“Hello,” Hicks said, turning the light off and approaching the fence. “I didn’t know you were there. What’s your name?”
“My name’s Tim Darby. Are you a dick?”
“I am not,” Hicks said emphatically. He was close enough to the boy to see that he had eyes and a mouth. “My name’s Al Hicks. How long have you been here? I mean sitting here.”
“Oh, I’ve been here for a considerable time. You’re not a cop, because you haven’t got a uniform.”
“No, I’m just a man. The reason I asked, I left my car here and now it’s gone. Somebody must have stolen it, and I thought maybe you saw them. Did you see a car here?”
“Sure I saw a car here. I live right down the road.”
“Did you see it go away?”
“Well, I—” That was as far as Tim got.
“You see,” Hicks explained, “if I knew what time it was taken it might help. I wouldn’t expect you to squeal on anyone. All I want is to get my car back.”
“You’re a liar,” the boy said. “It’s not your car, it’s one of Dundee’s cars. The Cadillac sixty-one. I’ve rode in it with Miss Gladd often and Ross too. And you’re a double liar because your name’s not Hicks!”
“Why isn’t my name Hicks?”
“Because it isn’t! You’re not so smart. Because he couldn’t—” Tim stopped abruptly.
“You’re wrong, Tim,” Hicks asserted. “I’m no more a liar than I am a dick or a cop. When I said it was my car I merely meant I was driving it. That’s a manner of speaking. You know that. I drove that car here from New York this evening. Now about the name. I’m astonished that you call me a double liar when I say my name is Hicks, because you look pretty intelligent. This evening around eight o’clock you were with a bunch of people around a cop up at the Dundee entrance. Weren’t you?”
“Yes, I was.”
“Sure you were. I saw you. Didn’t a man go up to that cop and say his name was Hicks?”
“Yes, he did.”
“Wasn’t that man me?”
“How can I tell? I can’t see you.”
“I beg your pardon.” Hicks turned on the light and aimed it at his own face. “What about it? Am I that man?”
“Yes, you are.”
“Well, do you think I was lying to the cop too, when I told him my name? Why would I do that?”
“I don’t know.” Tim sounded stubborn. “But—”
“But what?”
“I’ve got my reasons.”
“I know you have. I knew you had reasons when you were so positive I was lying about my name. And I’ll bet I know what they are.”
“I’ll bet you don’t!”
“I’ll bet I do. You’re a friend of Miss Gladd, aren’t you? Since you go riding with her?”
“I sure am.”
“Okay, so am I. I’ll bet she took that car, which of course she had a right to do. I’ll bet she stopped at your house and asked you to come and stay here, and gave you a message for a man named Hicks when he showed up, and told you to be mighty careful not to give the message to anybody else. And that was your idea of being mighty careful, telling me I was a liar when I said my name was Hicks. Now you know my name is Hicks, so you can give me the message. Huh?”
“But you sent the message!” the boy blurted. “It was signed ABC, but she told Ross it was from Alphabet Hicks!”
On account of the dark, there was no necessity for Hicks to control his gape of surprise. It delayed his reply a second, however.
“You say,” he demanded, “she told Ross that?”
“Sure she did! When she was telling him to get out of the car. She didn’t want him to go with her.”
“Tim, look here.” Hicks put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “I’m not a liar, and I’m a friend of Miss Gladd’s. Get that straight. Okay?”
“Okay. But—”
“No buts. Miss Gladd is in danger. I didn’t send her any message. If she got a message signed ABC it was a fake. It was from someone who wants to hurt her, maybe kill her. How did she get the message? Who brought it to her?”
The boy had slid off the fence. “But gee, I don’t—”
“Who brought it to her?”
“I did.”
“Where did you get it?”
“Mom took it on the phone. He—you telephoned—”
“I did not telephone. It was a fake. What did he say?”
“He said she was to drive to Crescent Road and he was in a car parked half a mile beyond Crescent Farm. License JV 28.”
“JV?”
“Yes. And Ross said—”
“Where was Ross?”
“He was sitting here in the car with her.”
“How did you know she was here?”
“He said on the phone. He said she’d be here in the car and she was, only he didn’t say anything about Ross, only Ross is all right. He said he didn’t think it was from you.”
“He was right. Did Ross go with her?”
“Sure. He wouldn’t get out. He’s nuts about her.”
“How long ago did they leave?”
“Well, I must have sat—”
“About how long?”
“I guess it must have been about ten minutes before you came. Maybe fifteen.”
“Where is Crescent Farm?”
“Over on Crescent Road. If you go straight on past Dundee’s, you take the first right, about a mile and a half, and on through Post’s Corners about two miles. There’s a lot of barns and a big white chicken house, on the right.”
“Is there a car at your house?”
“Yeah, but it’s not there, my dad works nights. Only Aunt Sadie’s car’s there, she came over on account of the excitement. Listen, if this is a plot you don’t need to worry Miss Gladd will get hurt, because Ross is with her and he’ll fight like a tiger. He’s strong. Once—”
“That’s fine, but I’ll go and see. Where’s Aunt Sadie’s car?”
“Over in the yard.”
“Come along and show me.”
“Sure.”
As they went down the road Hicks explained:
“No matter how strong Ross is, Miss Gladd might get hurt. So I want to get there as quick as I can. Would Aunt Sadie let me use her car if I asked her? What’s she like?”
“She’s a pain in the neck. Boy, is she stingy! The only way to do, we’ll just get in the car and go. Gee, it’s an emergency, isn’t it?”
“It sure is. But you can’t go, Tim. I’d love to have you, but it’s against the law. You’re a minor and I could be arrested and put in jail for kidnapping you. It’s a crazy law, but that’s it. We turn in here? Are they on the porch?”
“Naw, they’re inside. Gee, I want to go!”
“I know you do and I want you to, but that’s the law. Anyway, you’ll have to explain who took the car and why, or if they hear it leaving they’ll report it stolen. That’ll take a lot of nerve. Have you got enough nerve to do that?”
“Sure I have. But—”
It took persuasion to get Tim to agree to stay behind, but, being by nature a reasonable man, he finally consented. He would wait until the car was safely out of the yard and on its way, and would then apprise his womenfolk of the situation.
Luckily the key was in the dash. Hicks got the engine started with as little noise as possible, told Tim he was proud of him and Miss Gladd would be too, eased the car softly down the drive to the road, and turned right.
That, the short way to Crescent Road, took him past the Dundee entrance, but he went right on by at a good clip without meeting any attempt at interference. Evidently Aunt Sadie took good care of her property, for the car, a small sedan, without any pretensions to grandeur, nevertheless ran like a dream. In three minutes he came to the first right, which he took, and in another three minutes a cluster of outbuildings, the largest one square and white, told him that he was passing Crescent Farm; so he slowed down.
He crept along, entering a wood, but saw no car.
A mile. Two miles. Three miles. The wood was far behind. At a widening of the road he turned around and started back, keeping a sharp eye to either side; but in another five minutes he was back at the cluster of outbuildings and had certainly had no glimpse of a car, neither a JV 28 nor a Dundee Cadillac. In a smaller building, apart from the others, with trees around it, there was a light and a radio going, and he drove into the lane, got out, and walked across the yard to a door.
“Is this Crescent Farm?” he asked a man in overalls who came and peered through the screen at him.
“This is it, yes, sir. Mr. Humphrey’s place is up the road. I’m Walt Taylor, the farmer. You looking for Mr. Humphrey?”
“No, I’m looking for a friend of mine. I thought maybe he stopped to use your phone. Has anybody asked to use your phone the past hour or so?”
The man shook his head. “Nope.”
“I was expecting to find him parked down the road. Half a mile beyond Crescent Farm, he said. If you—”
“A big black sedan?”
“That’s right. License JV 28.”
“I didn’t notice the license, but a big black sedan was parked there around five o’clock when I went by to get a load of hay, and it was still there an hour later when I came back with the load.”
“It must have been him. What did he look like?”
“Didn’t see him. Neither time. Just the car. I kept an eye out, because I figured maybe he was after pheasant, but I didn’t hear any shot up to dark.”
“Did you hear one after dark?”
“Nope. Not that I was expecting one. It’s kind of hard to shoot pheasant when you can’t see ’em.”
“Have you noticed a car going by in the last half hour? Either direction?”
“No, I’ve been listening to the radio.”
Hicks thanked him and left, went back to Aunt Sadie’s car, and headed east. Arriving at the four corners, he pulled up at the side of the road, and sat scowling at the clock on the dash. His fingers, with no command from higher up, took a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and extracted one. Minutes later he was still sitting motionless, still scowling, and the cigarette had not been lit.
Twenty
The disposal of forces, at the instant Ross and Heather caught sight of the man aiming the pistol at them, was like this:
The man stood at the front of the car, against the front bumper. Heather stood by the left running board, at the point where it joined the front fender; and Ross was directly behind her. The man with the pistol was saying:
“What do you want?”
Ross didn’t hear him. That is, he didn’t recognize the words as words, because he was in no condition to do so. It is possible, when a man aiming a gun at you is only five feet away and the space is clear, to leap for him; but it is foolhardy to try that when he is barricaded by the fender and hood of a large automobile. Certainly a coward wouldn’t try it, or a prudent man, or one with any experience to speak of in situations of that kind. Therefore Ross proved that he belonged to none of those categories when he did in fact leap.
It was more a vault than a leap, for as he went up and forward his hand on Heather’s shoulder forced her down and back, and he went scooting over the hood with a velocity suggesting a projectile hurled by an explosive rather than a man propelled only by muscle. It was so instantaneous and meteoric that the man with the gun had time for no movement, except the squeezing of the trigger, and that he failed to do. The impact toppled him over. Ross, tumbling by him and on him, grabbing with both hands wildly, got the gun with his right, wrenched it loose, and slammed it against the man’s head. The man’s knees jerked up and straightened out again, and he lay still.
The engagement had lasted perhaps five seconds.
Heather was there, saying something, but Ross was still not recognizing words. He scrambled to his feet, panting, looked at the gun in his hand, glistening in the glare from the headlights of the other car, started to tremble all over, and said in a loud voice:
“Holy smoke! I hit him with this!”
“He didn’t shoot,” Heather said. “He didn’t, did he?”
“Shoot?” Ross stared at her. “Oh. No, he didn’t shoot.”
“I thought—I thought he was going to shoot.”
“So did I.”
“You certainly—went after him.”
“I certainly did.” Ross looked at the figure on the ground, still motionless. “I guess I hit him pretty hard. I never did anything like that before.” He went down on one knee beside the figure. “Here, hold this, will you?”
Heather took the gun from him, and stood gazing down at him. In a moment he said:
“I can’t feel any heartbeat.”
Heather’s teeth left her lip to let her say, “Feel his pulse.”
Ross’s hand went to the man’s wrist. After a long silence he said uncertainly, “It feels pretty good to me. Will you see what you think?”
Heather didn’t want to. If this was to be death again … a blow on the head had killed Martha … but she knew she had to. She had to because he had asked her to, and after the way he had jumped over the car straight at that gun … She squatted beside him, took the wrist he released to her, and felt for the spot. She couldn’t find it; and it took her half a minute to realize that her own heart was beating so violently that it was out of the question to feel another pulse.
“It’s all right,” she lied.
“Good.”
“It really is.”
“Good. Let me see again.”
She relinquished the wrist to him, arose, took two steps, and sat down on the bumper. In a moment Ross got up and came and sat beside her.
“My knees are wobbly,” he said. “Gosh. Now I don’t know what to do. I can’t just leave him here. I expect he’ll come to pretty soon, and then what am I going to do? Maybe I ought to take him to a hospital. Or maybe I ought to take him to the house and turn him over to that fathead district attorney. Darned if I know what to do.”
Heather giggled; and, as Ross looked at her in surprise, she giggled again. She knew she was doing it, and was furious; but in spite of the desperate effort she made, she felt it coming once more, up to her throat; it was irresistible; and then suddenly Ross’s arms were tight around her, and the last giggle never got out because his lips were against hers, allowing it no avenue of escape, and it was no longer even in her throat, there were no more giggles in her.…
She pulled away, pushed him away, and said indignantly:
“I couldn’t help it, it was funny. I don’t exactly mean it was funny, but your worrying like that about what to do, after you were so brave. I admit you were brave, but you being brave and me being hysterical is no reason for you to do that.”
“You mean kissing you?”
“Yes.”
“That wasn’t why I kissed you. Of course I always want to kiss you, there’s never any time I don’t, but the reason now was I was having a thought about you and I didn’t like it. And I guess I’ve got to ask you about it, and I don’t want to but I’ve got to.”
“A thought about me?”
“Yes. You and Vail.”
“Vail?”
“Yes.” Their eyes were meeting. “How long have you known him?”
“I never have known him. I don’t know him at all. I suppose you mean the Republic Products Vail, but I don’t know any Vail. But I want to know why you ask that, because Mr. Hicks asked me the same thing. He asked if I or my sister knew him.”
“And you don’t?”
“I’ve never seen him.”
“You’ve seen him now. That’s him there.”
“That? That—”
“That’s Jimmie Vail, head of Republic Products. And I may be dense, but at least I can ask questions, even if I don’t know how to get the answers to them. What’s Vail doing here? With a gun ready for whoever shows up? And that sonograph plate. Why do you say it was your sister’s voice? And why did my mother—but you don’t know anything about
that. And why did Hicks send you a message to come here to meet Vail? You think Hicks is your friend. Does that look like it?”
“He didn’t send me that message.”
“No? Who did?”
“I don’t know.” Heather’s heart was quieting down and she was beginning to feel that she had a mind again, though its contents were more of a bewildering jumble than ever. “I don’t know anything about anything. But if Vail was here hiding behind the car, waiting with a gun, he might have—”
She stopped abruptly, staring at the thing in her hand. A shiver ran over her. “It may have been this—he shot George with—” Her fingers went loose and the gun dropped to the ground.
Ross stooped and got it and slipped it into his pocket. “They can tell that. You were saying, Vail might have what?”
“He might have sent me that message himself.”
“By short wave?”
“He could have phoned from anywhere. From Crescent Farm.”
“And how did he know you were sitting there in the car waiting for Hicks?”
“I don’t know.” Heather frowned. “It’s all crazy. Utterly crazy! And so am I. Anyhow, I was wrong. I mean when I told you to get out of the car and let me come alone and you wouldn’t. I mean I ought to be decent about it, and just tell you—I’m glad you came. It’s just decent to say that.”
“Aw, that’s all right. Forget it. But that message—”
Ross stopped himself, at a groan from the figure on the ground, and a movement. They both stood up. Another groan came, considerably louder, and more movement, and as Ross took a step James Vail got himself lifted to an elbow, and then, with his other hand braced on the ground, was sitting. He sat and blinked, with the light right into his face, and groaned again.
Ross said, “Maybe you’d better take it easy.”
“Who are you?” Vail croaked.
“I’m Ross Dundee.”
“What? Who?”
“Ross Dundee.”
“Dick Dundee’s boy?”
“Yes.”
“How the hell did you get here?”
“I drove here in a car with Miss Gladd. Heather Gladd. She came as soon as she got your message.”
Rex Stout Page 18
