Knocked for a Loop

by Craig Rice

  Just then the traffic jam moved, and Jake moved with it. In fact, two moves. One was a straight-arm direct to the policeman’s chest, the other sped the big car into, through, around, and finally past the traffic jam, over the border of Evanston, up and down a series of side streets and finally, onto the back road.

  Life went along easier after that. A few trucks passed him on the rest of the way, but that was all. At last he turned into the ornate maze of Lake Forest and found his way to the great gateposts of the Estapoole estate. He drove in, parked the convertible halfway to the house, and sat glaring at the huge structure as though he were planning to tear it down, stone by stone.

  Instead, he walked to the front door, pushed the buzzer, and waited. It seemed a very long wait indeed until the chillyeyed butler opened the door a few inches and informed him that the family had retired for the night.

  “The hell with that,” Jake said. “I’m looking for my wife.” He pushed the door the rest of the way open. The butler retreated and squeaked.

  A pleasing, mellow voice called from upstairs to ask what on earth the trouble was. Then Carmena Estapoole came gracefully down the curving stairs, stared, and said, “Why, it’s Mr. Justus.”

  “It is indeed,” Jake said, all the fight suddenly gone out of him. “Pardon this intrusion.” He realized that it sounded silly, but he couldn’t think of anything else that would quite fit. “I’m looking for Mrs. Justus.”

  Carmena Estapoole’s beautiful eyes widened just a little more and she said, “But she isn’t here! What on earth is the matter?” She looked Jake over from head to foot, and finally said, “You’d better come in and sit down. And have a drink.”

  Jake went in and sat down and had a drink. Then he said, “Mrs. Estapoole, my wife—Helene—Mrs. Justus. She’s missing, and I don’t know where she is. You see, she came here from Wyoming—” He felt that sounded a little silly, too, but he went on. “She was here. Your house. Yesterday. She went to a museum with your child. They disappeared.”

  “My child is right here,” Carmena Estapoole said firmly, “and I have no idea where your wife is.”

  Hammond Estapoole had come down the stairs just in time to hear the conversation. He said, “Hello, Jake. I overheard. Would it make you feel better to search the house?”

  Jake now felt as silly as he knew he’d sounded, but he rose and said, “Yes.”

  He felt even sillier as Carmena Estapoole led him from room to room, Hammond trailing along. There wasn’t a sign of Helene anywhere.

  But there wasn’t a sign of Alberta Commanday, either.

  This time, it was Carmena Estapoole who was near panic, to the point where Jake momentarily forgot his own troubles and joined wholeheartedly in the second search, along with the dour butler and two frightened maids.

  Alberta Commanday’s bed was neatly turned down for the night, just as Carmena had left it two hours before, but Alberta hadn’t been in it.

  It was Hammond who finally suggested, a little weakly, that Bertie might very well have slipped out to the garage. She sometimes did. Carmena Estapoole grabbed up the house phone.

  Alberta had not slipped out to the garage. She hadn’t been seen in the garage or its living quarters that evening.

  “Before we call the police,” Hammond Estapoole said, “we’d better search the grounds.”

  Carmena Estapoole looked as though she’d just as soon not call the police, then or ever, and Jake felt as though he’d like to be a long way away before the police were invited to join the party.

  They went out the front door in a body, prepared with flashlights. One step outside, and Jake stopped suddenly, staring.

  “What the hell!” he said hoarsely. And then, “Now, somebody’s stolen my car!”

  CHAPTER 14

  Helene Justus came to the conclusion that twenty-four hours—no, it had been more than that, now—of enforced seclusion was just a little more than she could bear. She’d now become just a little more bored than she had imagined it was possible for one person to be, and there didn’t seem to be much prospect of things getting any better.

  The whole thing was perfectly silly, she told herself for the hundred-and-first time. Friendship or no friendship, she should have known better than to let herself in for such a ridiculous mess in the beginning. But there was no point in worrying about that now. She had done it, now the only thing to do was to get out of it, and just as fast as possible. If only Jake were here!

  She looked indignantly and reproachfully at the telephone as though it had deliberately betrayed her. Four times she’d tried to call Jake, and four times she’d been disappointed. Well, Wyoming was full of attractive girls! No, she took that back. It was the telephone’s fault, not Jake’s.

  She’d tried to call Malone, too, with no success at all. Obviously, she told herself, she should have talked to him at the very beginning; in fact, the moment she had arrived in town. That had been her big mistake. But first she’d been afraid that Malone would insist on telling Jake. Or that he’d manage somehow to dissuade her. She wished now that he had. But the whole thing had looked so perfectly innocent at the beginning. Then too, she hadn’t wanted to involve Malone in something this complicated. She hadn’t known, then, that Malone was going to become pretty thoroughly involved himself.

  Damn everything, where was Malone? And where was Jake? She caught herself on the verge of saying out loud, “Where is everybody?”

  She looked around the studio with loathing. And yesterday she’d thought it was such an attractive place! Comfortable, expensively and luxuriously furnished and decorated and outfitted. She’d thought, at first glance, that she wouldn’t mind having just such a place herself. Now she had the feeling that she’d seen far more attractive hovels.

  There was one thing she could do, and that was leave. Last night, and earlier today, she’d been willing to go along with the theory that it was far safer for her to stay discreetly out of sight until everything was over, and Alberta was securely home again. According to every plan, she should have been able to come out from hiding late last night, and be happily on her way back to Wyoming in the morning. But first there had been that unaccountable delay in Alberta’s return. And then, this morning’s papers with the news of the murder.

  She supposed that she should go on staying discreetly out of sight. But she’d been alone in this damned studio now for what began to seem like forever. In fact, it would be a relief even to be involved. No matter what happened, Malone could get her out of it.

  At that point she decided she’d had enough of such nonsense, picked up her wrap and her purse, walked out of Lily Bordreau’s studio, and slammed the door behind her.

  Down on Schiller Street she stood for a moment, considering her next move. Home wasn’t too far from here, she could walk there in a minute. But there was still a chance that she was being looked for. There was no way of knowing what had gone on in the hours she’d been left alone in the studio, and her first problem was finding out, without getting too involved herself or accidentally involving anyone else. That eliminated going to the apartment building; it also eliminated getting her car. She swore softly under her breath.

  The sensible thing, of course, was to get a cab straight to the airport and take the first available plane west. That would be really sensible. That would get her out of the whole mess, and she would be back with Jake tomorrow and forget the whole thing.

  She ended up by walking to the corner of Dearborn Street, hailing a taxi and giving the Lake Forest address of the Esta-pooles. She’d still get a plane out and go flying straight to Jake, but first she was going to find out what was going on, regardless of what happened.

  On the way, through the spring-scented night, she let thoughts of kidnaping and murder slip out of her mind, and thought of all the things she’d be talking to Jake about, this time tomorrow. She decided too that she’d tell him all about this, now that it was over. Or almost over. It wouldn’t have done to have told him from the beginning,
because Jake would have worried. But now, he would most likely find it all very funny. By then, she’d probably be able to think it was very funny herself.

  The cab turned in at the Estapoole driveway, and Helene hastily came back down to earth. Back down, and with a sudden jolt. Because the yellow convertible parked near the entrance to the driveway was hers. She knew it even from a little distance. There simply was no other -car like that anywhere.

  She paid off the driver and walked over to the car. Yes, it was hers, and it was no dream. But who had brought it out here, and why?

  There was something about all this she very definitely didn’t like. For a few minutes she stood beside the driver’s seat, thinking things over.

  A voice called from the driveway, “Get in, lady.” It was a low-pitched voice, hardly more than a whisper.

  Helene froze.

  “I said, get in, lady.”

  It sounded like the assured voice of a man with a gun in his hand. And it came from some undetectable place in the darkness. Helene got in.

  Before she could make a move toward driving away, a shadowy figure shot out from the shrubbery, got in beside her and said, “Let’s go, lady.”

  Helene obeyed. There would be a way out of this, she told herself, but this wasn’t the time to protest. Because it had been a very assured voice.

  A few blocks went by. The man said, “Let’s head north.”

  Helene headed north without a question. Then she stole a look at her companion.

  He was a small man, with thick, shining black hair, a roundish, rather agreeable face, enormous, dreamy brown eyes, and what should have normally been a cheerful, gold-toothy grin. He didn’t look particularly menacing.

  Helene slowed down a little and said, “What’s your name?”

  “Al,” he told her, “Al di Angelo.”

  Now she really turned and stared at him. “You’re related to Joe the Angel,” she said, almost accusingly.

  He bobbed his head up and down. “Cousins. Joe, he’s got lots of cousins.”

  “So I see,” Helene said grimly. “All kinds. And now, what is the idea of this?”

  Al di Angelo shrugged his shoulders. “I ask you. Me, I don’t know what goes on now. Tony, that’s my brother-in-law, he don’t know what goes on. So, I don’t mean you no harm, lady. I see you yesterday, I see your car yesterday. So now I go with you for a drive so I can ask you what goes on.”

  “What goes on,” Helene said, even more grimly, “is that the first cop we see is probably going to arrest you for kidnaping me.”

  “Kidnaping!” the little man said. He seemed to shudder at the word. “Please, lady!”

  “And stop calling me lady,” she snapped. “It sounds like a collie dog. My name’s Helene Justus.”

  “Pleased t’meetcha,” Al di Angelo said, tipping his snapbrim hat. “You are a friend of Joe the Angel.” He seemed to be adding mentally, “And therefore a friend of mine.”

  “A very good friend,” Helene said, “and Joe the Angel wouldn’t like this. So maybe you’d better explain it, and fast. Because I don’t want to drive all the way to Waukegan this late at night.”

  “I told you,” he said deprecatingly. “It is because I don’t know what is going on, and I worry.”

  “That makes two of us,” Helene said. “I don’t know what’s going on either, and I worry too.” She added amiably, “Suppose then, you tell me.”

  Al di Angelo sighed. “It is a mix-up. Tony, that’s my brother-in-law and the chauffeur for Mrs. Estapoole, he tells me this is almost a joke. We are to take the little girl and hide her for a day, maybe two days. It is for a good cause, and for a good reason, and there is also some money.” He paused. “But then you come along and take the little girl down to where the coal mine is. I think perhaps you too are doing the same thing, also for a good cause and for a good reason.”

  “To a certain extent,” Helene said, “you were right.”

  “But Tony, he tells me it is just a small mix-up and I find he is right, because when we go to this place he gets the little girl and we go away with her. I do not know what happened to you after that.”

  “Nothing worth mentioning right now,” Helene said. “And just keep talking.”

  He shrugged his shoulders again. “We do as we have planned. I take the little girl to my house. We keep her there until night. I think she has a nice time. Then late at night we give her to the man we were supposed to give her to. And then,” he said unhappily, “then everything seems to go all to hell.”

  “You never spoke a truer word,” Helene said. “And who were you supposed to deliver her to?”

  “Why,” Al di Angelo said, “to Malone, of course.”

  Helene counted to ten, silently and very slowly.

  “And now,” Al di Angelo finished, “the little girl disappeared, and Mr. Estapoole, he is murdered in Malone’s office, and now, I don’t know what to think about anything.”

  “I think,” Helene said gently, “the best thing for you to do is to go home and go to bed and go to sleep and forget all about the whole thing.”

  He nodded sadly. “It was only because I thought you would know something to tell me. Excuse me, please, lady, I didn’t really mean to kidnap you.”

  She smiled at him. “I didn’t mind. But I don’t know even as much as you do. I took little Alberta to the museum because—well, never mind. Then she disappeared. The family didn’t seem too upset about it, and nothing was said to me about kidnaping when I talked to her mother. And I’ve been staying with a friend since, and that’s all I know, so far.”

  “Malone,” A1 di Angelo said wistfully, “he would be able to answer all the questions.”

  “Malone,” Helene said, in very grim tones, “is going to have them all asked of him. And you’d better go home, and where shall I take you?”

  The little man decided that the nearest North Shore station would be just fine. She left him there, receiving another apology and promising that Joe the Angel would never hear a word about this from her.

  She started driving slowly and thoughtfully back toward Lake Forest and, ultimately, Chicago, wondering just where Alberta Commanday was now. Evidently the worried little Al di Angelo didn’t know. But just as evidently, Malone did. The obvious and immediate thing to do was to find Malone.

  She decided to skip stopping at the Estapoole house. There was plenty of time to find out how her car had turned up in their driveway. There could be a simple explanation for that. Lily Bordreau had taken the car away last night to put it in its own garage, so that the sight of it parked on Schiller Street wouldn’t attract unfortunate attention. But she might just as easily have taken it all the way to Lake Forest.

  That was a minor matter, and one she’d settle in its own time. Right now, she wanted Malone. When she did ask all the questions that were in her mind, she wanted Malone at her side to think of more and better ones.

  She was sufficiently deep in thought that she almost failed to notice the squad car parked at the intersection ahead, and the officer waving her to a stop.

  “Sorry, lady,” he said, “checking all cars.” Both his eyes and his smile took in the sleek lines of the yellow convertible and Helene’s hair, eyes and flowerlike face all in one quick glance.

  She managed to match his smile. “Are you looking for illegal potted plants or smuggled parakeets?”

  “Kidnaped child,” he said, still smiling. “The Commanday girl.”

  Helene stiffened and said, “Oh?”

  “But you haven’t got her.” He waved her on, a little regretfully.

  Just as she started, she heard a voice from the parked squad car. “Hey Matt! That’s the car that—”

  Helene didn’t wait. It was her car and she had a perfect right to be driving it. But she didn’t know what it might have been used for while she wasn’t in it, and she didn’t want to find out until Malone was at her side.

  The squad car driver had been well schooled, but he was clearly out of his
class. Helene had lost him, and completely, long before she reached Lincoln Park. Then it was merely a matter of driving warily down a series of unfrequented streets and narrow alleys.

  The garage at the apartment building would be sanctuary. She could put the car away out of sight, and no one would be able to get in and ask questions. And once in the safety of the apartment, she could settle down at the telephone and make a really earnest search for Malone.

  She breathed a little easier when she turned into the familiar street, easier still when she turned into the garage. The night attendant wasn’t around, but that was all right. She’d ring the desk from upstairs.

  She stepped out of the car just in time to see the laprobe that had been on the floor of the back stir slightly and then be thrust aside. A small, cross-looking child sat up.

  “Well,” Alberta Commanday said blandly, setting her small jaw in determined lines, “you’ve got me again.”

  CHAPTER 15

  “You mean, you know where Helene is?” Malone said. He had a feeling that his voice sounded just a little far away. No, quite a lot far away.

  “Of course I know where she is,” Lily Bordreau said pertly. “I’ve been hiding her out. I suppose,” she added, “you have an explanation coming to you.”

  “I do,” Malone told her, and reflected that was putting it very, very mildly. But his spirits were beginning to lift for the first time in twenty-four hours.

  “Well,” she said, “it’s like this. Carmena and Hammond were up to something. Now mind you, I’m very fond of them both. I was fond of old Leonard, too. And I’m fond of Alberta. And Jane. In fact, I guess I’m just naturally a very fond kind of person.”

  Malone glanced at her. Yes, she would be exactly that. Like a young and trusting kitten who had not yet encountered any of the hardships of the world. Her dark curls were blowing in the wind, and her make-up was a little smeared. Her hands on the wheel were small like the rest of her, almost childlike, and definitely grubby, covered with pencil smudges like a schoolgirl’s. He felt a sudden, heartwarming impulse to reach over and pat one of them comfortingly.