Shooting Star / Spiderweb

by Robert Bloch

  I walked towards the hall, and as I did so the cricket chirpings deepened, blending into croakings. Frogs. Frogs, out in back of the house, below. Below...I remembered something about a fox farm, a fox pen. Where they kept the liquor in Prohibition days—

  Abruptly altering my course, I went out to the rear porch. I switched the light off as I departed, and then allowed the moon to guide me. The view was magnificent: silver trees on platinum hills. But I wasn’t here to prepare a prospectus on mining stock. I sent a stare down at the levelled area in back of the hilltop house. More wire netting, thin-meshed and held together by strutwork. A concrete flooring. This was the fox pen, all right. I didn’t see any foxes inside. I didn’t see the Professor, either.

  Going down the porch steps, I listened carefully to the frogs. Were they trying to tell me something? If they were, they gave it up. As I fumbled with a latch and entered the fox pen, the croaking ceased. Silence. Silver silence. I stood inside the pen, but I didn’t feel very foxy. The frogs told me nothing, the silence told me nothing. I didn’t know what I was looking for, but I had to find it.

  “The bootleggers had to have a place to cache their liquor and guess what they did?”

  They stacked it right out here in the open, in the fox pen. No, they couldn’t do that. There’d be foxes in the pen, to make things look right. But—I saw it over in the corner, shadowed by the house above. A black circle: the metal lid covering a cistern.

  Of course! That’s where they hid the liquor in the old days—down below, in the hollowed-out hillside! Lift the lid and climb down the stairs to the storage rooms, the vaults. That’s where they hid the liquor, and that’s where the Professor would hide whatever he wanted hidden.

  The frogs croaked a triumphant chorus as I walked over to the iron cistern cover, bent down and reached for the ring in the center. It was heavy. I tugged and I had trouble. I couldn’t seem to move my shoulder. That’s because something was holding it back, gripping it tightly in restraint.

  I glanced around at my shoulder and saw what rested there. It was a hand...

  Seventeen

  “Mr. Roberts—what are you doing?”

  I looked up into the plump white face of Miss Bauer.

  “Come away,” she whispered. Her hand left my shoulder, traveled to her lips. “He will hear you.”

  “He?”

  “Otto. He works down in the vaults tonight.” She urged me to my feet. “Do not fear. He will sleep below. Come to the house, eh?”

  I followed her out of the pen, up the porch steps. She kept whispering. She had been asleep in the bedroom, she said, and when she heard me prowling around she thought at first I was the Professor. Then she finally tiptoed out to investigate and found me.

  All this I learned in the kitchen. Gradually the story filtered through her accent, her idiom, her fear. For Ottilie Bauer was afraid.

  She did not know, at first, what crazy business Otto had in mind when he urged her to come and live with him here in the Canyon. This Dr. Sylvestro, he was partly responsible—Otto had been his patient, once, years ago when he’d first come to America, after the war. Otto had been a brilliant man in the old country, but something went wrong. He got crazy ideas about making money, about success, about his power.

  Now he was going too far. All this extortion, and threats, and the wild talk—Miss Bauer had warned. Miss Bauer had coaxed. Miss Bauer had pleaded. But he wouldn’t listen.

  “Now I do not know what will come. He is preparing more of those horrible photographs. I have wanted to see you, to warn you. This must be stopped. And if you can not stop it, it is better for you to go away while you can. While he is—”

  We both heard the sound, both turned. But it was only the wind. I smiled at her, but my hands clenched. She smiled at me, but her lip quivered.

  “I can’t go away,” I said, softly. “You see, the Professor knows I killed Mike Drayton. You know it, too.”

  Her lower lip quivered, stopped, quivered again.

  “No. You did not kill him. That was a lie.”

  “But—”

  “He made you go away. You saw nothing after that. How I worked on the lungs in the car, how he revived.”

  “He revived?”

  “He sat in the car and Otto, he drove him away. For air, he told me, and I must go home to bed. It would be all right. So I went home, thinking how lucky we were, and next day in the papers—”

  I stood up. “So the Professor murdered him and pinned the rap on me! You’re a witness, you can testify. You’re sure you saw Drayton alive after I left?”

  She nodded, and I saw the part in her straight black hair.

  “Yes. I can testify. I do not wish to tell this, but he must be stopped for his own good. You go away.”

  “You bet I’ll go away, and fast!” I stepped around the table, then halted.

  “But what about you—isn’t it dangerous for you to stay? If the Professor knew that you had tipped me off—”

  “He will not harm me, Mr. Roberts.” She smiled. It was a very old smile, borrowed from the Sphinx. “You see, he is my brother.”

  I drove back before dawn, slept until noon, then called Ellen.

  “Go home and start packing,” I said. “We’re getting out of here.”

  “When?”

  “Tomorrow or the next day, as soon as I can clear up a few odds and ends.”

  “You really mean it?”

  “Cross my heart and hope not to die. Have you ever wanted to go to Niagara Falls on your honeymoon? Or do you prefer the Zambezi? That’s in Africa—Southern Rhodesia, I think.”

  “You sound high.”

  “I’m right up there, and you’ll be, too. Now, listen to me. I’ve just come from the Professor’s place. No, I didn’t see him, but I did see Miss Bauer. She turns out to be his sister. That’s right.

  “The Professor didn’t leave town at all. That was just a cover-up to fool me. He’s actually getting ready to start his campaign on you and your uncle, and lining up Caldwell for another touch. So he’s still around, but don’t worry.

  “Miss Bauer just supplied me with enough information to quiet the Professor—put him behind bars, if necessary. But he’s her brother, and naturally she doesn’t want to see that happen unless it’s absolutely necessary.

  “So instead, I asked her for the file and the photos on Caldwell. These she agreed to get. They’re hidden out there at the house, she thinks, down below in a concealed basement. Some time this afternoon, if she’s alone and gets the chance, she’ll get the stuff and bring it over to Caldwell.”

  “Caldwell?” Ellen’s voice rose.

  “Of course. That’s where I’ll arrange to meet her—and you. Let’s say four o’clock. I’ll call him now and tell him we’re coming over. Once Caldwell has his photos and negatives, we can thumb our noses at the Professor and leave whenever we like.”

  “You’re sure there won’t be any hitches?”

  “How can there be? Nobody’s going to suspect Miss Bauer of double-crossing her brother. Nobody’s going to trail her to Caldwell’s place. That’s what makes it all so safe.”

  “But Eddie—you’re being trailed. By Jake.” I paused. I’d forgotten that little detail. “Don’t worry about Jake. I’ll handle him this afternoon. Now, get busy and pack. Bring your things over to Caldwell’s house. Here, I’ll give you the address.” I read it off to her, made her repeat it. “Take a cab so there’ll be no slip-ups. And I’ll see you at four. Meanwhile, in case you happen to be interested, I love you.”

  “You say the cleverest things.”

  I hung up, not feeling clever. I’d forgotten about Jake. Well, that problem would be faced shortly. Right now there was the question of Caldwell.

  I called him at home. A tired woman answered the phone. At first I thought it might be Marge, but it turned out to be the maid. Yes, Mr. Caldwell was there. He wasn’t feeling very well, but whom should she say was calling? I gave my name and waited.

  Mr. Cald
well wasn’t feeling very well. I could imagine why. He’d just had another little phone call from Jake, about more pictures. And perhaps tonight or tomorrow he’d be taking a trip with a little black bag full of bills.

  Perhaps a mention of my name would do the trick, though. I hoped so, anyway.

  It did.

  “Roberts! My God, I’m glad to hear your voice!” He didn’t wait for a reply. “I’m in trouble again. I got another call from—”

  “I know. And that’s why I phoned you. I think your troubles will soon be over. Now, listen carefully to what I’m going to say.”

  He listened and I told him everything.

  “Got it straight?” I concluded. “Ellen Post and Miss Bauer should both be arriving at your house sometime before four o’clock. I’ll be there promptly at four on the head. And that’s that.”

  “Roberts, I don’t know how to thank you for all this. You’ve saved my life. You know, I was seriously thinking of...doing away with myself.”

  “You’ll live to be eighty, I guarantee it! By the way, is your wife at home?”

  “Marge took a run down to Venice to stay with her aunt for a few days. Nobody here but the maid.”

  “Maybe you’d better give her the afternoon off.”

  “Right. See you at four, then?”

  “Four sharp.”

  And that wound it up. Except that I wasn’t feeling high any more, because I remembered Jake. Faithful old Jake.

  I glanced at my watch. 12:30. I had about three hours in which to shake him. And I didn’t know how. No brilliant ideas came to me as I locked the door, descended the stairs and emerged to find Jake sitting on the steps.

  “You sure must of hung on a beaut, the way you slept,” Jake greeted me.

  “You been here long?”

  “Over three hours. This sun’s murder.”

  “You needn’t have bothered.”

  “Boss’s orders. He wants to see you.”

  “The Professor? I thought he was out of town.”

  “Me too. But he called this morning, big as life. He’s going to be waiting for us at your office.”

  I went to my car and he went to his. We started our parade downtown.

  So the Professor was waiting for me, too. That was going to make things harder. My half-formed plans of ditching Jake in traffic went out the window and bounced off the curb of Wilshire and LaBrea. Anyhow, one thing was certain: if the Professor was at my office, then Miss Bauer would have a free hand out at his house.

  But the next move? I’d just have to wait and see.

  He was in my office, all right, sitting at the desk when I opened the door.

  “Come right in,” he said.

  Yes, come into my parlor, said the spider to the fly—the black spider with the white skull, the black spider who knew by the tiniest tremor just what had wandered into the web he spun.

  Or did he know? The stolid face told me nothing.

  “Thought you were out of town,” I said.

  “I had to change my plans. I shall be leaving today, instead. Sit down.”

  I sat down on the edge of the desk and swung my leg. It felt good, even though it looked too much like a pendulum, ticking off the minutes, ticking off the seconds before he came out with it—

  “Jake tells me you did a good job last night.”

  “If you had my hangover, you’d know what kind of a job I did.”

  “That’s fine. I want you to keep it up. Tonight and tomorrow night. I’ll return Friday and take over.”

  “Take over?”

  “Yes. I know how you feel about the girl, and I’ve arranged to spare you completely. She will never know of your connection in the matter. Friday you will take her out for the last time.”

  “I will?”

  “You will pass out. A friend of hers will be present to take her home. That’s all.”

  “Only she isn’t going home. I get it.”

  “No need for you to worry. I promise she will not be harmed in any way. And she’ll not blame you for what happens after that. But her uncle will prove to be extremely cooperative from then on, I can assure you.”

  He stood up. “In a few weeks it will all be over. Completely forgotten. No harm done. Take her out every night between now and Friday. I’ll get in touch with you then and give you your final orders.” He smiled. “Jake will keep an eye on you meanwhile.”

  I smiled right back at him. “You certainly think of everything,” I said.

  “That’s correct.”

  “Well, think of this for a moment. I’m not taking Ellen Post out tonight, tomorrow, or Friday. And Jake isn’t going to play Boy Detective with me any more, either. Because I am quitting this business, as of today.”

  “So?”

  “Just so. And get this, while we’re on the subject—if you try any funny stuff on Ellen Post or her uncle, I’ll rip your head off and stuff it down your throat.”

  “Dear Doctor Roberts!” He grinned, slowly. “Is this all you have learned of tact, the diplomatic approach, the psychology of personal relationships? You need a refresher course in Y-O-U.”

  “I’m not fooling. I mean what I said.”

  “That is quite apparent. But may I remind you that you are acting under my orders? And for a very good reason?”

  I watched him now. I wanted to see his face.

  “Mike Drayton’s murder? But I didn’t kill Mike Drayton. You did.”

  I wanted to see his face and I did. It wasn’t worth it. He had no reaction at all.

  Then, and only then, did I realize the value of his advice. I should have been tactful, diplomatic, tried to find another way of wriggling out. But no, it was too good to miss, telling him off. And in telling him off, I had told all.

  He’d guess, instantly, where I got my information. There was only one possible source. And now...

  There was a paperweight on the desk. I slid off the edge of the desk slowly, meeting his blank stare with a smile. Then all in one motion I grabbed, grasped, swung.

  He toppled forward in the chair very slowly, like a big, bald-headed doll. The doll was bleeding from a cut behind the ear. Out cold, and for a long time.

  I stepped over to the door and peeked out. May was behind the glass, at her receptionist’s desk. Beyond the glass I saw Jake, lounging on a sofa and reading a magazine.

  “Jake!” I called. “Come in here a minute. The Professor would like to see you.”

  He came over, waddled through the door, waddled right into the paperweight. He didn’t fall like a doll—he fell like a ton of bricks.

  I left them decorating the inner office, and locked the door on my way out.

  “They’re in conference in there,” I told May. “Don’t want to be disturbed. I’m going out—back later.”

  “See you,” said May.

  I hoped not. Glancing at my watch, I found it was almost 3:30. Just enough time to make it out to Caldwell’s by four o’clock. I climbed in the car and headed up Wilshire for Beverly Hills.

  I swung into the driveway at five minutes to four, got out and ran up the steps.

  Caldwell opened the door immediately.

  “You’re here,” he acknowledged. “Good!” We went down the hall to the library. Ellen Post stood up and came over and confirmed the look in her eyes with her lips.

  “Nobody’s following you?” Caldwell asked.

  “Not likely,” I said. I told them what had happened at the office.

  Ellen nodded. “But Eddie, you took an awful risk. Suppose they come to, and go out after Miss Bauer?”

  “Couldn’t make it in time. She must have left there about the same time I left the office. All it means is we’ll have to hurry. I’m going to have her sign a statement when she arrives—just in case something happens later on. Then we’ll take the photos and negatives, and that ought to prevent anything from happening, ever.

  “After that, we’ll be leaving. I think we’ve got this whole thing licked at last.”

  �
��Certainly hope so.” Caldwell paced the room, glanced up at the mantel clock. “Shouldn’t Miss Bauer be here by now, though? It’s almost ten after.”

  Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Tick-tock.

  We listened to the clock, and nobody said anything. The clock was suddenly quite loud.

  “Where’s the phone?” I asked.

  Caldwell gestured towards the next room. I went over, picked up the phone and dialed Information. I got the number of the Professor’s house after a two-minute delay, and the clock kept going louder and louder. Tick-tock.

  The phone buzzed. If there was no answer, I could assume Miss Bauer had left. If there was an answer—

  “Hello.”

  It was a man’s voice. There was something familiar about it. I hesitated until I placed the speaker. Dr. Sylvestro.

  “Hello?” he repeated, questioning.

  I hung up without answering. Sylvestro was out there. And if the Professor had revived and called Sylvestro before Miss Bauer got away, then...

  “Did you get her?” asked Ellen.

  “No, but I’m going to.”

  “What do you mean?”

  I glanced at my watch. Twenty past. “I mean I’ve got to get out to the Professor’s house, right away. She may still be coming, delayed by a flat tire or something. But we can’t take that chance. Sylvestro answered the phone just now, and that can mean anything. So I’m on my way.”

  “I thought you weren’t taking any chances. What do you call that? If they find you there, you’ll never get away.”

  “I’ve no choice. Miss Bauer is my alibi, our alibi. Besides, I can’t leave her in the soup.”

  Ellen put her arms around my neck. They seemed to belong there.

  “All right, Eddie. But I’m coming with you.”

  “Me too.” Caldwell clenched his big hands.

  “No you’re not. You can’t. Miss Bauer may still show up here. You’ll have to be on hand when she arrives, get her statement and the pictures and the negatives. Wait for me to call. I will call, as soon as I can.”

  “If you can.”

  I kissed her. “Yes, darling. If I can.”