’t going to stay quiet at Baker. He’ll be making a move, you bet.”

  Meanwhile, they made some glorious moves. In a corner of the nearest little restaurant, exhibiting a sound feminine pleasure in the spectacle, merry and rosy and bright-eyed, Mrs. Atwood watched him put away pot roast and baked potatoes and beans and apple pie and cheese and three cups of coffee. After that, a new man now, he bought a few necessaries for the visit. Then, after some discussion, they decided to go out to the ranch in her car and to leave his in the garage. She did a little shopping herself, but was very quick about it, being a very quick, deft, decisive sort of woman. It was still early in the afternoon when they set out for the ranch.

  They crossed the railroad bridge again, and it was when they were slowly coming down on the other side that Mrs. Atwood, who was driving, was astonished to see her passenger suddenly slump down in his seat as far as possible and put his handkerchief up to his face. Being a sensible woman, however, she did not stop the car but began to accelerate, and looked about her to see what was wrong. On the other side of the road, a tall man in dark clothes was talking earnestly to a figure in uniform, one of the state patrolmen. The tall man looked across as they passed and she had just time to notice that he had a bad squint. It was the man she had seen at the meeting—Brother Kaydick. She pressed on, turning to the left at the junction of roads below, going along towards Mohave for about half a mile, then turning to the right up a steep side-road. By this time, Jimmy was sitting up again, and had looked behind more than once.

  “That was Kaydick all right,” he told her, rather reluctantly, “and, if you ask me, he was telling some fantastic yarn—about me and this package—to that trooper or whatever he was.”