“Gatesy!” he called. “Where are you?”
His shadow fell on the stairs. I tipped the sack on end, holding it by its ears. When he put his foot on the bottom step I called urgently, “Al!” He stood still, looking around, and I let go.
I ran back to the window. Swinging out, I dropped onto the truck, going into coal to my knees and my elbows. I waded forward to the cab.
The key had been left in the ignition. When the motor took hold I cramped the wheels, reversed and came forward hard. The yard had only one exit, past the overhead oil tanks and along the railroad siding. I heard someone shouting. As the driveway straightened I could see the main street, and I began to think I was going to get at least that far. Then a Pontiac sedan made a skidding turn into the driveway and slowed to a halt fifteen feet in front of me.
I hit the brakes. Minturn—the fire chief Minturn—came out of the Pontiac looking a little shopworn. He had something even better than a baseball bat—a sixteen-gauge shotgun.
I stepped out onto the running board to look the situation over. Rusty and two other men appeared around the warehouse at a hard run. They slowed as they saw Minturn. He came forward, holding the shotgun at ready-arms. It looked as big as a 105 howitzer, as shotguns do in town. And then I noticed that it was brand new and I stopped worrying.
I took out my .38, snapping off the safety and forcing a round under the hammer. Rusty and the others stopped short. With two guns showing they seemed considerably less eager.
Minturn brought the shotgun around so I could look down the barrels. “Put that pistol on the fender and be quick about it, Gates. I don’t want to do it, but if you make one move I’ll blow you out of your shoes.”
“Not with an empty shotgun,” I said.
He sneered. “You want to take a chance on that, do you?”
“I think so.” I walked to the front of the truck, holding the .38 beside my leg, pointing at the ground. “You grabbed that gun out of the case as you went by. It’s still got cosmoline on it. You’re wasting time here, Joe. You ought to be over at the bank cleaning out your safe-deposit box. That money’s hot. You’d better bury it.”
“I warn you—” he said in a choked voice.
I really didn’t think he’d had time to load the gun, but I would have felt foolish if he had proved I was wrong. I stopped beside the front bumper.
“How about you fellows?” I called to Rusty and the others. “Can you hear me? Joe’s been blackmailing the Pope boy. He didn’t share the loot, so you don’t want to get a share of the fallout.”
A car stopped in front of the warehouse. A door slammed and Lieutenant Minturn came up to the group. He pushed his hat back from his forehead and looked from his brother to me and back again.
“What have we here?” he said. “The gunfight at the O.K. Corral?”
“He didn’t get away from me, by God,” the chief said, lifting the shotgun. “And you can have him. You ought to see the store!”
“Well, Gates,” Lieutenant Minturn said mildly. “Let’s disarm. Joe, put that Browning back where you got it.”
The chief aimed the gun at the coal pile and yanked one trigger. There was a loud bang and a small convulsion in the side of the pile.
“You know so much,” he said.
I laughed and started to put my gun away, and suddenly the fire siren sounded.
Chapter 16
It was a high wail—a real fire and not a time-signal or a make-believe air-raid. For an instant we all stood still, as though we might have to pay a forfeit for moving.
Lieutenant Minturn was the first to get back into action. “What are you standing around for?” he asked his brother. “You’re the chief.”
His brother unfroze and ran off with the shotgun. Rusty and the others disappeared. I heard a car start.
Lieutenant Minturn came past the Pontiac. He raised his voice so I could hear him above the siren.
“Maybe I ought to be surprised, but I’m not. I figured you all along for a hard-nose.”
“What’s happened now? Did my client change his mind about me?”
“You no longer have a client, and that puts us back where we started. I was talking to Mr. Pope not more than half an hour ago. He said if you had the goddam effrontery to show up around here again, I was to take whatever action appealed to me. And that I will do with pleasure.”
“I’ll have to talk to him. I think I can change his mind again.”
“You won’t get the chance. He was leaving for the airport.”
“Maybe I can catch him.”
I started around him. “Gates,” he said amiably, “I wouldn’t do that if I were—”
And he threw the sucker punch, a right hook that was supposed to make me stand still for the combination. But I expected it, having noticed that he had taken out his upper plate. I slipped the punch and caught him by the wrist and under the armpit. Pivoting, I threw him in the direction he was already going. I might have broken my own record for distance, but the coal truck was in the way. Minturn slammed against it and slid slowly to the ground, leaving a dented radiator grille.
It took him a moment to remember where he had seen me. He groped for the front bumper, seeming to know that I wasn’t going to help him. The siren warbled a few times, then returned to its sustained scream. Leaning over, I flipped back the front of his coat.
“Not carrying a gun,” I said. “That makes it simpler. I’d just as soon not do any more fist-fighting today.”
I took out the .38 again and moved it in front of his eyes. “You got here late. You didn’t hear the loose charges I was throwing around. Your brother Joe collected some blackmail from Dick Pope this morning. A good guess at the figure would be twenty G’s. He came back from the funeral and put it in the bank. I had a tail on Dick last night, and he met Joe out on the highway somewhere. And I doubt if Junior is the type who would go to jail rather than stool on a pal.”
I dropped the gun in my side pocket. Minturn watched it till it was out of sight.
“Get up,” I said. “All by yourself. I could put a slug in your knee and get away with it. You’ve been riding me for a couple of days, and people might wonder if that doesn’t prove you’re in this with Joe. But if you are, I don’t think you’ve had time to get any of the dough. There’s still time to cop out. I want to talk to Mr. Pope before he leaves. Let’s go in your car and break the speed limit.”
He dragged himself to his knees. Suddenly he made an anguished face, put his hand in his coat pocket and brought out the upper plate. The four important center teeth had been smashed when he banged against the truck. He made a little sound of dismay.
He began to recover only when we were out on the highway and he had built up his speed to over seventy. He flicked on his siren to pass another car, which gave him the illusion that he was again in charge.
“What did you say about blackmail?”
“That’s right,” I said approvingly. “Play it dumb. You remember the famous fire. Joe must have found something to show that the fire was set, something that would point the finger at Junior. Wouldn’t a rich boy like Junior pay good money to keep out of jail? Sure he would, if he could raise it. He told his old man he wanted it to buy back some IOUs from a gambler. It didn’t work. What Joe should have done was go to the father in the first place. This is all news to you, no doubt.”
“So that’s why—” Minturn said.
“You’re doing fine,” I said. “That’s why nobody wanted to cooperate with Gates. Pattberg was buried. They wanted him to stay buried.”
“I’ll tell you this much,” Minturn said with sincerity. “I investigated that fire, and believe me, if there’d been one single solitary thing to point to arson, brother or no brother—”
“You don’t need to sell me, Lieutenant. You’re safe as long as you act stupid. It’s true that if that sneak-punch had landed back there, you would have gone on to beat hell out of me. But your motives were probably beyond reproach. You weren’t trying t
o cover up for Joe for a slice of that twenty thousand. You were just running an errand for the big man on the grand list.”
“I’m glad you realize that—”
He looked at me, his eyes narrowing. Then he looked back at the road. “Wait till I get my hands on that goddam Joe. I’ll break him in two.”
“Slow down through here,” I said. “We might meet somebody on these curves.”
He eased up on the gas and the needle dropped to 65. I heard more sirens shrieking ahead of us. We went into another curve, and as the road straightened out ahead I saw that the Popes’ house was on fire.
“Holy Virginia!” Minturn burst out.
He pumped the brakes. One entire wing was ablaze, and I saw in a glance that this would be one of those fires where Chief Minturn and his volunteers could do nothing but stand and watch. Only one fire truck had arrived. A second was rocking down the highway toward us, a few firemen clinging to its sides. Minturn let it go through the gate. We followed, eating its exhaust.
Minturn leaned forward over the wheel. “Do you think the son of a bitch started this one, too?”
“Why not? He got a lot of fun out of the last one.”
People were running across the lawn. The cars had been brought around from the garages and parked on the grass away from the house. Irving Davidson was helping the Prosper firemen, who were unreeling hose. The lieutenant strode off to find something to do.
Now I heard the flames for the first time. It was like being close to the edge of a waterfall, and I no longer had any doubt that when the noise died down nothing would be left but the chimneys and a cellar hole. The wind was blowing hard, in the worst direction.
Minturn dispatched a trooper to the gate to keep out the buffs, but a scattering had already come through and were drifting about among the engines. I headed for another group of spectators, most of whom were still dressed for the funeral. Shelley Hardwick, in black and wearing a hat with a half-veil, ran toward me. Her eyes were alive with excitement. Being a detective, I deduced from this and a smell of gin that she had been drinking martinis in the dead woman’s honor. “Ben—”
“Later,” I said.
Dick Pope and Anna DeLong were off by themselves. Dick was hunched forward, one hand to his face. Anna looked over her shoulder as I came up. Her hairpins were all in place, and she was back in her role of the indispensable secretary. It would have been tactless to remind her that when I saw her last she had been wearing one of my shirts.
“Where’s your father, Dick?” I said.
He spun around. I had seen him in different moods, but this was a new one. His eyes had an added surface, like frosted glass, and behind them a fire was raging, no less intense than the one that was burning down his house. His face was as wrinkled as a very old man’s.
He pulled away from Anna’s arm and cried, “I don’t care!”
Whirling, he ran toward the engines.
“Ben, stop him,” Anna said. “Don’t let him—”
Dick veered and headed for the house, his head down and his elbows churning. I made a disgusted sound and set off after him, giving it everything I had. I wasn’t dressed for the hundred-yard dash and, though he wasn’t either, he had a start. He wanted to get into that burning building, and I really didn’t. Even so, I gained on him. I felt a sudden wash of hot air. His form was awkward and labored, his head going from side to side as though he had just come into the stadium after running the full twenty-six miles. In another fifty yards I might have overhauled him, but it couldn’t be done in twenty.
“Dick!” I shouted, cupping my hands to my mouth. “You meathead, come back!” I tried to think of something that would stop him. “Your father wants me to tell you—”
It was too late. He ran up the front steps and into the house. I retreated. Anna was running toward me.
“What did he forget?” I said when she reached me.
“He thinks Pattberg’s in there! He said it was his fault, he had to save him. Ben, he’ll be killed!”
“That’s possible,” I said. “Did his father get away?”
“Yes, Dick drove him to the airport from the cemetery.”
Joe Minturn ran up. “If you think I’m going to send my boys in after him, you’re crazy!”
“And if he doesn’t come back,” I said, “maybe you can keep that twenty thousand he gave you.”
“Listen, if you think that has anything to do— Just try to get within ten feet of that front door.”
I had my hands up to shield my face as I looked at the house. The stone front didn’t seem affected by what was happening behind it, though masses of white smoke could be seen through the windows on the upper floors. The Prosper firemen were coming forward with a limp hose.
“Take off your skirt, Anna,” I said.
Her fingers went to one hip. Then she looked at me. “What?”
“Let’s have your skirt. Hurry up.”
“If you’re thinking about going in there,” Minturn said, “you are really nuts.”
I snapped my fingers impatiently, and Anna pulled the zipper and wriggled out of her skirt. I grabbed it. Minturn called after me, “Don’t let the stonework fool you. The roof’s about to fall in.”
The pumper was working and the firemen had begun to get water. They played it on the roof of the long el, which was beginning to smoke. The man on the nozzle was Al, apparently undamaged after being hit on the head with a fifty-pound bag of feed.
“Look at Gatesy,” he said when he saw me. “Lucky I’ve got my hands full or I’d take you over my knee.”
I thrust Anna’s skirt into the stream of water. “I’m going in. Wet me down when I get up close. Not yet! Not yet!” I shouted as he turned the hose on me.
I sprinted away, doing some broken-field running to keep out of the powerful stream. I hurdled the balustrade onto the terrace, then stood still and let the water hit me, turning until I was thoroughly soaked. I ran for the front door. There was a roar from the burning wing, an eruption of sparks. I wrapped Anna’s wet skirt around my head and plunged in.
For the first second or two it seemed cooler, but as I ran toward the stairs the heat hit me again. Ragged streamers of smoke curled down the stairwell. I took a searing breath and ran up the stairs. At the top the smoke was too thick to see. Muffled in the wet skirt, I groped down the corridor, feeling along the inner wall for the door to Mrs. Pope’s bedroom. I had to be right the first time. If I was wrong I didn’t think there was anyone outside who felt strongly enough about it to come in to get me.
The roar from the burning wing seemed far away. I touched a closed door, and left it closed. The next would be Mr. Pope’s. My lungs had to have air, and if there was no pure air available inside of three seconds, I would have to settle for smoke. Two-point-nine seconds later, my fingers reached a doorway. I burst through. I ran to the open window and butted out the screen. Leaning far out, I sucked air into my lungs.
Al aimed the water at me. In a moment I was being severely buffeted.
“Cut it—”
The stream caught me and knocked me sputtering back into the room. The air was better near the floor. For a moment I forgot what I was doing and tried to claw my way back to the window. Then I saw two figures lying near the foot of the bed.
I crawled across the room. One of the figures was Mr. Pope, who hadn’t, after all, made it to the airport. He lay on his back, his head toward the window. Dick had been dragging him in that direction when he collapsed. I couldn’t tell about Dick, but his father was still breathing. Pushing Dick off, I pulled at Mr. Pope and got him moving, keeping my head close to the floor. It was a clumsy way to pull, and when I was halfway I raised my head too high and got a lungful of smoke. I began coughing. Each cough was worse than the one before. For a moment I lay gasping, still gripping Mr. Pope’s collar, and then the stream of water, wandering around the room, hit me and made me so mad that I came to my feet and dragged my client the rest of the way to the window. I put my head into the
stream, waving both arms like a football referee signaling an off-side.
Davidson knocked the nozzle out of Al’s hands. It leaped and slithered across the grass.
There was a whoosh behind me and a tongue of flame licked in through the open door from the hall. It disappeared, but I knew it was still there, an ugly presence in the midst of the masses of smoke. New fire engines had arrived, and one, putting out a ladder, was trying to maneuver into position to reach me from the other side of the terrace. I couldn’t wait. I yelled at Davidson. I reversed Pope’s heavy body and wrestled him feet-first over the sill. Smoke was pouring out around me. The back of Pope’s coat was burning. I slapped at the flames and put them out, and then lowered him slowly over the sill.
Davidson hadn’t moved.
I yelled at him savagely. He couldn’t have heard me, but he sprinted up the bank and rolled over the balustrade. To my surprise, Rusty was waiting below the window. I lowered Pope as far as I could, and let him drop into their arms.
I took a deep breath. A section of the plaster ceiling had fallen onto the bed. I dropped to my hands and knees and started to crawl toward Dick. His clothes were on fire. Smoke closed in and I could no longer see him. Another piece of ceiling came down. Fire broke through the floor between me and Dick. I still had Anna’s skirt around my head, and when I realized that was on fire too, I decided the time had come to get the hell out of there.
I threw the skirt away and started to crawl back. The only part of the ceiling that was still where it should be, on the ceiling, was directly overhead. I couldn’t see it through the smoke, but I knew it was there. It fell on me when I was still a foot or two from the window. Al reached in and grabbed me.
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