The Con Man

by Gerald Verner

  “Now, come on, fix up the jane again,” ordered Lefty Guinan when Spike had finished and Tommy Spearman lay helpless. “I’ll hold her while you do it.”

  Ten seconds later Mary was once more securely bound.

  “Now, who’s going to dictate terms?” said Lefty, smiling unpleasantly.

  “You are, I presume,” retorted Mr Spearman, looking at him steadily. “And for heaven’s sake be quick about it. I’m most uncomfortable!”

  Lefty lit a cigarette.

  “Not so uncomfortable as you will be, Tommy,” he said. “I guess I want two things from you — that money you stole from me and the film.

  “I don’t see how you’re going to get either while you keep me tied up,” said Tommy Spearman calmly. “But I’ll tell you what I will do. Release Miss Henley and let her go and I’ll give you half the money.”

  Guinan laughed.

  “What do you take me for?” he asked. “A kid? I want all that money and I’m going to have it!”

  “The difficulty about that,” said Tommy Spearman, “is that the money is at my hotel.”

  “Sure that will be easy,” said Lefty. “I’ll come back with you and get it. Spike can stop here with the jane, and if I’m not back in a couple of hours — well, it won’t be pleasant for her.”

  “Nothing doing, Lefty,” said Spearman, shaking his head. “You’ve got to let that girl go before I do anything.”

  “Don’t talk soft.” snapped Guinan impatiently. “Do you think I was born yesterday? The girl’s the only hold I’ve got on you. Once I let her go, you can snap your fingers at us. I know that as well as you do — ”

  “Listen, Lefty,” Mr Spearman spoke earnestly, “this business is between you and me. Miss Henley’s got nothing whatever to do with it. Let her go, and I’ll give you my promise that you shall have your money.”

  “And the film?”

  “And the film,” agreed Mr Spearman.

  “Oh, yeah? You think I’m goin’ to fall for that stuff,” said Lefty, “Your promise! I guess that means just nothin’ to me. When the money and the film are in my hands I’ll think about lettin’ the girl go, but not before.”

  “Until she’s safe you won’t get them, Lefty,” said the other decidedly. “And you can’t get them without me, remember that, so you’d better agree to my terms.”

  “I’m not goin’ to try and get them without you,” snarled Guinan savagely, “and I’m not goin’ to talk to you all night. For the last time, will you come with me to your hotel and get that money and the film?”

  “The film isn’t at my hotel,” answered Mr Spearman.

  “Where is it?” demanded Guinan.

  “It’s quite safe,” said Tommy Spearman.

  “Well, wherever it is, I guess you can get it,” grunted Guinan.

  “Oh, I can get it all right,” answered Mr Spearman, “and I will — on the terms I have stated.”

  “You’ll get it on mine,” snapped Guinan, “and the money as well. Is the film at your hotel?”

  “No, it’s not!” snapped Spearman shortly.

  “Where is it?”

  “That’s my business.” retorted Mr Spearman.

  Lefty Guinan’s face became contorted with rage, and stooping, he struck his captive full in the face. The blow was a heavy one, and cut Tommy Spearman’s lips so that the blood trickled down his chin.

  “That’s the sort of thing I should have expected from you,” he said quietly, but there was that in his tone which lashed Lefty to fury.

  “Never mind what you expected,” he hissed thickly. “I guess that’s only a taster of what’s coming to you unless you do what you’re told, so you’d better listen. I’ve changed my plan. What you’ll do is to tell us where the film is and write a note to your hotel authorising the bearer to collect some things from your room. Spike can take that along, and when he comes back with the money and the film you and the girl can go — see?”

  “I hear,” corrected Mr Spearman, “and I’ll see you in hell first.”

  “Very well.” Lefty was almost incoherent with fury. “P’raps this’ll make you alter your mind.”

  He strode over to the mantelpiece, seized one of the candles and stooped over Mary Henley.

  “Now,” he snarled, and his lips were drawn back showing his yellow teeth, “you’ll do what I want or I’ll burn the girl until she screams!”

  He brought the flame of the candle to within an inch of her hand.

  “Come on! I guess I’ll give you two seconds to make up your mind!”

  Chapter 18

  BOB RIVINGTON FINDS TROUBLE

  Bob Rivington had been watching the Beverley Wilshire for a long time before he was rewarded by any concrete result. He had seen Mr Spearman go to his dinner at the Brown Derby and had seen him come back again, although he had kept so well hidden himself that Mr Spearman had not spotted him.

  After that had followed a long and tedious wait, during which Bob had become thoroughly and wholeheartedly bored. But he stuck to his post, and later was glad that he did. Just as he was looking about for the arrival of Paul, who had promised to relieve him, Mr Spearman came out again and began walking up the Wilshire Boulevard at a great pace. Bob, with a thrill of interest, followed him. This looked as if there was something doing at last. It was unlikely that Mr Spearman was merely going out for a breather; everything about him showed purpose and decision.

  Bob forgot his boredom in the sudden keen excitement that came over him. He quickly found that shadowing his quarry was going to be easy, for the man he was following seemed so intent on his business, whatever it was, that he never once looked back.

  Bob began to speculate on where he was going. Paul’s object on having a watch kept on the Beverley Wilshire was his belief that in spite of the fiasco of his search, the million dollar film was somewhere in Mr Spearman’s possession, and that sooner or later he would make a move to shift it to a less dangerous resting place.

  Well, wherever the con man was going on this night excursion he was not taking the film with him. He was carrying nothing — at least nothing so bulky as that. Bob was intensely curious, and presently his curiosity was satisfied, for at the end of the Boulevard he saw the dim lights of a stationary car. So that was it. Mr Spearman was going to meet somebody. Who?

  He increased his pace, making no sound with his rubber-soled shoes, and keeping well in to the shadow of the sidewalk, edged as close as he could to the waiting car. Mr Spearman came abreast of it and a man got out. Bob heard him say something. He wasn’t close enough to hear what it was, but something in the tone of the man’s voice was familiar. He moved a few paces nearer, and now he was able to hear Spearman’s reply.

  “What have you done with the girl, Guinan?”

  Bob’s pulses beat at double their normal speed, for the man in the car was Lefty Guinan — the man who had killed Levenstein. This was getting exciting! But who was the girl they were talking about? He strained his ears to hear some more, but the voices of the two had dropped, and he could only catch a word here and there — not sufficient to make sense of the conversation.

  One thing, however, he thought rapidly, he must not let Guinan out of his sight, and that was going to be awkward, because the man had got a car. Wait a minute, though: the car was a two-seater with the hood up, and there was ample room on the back for a passenger — provided he could get there unobserved. Cautiously he crept nearer yet, and as he did so he heard Guinan say:

  “That’s O.K. with me. Get In.”

  “You get in first,” answered Spearman, and Bob saw with a little thrill that he was holding an automatic pistol.

  So this was not a friendly meeting! He watched them both get into the little car and saw it move forward. Breaking into a run he covered the small space that now separated him from the back of the car and perched himself on it as securely as he could. This was not quite as securely as he would have liked, for the jerk as it gathered speed almost unseated him and sent him rolling
into the roadway. But by gripping the right wing and wedging his foot into the rear-lamp bracket he managed to retain his hold. The car ran at a fair speed, negotiating a maze of streets which were completely unfamiliar to Bob, and he soon lost all sense of his direction. He had not the faintest idea of their destination, but he hung on grimly with one resolve, and that was that wherever Guinan was going, he was going too.

  Presently the streets were left behind, and rough roads and byways took their place. Several times as the car bumped over the bad surface Bob was nearly thrown from his precarious perch, and it was more by luck than anything else that he still stuck on. By the time the car came to a halt under the shadow of a wooded hillside he was bruised all over and aching in every limb. Immediately it stopped he slipped down and hid himself behind a clump of bushes that were growing close at hand. He saw Spearman get out, followed by Lefty Guinan. Talking in low tones, both of them moved over to a gate at the foot of the sloping hillside. Through this they both disappeared, and Bob waited to give them time to get well out of the way before he followed. The gate seemed to suggest there was a house somewhere close at hand. When he concluded that a sufficient time had elapsed he left his place of concealment and was moving towards the gate when an idea occurred to him, and he stopped by the car. Bob knew all about cars, and in a few seconds he had lifted the bonnet and cut three inches from each of the wires leading to the plugs. The car as a means of locomotion was now about as useful as a soap-box, and the fact that it was out of gear might prove useful later.

  Having accomplished that little bit of forethought, Bob walked over to the gate and entered the dark lane beyond. It was very dark, and he could scarcely see a yard before him, owing to the trees, which grew so thickly that they obscured the sky.

  He went on, however, for what must have been a good fifty yards, and then suddenly he came in sight of a house. He stopped and surveyed it, and came to the conclusion that it was the most depressing place he had ever seen.

  Behind it and on either side a small forest hemmed it in, and in front was a riot of unkempt bushes and long grass. The house itself was low and rambling and drifted away into the shadows that surrounded it. No gleam of light came from any of the broken windows and no sound broke the absolute stillness. Bob stood for a moment, taking in every detail of this unprepossessing building, and then he decided to have a closer look.

  Wading knee-deep in tangled weeds and grass, he made his way towards a flight of broken steps that led to a veranda that ran almost the entire length of the front of the place. Mounting the crazy steps cautiously, he found that two pairs of French windows opened on to the balcony. He went to the first pair and found that they were open. He pulled them wider, and holding them thus, listened. He thought he heard the faint sound of voices, and stepped into the room beyond. The dust was thick everywhere, and as he walked forward it rose in clouds, and it struck him that the house must have been uninhabited for years. Again halfway across that dim room he paused and listened.

  Yes, there was no mistaking this time; from somewhere inside the place — at the back probably — came the hum of voices. Bob frowned. He was sorry now that he had put the car out of action. What a chance he had missed! He could have gone back, fetched Paul, and rounded the whole crowd up. However, it was no good being sorry now.

  He decided to go forward on his own. On tiptoe he crossed the remainder of the room, passed through an open door, and came out into a narrow passage. This seemed to run right and left, but the vague whispering which he had heard had grown louder, and came from the left. He started to feel his way along, and almost came to grief over a short flight of steps that led downwards. Ahead of him was a door, and from underneath came a thin stream of light. Very carefully he approached it, and bending down, applied his eye to the keyhole. He shifted his position until he could get a clear view of the room beyond, and the sight that he saw made him draw in his breath quickly. The room had evidently been a kitchen and was lit by two candles stuck on the end of the mantelpiece. And in this feeble glimmer he saw that there were four people present — three men and a girl. Two of the men he failed at first to recognise, and then through their slight disguises he saw they were the men who had been at the disused studio — Lefty Guinan and Spike Munro. Spearman was lying securely bound in one corner, and in the other — bound too — was the girl with whom he had come into the Brown Derby. But Bob had only eyes for what Lefty Guinan was doing, for as he watched he took one of the candles from the mantelpiece and went over to the girl.

  “Now,” he snarled, bending over her, “you’ll do what I want or I’ll burn the girl until she screams. Come on! I’ll give you two seconds to make up your mind!”

  Bob saw the flame of the candle approach the girl’s hand, and heard Spearman cry:

  “You brute! Stop — ”

  And then pulling his automatic from his pocket, he threw discretion to the winds and flung open the door.

  “Drop that candle!” he said crisply, “and put your hands up! I want you!”

  With a growl of surprise like that of a wild beast, Lefty dropped the candle and stood up.

  “Put your hands up!” repeated Bob, “and look slippy or I’ll — ” They never heard what he was going to do, for at that moment Spike, who was close to the mantelpiece, swept the last remaining candle to the floor and plunged the place in darkness!

  Bob’s fingers contracted on the trigger of his gun, and the little weapon spat flame. He had to keep it high for fear of hitting Spearman or the girl. He heard a cry and a muttered oath, and guessed that either Guinan or Munro had been wounded. Then a hand gripped his wrist, and the pistol was wrenched from his grasp. He hit out blindly and his blow struck flesh, but his attacker reached up and gripped his throat. He tried with all his might to wrench that hand away, but the fingers only tightened and sank into his flesh. He kicked out and felt his foot strike home. There was a grunt of pain, but the grip never relaxed. There came a roaring in his ears, and flecks of red danced in the darkness that was like a wall shutting him in. He flung himself backwards and fell heavily with his assailant on top of him. Bunching his fist he struck out with all his strength. The grip on his throat relaxed, and with great panting gulps he drew air down into his bursting lungs. But the respite was only short-lived. He heard a growled-out oath, and something crashed down on his head. He gave a stifled groan and then all the darkness in the world seemed to rush into his brain...

  Chapter 19

  SHOTS IN THE NIGHT

  Paul Rivington was feeling irritable. He had been morose during dinner, and directly after the meal had taken himself to the room that Mr Myers had set aside for his exclusive use, and drawing up a chair to the open window, smoked cigarette after cigarette, staring unseeingly out into the fragrant darkness of the garden.

  He had come, at the frantic request of Elmer Myers, six thousand miles and he had succeeded in doing comparatively nothing. And so far as he could see might continue to do nothing unless his hunch that Tommy Spearman was the possessor of the million dollar film was right. If Tommy had the film he was bound to try and dispose of it, and it was then that Paul hoped to catch him. And he felt pretty sure that he had got it somewhere. The fact that he had failed to find it at the Beverley Wilshire meant nothing.

  Spearman was a clever man and might have hidden it anywhere in the hotel. One thing, however: so long as a close watch was kept on his movements he would not be able to shift it. The whole case was very unsatisfactory. One of the most difficult he had ever had to deal with, because there were so many cross currents. This murder, for instance, of Lamont. Who had done that? Clearly not Lefty Guinan and his accomplice, Spike Munro, for, if so, there would have been no need for Dick Rennit to take the blame. And that Rennit had not committed it himself, Paul was almost sure. His confession was too vague regarding details; he could not say, for instance, what he had done with the weapon. No gun had been found on the scene of the crime, and Rennit, when questioned, had said that he’d thrown it
away when he had left the studios, but a search had not brought it to light. No, Rennit had confessed to the murder in order to shield somebody, and that somebody could only be the girl, Mary Henley. At least that was Paul’s theory, and Mary Henley was apparently a close friend of Tommy Spearman. Was the girl guilty, and if so, what had been her motive? Had she been one of the people who had burgled the studios that night? Again, why should she?

  Surely crooks like Guinan and Spike Munro wouldn’t take a girl along with them on that sort of business. The whole thing was a mix-up, and the more Paul thought of it the more of a mix-up it became. It was with something very like relief that he rose at last and prepared to go down to the Beverley Wilshire to take Bob’s place. That was the only line they had got at present — Tommy Spearman. He was in it up to the neck, and he might eventually lead them to the truth.

  As he left the gate of Myers’ house, a big car that was passing stopped with a squeal of brakes, and as he drew level with it Captain Willing thrust his head through the window.

  “Hello, Mr Rivington!” he called. “I thought it was you. I guess we’ve found out where those two birds, Guinan and Munro, were staying.”

  “Good!” said the detective. “Did you find anything to tell where they’d gone?”

  Captain Willing made a grimace.

  “No,” he answered, “they’ve left a lot of stuff behind, though, which proves that they were the fellows who did the job at Mammoth Studios. We’ve found a complete outfit of burglars’ tools — gas cylinders and everything.”