Costigan's Needle

by Jerry Sohl

  COSTIGAN'S NEEDLE

  by

  JERRY SOHL

  Produced by ReAnimus Press

  Other books by Jerry Sohl:

  Night Slaves

  The Mars Monopoly

  One Against Herculum

  The Time Dissolver

  The Transcendent Man

  I, Aleppo

  The Altered Ego

  The Anomaly

  Death Sleep

  The Odious Ones

  Point Ultimate

  The Haploids

  Prelude to Peril

  The Resurrection of Frank Borchard

  The Lemon Eaters

  The Spun Sugar Hole

  Underhanded Chess

  Underhanded Bridge

  Night Wind

  Black Thunder

  Dr. Josh

  Blowdry

  Mamelle

  Kaheesh

  © 2013, 1953 by Jerry Sohl. All rights reserved.

  http://ReAnimus.com/authors/jerrysohl

  Smashwords Edition Licence Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  ~~~

  For Jean

  ~~~

  Part One: Discovery

  1

  His welcome home was snow. January snow, powder dry and cold. He saw it from his taxi and he hated it.

  It was Chicago snow and Devan Traylor knew it well. Like Chicago, it would be big. From the feel of it he knew it was the kind of snow that came through keyholes and brought the cold with it and deposited a token drift on the floor in front of the door, the kind of weather that called all available men from the city yards to fight the drifts and keep the streets open.

  He had never felt as furious with the snow as he did now, because he had been called back from Florida, summoned by a woman who insisted that something big had gone wrong. The call had come to the beach house where he and Beverly and the kids were starting a vacation that had been three years in the making.

  Miss Treat had hinted there was something unusual in the wind. Had the gang at Inland Electronics deliberately waited until he was out of the way to do something? It did not seem possible. He knew them all too well. Yet he thought he knew Beatrice Treat and, when she called, her voice was taut and edged with caution and she said she couldn’t risk telling him anything over the phone. That just wasn’t like her. It left him no choice; he had to return.

  He had phoned her from the airport, but with maddening impassiveness she said she’d tell him all about it when she saw him.

  It was then he ran out of patience and slapped the receiver back on the hook. Then he glanced through the glass of the phone booth door and on through the waiting room window to the first swirls of snow, feeling a sudden agony of frustration and a fear that perhaps even when he saw her face to face she wouldn’t tell him.

  But of course she would tell him. In addition to her regular salary as his secretary, he paid her a bonus privately to keep him informed of things he might otherwise miss. He admitted he sometimes had to separate office gossip from office business, but that was only because she more than fulfilled her part of the bargain.

  “What was that address again?” The taxi driver, who had been hunched over the wheel to peer through the fast-diminishing clear area of his side of the windshield, leaned back a little and cocked his head to one side for the answer.

  “I didn’t give any address,” Devan said. “It’s a tavern two blocks west of Inland Electronics, as I said. Know where that is?”

  “Are you kidding? Inland takes up a whole city block.”

  “Then you should have no trouble finding it.”

  The driver gave him a look in the rearview mirror. It probably seemed strange to the driver that a man would get off a plane from Florida only to go to a cheap tavern just off Twenty-second Street. I could tell him I own the place, Devan thought. That would be more satisfying and believable than telling him the real reason.

  But Devan said nothing. How could he explain why he should have given up the long, curved white beach at Pelican Rock? Only Beatrice Treat could say why and he would soon know the reason himself.

  The cab double-parked in front of the Peacock tavern. Devan paid the driver and then held his hat firmly on his head as he lurched against the wind and went into the tavern.

  He had never been there before and now that he looked around he wondered if he had been wise in suggesting it. Most of the confidential exchanges with Miss Treat had been within his own office, but at this hour—especially since he was presumably still basking in the Florida sun—it would not have been a very bright thing to do.

  The Peacock was obviously so named because of the stuffed peacock in the window, a dusty and aging exercise in taxidermy, and replicas of it crudely painted on the walls. Several patrons at the bar glanced his way with indifferent eyes as he entered and then resumed their occupations. He looked to the dimly lighted booths at the rear as he stomped his feet lightly at the door. There was no mistaking Miss Treat and he saw her at once through the heavy shreds of smoke and walked toward her. Even as he did so, he saw the concern in her eyes.

  “Mr. Traylor!” she said, rising. “Oh, I’m so sorry!” She looked more woebegone than he had ever seen her.

  “Stop being sorry and sit down,” Devan said gruffly, taking off his coat and hanging it beside hers on the booth hooks.

  “But I can’t help it!” She was on the verge of tears and when he sat down he put his hands comfortingly over hers. “I don’t know whether I did the right thing or not, calling you, but I had to decide and I’ve thought about nothing else since and—”

  A waitress came out of the haze and Devan ordered two bourbons, one with water and one with ginger ale.

  “Please, none for me,” Miss Treat said, raising the half-empty glass of ginger ale to explain. “It’s—it’s bad for my figure.”

  “You look as if you need it and you’re going to drink it.”

  She looked white and drawn and as he patted her hand affectionately he was gratified to see a blush brighten her face. “Now why don’t you tell me what all this is about?”

  Miss Treat was a large woman, well over thirty, but she had not lost the grace and charm of a younger woman. It was this, plus her inexhaustible zest, efficiency and loyalty, that had made her an obvious choice for secretary when he first came to Inland. He had not been disappointed. He had often admitted that he could not have done as big a job as he had in three years without her. Simple and direct, she never faltered when it came to the good of Devan Traylor and Inland, though it had often meant embarrassment and loss of face to her.

  He had never seen her in a veiled, pink-feathered calot before and he had to admit it complemented her black satin dress, which surprised him because she had always dressed so severely at the office.

  “I don’t know how to tell you,” she said. “It’s so involved. I knew I had to get you back before the board meeting. They’re going to spend—up to a million dollars.”

  Devan winced. “A million dollars? For heaven’s sake! What are they going to spend it for?”

  “You left last week after the regular committee meeting. You remember.”

  Yes, he remembered. Routine business on the second Tuesday of the month. He’d signed papers and then shaken hands all around and left for his Oak Park residence to pick up Beverly and the kids to go to the airport. Everything seemed normal then.

  “
Well, they called a special meeting. But they couldn’t get in touch with you because you’d gone. Not that they tried.”

  “Let me get this straight. You’re speaking of the executive committee. Right?”

  Miss Treat nodded. “Mr. Holcombe called the meeting at Mr. Orcutt’s request. Mr. Basher, Mr. Holcombe, Mr. Tooksberry and Mr. Orcutt. That’s all.”

  That would be the executive committee, except for Orcutt. Glenn Basher, youngish former Continental Electric man who’d been buying stock in Inland for years, James Holcombe, who had as divergent a record as Devan in electronics and administration and was also chairman of the board, and Howard Tooksberry, hardheaded counselor who had been with Inland since it got its state charter and who often stood in the way of advancement because things had a tendency to move too fast for him.

  “What did they do?” Devan asked, bracing himself for the answer. Without him, Basher and Holcombe could have put anything over, even if Tooksberry dissented, which he did with monotonous regularity, for they would be the majority in Devan’s absence. He had sided more than once with Tooksberry, forcing the committee to argue to wise decisions.

  “They want to spend up to a million dollars, Mr. Traylor. A million dollars on a scientific experiment.”

  He could see form and substance now. There was Edmund G. Orcutt, president of Inland Electronics. He was a big, powerful man with a thick shock of white hair, beetling black brows and a thick mustache. Distinguished looking and impressive at the conference table. He had been hired because of an imposing record with a large radio-parts corporation, yet he had to be watched, Devan knew, because he had learned Orcutt was apt to be too liberal with company funds. He had talked with him about it on occasions. Now it appeared Orcutt had called a special meeting and had put through this thing that would now go to the board of directors as the recommendation of the executive committee, if he had understood Miss Treat correctly. The board would rubber-stamp it, of course. It always did.

  The drinks came and Devan emptied one shot glass into her ginger ale, stirred it absently with the muddler, pushed it to her.

  “A million dollars. That’s a lot of money. What kind of an experiment is it going to be, Miss Treat?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know? Weren’t you there?”

  Her face was pained. “That’s the terrible thing about it, Mr. Traylor. They didn’t even ask me to take the notes. All they did is ask me whether or not you had left town and I said you had and then they asked Miss Faversham to keep the notes.”

  “Who asked you if I had left town?”

  “It was Mr. Orcutt.”

  “So that’s the way it is.” First, they make sure he’s away and then they hold the meeting, making sure Miss Treat isn’t there so she won’t be able to report to him what went on. “If you weren’t there, how did you find out what they talked about?”

  “Well...”

  “Never mind.” He knew it would be a mistake to insist on knowing her sources. “Anyway, it gets more interesting every minute. What else did you find out?” He downed his drink, welcoming the warmth that went to work untying the worry knot in his stomach.

  “The meeting was held on Monday. From what I could learn, the whole thing is secret. I don’t know what else happened but I know they approved the expenditure.”

  She paused to sip her drink and he knew she was enjoying telling him these things. She’d tell it all in her own time. The bourbon was having a hard time with the knot. He wished she’d get on with what she knew, though he knew it would be useless to prod her.

  “Oh, I forgot to mention Sam Otto. He was there.”

  So that was it! Devan hit his forehead with the flat of his hand. “Sam Otto! Now things are adding up. Why, that four-flushing, no-good gold-bricker. Don’t tell me they fell for one of his schemes!”

  “I don’t know whether they did or not, but they’re going to spend a million dollars and Mr. Otto was there.”

  “This is worse than I thought, Beatrice. Letting a con man like Sam put one over!” He lit a cigarette while the thought of Sam Otto made his muscles quiver in anger. He had put the quietus on a dozen Otto schemes. Small Sam Otto and his round, innocent face with its ever-present unlighted cigar. Sam Otto, the man who always makes five per cent when he makes a deal. Five per cent of a million is fifty thousand dollars! Sam had hit the jackpot.

  “In fact, Mr. Traylor, Mr. Otto was there ahead of time.”

  “He would be. He never misses a chance.”

  “There was a Dr. Costigan with him. He’s the scientist who is going to get the money.”

  “Don’t speak so positively of it, Miss Treat. Nobody is going to get any money. We’ve got our own men and our own laboratory. Orcutt must be mad! I wonder if this Dr. Costigan exists.”

  “I just said he was there, Mr. Traylor.”

  “I know. But I’ll bet he’s some guy Sam picked up on skid row and paid a sawbuck for the walk-on part.”

  “He looked respectable.”

  Devan laughed. “You don’t know Sam Otto. He’s a front man from way back. A good one. I’ve got to give him credit. Either he waited until I was out of town or else he had Orcutt wait. Is that all you have to tell, Miss Treat?”

  His secretary drank the last of her highball. He was glad to see her gray eyes were brighter and that there was color in her cheeks.

  “Well, not exactly,” she said. “Office talk is that Dr. Costigan is working in a building just south of the Loop. They say he claims our laboratories aren’t big enough.”

  “Naturally. They can spend the money for the phony experiment with abandon out of sight of Inland.” Costigan. For a moment the name clicked somewhere in his mind. Perhaps there was a Dr. Costigan after all, but he couldn’t recall any in electronics. “What kind of an experiment do they think they’re going to carry on?”

  Miss Treat looked down at her empty glass. “I think it’s just a joke, but I heard there was a lot of technical talk first and then they unfolded a drawing that looked like a space ship.”

  “A space ship! What does Inland Electronics want with a space ship?”

  “That’s what I keep asking myself, Mr. Traylor.”

  “Why the devil didn’t you tell me this over the phone?”

  “I wanted to, Mr. Traylor. Believe me, I did. But I just couldn’t bring myself around to mention the space ship. It’s so silly. And besides, I don’t know that it’s true.”

  “But you still could have mentioned about the million dollars.”

  “And then you’d have wanted to know what for and I’d have said space ships. I just couldn’t, Mr. Traylor.”

  “All right.” He ran a hand through his hair. It was going to take some doing to iron the whole thing out and separate the fact from the fiction.

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know.” The thing had gone only as far as the executive committee. He was thankful for that. They’d lose no time calling a board meeting, but he was there in time for that. He did not know just how far his written appeal to the decision of the executive committee would go even though he was a member of it. It would take a lawyer to figure that out. But something would have to be done. He’d have to make sure Sam Otto didn’t get his money.

  “Maybe,” he said, “I’ll explode a bomb in the office.”

  She looked at him so concernedly he was forced to smile.

  “Not really. But I don’t think we want to spend a million dollars on a space ship, do we?”

  “I didn’t think so.”

  “Besides, it would cost more than a million dollars to build a space ship. It looks like a phony deal all the way through, Miss Treat. I’m tackling Orcutt the first thing in the morning.”

  2

  Devan had barely closed the heavy office door behind him when he saw the figure of Edmund Orcutt at the end of the hall. Orcutt seldom missed a trick and Devan knew that the man had probably already learned he was in the building; now he
was hurrying toward Devan with those long strides of his, his face friendly, his smile sincere and his eyes not in the least surprised.

  “Well, well, Devan!” Orcutt said warmly, moving out from the corridor that led to the suite of executive offices, his shoes noiseless on the thick carpeting of the outer office.

  “This is a surprise!”

  Devan let him pump his hand as if he had been gone a year. It was Orcutt’s stock in trade, for he steadfastly held to the belief that you never know when the hand you shake today may become the hand that helps you tomorrow. Devan had grudgingly to admit it had paid off more than once for Inland; there could be no criticism of Orcutt’s roster of influential friends.

  “I thought you were in Florida and just the other day I asked Miss Treat whether you had gone yet and she said you had.” Orcutt put his arm around Devan’s shoulders as he talked and guided him to the corridor, turning to the secretary in the outer office momentarily.

  “Mr. Traylor and I don’t want to be disturbed, Miss Templeton.”

  When they were in the walnut-paneled office, Orcutt closed the door and said, “Whatever possessed you to come back, man? We’re having terrible weather.” He plopped into his leather chair and smiled amiably at Devan, rocking slightly.

  “You know damn well why I’ve come back, Ed.”

  Orcutt sighed, rocked forward and started to fill a pipe. “I’m sorry you felt moved to come back, Dev. I thought you once told me you weren’t indispensable. Don’t you think we can get along without you for a while?” He studied Devan from beneath black brows as he lit his pipe.

  “A million dollars, Ed, is a lot of money. And to Sam Otto, of all people!”

  “You know about that, then. Some day I’ll find out who feeds you information, as if I didn’t have a good idea already.” Orcutt smiled. “It was supposed to be a secret, but that’s something you can’t have around here. I should have known better. But really, Dev, you’re wasting your time. There was no need to come back. You should be enjoying yourself in Florida. You worked hard enough for it.”