by Jack Murray
‘Hammett,’ he said holding out his hand, ‘Dashiell Hammett.’
They shook hands briefly, then Kit asked in a voice that struck Hammett as unusually casual, given their circumstances, ‘So what brings you here?’
‘I was about to ask you the same question.’
27
The gears on the American automobile took a little getting used to for the septuagenarian lady behind the wheel. They seemed specifically designed to make no sense. Thankfully her feet were able to reach the floor. Just.
After a few abortive attempts to move the car, the combination of pedals and gear stick finally registered with Agatha, and she managed to manoeuvre the car forward. She drove forward one block then negotiated a highly illegal U-turn before driving past where Alastair had set them down, arriving at a space immediately outside the store.
There was nothing else she could do now but wait. The sun shone down on the street, drying the remains of the previous night’s downpour. The brightness of the sun, and the rather light-coloured road began to irritate Agatha’s eyes. Very soon she became impatient, desirous to know what was happening. Patience and Agatha Frost were far from bosom buddies. Rather like the skills of an accomplished snipe shooter, she acknowledged its value in other people but rarely practiced it herself.
And then it started.
Alastair was the first to exit the store. A young man who was carrying a raincoat over his arm trailed behind him. Lady Agatha Frost, nee Aston, following a lifetime of reading dime novels and penny bloods was just the woman to recognise what the young man was hiding underneath a wholly unnecessary raincoat. In fact, ‘The Case of the Black Widow Spy Girl’ had dealt with just such a scenario. It was also clear that her nephew was being held in the store, under similar circumstances.
Alastair spotted his sister immediately as he exited the store. He used his eyes to indicate the man behind. Agatha gave a curt nod. Did he think she was a complete idiot?
A more grateful Alastair gave a silent prayer of thanks for a sibling whose literary tastes were as elevated as his own. Then he climbed into the driver’s seat of the car pointed out to him by the young man with the gun.
As he climbed in, Agatha started her car. She slipped out ahead of her brother. By her reckoning there was only one place they were heading. She drove in the direction they had come from, keeping an eye on her brother behind. At a certain point she allowed him to overtake her. She wanted him to arrive first.
A plan was already forming in her head.
-
Joel Israel put the phone down and motioned for Mary to move towards Algy. He set the gun down and pulled out a cigarette case. Moments later he was puffing contentedly on a cigarette.
‘Turkish,’ he explained. ‘Much better than your American ones. Now, I think we should make our way to Mr Goodman’s store. If you would be so good as to drive, Mr Aston. Of course, I need not remind you that the gun is loaded. But I think I shall, anyway.’ Joel Israel held up the revolver and opened the chamber for Algy to see. It was fully loaded. The two men looked at one another before Joel Israel said, ‘She will die first, Mr Aston. Think carefully on this matter as we drive to Goodman’s.’
‘I will,’ said Algy through teeth so gritted it conceivably would take a week to unclench them.
‘It’s on Pine. I’ll show you where.’
The group made their way out of the apartment. The little man indicated the stairs. The elevator held too much risk. The gun was in his side pocket, his finger on the trigger. They walked slowly down the stairs, passing no one on the way. Cyrus was clearly on a comfort break.
Soon they were outside in the bright sunlight. Mary looked at a palm tree silhouetted against the blue sky. There were no clouds. Just the cerulean blue overhead. The street was surprisingly quiet. In the distance Mary heard the sound of a tram bell. A slight breeze lifted from the direction of the bay. It cooled Mary’s face as she contemplated the man behind her holding the gun trained on her back.
The choreography of climbing into a car was not something Joel Israel had given much thought to in his life, particularly when he was holding a gun on his two fellow passengers.
‘I’ll get in first,’ suggested Algy, clearly aware of the little man’s confusion. ‘Then you climb into the back, and Mary takes the passenger seat. We won’t do anything funny; I promise.’
Joel Israel nodded in gratitude and within a minute they were driving in the direction of the city centre. He made sure to sit behind Mary, lest the young American proved to be less than true to his word.
Algy glanced at Mary, as he drove to see if she was coping with this unexpected situation. She looked back at him. Those extraordinary blue eyes crackled. She smiled. Without knowing why, he felt there was hope. The only certainty, however, at this moment was the knowledge that Kit was a lucky man. His thoughts returned to her briefly.
She was so different from Dain. One was a compelling mixture of mischief and remoteness. Just as he was getting close to her, really close, the drawbridge was pulled up. Yet they had been close. As close as a man and woman can be. Yet still she held back something of herself from him. He was sure she loved him. Sometimes.
When he felt that certainty, there was no better feeling in the world. But there were other times . Many, in fact. They were part of her enigma. Part of her attraction. The need to protect her was, sometimes, overpowering. The need to wrap her in his arms and hold the dragons at bay. And there were many dragons. He knew this. He accepted this.
Mary was not someone who would ever need the kind of protection a man like him could offer. There was no mystery to her. Her nature, her being, was visible. Palpable even. She was energy and intelligence in female form. A beautiful female form if truth be told. Yes, she was right for Kit, and he, for her. He felt happy for Kit. Not a trace of envy, just delight in knowing that Kit had found someone, as he had, to love and cherish.
At least until death.
They arrived at Pine, and drove for a minute or two until Joel Israel, rather unnecessarily, pointed out the store.
‘Excellent,’ he said, ‘We can park just in front.’
‘Marvellous really,’ said Mary with a smile to the passenger in the back. Joel Israel looked askance at Mary. What was the possible meaning of this comment? As they walked into the store, his mind turned over the possible significance of what she’d said.
-
‘What brings you to this part of town?’ asked Hammett. His head felt like two military bands, composed principally of percussionists, were warming up before battle.
‘Easy, old chap. I know what it’s like to be drugged,’ said Kit, who couldn’t, in fact ever remember being drugged. ‘I’m here for a wedding but appear to have, inadvertently, transported stolen goods across the ocean. What’s your story?’
Hammett began to cough. A loud, wracking and uncomfortable cough. Kit patted his back, for wont of anything better to do. When the coughing fit finished, Hammett looked at the man before him. His features were barely discernible in the light. But the accent was clearly English. Even more clearly, it sounded to Hammett that this was, indeed, nobility.
The next few words out of Kit’s mouth were very far from noble as he sought to find some comfort for his stump which was giving him hell.
‘What’s wrong?’ asked Hammett. Kit told him about his leg.
‘So much for a quick getaway,’ said Hammett sardonically. He heard Kit laugh grimly in return. A thought struck Hammett and he asked, ‘When I was over in eighteen, I heard about a lord who had fought at the front. Was that you?’
‘There were a few of us,‘ said Kit by way of non-explanation.
‘So, you were there, then,’ said Kit. It wasn’t a question.
Hammett coughed again before saying, ‘Brought this damn cough back with me.’
‘We’re a fine pair,’ laughed Kit. ‘Watch out Goodman. Although it must be said, he has us where he wants us. We should use this time to pool our knowledge. I’ll st
art. Not sure I’ve much I can tell you. Perhaps when you’re up to it, you can let me know everything from your side. Please don’t leave anything out. Details can often be important.’
Hammett couldn’t have agreed more.
They spent the next few minutes sharing, briefly, the events leading to their incarceration. Kit became fully acquainted with the investigation of Dain Collins, confirming Hammett’s suspicion that the client was Alastair Aston. Kit, meanwhile, talked about their trip to the United States and how they had inadvertently smuggled an artefact over from Europe. He also spoke of Joel Israel’s repeated failed attempts to retrieve it.
Hammett laughed harshly at this, ‘He sounds pretty desperate.’
They were silent for a few moments and then Kit spoke again, on a subject that had loomed large over their conversation, like a dark cloud promising rain. Lots of it.
‘These events feel as if they are related but the connection, I can barely bring myself to say.’
‘Dain Collins,’ said Hammett.
Kit nodded in the darkness, then remembered Hammett may not be able to see him, ‘It’s fantastical. I mean is it really possible that Goodman staged a meeting between Algy and Miss Collins?’
‘Until you told me about the falcon, I’d been wondering the same. Initially I thought he was just out for revenge on the father. Now it looks like there’s more to it,’ replied Hammett. ‘But it would require the boy to be a bit of a patsy.’
‘Sorry?’ asked Kit, mystified as to the derivation of the word, “patsy”.
‘A fool. In this case, a fool in love to be more precise.’
‘That’s Algy, alright,’ replied Kit, feeling a stab of guilt almost immediately for being, at the very least, unkind and, certainly, disloyal.
‘So, Galahad rescues the girl. Minutes later they’re to be married, and his relatives ship over a bird stolen in Constantinople,’ said Hammett by way of summary. ‘One thing doesn’t quite fit, though.’
‘What’s in it for Dain Collins? I mean, she’s going to enormous lengths to help Goodman. You’ve met the guy. He’s a slug.’
Kit was beginning to pick up on the rhythm of speech now and nodded, ‘Awful man. And then there’s the death of your partner.’
Hammett almost sneered but stopped himself in time. Instead he said, ‘More a colleague than a partner. Where Cowan’s concerned, there were a lot of people that would have been happy to see him dead.’ He explained more about Cowan’s background and how he came to be a Pinkerton man.
‘So, we can’t discount her involvement in his death, and by extension, Goodman and his gang, but nor can we accuse them either?’ Kit was aware Hammett was nodding. ‘What is she like? I’ve only heard from Algy and, as you will have gathered by now, he’s not history’s most objective witness.’
Hammett paused for a few moments before speaking. Exactly who Dain Collins was seemed no longer to be the central question. What was she?
A dope? Lover? Victim? Blackmailer? All of the options raced through Hammett’s mind. All could be true. He sensed Kit’s impatience, yet all he could do was shrug.
‘She’s different, that’s for sure. From money, no question. Beautiful, sorry, make that strangely beautiful. She has something. I think she’s vulnerable. For the right man, that can be attractive. It’s not difficult to work out her hold on your cousin. Hell, for all I know, she may even love him. I still wonder about that.’
‘Then why would she be working with Goodman to undermine Algy and Uncle Alastair?’
‘I can think of two reasons. Both plausible. One I’m certain of, the other I can’t prove.
‘Which are?’ asked Kit.
‘She’s a junkie.’
‘Sorry? I only speak European languages,’ pointed out Kit.
Even Hammett smiled at this, then explained what he meant.
‘I see, and the other?’
‘He’s blackmailing her or, almost certainly, threatening her, or her boyfriend.’
‘Is he so dangerous?’ asked Kit.
‘You’ve met him. What do you think?’ asked Hammett.
Kit thought about this. He was dangerous, this much was evident. He’d been to jail. There was the unexplained death of Cowan. The young thug he’d recruited would probably do his master’s bidding without a moment of hesitation or remorse. The silence was interrupted by the sound of a door opening.
‘I think we’ll find out soon enough,’ said Kit.
28
Agatha followed Alastair’s automobile at safe distance, although she had no reason to believe the young man would expect them to be followed. She still struggled to work the car’s alien gear system, and she attracted more than a few looks from pedestrians as she screeched through the city.
Alastair, driving up ahead, could hear all that was going on behind and his heart sank. ‘What’s that blessed woman doing to the car?’ he exclaimed, unable to contain himself after one particularly loud scraping of what was left of his gear system. Thoughts of his predicament were swiftly forgotten as he listened to the assault taking place on his pride and joy’s mechanics. When all of this was over, he would have a stiff word with his sister, assuming she was able to rescue them from the young gunman.
It was with some relief that Alastair saw his sister pull over just before they reached Bellavista. The two men debouched from the car and walked up the path towards the mansion.
‘When we go in, tell that maid of yours to make herself known. I’ve heard all about her,’ said Cookson.
You don’t know the half of it, thought Alastair. For one delicious moment, he contemplated the young man pulling the weapon on her. He almost felt sorry for him. Alastair opened the door and called out for Ella-Mae.
No answer.
Cookson took over. ‘Lady get over here now or I’ll shoot,’ he warned.
He heard a harrumph from Alastair and looked at him questioningly.
‘Now she’ll definitely stay in hiding.’
Cookson put the gun to Alastair’s head. He said, ‘Let’s put that to the test, shall we?’
For several uncomfortable seconds, Alastair looked at the gun and the young man holding it. There was certainly a wild look in his eyes, but Alastair wondered if he would actually pull the trigger. The boy was scared. Fear could drive him to do anything. This was not a time for taking undue risks. Where was that blessed woman? Finally, Ella-Mae appeared as noisily silent as ever.
‘What the hell,’ said Cookson, looking at the diminutive housemaid. ‘Where did you come from?’
‘She does that. Twenty five years and I’m still not used to it,’ said Alastair.
‘Sneaking up on me like that, I nearly blew his brains out,’ replied Cookson.
‘You must be a crack shot,’ said Ella-Mae sourly, looking at Alastair.
Alastair’s response was somewhere between a scowl and a grimace.
‘Can you get the falcon if you would be so kind,’ said Alastair, through gritted teeth.
Cookson kept the gun trained on Alastair’s head to ensure nothing untoward occurred while Ella-Mae went to retrieve the artefact. ‘Nice place you have here,’ he said by way of conversation.
Ella-Mae returned soon. In her hand was a small black object and an envelope. The object seemed like it was made from porcelain.
‘That’s the falcon?’ asked Cookson.
‘No, it’s a moose, you schmuck,’ replied Ella-Mae.
Cookson looked at the little woman in shock. This was as nothing compared to the look Alastair gave her. Somewhere between angry and homicidal if Ella-Mae judged it correctly.
‘Need I remind you; this young man is pointing a gun at my head?’ he said with no little exasperation.
Cookson looked at the envelope, ‘Who’s that for?’
‘It’s for Lord Kit,’ said Ella-Mae.
‘Open it and read what’s on it.’
Ella-Mae did as she was asked, but then patted her pockets saying, ‘I haven’t my glasses on me.’
Cookson held out his hand took the telegram from Ella-Mae and stuffed it in his pocket. A he did so he lowered his gun.
‘Now give me the falcon, lady.’
She held it out to him. As he reached for it, he felt something metallic at the base of his temple.
‘Make no mistake, young man,’ said the voice of an Englishwoman, an elderly one if Cookson was not mistaken. ‘I know how to use this weapon and I certainly wouldn’t miss from here. Drop your weapon to the ground and kick it over to Ella-Mae.’
Cookson hesitated a moment. His mind spun furiously on what he could do. What were his options? Then he heard Alastair say, ‘I would do as she says. She was ladies shooting champion at her school three years running.’
‘Five,’ pointed out Agatha.
‘My mistake,’ said Alastair as the sound of a gun hitting the floor echoed in the entrance hall. Cookson kicked it over towards Ella-Mae. The little housemaid picked it up and trained the gun on Cookson.
‘Where’s Christopher?’ asked Agatha stepping back from Cookson but keeping, what looked like, an umbrella trained on him. Cookson looked in shock at the old woman holding the umbrella. Agatha realised that her weapon had served its purpose and she put it down.
From the side, he heard the gun click, he turned his head. Alastair was now holding the gun.
‘He’s still at Goodman’s.’
‘What about Mary and Algernon?’ asked Agatha.
‘They’re being held at the apartment of Dain Collins by that visitor from last night,’ replied Alastair, his eyes never leaving Cookson’s. ‘Ella-Mae, can you go to my study and get another gun? Best be on the safe side.’
-
Sandra Robins greeted the arrival of Joel Israel with her customary delight. She seemed remarkably nonchalant about the fact that he was holding a gun on two other people, thought Mary as she entered the store. She looked around her. The contents bespoke a man who had neither a great knowledge of antiques nor, perhaps, much liking for them. If it was old, it was in. This seemed to be the guiding principle at play in the store. For a nation barely one hundred and fifty years old, not even, in fact, this probably passed muster as antiquity.
