by John Creasey
‘I’ve just been talking to a lad called O’Halloran at Police Headquarters,’ said Storm mildly. ‘I don’t like O’Halloran and I don’t like the way he froze up on that Long Island shooting job this morning.’
Warren’s thick lips closed in a straight line. He lost his uncertainty and from his prominent eyes there shone a kind of secondhand but biting fear. His voice was thick.
‘Were you in that car?’
‘We were,’ assented Storm grimly, and showed the hole in his hat.
Warren seemed frozen stiff. Then:
‘And you got away with it! Cripes, but you’re lucky!’
‘O’Halloran suggested that,’ murmured Storm.
Warren hardly seemed to hear him. He was staring through, not at, the two Englishmen, and that frightening expression of near-fear sent an irrepressible shiver through their blood.
‘That’s Redhead!’ he rasped hoarsely. ‘Only Redhead would have done it! And I thought he was out of the country or I’d ’a cut my fingers off before okaying that story!’
‘Nice of you,’ Storm murmured, ‘but what’s it all about? Who’s Redhead?’
‘He’s the deadliest swine we’ve ever had to contend with. He’s got more murders against him than all the others put together. There ain’t a racket he’s not in somewhere, and there ain’t a fly cop can pull him for selling poison liquor. I reckoned he was out of the States, Storm, or I swear I wouldn’t have run that story. We’ve had it before. Dumb guys grinning at the gangs – and it’s usually their last grin when Redhead’s near. He thinks he’s Almighty, and, tarnation, he damn near is!’
There was something compelling about Warren’s manner, making Storm and Grimm realise that the newspaper man was giving them the naked truth. To them, imbued with the Englishman’s unshakable belief in the superiority of law and order, it seemed impossible. But they were in New York, not London, and the grip of the gangs was tightening round them, monstrous, murderous, filling the very air with ominous threats.
‘So that’s it, is it? We trod on Redhead’s corns and he’s after us. And all the police in New York daren’t – ’
‘It ain’t daren’t!’ interrupted Warren, taking a grip on himself. ‘It’s can’t. They think it’s him, but they can’t be sure – and if they were they wouldn’t know who it was, apart from just the name: Redhead. That’s all you can get from squealers with the gangs, just Redhead, and it’s enough to make a man order his box if Redhead’s put him on the spot.’ He crashed one great hand into a vast palm. ‘I reckon O’Halloran thought you’d really said all those things, Storm, and a man who’d do that asks for trouble. I reckon he wants to get you out of the country fast, because if anything happened to you there’d be a stink with your little island, and we don’t want that in U.S.A.’
He pushed back his chair and stood up, pointing the tip of his cigar towards Storm.
‘Son, you don’t know things over here. You don’t know Redhead, and I reckon you want a peck at him. Well, forget it! I wouldn’t print your story for all the gold in China! It’d sign your death warrant. Swallow your pride and get out of here while you can. Don’t go first class. Travel third, like a couple of bohunks, and don’t show your noses out on the first class deck until you’ve reached Cherbourg.’
He shot out a hand, gripping Storm’s.
‘Say! I could shoot myself for printing that story, but I’m right glad to’ve seen ye both. But the yarn went round that Redhead was halfway across the Atlantic, and things were kinda dull. I’m darn sorry. I’ll print a headliner, saying it was all bunk, though if Redhead’s after you a headliner won’t help. I’ll put a coupla men to keep an eye on you, and I reckon O’Halloran’s watching, too.’
He looked sombre.
‘And don’t argue, you guys. Believe me, if you don’t get out damn quick you’ll be stone cold in no time at all, and I kinda don’t want your shooting up on my conscience, see? Come an’ see us again, when things are quieter. All right? G’bye.’
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John Creasey
Master crime fiction writer John Creasey’s 562 titles have sold more than 80 million copies in over 25 languages. After enduring 743 rejection slips, the young Creasey’s career was kickstarted by winning a newspaper writing competition. He went on to collect multiple honours from The Mystery Writers of America including the Edgar Award for best novel in 1962 and the coveted title of Grand Master in 1969. Creasey’s prolific output included 11 different series including Roger West, the Toff, the Baron, Patrick Dawlish, Gideon, Dr Palfrey, and Department Z, published both under his own name and 10 other pseudonyms.
Creasey was born in Surrey in 1908 and, when not travelling extensively, lived between Bournemouth and Salisbury for most of his life. He died in England in 1973.
ALSO IN THIS SERIES
The Death Miser
Redhead
First Came a Murder
Death Round the Corner
The Mark of the Crescent
Thunder in Europe
The Terror Trap
Carriers of Death
Days of Danger
Death Stands By
Menace!
Murder Must Wait
Panic!
Death by Night
The Island of Peril
Sabotage
Go Away Death
The Day of Disaster
Prepare for Action
No Darker Crime
Dark Peril
The Peril Ahead
The League of Dark Men
The Department of Death
The Enemy Within
Dead or Alive
A Kind of Prisoner
The Black Spiders
This edition published in 2015 by Ipso Books
Ipso Books is a division of Peters Fraser + Dunlop Ltd
Drury House, 34-43 Russell Street, London WC2B 5HA
Copyright © John Creasey, 1932, revised edition, 1965
All rights reserved
You may not copy, distribute, transmit, reproduce or otherwise make available this publication (or any part of it) in any form, or by any means (including without limitation electronic, digital, optical, mechanical, photocopying, printing, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the publisher. Any person who does any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
Contents
1 Concerning a Dog and Some Others
2 Quinion is Puzzled
3 Death at Oak Cottage
4 A Man Named Smith
5 Department ‘Z’
6 Mr. Gordon Craigie
7 The Café of Clouds
8 Help from Aunt Gloria
9 Who Shot Loder?
10 Talk of the Miser
11 A Burglary at Oak Cottage
12 A Conversation at Oak Cottage
13 Quinion has a Stiff Neck
14 A Trip to Cross Farm
15 Funny Face Leads the Way
16 The Miser Speaks
17 Quinion Learns Many Things
18 Quinion Goes to Town
19 News from Aunt Gloria
20 Quinion Makes a Decision
21 Reginald Chane Reappears
22 ‘His Eyes Turned Red!’
23 The Hoard of Death
24 A Talk with The Miser
25 The Miser Acts
26 A Chat with Gordon Craigie
