Liquid Death And Other Stories

by John Russell Fearn

  He snatched up his hat with one hand and jammed his tinted glasses on his nose with the other. Then he was gone and, the instant the door closed, Gwenda lifted the telephone.

  She waited impatiently as the line buzzed; then, at last, Dawson was on the line.

  "Yes, Gwenda—what news?" he asked eagerly.

  "Nothing much—and you'll hear what went on when you get the recording. I've rung you to see if you can track 'Mopes' down. He's got a car, and…"

  "You don't have to worry over that. 'Mopes' is being watched. He was seen to enter your apartment building and, naturally, he'll be trailed as he leaves."

  "Oh well, that's all right. He left a few minutes ago. When you've heard the recording, Inspector, let me know what I must do next. As you'll find, I've left the door ajar—and, if helps matters, I'll walk into the lion's den."

  "I'll ring you back," Dawson promised. "They'll be bringing the recording in any time now."

  VI

  CHIEF-INSPECTOR Dawson did not come to any snap decision when he heard the recording played through.

  The first time, he just listened; the second time, he made notes; and the third time, he had Harriday and Boyd Ensdale listen, also. Indeed, getting wind of what was transpiring, Ensdale insisted on being present to keep track of events. Apparently the mystery of the snake-bites was still worrying him.

  "Well, there it is," Dawson said finally, lighting a cigarette. Then he glanced at the clock, which registered ten minutes past midnight. "And I hope Gwenda Blanc isn't sitting up waiting for me to ring her. I've still to think out what has to be done."

  "I don't see why she can't be dispensed with," Harriday commented, stifling a yawn. "She did all she could, to judge from that recording, but obviously 'Mopes' was too cagey. We didn't get a thing out of it."

  "Except his admission that he finished Maudie Vincent," Dawson pointed out. "That in turn proves what I've believed all along—that the snake-bites are deliberately created."

  "Begins to look like it, in the face of that," Ensdale admitted, frowning. "Damned clover faking, though."

  "Why do we have to waste any more time?" Harriday asked, spreading his hands. "The boys have traced 'Mopes' to that old mansion, so we know exactlywhere he is. Let's go and get him!"

  "And, when we do, what happens to the rest of the counterfeiters and murderers?" Dawson demanded. "They'll vanish utterly when they know what's happened—as they will, thanks to the press. Obviously, Mopes' doesn't run that mansion for himself. It must be the master-mind himself who owns it, and he's the one we've got to get."

  "You really believe," Ensdale asked, "that a precipitate arrest of McCall would scare all the others away?"

  "I'm darned, sure it would; that's why I'm having Gwenda trying to pump McCall before we drop on him at his hideout."

  "In that case," Ensdale said, "there's nothing for it but for her to carry on—accept his invitation to go to the mansion with him. She might succeed on his 'home ground', as he calls it, and you'll have to arrange to stand by and see she isn't in too much danger."

  Dawson nodded slowly. "Yes, I think that's it. She could also explore the place while she's there and see if she can spot anything suggestive of counterfeiting."

  "I could arrange it so that a wafer microphone is used there," Harriday said. "It will slip under a door or a french window somewhere, and give the boys a chance to record in a mobile unit. I could also watch that Gwenda is safe."

  "Uh-huh," Dawson acknowledged. "That's a good notion. I'd stay on tap in case we discover where the others in the gang can be located, then I can tip off the necessary men to get busy."

  "It also occurs to me," Ensdale said, musing, "that I may be able to help matters in general and this young woman in particular. I'll make up a phial of iltumine-X. If she can get a chance to drop some of it into his drink, he'll talk his head off. As you know, we've used it now and again to make stubborn ones open up a bit."

  "Illegal—but useful," Dawson acknowledged, "Okay, sir. That ought to be a grand help. Now I'd better give Gwenda the rough outline, then she'll know what to tell this gorilla when he rings her in the morning."

  In half an hour, Gwenda knew the particulars, and also that she must call in at the Yard the following day for a final check-up and to collect the phial which Ensdale would have ready for her. She knew exactly how tough her assignment was likely to be but, nevertheless, she did not flinch from it.

  And, early the following morning, 'Mopes' phoned as he had promised, reversing the charge, as before.

  "I've been thinking it over," Gwenda responded, as his voice came through. "I probably need my head examining, but I've decided to come along to your place this evening. How do I get there?"

  "You don't, sweetheart! I pick you up in the car and take you there. An' you'll have ter forgive me if I just blindfold you."

  "What?"

  "See the thing my way," 'Mopes' insisted. "You know what kind of a spot I'm in. I can't trust anybody—not even you—to see where I'm stayin'. If you agree to that, everythin' will be all right."'

  "Very well," Gwenda responded at last. "Where will you meet me? Here?"

  "No. That might be kinda risky. Y'know the Royal Garage, a few yards from your place?"

  "On the corner? Yes—I know it."

  "Seven tonight, outside there. An', say…"

  "Yes?"

  "Wear that red dress you had on last night. I'm still thinkin' about it."

  "I'll do that," Gwenda promised, making a grimace to herself. "Seven tonight."

  The appointment made, she wasted no time in getting to the Yard to receive the final instructions. She found Chief-Inspector Dawson serious-faced but determined.

  "Nobody could be more aware than I am of the risk you are taking, Gwenda," ho said quietly. "And we appreciate it. However, Sergeant Harriday here will keep an eye constantly to your welfare."

  Harriday beamed upon the girl as she glanced at him. "Be a real pleasure, Miss Blane," he promised.

  "Whereabouts will you be?" she questioned.

  For answer, Dawson spread out a sketch on the desk. The girl hunched forward in her chair and studied the diagram interestedly.

  "This is a sketch of the mansion, as well as our boys could make it out in the moonlight last night, when they followed 'Mopes' back," Dawson explained. "Judging from the light in the curtained window on the ground floor here, this is the room 'Mopes' principally uses—and probably the one he will use tonight. Fortunately for us, it has a french window looking out on to the wooded grounds. Harriday here will be outside that window. Beneath its frame he'll push what we call a wafer microphone—a flat, disc-like affair, which will pick up every sound from the room and transmit it to a mobile recording unit out in the side road here." Dawson's finger stubbed the diagram. "To the receiving unit, there'll be a subsidiary line wired back to a pair of headphones. Harriday will be wearing them and will therefore hear everything that is going on beyond the window. Clear so far?"

  "Excellent!" Gwenda smiled. "With so much reassurance, I'll give the vamp performance of my life!"

  "If you find yourself getting into a difficult position with 'Mopes', just shout 'Help me quickly!' Harriday will take that as his signal to plunge in and rescue you. We hope that won't be necessary, because it'll spoil everything, but it's a wise precaution. Now—any questions you'd like to ask?"

  "No, I don't think so. Assuming everything goes off all right, and I make 'Mopes' tell everything that's needful, do I walk out at the finish and leave him to it?"

  "If you get everything needful from him, Harriday will step in at the finish in any case and arrest 'Mopes' on the spot. There will, of course, be several men about the grounds, ready for action. Summing it up," Dawson finished, "this is your great moment, Gwenda. And here is a phial of stuff which Mr. Ensdale has made up."

  "Oh, yes; you mentioned it. If I slip it into 'Mopes' drink, it'll make him talkative?"

  "It should do, yes. Try it, anyhow."

&nbs
p; Gwenda slipped the phial into her handbag and then got to her feet.

  "Well… here I go, Inspector. And I'll see you later on. You won't be at the mansion, I gather?"

  "No. I'm staying here, so I can have all the necessary contacts in the event of urgent action being necessary. Good luck, Gwenda!"

  She departed thoughtfully and spent the rest of the day in town, chiefly visiting a hair-stylist and a beauty parlor. Returning to her borrowed flat in mid-afternoon, she took her time over dressing in the cherry evening gown; then, when at last it was seven o'clock, she was outside the Royal Garage, hoping she would not get too disarranged in waiting for 'Mopes' to show up. The thought had barely passed through her mind before he drew up at the curb. Gwenda frowned a little as she beheld the expensive car. Evidently, 'Mopes' had somebody extremely influential behind him.

  "That's my baby!" he exclaimed, alighting to the pavement and adjusting his tinted glasses. "Hop in—front seat… no, back seat," he corrected. "I'd forgotten the blindfold."

  "Do I have to do that?" Gwenda objected, settling down in the soft upholstery. "Surely you don't think I'd give you away? I'd only make myself an accessory or something if I did. Hobnobbing with an escaped convict is an offence, remember."

  "I s'pose it is," 'Mopes' agreed, reflecting: then his pig-eyes swept over the girl's exquisitely gowned form and up to her pretty, though still protesting, face.

  "Please!" she said plaintively.

  "Okay—forget it. As you said, if y'talk, it'll only get you in bad, too. I'll risk it."

  With that, he slid back into the driving seat and set the car in motion again. Gwenda sank back into the cushions and tried to get control over her fast-beating heart. At the moment, in spite of the reassurances she had received from Dawson as to her welfare, she was feeling scared to death. The die was really cast and, as far as she could see, 'Mopes' could have only one object in view in taking her to the mansion where they could be alone. Then she felt around inside the voluminous folds of her skirt until she detected the hard outline of her loaded .32 automatic. That might save her if things got out of hand.

  Once the main London traffic was left behind, she had not the vaguest idea where they were going. 'Mopes' hurtled the powerful car down dark lanes and twisting side streets, quite unaware, in his excitement and hurry, that he was being shadowed every inch of the way—not by a car, which would have given itself away by head-lamps, but by a hoverplane three hundred feet up, which was tracing him by the beams of his own headlights. Dawson had not left anything to chance. The mobile recording unit was already quite close to the mansion, but well concealed, and the various watchers had taken up their positions.

  So, at length, 'Mopes' came to the end of the journey. With an unaccustomed gallantry, he helped the girl out of the car and then opened the mansion's front door. Still feeling oddly sick, she kept beside him as he went across the dark hall and presently switched on the lights of the drawing room.

  "There!" he exclaimed proudly. "Could you wish for anythin' better? I've spent all day dollin' it up."

  He pulled off his overcoat and hat and threw them on one side: then, tugging off his tinted glasses, he crossed to the coal fire and stirred it into a blaze. Meanwhile, the girl looked about her. Everything was certainly very comfortable and spacious. The french windows, she noticed, were masked by heavy purple drapes. She felt her breath catch a little as she detected, hardly visible, a flat disc, just discernible under the drapes. Evidently, it was Harriday's microphone, and unlikely to be seen unless deliberately looked for.

  "Okay—let's have your cape," 'Mopes' said, and whipped it from Gwenda's bare shoulders almost before she realized it. He laid it across a chair back and then went to the cocktail cabinet. Gwenda wandered to the chesterfield, still retaining her handbag. From it she surreptitiously took the phial of drug and kept it in her palm.

  "Like the set-up?" 'Mopes' asked, coming back and sitting beside her as he handed a filled glass over. "Cosy, huh?"

  "Lovely," Gwenda agreed. "You've been working hard, Mr. McCall, to get it like this."

  "Worth it, ain't it? And call me 'Mopes'. Everybody else does. I don't like that 'mister' business."

  Gwenda smiled and raised her glass, then it suddenly slipped from her fingers and dropped on the floor, spilling its contents on the carpet.

  "Well, of all the clumsy things!" She looked apologetic. "I must be nervous. It dropped right out of my hand."

  "Think nothing of it, baby!"

  'Mopes' got to his feet, balanced his drink on the arm of the chesterfield, then picked up the fallen glass after mopping the floor with his handkerchief. In the few moments he was at the cocktail cabinet filling another glass, Gwenda quickly rid herself of the phial's contents into his own glass.

  "There!" he said, returning. "Try again. And there ain't no need for you to be nervous. I ain't goin' to do anythin' to you. All I want is a woman to talk to, one who'll be friendly-like."

  "Oh—I see." Gwenda drank slowly, watching him out of the corner of her eye.

  "Y'know," 'Mopes' went on, musing and drinking in turns, "I've taken as big a risk as you in spendin' the evenin' like this. If the Chief wus to walk in and find us, he'd probably kill the pair of us. I'm not s'posed to have anybody here, 'less they're one of us. Too risky."

  Gwenda looked startled. "Kill the pair of us? The sooner I get out, the…"

  "Take it easy!" 'Mopes' caught her arm or she half rose and pulled her back on to the chesterfield. "It's a million t'one against him comin' in an', if he does, there will be a good warnin'. I spent quite a bit o' time riggin' a bell so that it'll ring if the front door opens. In that time, you can dodge behind them window drapes or some place."

  "Then you'd better put my cape out of sight. That'll be a complete give-away."

  "That's a thought," 'Mopes' agreed. He finished his drink, got up, and then hid the cape by the simple expedient of putting it unceremoniously in one of the sideboard cupboards.

  "Another drink?" he asked, pausing by the cabinet.

  "Not right now." Gwenda was feeling a trifle hazy even on one of the cocktails. "Let's talk."

  "Fair enough." 'Mopes' returned to her, frowning a little to himself. He could not quite understand why his heart was racing so violently. It wasn't fear, or emotion—not even indigestion. It was something he couldn't explain.

  "Anything the matter?" Gwenda asked, noticing he was anything but at ease.

  "Nope. Just feel a bit tightened up, somehow. Mebbe your beauty's intoxicating me," 'Mopes' added, with a grin.

  Gwenda relaxed into the chesterfield's cushions. "I say, 'Mopes'—who is his Chief of yours? He must be a clever man."

  "He's clever enough, but he's a dirty swine. No respect for other people's feelings. As for murder—he takes it in his stride."

  "Who is he really? I mean, do you know him?"

  "Know him—? 'Course I know him!"

  "When I say that, I mean do you know who he really is? This crime racket is only a side line, surely?"

  "You bet," 'Mopes' acknowledged. "An' don't let's waste time on 'im, baby. We've better things to do."

  "No harm in my asking questions, is there?"

  "Nope—providing you don't ask too many."

  Gwenda tightened her mouth a little. She was still having the utmost difficulty in getting any information, and far from the mystery drug having made 'Mopes' talkative, it seemed, instead, to have made him rather impatient.

  "Time's gettin' on," he said presently. "Don't you think we ought to know each other better?"

  "In—what way?" Gwenda's blue eyes searched his ugly face.

  For answer, he lunged suddenly forward towards her, his right arm encircling his waist and his left her shoulders. She was quite incapable of defending herself from the fierce, animal-like kisses he planted on her face and lips.

  "That's better," he grinned, straightening up again. "Now we've made a start…"

  Gwenda straightened up a little, breathing har
d and trying not to show her real feelings. 'Mopes' studied her intently, his pig-eyes moving down from her face to her feet. Gwenda needed no imagination to guess what was in his mind.

  "How—how many are there of you in this mansion in the ordinary way?" she asked, striving to keep her voice steady.

  "Who cares?" 'Mopes' swung suddenly to his feet, his face flushed. "Get off that chesterfield, baby. I want to show you something."

  Gwenda hesitated and, at that, he grabbed her arm so savagely she gasped a little, his coarse nails cutting into her bare flesh. In one heave he had yanked her up.

  "Know somethin'?" he muttered, holding her tightly against him. "I think you've got other reasons for comin' here tonight than to just be with me. I've thought so all along, an' for that reason, I'm goin' to show you what it means to monkey around with 'Mopes' McCall!"

  "You're crazy," Gwenda said, as calmly as she could, and pulled herself free. "My only reason for coming here is to be with you and, up to now, you've been a terrific flop. Unless you call that kissing act a good overture?"

  She lounged away from him and he stood watching her, his eyes on the swing of her hips, the graceful curve of her back and shoulders. Then, suddenly, he muttered something unintelligible and lunged across the room.

  Gwenda heard him coming and spun round, her hand feeling instinctively for the gun in her skirt. Before she could get at it, he was upon her, his right hand seizing the front of her dress and wrenching it down the center.

  "That's better!" he grinned, as she recoiled and made vain efforts to cover herself up. "Since you are an artist's model, you might as well pose for me. An' what in hell were you grabbin' at just now, when I came over here?"

  He dived his hand at the skirt, ripping it savagely. The automatic fell out under such treatment and hit the carpet. Gwenda instantly dived for it, regardless of her efforts to hold her torn gown together, but one shove from 'Mopes' sent her stumbling away and he quickly snatched the gun up into his hand.

  "Very pretty," he sneered, glaring. "So you come to spend the evening with me, an' park a gun, huh?"