by Otto Penzler
“O’Reilly back yet?” she asked. “Good. O’Reilly? Listen. That dead feller in Chariot’s kitchen. You said you recognized him—that he was called Chinny Downs. Now listen, O’Reilly. Chinny Downs was a gangster. What gang was he mixed up in?”
“I thought of that, too, you old war horse,” boomed O’Reilly’s voice. “But it’s no soap. Chinny was a punk in Big Smiley’s gang, just joined up recent. There are a hundred punks just like him lined up with Smiley …”
“What’s a hundred punks to a bull like you? Get the whole hundred rounded up. Take ‘em under the light … Listen, O’Reilly. What about the man you found unconscious in the car with that fool Tarrant woman? Maybe he’d spill something?”
“Maybe he would, if he knew something. He says he don’t, and I believe him. He says Chinny Downs knew something, but Chinny Downs is dead.”
“Somebody made a mistake,” said Sarah. “If Chinny had been allowed to live, he might have talked. Oh, well, sometimes it ain’t good to be too impulsive.”
“What’s that?”
“Nothing, Sergeant. I was just thinking you’ve made some headway, anyway, toward collecting that ten thousand reward. You know the Courtwell murderer is connected somehow with the Smiley mob. Now, you’d really have that ten thousand reward cinched, Sergeant, if you just knew the name of the murderer, even the first name …”
The ‘phone clanked in Sarah’s ear. She hung up, smiling grimly.
Sarah Watson stalked back into her kitchen. She found Ben Todd with a gun pointed at Eddie Danville, who stood with his back to the wall.
“Bennie, you’re being childish,” Sarah said.
“I ain’t. This guy is trying to tell me that you put that bullet in Chinny Downs.”
“He’s trying to tell you the truth.”
“Sarah! What the devil? Why—”
“If I hadn’t, Chinny would have put a bullet in Eddie. I didn’t want to see murder done, Bennie, especially when the murderer was liable to be worth ten thousand to you and me.”
Ben Todd sank into his chair, his gun and his mouth both slack. Sarah shoved Eddie Danville into a chair.
“Now, Eddie, tell us,” she asked. “Do you know the Smiley outfit?”
“Do I know it? Smiley’s the guy who framed me into the pen, because I—”
“Never mind what you did to him, Eddie. Whatever it was, he deserved it. Now, when you knew the Smiley mob, Eddie, was there maybe a Jake connected with it—a Tony?”
Eddie Danville jumped to his feet and held on to the edge of the table.
“Jake Benner and Tony Corelli!” he cried. “Why didn’t I think of them before? What a blasted fool I am!”
“Of course,” agreed Sarah. “Sit down, Eddie. You need food. We all need food. We’ve got work to do before morning, bloody work, maybe. We need red meat.”
Sarah Watson stepped out on her front stoop and peered up and down the dark, sleeping block. She made a dash down the steps, across the sidewalk, and into the battered wreck waiting at the curb.
Two young men ran after her, one of them hatless and enveloped in a voluminous yellow raincoat. The car door slammed. The machine snorted away from the curb.
“Sarah, for Pete’s sake, tell us what we’re up against,” Ben Todd pleaded. “If you’re planning to break into Smiley’s roadhouse hangout, we wouldn’t have a chance, the three of us …”
“If we break into Smiley’s roadhouse,” said Sarah, swerving the car around a corner, “we’ll break in because I know we have a chance.”
“Sarah, for Pete’s sake, stop being cryptic …”
Sarah Watson slowed the car, stopped it in front of an all-night drug store.
“Cryptic? What’s that mean?” she asked, then got out of the car and stalked into the drug store.
Sarah Watson stood wedged into a telephone booth, the receiver clamped to her car.
“Hello? This Smiley’s roadhouse? Want to speak to Jake. Jake or Tony.”
Sarah waited. She waited a long time. She heard some one step into the booth next to hers. She put out a tentative hand to pull open her door and peer out. Just then, a voice spoke into her ear.
“Yeah? This is Jake.”
“Tony there, too?”
“Who wants to know?”
“Listen, Jake. Smiley don’t know it yet but Chinny Downs got his today. He got it in Green Street. Yes, Green Street. And the cops found Jim Corker knocked-out in a car with the Tar-rant skirt tied up in the back. They found Jim Corker on Green Street, too. Jim’s down at Headquarters now, sweating. Yes, I said sweating. Now listen, Jake. The feller Chinny Downs was after is sneaking back to-night to Green Street. Never mind who I am, Jake. I’m no fool, and neither are you.”
Sarah hung up, tore open the door and peered into the adjoining booth. A red headed young man peered back at her, through smudged glass, then opened the door and stepped out.
“Dumb-ox!” she cried. “Suppose Eddie’s got nervous and skeedaddled while you’ve been in here, spying on me?”
“Double-crosser,” muttered Ben Todd. “You never had a job yet that you didn’t double-cross somebody. You’ve double-crossed O’Reilly and now you’re going to double-cross Eddie. You old female snake! If Eddie has made a getaway, so much the better for Eddie …”
Sarah did not answer, but stalked out of the drug store. Ben Todd followed. At the curb, Sarah peered into the rear of her car and gave a satisfied grunt. She slid in under the wheel, reached out and yanked Ben Todd in by his long arm.
“Bennie,” she said, “you had one bright flash of intelligence to-night when you stalled off O’Reilly. I suppose I oughtn’t to expect anything more of you. Shut up, now. I’m going to talk to Eddie. Eddie, we’re going back to your crystal gazing den right now …”
“No,” shouted Ben Todd. “We can’t. There’ll be at least one cop on duty there. Maybe two.”
“If there’s three,” said Sarah, “there’s three of us.”
“Eddie,” Ben Todd warned, “you take my advice and get out of this car now, while you can.”
“Be quiet,” commanded Sarah. “Eddie, we’re going back to Green Street because if Jake and Tony are as dumb as I think they are, we’re going to have callers there.”
“Sarah,” apologized Ben Todd, “forgive me. But I still don’t …”
“You ought to apologize,” said Sarah, complacently. “You ought to grovel.”
“I will,” Ben Todd agreed, “if I’m able to, after the cops at Eddie’s place get through with us.”
“Don’t worry about a few paltry policemen,” Sarah insisted. “The thing to worry about now is whether we can beat Jake and Tony to Green Street.”
The old car plunged around a corner and rattled into amazing speed.
“But, Sarah,” Ben Todd asked, “even if you get this Jake and this Tony, how are you going to hang the Courtwell murder on ‘em so it sticks? You’ve only got Eddie’s word, and Eddie’s word …”
“Ain’t worth a hoot,” Sarah finished for him. “I know. But there’s no use worrying about more than one thing at one time. You leave things to me, Ben Todd.”
Three figures stole down an odorous alley at the side of a tenement in Green Street and stopped in deep shadows. One figure whispered:
“Look’s like our company ain’t here yet, but we can’t be sure. Eddie, you go back into this alley and wait ‘til I call you. Cops are too dangerous for you.”
“Listen, old girl,” whispered another one of the figures, “if you’re going to mess up with cops …”
“Who said I was going to mess up with cops? Come along, Ben Todd. Keep your hand off that gun and don’t get any bright ideas of your own.”
Sarah Watson moved down to the mouth of the alley. She surveyed the street, then charged swiftly out of the alley and up the front stoop of the tenement, with Ben Todd behind her. A long, sleek car was just turning the corner.
Sarah and Ben went through the vestibule door and into the hall. A cop sitting on the bottom
step of the stairs roused suddenly, stood up.
“Quick, officer!” Sarah yelled. “Get inside and turn the lights off in that flat. Eddie Danville’s on his way here. Sergeant O’Reilly sent us …”
“The hell he did!” roared the cop, reaching for his holster. “Sergeant O’Reilly is inside that flat …”
Sarah Watson lurched suddenly. The cop staggered under the onslaught and sat down again on the bottom step with Sarah on his lap. Sarah’s stubby fingers gripped the cop’s right wrist.
“Move, Bennie. Take his gun,” she ordered.
Ben Todd snatched at the gun, backed with it in his hand. The cop heaved suddenly, throwing Sarah back, sprawling. The cop charged at Ben Todd. Sarah got to her knees, straightening her hat.
“Officer,” she warned, “if you don’t behave, I’ll tell Sergeant O’Reilly a woman disarmed you.”
The door to Eddie Danville’s flat swung out. Sergeant O’Reilly stood framed in the dim light from the swinging lanterns beyond.
“What’s this?” he asked.
“Misunderstanding,” Sarah answered. “Get those lights off in there, O’Reilly, and get this competent cop stowed away somewhere where he won’t be seen. Eddie’s coming home.”
Sarah pushed by O’Reilly and into the room beyond, reaching up and switching off the hanging lanterns as she went. O’Reilly remained rigid a moment, then crooked a hairy finger at Ben Todd and the cop and followed Sarah.
Sarah was at the window, the heavy curtains parted in her stubby fingers.
“Two,” she whispered. “One of ‘em coming up the stoop. One of’em going around the back way. Lord! Eddie’s out back, I’ve got to …”
She wheeled, saw the dim forms of the three men.
“All of you hide,” she commanded. “Somewhere … anywhere, and don’t move, whatever happens … Get in back of those curtains hanging on the wall, the three of you …”
“Say!” O’Reilly’s voice was husky. “Who’s giving the orders around here, anyway?”
“I am,” said Sarah. “And if you know what’s good for you, O’Reilly, you’re taking ‘em.”
Sarah strode out of the room and through the kitchen, which was dark. She poked her head out of the window and called softly:
“Eddie!”
No answer. A faint scuffling, a deep groan. Sarah got on the fire escape, peered down.
“Eddie!”
Two forms in the shadows below, struggling. Sarah went down swiftly. The two wrestling figures fell, rolled on the asphalt at her feet.
“Eddie! Which is you?”
A groan answered her. She bent, caught hold of a slippery garment which gleamed faintly yellow in the darkness.
“I’d like to watch a good battle, but there ain’t time,” she said, smashing the butt-end of her gun down on the skull of the man straddling Eddie.
Sarah and Eddie dragged a recumbent figure through the kitchen window, laid it on the floor in the darkness. Sarah whispered:
“Which one, Eddie?”
“Jake, I think.”
“Leave Jake lay. I’ve got to see what Tony is up to …”
Sarah stole to the door which led into the front room, and inched the door open. The room on the other side was dark and still. Dimly, Sarah could discern bulges in the dark stuff which curtained the walls, three bulges. In the silence there came a faint clicking of metal against metal. It seemed to come from the door to the hall.
Sarah turned back into the kitchen.
She whispered a warning. “Eddie, you stay here.”
“No. That’s Jake at that door, Sarah. He’s a killer.”
“You stay. No nonsense. Wait a minute! Where’s that white nightgown of yours … ?”
Sarah stepped into the front room and closed the kitchen door firmly behind her. She moved silently in the darkness, reached up and switched on a lantern which hung directly over the crystal ball. The dim rays of the lantern revealed her swathed in a white robe and wearing a white turban well down over her bushy brows. A snort came from one of the bulges in the curtains. Sarah looked at the bulge.
“O’Reilly,” she whispered, “I’ve got one of the Courtwell killers in the kitchen and the other one is coming through that door. You stay put and don’t snort …”
Sarah walked to the hall door and threw it open. The man outside straightened suddenly, reached for his hip.
“Why didn’t you ring the bell?” Sarah asked. “I don’t often look into the crystal this late, but if you want a consultation …”
Sarah backed into the room. The man followed, shutting the door with his foot. He kept his hand on his hip.
“Where’s this guy Chariot?” he rasped.
“Chariot? I don’t know. At least, my conscious mind don’t know, mister. Maybe if I looked in the crystal I might see him. Of course, it’s late, and my fee would be double …”
The man shoved his face close to Sarah’s, stared at her under the eerie rays of the lantern.
“So that’s it? How much?” he asked.
“Twenty,” Sarah replied. She stalked to the table which held the crystal globe and sat down.
The man hesitated, then lowered himself into the seat opposite.
“Come on now,” he ordered. “No use stallin’ with the fortune tellin’ stuff. You know where Chariot is and you’re willin’ to spill for twenty. Spill, or …”
He drew his hand from his hip and showed the gun in it to Sarah. Sarah glanced at it, then bent her head over the crystal globe.
“Chariot!” she muttered. “I can almost see him. I can see him! He’s near, very near. Wait! There’s something else swimming into the crystal …”
“Can that stuff! Where’s Chariot?”
“In a minute. It’s coming clear. I see a man’s figure … lying down … very still… there are cat-tails swaying over him … there’s a dark stain on his breast … there’s something in his breast…”
The man with the gun jumped out of his chair, then sat down again. He ran his left hand over his forehead. “You can’t pull that. That’s a lot of—”
“Ah!” Sarah went on. “I see it now. It’s sticking out of his heart. It’s still quivering in his heart. It’s a knife, a bone-handled knife …”
“Hey!” cried the man on the other side of the table.
“Wait! It’s going. Chariot! I see Chariot. Something is between his face and mine. Something black with two sparkling circles in it. Ah! A ring, an onyx ring with two diamonds …”
The man with the gun leaped up again. His gun arm came up. He said:
“O.K. You know everything. I don’t know whether you see it in that ball, or whether you don’t. You know it. You know about the ring I took off Honest Jim Carson’s stiff and lost the night I croaked Courtwell. You know it, and it’s just too bad for you! Look into your damned crystal and see if you see yourself with wings, lady, because you’re going—”
Two guns spurted fire—one from the curtained wall, one from the gun in front of Sarah Watson. At the same moment, Sarah pitched the crystal ball through the air. It struck, splintered, crashed. The man who had shot at Sarah crashed with it.
Lights flashed on. Three men—O’Reilly, Ben Todd, and the cop, dashed to the writhing figure on the floor. He was surrounded by jagged, bloody glass.
Sarah Watson clasped stubby fingers over an arm which was beginning to seep red into the white of her robe.
“Meet Tony, boys,” she said. “Too bad I had to break Eddie’s crystal.”
O’Reilly straightened, turned and faced Sarah.
“Eddie! Eddie Danville!” he bellowed. “You said he was coming … ?”
“He’s come,” said Sarah. “He’s in the kitchen, guarding Jake—Tony’s helper in the Courtwell killing. When Jake and Tony are able to talk some more, O’Reilly, you might get ‘em to talk a little about how Eddie was railroaded to jail. I’d like to see Eddie cleared, because I want him to buy a new crystal. I want to look into a crystal, O’Reilly, and see fu
ture events. I want to see myself handing part of the ten thousand dollars reward for Courtwell’s murderers to Ben Todd and part to Eddie Danville …”
“Part!” shouted O’Reilly. “It will be a small part indeed you’ll hand out to anybody, Sarah Watson.”
“And part,” said Sarah, “to Sergeant O’Reilly. It will have to be a small part, of course, because I’ll have to divide the ten thousand dollars four ways.”
He Got What He Asked For
D. B. McCandless
Sarah and Ben were doubly cautious
The Theft and Getaway Were
Perfect—All Detective Sarah
Watson Had to Do Was to Find
the Missing Diamond Necklace
and Turn It Into Paste!
I
THE HEAVY FRONT DOORS of the Citizens’ Saving Bank swung in. A woman in rusty black entered the cloistered silence of the main banking room, strode purposefully across the tiled floor and halted at one of the depositors’ windows. The woman had a savings bank book in her black-gloved fingers, with some soiled bills folded inside it. The outside of the savings book said, “Sarah Watson.”
She shoved the book and the money under the elaborate wicket, put an elbow on the marble shelf of the window and swung the thick, rigidly corseted column of her body around, waiting and staring from under bristling iron gray eyebrows.
The clerk behind the wicket made haste to enter her deposit, murmuring polite nothings. She paid no attention to the nothings. She was watching the door. The armed guard stalking from marble column to marble column bowed respectfully to her. Her gray eyes glinted on him a moment, and returned to the door.
The door swung in. A long, lank young man with red hair and gingersnap freckles entered. The woman’s craggy chin grew a trifle more prominent. She reached around, took her savings book from the clerk, thrust it into her shabby, capacious black handbag, and bore down upon the young man.
“Ben Todd!” she said in a voice which echoed hoarsely back from the vaulted ceiling. “Thought you’d be along, feller. Which are you going to do—put or take?”
