by Lee Falk
Diana drew closer to the Cadillac.
"I'm Diana Palmer," she said. "What is it?"
Cringle lit a cigarette. The flaring match momentarily made a cavernous mask of his face. His scar stood out liv- idly. Diana suddenly shivered.
"You've been writing a paper. . ." Cringle began, killing the motor of the car.
"Yes, that's right," said Diana. She laughed. "I suppose you caught the TV, show."
"Right," said Cringle, nodding. "But you didn't let me finish, lady." He cleared his throat. "You've chosen a certain subject," he went on.
Diana's face clouded.
"Oh, you're from a newspaper," she said. "I don't usually give interviews on the sidewalk. And it is rather late."
"I'm not a reporter," said Cringle. "Just listen carefully. You're researching Scorpia."
His eyes, hard and glittering, bored into Diana's.
"Forget Scorpia! Get it?"
Diana felt confused.
"I'm afraid I don't," she said. "What do you mean?"
"What I said, lady," Cringle continued in his dead voice.
"But why should research on an ancient pirate band like the Scorpia interest you?" said Diana, looking round the deserted street.
Cringle's face went white.
"From now on, don't even mention that name, lady," he said.
He slid his forefinger across his throat. The gesture was so sinister that Diana instinctively started back from the car door.
"Forget it," Cringle hissed blackly.
He turned on the Cadillac's motor and idled it.
"This is the first and last warning, Diana Palmer."
He gunned the car off down the street. It turned the corner with tires shrieking, and disappeared. The whole thing had happened so quickly that Diana had no time even to read the license plate. Then she realized that the blond man had switched the lights of the automobile off so that she wouldn't have been able to read the license number anyway. It was only when he was turning the corner, too far away for her to read them, that he switched on the lights.
Diana stood irresolute for a moment. There was a determined look on her face. Had Cringle seen it, he would not have felt so confident as he turned the big car back in the direction of Otto Koch's hideaway.
Diana turned on her heel. Her eyes were shining. She tucked her books tightly under her arm and set off at an athletic trot toward home.
Chief Mulcade's florid face looked a little bewildered. He sat behind his scratched mahogany desk and listened with a tired expression as his subordinate went on talking on the phone.
"All right," he said eventually. "I suppose I'd better see them."
. He put the receiver down and straightened the pile of papers on the blotter in front of him. A heavily-built man of fifty-five, with close-cropped, dark hair, he had been Westchester's Chief of Police for ten years, and he was used to strange requests from residents of the wealthier sections of town. But this sounded strange even for Westchester.
His faded blue eyes looked tired above his heavy black mustache as he rose from the desk to greet the tall, lithe, dark girl who entered, followed by the young-looking, blond man.
"Miss Diana Palmer?" said the Chief cordially, coming 60
forward to shake the girl's hand. "And this is your uncle; I already know Mr. David Palmer."
"Correct," said David Palmer with a worried smile. He took the pipe out of his mouth and pumped Mulcade's hand.
"What can I do for you?" said the Chief warily. "I thought the Desk Sergeant said something about pirates."
"So he did," broke in Diana excitedly. "That's why we wanted to see you."
Mulcade looked incredulous, but he did a good job of trying to hide it.
"Please sit down," he said, dragging two comfortable leather-backed chairs forward.
Despite his worried expression David Palmer gave a short laugh. 5
"Don't look so distressed," he said. "This isn't as fantastic as it sounds. And Diana, my niece, has a legitimate complaint to make."
"Ah, that's a different matter," said Mulcade, narrowing his eyes and looking interestedly from one to the other. "My job only demands investigation of crimes which were committed in this century!"
He joined in the laughter which followed.
"You look as if you could use some coffee," Mulcade said.
"That would be very nice," Diana said. "We came straight to you and I haven't had any dinner yet."
Mulcade looked at the clock. It was 10:30 p.m.
"I could have some sandwiches sent up," he said. "I think the emergency fund could stand it."
He lifted the phone and started barking instructions. Then he folded his arms and looked across at his visitors.
"Now, let's have it," he said.
"Well, have you heard about the research I'm doing at the University?" asked Diana.
Mulcade nodded.
"I caught the TV show," he said. "How does that tie in with a complaint?"
"I'm coming to that," Diana said patiently. "You remember I told the audience I had traced the Scorpia band to within 50 years of the present time?"
Mulcade nodded and settled back in his big chair.
"Well, tonight, just an hour ago, a man stopped me while I was walking home and told me to forget all about the Scorpia."
Chief Mulcade looked incredulous.
"A seventeenth century pirate band?" he said. "You must be joking."
Diana shook her head.
"I've never been more serious, Chief," she said. "He threatened me in no uncertain terms. Told me to give up digging into Scorpia's history."
"It's perfectly true, Chief," David Palmer put in. "The man said he was giving her his first and last warning."
"He did?" said Mulcade. "That's serious. What did he look like?"
He took down notes as Diana gave him the description.
"He was driving a dark Cadillac," the girl concluded. "I couldn't get the license number. It was too dark and besides he had his lights switched off."
"Driving without lights too," said Mulcade gloomily. "The list of offenses is mounting up."
David Palmer grinned as he belched sparks and smoke from his pipe.
"That's exceeding the permitted pollution level too while we're at it," Mulcade grunted, indicating the pipe.
"You'll be arresting us next," said Diana, laughing.
They broke off as a burly patrolman came in with a tray containing plates of sandwiches, a coffee pot, cups and saucers. He was so absorbed in looking at Diana that he almost missed his footing as he put the tray down. The Chief poured. When his two guests had started on the coffee and sandwiches he picked up the phone again.
"I'll get this description sent up to Records," he said. "They may know something. I'll also run a check on Scorpia."
"I'd feel a lot better if you did," Diana told him, putting down her coffee cup.
"We can't have people threatened like this in Westchester," Mulcade growled, spitting instructions into the phone. He put the instrument back onto its cradle and downed more coffee.
"How's the movie business, Dave?" he asked.
David Palmer scratched his chin thoughtfully.
"Sick, Jeremiah," he said, "but we scrape along."
The Chief nodded his head in sympathy.
"Yeah, guess you're right. Who's going out to see a bad movie when they can see a bad one right in their own home?"
His broad grin at David Palmer took the sting out of his words.
"All the same," the Chief mused. "It was a real occasion in the thirties when we stood in line for Gary Cooper and Shirley Temple. We won't see that again, unfortunately."
His nostalgic remarks were interrupted by the ringing of the phone. He picked it up briskly.
"Listening," he grunted. "Yeah, yeah. Got you. Well, keep at it."
He put the instrument down and sighed. He spread his hands wide on the blotter.
"We've got nothing in Records. No trace of anything called the Sc
orpia. We'll have to check with New York and Washington, of course, which will take time. And your blond man, Miss Palmer, doesn't match up with anyone known locally. We'll try and get some mug shots for you to look at. Apart from that, I'm sorry we can't be more helpful. Would you like me to put a watch on your house?"
David Palmer looked at Diana and then shook his head.
"I don't think that's necessary, Chief," he said. "But thanks just the same. We'd better be running along."
"If there's anything we can do, just give me a ring," Mul- cade said.
Diana and her uncle walked down the steps of the police station and into the half-deserted street. The night wind listlessly flipped over the discarded cigarette packs in the gutter.
"Well, that didn't do much good," said Diana.
David Palmer shrugged. "You've got to admit it's difficult from his point of view," he said. "What could the Chief do? Maybe he was right. It could be a crank."
Diana shook her head.
"This makes me more determined than ever to go on with my investigation," she said. "There must be something in this Scorpia business if it's important enough for me to be threatened."
David Palmer gave her a worried look.
"Listen, Diana," he said. "I'd forget this Scorpia business if I were you. I know how stubborn you are but consider the risks. And there's your mother to think of. It could be dangerous."
Diana compressed her lips into the firm line that David Palmer knew so well.
"I'm sorry, Uncle David," she said. "I must go on."
Neither of them noticed the blond man keenly watching them from the interior of a phone booth on the other side of the boulevard. He saw them pass the end of the street and then opened the door. He strode back up the sidewalk and turned off into a quiet, tree-lined avenue. A big Cadillac was parked in the moonlight. Cringle opened the door and got in. A cigarette lighter flared beside him, illuminating the flabby features of Otto Koch.
"Well?" he said softly.
Cringle looked frightened. He licked his lips.
"She ignored the warning," he said. "She went to the police."
9
THE PHONE MAN COMETH
The ringing of the front door bell brought Mrs. Palmer out of the drawing-room with a crease of annoyance on her normally placid features. The housekeeper was out for the afternoon and the houseboy, who usually attended to the door, was on vacation. Mrs. Palmer herself had been working on an unusually elaborate flower display on a table between the French windows, and so her momentary loss of composure.
A tall man in the blue coveralls of the telephone company was standing on the porch. He had a leather belt bristling with pliers and other small tools strung around his hips, and carried a metal toolbox in his hand. He raised his hand toward his smart peaked cap in a semi-military salute as Mrs. Palmer opened the door.
"Sorry to bother you, Ma'm" he said crisply. "I'm from the phone company. We're doing our yearly wire check-up."
"Oh, I see," said Mrs. Palmer. She had two cut roses in one hand and the clippers in the other, which was why she had had difficulty in opening the door. She looked slightly bewildered.
"You'd better come in," she added, stepping aside. "Though I don't know what you want to look at."
"Just leave it to me, Ma'm," said the tall man with a smile. He took off his cap as he closed the door behind him, disclosing his long blond hair. "It won't take more than half an hour."
"I hope not," said Mrs. Palmer. "I have to go out shopping shortly and I'll want to lock up the house before I leave."
The telephone man smiled faintly as though he'd heard it all before.
"There won't be any problems, Maa'm," he went on. "Or any mess. Just leave it to me."
Mrs. Palmer hovered in the hallway as the big man put down his toolbox. She was mollified to see that he first put a soft cloth on the tiles and then lowered the toolbox gently onto it.
"Isn't this something new?" she queried.
The repairman shook his head.
"No, Ma'm" he replied. "We've been doing it for years. It's a necessary routine."
"I see," said Mrs. Palmer.
Her somewhat severe expression softened.
"Perhaps you'd like a cup of coffee when you're finished. I plan to have a cup myself a little later."
"That would be fine, Ma'm. If you could just show me the main telephones in the house and any extensions I'll get on with the job."
"Certainly," said Mrs. Palmer.
She took the man around the house and showed him the phones. Then they went back to the hall. She watched for a moment, understanding little of the purpose of the instruments and meters he unloaded from the metal box. Presently, she grew tired of the performance and went back to the drawing-room.
"I shall be in the next room if you need me," she said.
The telephone engineer nodded.
"Thanks very much," he said.
He went on humming softly to himself as he bent a piece of wire over with a pair of pliers and attached a meter to it with a metal tag. He concentrated on the needle on the dial, which started flickering to and fro.
Mrs. Palmer shook her head and went back to her roses. The house settled down to its customary afternoon quiet. Diana was away playing tennis with friends and David would not be back until six o'clock. She soon forgot the engineer's presence as she concentrated on the arrangement. Then the doorbell shrilled again. She went out into the hall to find the upholsterer she had expected. She noticed a trailing wire leading up the stairs, but the tools and the metal box had been cleared from the hall.
There were several more callers that afternoon, and by the time Mrs. Palmer remembered her promise to the repairman, nearly an hour had gone by. She hastily made the coffee and carried a tray into the hall as the big man came back down the stairs, dusting his hands.
"All is well, Ma'm," he said, accepting the cup she had poured.
"I replaced the wiring to one of the extensions, since it was frayed where it passed under one of the carpets in the upstairs hall."
He indicated a small coil of cut wire at his belt as he
spoke.
"That's fine," Mrs. Palmer told him. "As long as everything works."
"Everything works just fine, Ma'm," said the big repairman. "And thanks for the coffee. It isn't something we get at every house."
"I should hope not," Mrs. Palmer laughed. "You'd never get your work done if you spent all day drinking coffee."
She gave the engineer a shrewd look.
"You're sure this is a free service, and you're not going to send me a bill for a couple of thousand dollars for rewiring?"
The big man shook his head as he put the cup back in his saucer with a smack of satisfaction.
"Nothing like that, Ma'm. Like I said, I'm from the phone company. Would you like to see my card?"
Mrs. Palmer refused the offer, smiling gently.
"Certainly not," she said. "I didn't doubt you for a minute. Besides, I've seen your truck outside. But one can't be too careful these days."
"Too true, Ma'm," the big man said.
He paused by the door.
"And thanks again."
The sunlight shone on his blond hair and for the first time, Mrs. Palmer became aware of a faint scar on the side of his face, which seemed to affect the lid of one eye.
Then he was gone and the door had closed behind him. Mrs. Palmer sighed as she looked at the hall clock. It would be too late to do her shopping now.
She cleared up the coffee things and went back to the
drawing-room and the contented creativity of her flower-arranging.
Otto Koch's face looked impassive as someone knocked on the door of his private quarters.
"Who is it?" he asked.
His hand went as quickly as a snake to a drawer in the table at his elbow. He put the big Luger revolver down on the cushions of the couch at his side, where he could get at it in a second.
"Cringle," said the soft voice
.
Koch grunted. He got up ponderously and crossed to the door with light steps. Once again, there was a marked contrast between his bulk and the lightness of his movements. He unlocked the door. Cringle stepped inside. He wore a raincoat over his clothing. On his head gleamed a peaked cap. He whipped it off with a grin and hurled it triumphantly across the room. It hit the couch and fell with a thump to the floor.
"I hope you didn't bungle it this time," said Otto softly.
Cringle smiled.
"It went like a dream, Chief," he said. He took off the raincoat disclosing blue coveralls, the knees of which were covered with dust. He brushed them absently as he went to put a metal toolbox down on the carpet.
Otto's grey eyes looked skeptical.
"You're sure this will work?" he asked. "Your wiring expertise hasn't gotten as rusty as your Morse?"
Cringle bared his teeth in a hard smile.
"You'll soon see, Otto," he said.
"Let's hope so, Cringle, let's hope so," Otto said.
He went to sit down on the couch again and picked up a crossword puzzle book he'd been working on when the other knocked. The thick ash from his cigar fell unnoticed onto his shirt.
"No one recognized you?"
He frowned at the puzzle.
"Two across, dumb pelican's lament," he said. "Back- breakingly difficult. I'd better leave that."
He shot a glance over the top of the newspaper at his subordinate.
"You took a chance going there after Diana Palmer had already seen you. I assume she wasn't there?"
"Certainly not, Chief," said Cringle in an aggrieved voice. He went to a hard-backed chair and sat down, taking a pack of cigarettes from the pocket of his coveralls.
"I checked it out first. Only Mrs. Palmer was home. She didn't suspect anything."
"Well, we shall soon find out," said Otto imperturbably. "When I've finished this puzzle, we'll go upstairs and turn the receiver on."
He smiled blandly at Cringle.
"If it fails to work, I shall personally punish you."
His eyelids went up and the full power of his gaze was directed toward the man with the scar.
"And you know what that means?"
Cringle shifted uneasily on the chair.
"Don't worry, Otto," he said. "I checked and double- checked. It will work."
