by Lester Dent
“I am afraid it’s not that simple, Mr. Fry. I couldn’t mail the key.”
“How is that?”
“You will have to personally appear and sign an affidavit. Just a formality, but it’s the law.”
Here was where Goldberg was going to get suspicious if care was not used, Harsh thought. “Oh, well, sure. I didn’t know you had to have an affidavit. I can see reasons for that. I’ll be glad to sign your papers. When could I come around and sign it and get the key?”
“Any time after tomorrow noon, Mr. Fry.”
“After noon tomorrow, that will be fine, Mr. Goldberg. I don’t know exactly when it will be convenient for me to drop around, but you go ahead with the key and I will see you soon.”
Miss Muirz smoked her cigarette in a long holder. She had picked out for Harsh a large checkered cap, which she suggested that he try on, and which he felt made him look as if he was wearing the lid from a milk can. But standing beside him in the full-length mirror’s reflection Miss Muirz was very lovely and elegant looking. So the hell with what the hat looked like.
“I’m sorry it took them so long to fit me, Miss Muirz. I got a thin waist and they had to take in the stuff. God, do I have to say I like this cap?”
She said he did not have the Continental touch with clothes, then set the cap aside and gave him back the hat he’d worn into the store. He pulled it down over his brow while she went and paid the bill. He wondered what the Continental touch was. The bill came to over five hundred dollars. The salesman personally carried all the stuff out to the car in one medium-sized armload, all but the garments left for alterations. A clip joint, Harsh thought, but rather fancy at that. If he ever got the wall safe open, he might make a habit of such toggeries.
It was getting dark, becoming a beautiful evening. Everything glowed like satin from the twilight and the air was not as warm as it had been. The breeze was lazy and filled with the perfume of tropical blooms and the engine of the limousine ran quietly as if half-asleep. Harsh felt fine. “Where do we eat?”
“We do not go to a restaurant, Mr. Harsh. I told you that, and you promised.”
“Hell, I knew you weren’t serious. I knew that was just for the others to hear, and we were going to make an evening of it.”
She shook her head. “You did not know anything of the kind.”
“You are ruining my life, did you know that?”
She drove the big limousine expertly. The car turned south on a boulevard and passed small houses, service stations, drive-ins. The lights of a supermarket made a Christmas-tree-like display ahead.
“Oh my God, let’s be reasonable, Miss Muirz. Let’s at least stop and get a couple steaks at that place ahead. I can cook a fine steak on the beach, if you’re so afraid somebody will see us.”
To his astonishment she shrugged and turned in at the supermarket and parked in the rear where there were no other cars. “You must not get out, Mr. Harsh.” She went inside the supermarket.
Man oh man, Harsh thought, and he leaned back on the seat and felt of the left side of his face and the arm in its sling. Both felt all right except for some itching, which he supposed was a good sign. Man oh man, he was almost afraid to think how well the afternoon was going. The telephone call to the Security Locksmithing Company had come off perfectly. Miss Muirz was showing signs of cooperation. This could turn into one hell of a day, that was what it could do.
Miss Muirz purchased some steaks, romaine, frozen French fries, and a bottle of brandy. She showed him the steaks.
“Say, they make my mouth water.”
“Mine, too.”
Now she drove the limousine at greater speed. The wind, cool and hard as glass pressing against their faces, rushed in the open windows. They crossed the causeway and drawbridge over black water with winking buoy lights on its surface. The strong breathing of the engine, the lime whiteness of the headlights, gave Harsh a feeling he was in a detached and fast-moving world. Miss Muirz turned into the stretch of blacktop road which followed the beach back to the estate. Now there were no houses nearby.
Harsh reached over and turned off the ignition. He seized the wheel and steered the limousine to a stop at the edge of the road. There was an interval of silence after the car halted. Either Miss Muirz or the inside of the limousine smelled faintly of jasmine.
“Mr. Harsh, why did you do that?”
“I guess I was just overcome. You know what? You and I are going to park right here and take those steaks down to the beach and broil them on a driftwood fire. We are going to have us a picnic, that is what we are going to do.”
“I do not think we should.”
“Come on, come on. A fire by the oceanside, broiled steaks, a slug of brandy and thou, as the poet would say.”
“Mr. Harsh, we cannot do that.”
“Look Miss Muirz, you can see I’m easy to get along with. I wanted to eat out, hit a classy restaurant, but you said no, and I went along with what you wanted. I did that because I can see where you folks might not want me to be seen around too much. But this is different. Do you see any crowds around here? It’s a half mile to the nearest house. Who’s to see us?”
She leaned back. Her hands were resting on the steering wheel. “You know something, Mr. Harsh?” She cleared her throat. “You scared me badly when you stopped the car the way you did.”
“How was that?”
“There has been a car tailing us, and I thought it was closing in on us.” She brushed the hair back over her ears. “I thought we were going to have to get out of the car and run away in the darkness to save our lives.”
“Is that so?” Harsh did not believe there had been a car tailing them. “Is that so, now?” Harsh turned and looked back. He did not see any signs of another car. “You can think up a better one, Miss Muirz, can’t you?”
“I am very serious.”
She sounded convincing and Harsh turned around to stare backward a second time. “Don’t see anyone.” He realized she was reaching to turn the key in the ignition. “I thought so.” He put his hand over hers. “Now that was a schoolgirl way to act, Miss Muirz, kidding me along like that. What if you had scared me into having a heart attack?”
“But we are being followed.”
“Let ’em follow, let ’em come!” Harsh made a theatrical gesture. “Bring on the mystery enemy, I am prepared and without fear.”
Miss Muirz jerked her hand from under his. “Listen, you big ape! I would like to broil a steak with you on the beach. I really mean that. But we are being followed.”
“Yeah. Yeah, I know.” Harsh took hold of her hands in one of his, and the instant he had hold of them, he knew that they would or they wouldn’t and either way it was going to be exciting. Her hands were like warm excited cats.
“Watch out, Mr. Harsh.”
“That’s what I’m gonna do, baby. That’s what—”
Godamighty, there was a car behind! He lifted his head, looked back. The car, coming without lights, was almost on them. With an outcry from locked wheels, it came to a stop. It was a small convertible two-seater sports car which Harsh had seen at Brother’s estate. Mr. Hassam was driving. Brother stood up in the little car and jumped over the side. He had the shotgun in his hands.
Harsh shoved Miss Muirz, hoping to get her out on the driver’s side of the car, so he could leave by the same route. This would put him on the limousine opposite side to Brother, give him a chance for his life, he felt. But she didn’t move, and when he looked over at her he discovered Miss Muirz was holding a revolver, a big thing, a Magnum such as he had seen state patrolmen wearing. Miss Muirz let the gun rest on her knee. It was as ugly as a black hog. Brother jerked open the car door, the shotgun in his other hand. Harsh turned on the seat and brought up his legs and kicked Brother in the face with both feet. Brother fell like a quarter of beef. Harsh slid out of the car and he was groping for the shotgun when Mr. Hassam touched his shoulder. “What in God’s name did you do that for? Why did you kick him?”
“He was gonna shoot us, the son of a bitch.” Fright made Harsh’s voice quite hoarse.
“No, he thought you were in trouble.” Mr. Hassam sounded disgusted. “We saw your car stop and the lights go out, and we thought you were ambushed.”
“The hell!” Harsh leaned against the limousine weakly. “Why didn’t you say so?” His legs felt double-jointed. “I thought Brother was going to shoot us both. He has been pretty free with that shotgun once before, you know.”
Miss Muirz had gotten out of the limousine. She carried the big revolver lightly. “Hassam, was that you trailing us from town?”
“No. Not from town. We were parked at the road junction and we saw you pass, then we saw another car pass behind you. We decided it could be following you, so we fell in behind.”
“Where did the other car go?”
“It turned off on the beach, apparently.”
“We had better look into the matter of that car.” Miss Muirz sounded calm and deadly.
“I never saw anybody following us from town.” Harsh wiped his forehead.
Miss Muirz gave him a look. “You had something else on your mind.”
She walked back along the road and Mr. Hassam picked up Brother’s shotgun and followed her. Harsh fell in behind. The quick succession of events had shaken him, the way Miss Muirz had produced the big revolver shaking him as much as anything.
They walked some three hundred yards and found a parked car. It was a small sedan, and Mr. Hassam circled it cautiously, his feet noiseless in the sand. “No one here.” He put a hand on the radiator. “Warm.” The shotgun made an audible noise as he cocked it. “Shall we have a look at the beach?”
On the beach they saw several persons, a man and a woman who were sitting by a driftwood fire toasting something, other men fishing in the surf with casting rods.
They watched these people from cover for some time. Mr. Hassam made a disgusted sound. “We are not going to be sure of anything.”
“Maybe it was just some guy goin’ fishin’.” Harsh found his mouth was dry.
Miss Muirz put the big revolver away in her purse. So that was where it had come from, Harsh thought. Mr. Hassam dropped the shotgun in the crook of his arm after uncocking it. “If that bastard was not on the gunboat in the harbor at home, I know who I would suspect it was. But—well, it may have been a fisherman.” He turned and trudged off through the sand toward the limousine and the sports car. Miss Muirz and Harsh followed. The walk was silently thoughtful.
Brother had recovered consciousness. He had climbed into the back of the limousine and was leaning back holding a handkerchief to his mouth. He got out of the car shakily when he heard them coming, and seemed prepared for flight. He recognized them. He gave Harsh a wry look. “You pack a lusty kick, Mr. Harsh.”
Harsh was astonished by the man’s politeness. “I guess I picked the wrong time to let go with it.” Harsh felt almost apologetic.
EIGHTEEN
The sunrises and sunsets around here were some shows, Harsh thought as he stood looking out of his bedroom window the next morning at the purple clouds stacked in front of the sun, great mountains of them with the sun behind like a golden furnace reflecting rich yellow around the edges of the clouds and into the canyons between. The sea was serge blue and each wave bore a sparkling crest as it came in from the horizon. The waves dumped fifty-foot-wide sheets of foam on the sand around the feet of the tiny long-legged birds that ran up and down the beach.
He did some experimental exercises with his left arm and decided it did not feel bad. He could flex the fingers without pain. His eyelids were gummy and he picked at one of them with a fingernail and pulled cautiously at the sleep stuff that was stuck to the eyelashes.
He reviewed last night. He decided that no person or persons unknown had been trailing himself and Miss Muirz. That was baloney. Mr. Hassam and Brother had got their wind up, was all. There had probably been some guy and his gal in the car they had found with the warm radiator, but almost any time of the day or night you could hear people whooping it up on the beaches near the estate.
He wished Mr. Hassam and Brother had not shown up last night, because they had sure queered his plans for Miss Muirz. Why couldn’t the silly bastards stay away when they weren’t wanted, he thought.
He went to the wall near the safe and put a cheek against the plaster and looked behind the oil painting for the match head. It was still in place, so no one had tampered with the safe. He felt like laughing as he wondered if Goldberg was working on that key yet.
Then he thought of something that made him feel sick. Jesus, he was dumb! There last night he had walked off and left Brother alone unconscious, and Brother probably had the other safe key on his person at the time. Jesus, why hadn’t he thought of that, how stupid could he get? What a dumb thing, to go following Miss Muirz and Mr. Hassam off down the beach, taking a chance of getting his head shot off, when he might have stayed behind and filched the key off Brother while he was senseless.
He was disgusted with himself. He went to the portable bar and poured bourbon into a glass and drank it, and the liquor promptly tied his empty stomach in a knot and brought tears to his eyes. A guy as dumb as he had been last night deserved to choke to death, he thought bitterly.
When Harsh had dressed, he went down to breakfast, and found Vera Sue sitting on the dining terrace. When he saw her, it was too late to retreat.
Vera Sue planted her knife and fork on the table with a bang. “Walter, I think you are the biggest stinker that ever lived.”
He was somewhat relieved, having expected her to scream and throw something. “I guess you’re right, Vera Sue.”
“You know what I’m mad about, Walter?”
“Yeah, I guess I know.”
“You robbed me. While I was asleep, you took my money, didn’t you?”
“Well, I guess I must have. Anyway I found some dough in my pocket the next morning, and I didn’t remember where it came from.”
“Walter, I bet you split open your head trying to remember where you got the money. I just bet you did.”
She lit her cigarette with elaborate gestures which led him to suspect she had already taken a drink or two.
“Gosh, baby, I knew where it must have come from. But what could I do? I knew it was the liquor made me do it, you know how it is with me, I get to drinking. I pull some awfully hot ones. It was the damn Benedictine, I guess, I don’t know. Anyway, I still got it all and you can have it back if you want, but I wish you would let me have ten bucks temporarily, so I wouldn’t be flat. Or maybe twenty-five.”
“Damn you, you want to keep it all anyway, don’t you?”
The servant who was serving breakfast asked Harsh what he would have. Harsh told him anything would do.
When the servant left, Vera Sue sighed. “Walter, this is one peach of a place, but it gets me down. The servants, a regular goddamn mansion and all, I should have myself the time of my life. But nobody gives a hoot about me. They hardly speak to me, anybody, including you.”
“Vera Sue, I been afraid to say anything to you. I was afraid you would do exactly what you should do, pick up the first thing handy and whock me good.”
“Is that the only reason you ignored me?”
“Well, ain’t it enough? I been working like a dog anyway, of course. You may have noticed me and Mr. Hassam on the beach a lot. We really been going at it.”
Vera Sue jabbed her cigarette into her cup of coffee. “I noticed you went off with that Miss Muirz yesterday and didn’t get back until after dark.”
“Yes, we made a little business trip.”
“You mean a monkey business trip, don’t you?”
“No, absolutely not, Vera Sue. Straight business. Mr. Hassam and Brother and Doc Englaster and I been working like mad getting plans for the factory that is going to make my photographic film emulsion. Well, right now we got to a point where we need to send some telegrams to outfits who might be interested in buil
ding the factory, and I went into town to send the telegrams. Miss Muirz just drove the car.”
Vera Sue frowned. “How come I hear nothing about this photographic factory?”
“Why, it’s a big secret. I told you it was a big secret, didn’t I? Listen, you mustn’t say a word to anybody about it, because they’d have a green hemorrhage if they knew I told you or anyone else.”
The servant brought Harsh’s coffee. He arranged a plate and silverware. Vera Sue was eyeing the bandage on Harsh’s face thoughtfully. The servant departed.
“Walter, what happened to your face?”
“Huh? Oh, that, my face. Well you see I fell and cut my face, but it don’t amount to anything much.”
“I was thinking about that photograph I saw of the fellow who looked a lot like you, Walter, only he had a scar on his face about where that bandage is on yours.”
He laughed loudly at her. “Jesus, you get some tall ideas, don’t you?”
When Mr. Hassam joined them on the dining terrace, he gave Vera Sue a courtly bow and complimented her on how nice she looked. Vera Sue listened, but her rosebud mouth was pouting, and she decided to get even with Harsh. “Walter was just telling me that the photographic emulsion project is coming along fine.”
Harsh promptly kicked her shin under the table, causing her to jump. Mr. Hassam understood perfectly. He looked to Vera Sue seriously. “Well now, Miss Crosby, I would prefer no one discussed that.” He sat down and began to talk about the weather and that was the subject for the rest of breakfast.
“Thanks, pal.” Harsh was walking with Mr. Hassam to the beach cabana to resume Spanish instruction.
“What was she talking about, Mr. Harsh?”
Harsh told about the lie he had fed Vera Sue about the invention of a photographic emulsion. “What she doesn’t know won’t hurt anybody. It was nice of you to pick up the cue. You are the one guy around here I feel I can halfway understand, Mr. Hassam. I respect you a lot.”
“I appreciate that, Harsh.” They reached the beach. Mr. Hassam seemed in no hurry to start on the Spanish. He picked up a stick and threw it out into the surf.
