SSC (1950) Six Deadly Dames (9 page)

“I thought you'd be at Tony's,” he said.

“I was learning some card tricks.”

“Well, I don't suppose that could be any worse than playing the market.”

“I told the boys I'd be right back.”

Asa Hinkle sat back and pulled a memorandum from the drawer. “You have a reservation,” he said, “on the Pennsy tonight-for St. Louis. You'd better take plenty of clean shirts.”

Donahue stopped a lighted match half-way to the cigarette that hung from his lips. Then he grunted, put flame to tobacco, and snapped the match into a cuspidor.

“Who the hell wants to go to St. Louis?” he said.

“Boy, the way my finances stand now, St. Louis is as good as any place. You'd better take along some Scotch, too. I hear they're having a cold snap out there and you can only buy gin and thrice-cut Bourbon.”

“Listen, Asa, the last time P went to that burg I almost got fogged out. Not only that, but there was a shyster there named Stein who double-crossed us.”

“This is simple,” said Hinkle. “It looks to me like nothing more serious than being a bodyguard. The client's name is William Herron. He's at the Apollo Hotel, in Locust Street-room 804. I think your train gets in at five tomorrow evening.”

“What's the matter; haven't they got any private dicks in St. Louis?”

“That is neither here nor there. Herron called us on long distance just before noon today. I told him that it seemed a little irregular and that I didn't think we could send a man out there unless we had a retainer. He said that would be given as soon as you arrived. I said that it was possible to send money over the Western Union. Half an hour ago I collected three hundred dollars that he sent by telegraph. I just wired him that Mr. Donahue would arrive about five tomorrow evening.”

Donahue tipped back his Homburg. “Providing you supply the Scotch.”

“I have two bottles here in the desk.”

“Suppose I get in Dutch out there?”

“Go to Moss Garrity, in Olive Street. And remember, tip no more than ten per cent. And don't include any money lost in those East St. Louis gambling joints.”

“I'll be good.”

“I seem to have heard that before. But anyhow, start packing.”

The sound of wheels rattling over switches, the slow lurching of the Pullman, the muted jangling of bells, woke Donahue up. He looked out of the window and saw railroad yards: red lights, green lights, many steel rails shining in the gloom.

He picked up a book that had fallen to the floor, stowed it in the Gladstone, took a flat black automatic from beneath a suit of pajamas and shoved it into his pocket.

The train crawled into the shed. Donahue put on raglan and Homburg, submitted to the porter's ministrations, tipped him, grabbed up the Gladstone and got off. He defied porters on the way up the platform, went through the barn-like station and came out in Market Street. He took a taxi and it rushed him to Twelfth,-north on Twelfth, east on Locust. He got off at the Apollo Hotel.

He had wired ahead for a room on the eighth floor. They gave him number 812, and a black boy took the key and the bag and piloted Donahue aloft; opened a window in the room, opened” the closet door, grinned with white horse teeth in a sooty black face.

“Anything else, suh?”

“I brought my own.”

“Thank you, suh.”

The boy left and Donahue stood for a moment staring down into Locust street, where a pall of smoke and fog dimmed the lights. Then he took off hat and topcoat and sat down at the small metal desk. He took up the telephone receiver.

“Give me room 804,” he said. Presently he heard a man's voice, and said: “Mr. Herron?... This is Donahue, the Interstate man from New York. Should I come right over?... I'm down the hall from you in 812.... All right, I'll be right over.”

He hung up and sat staring blankly at the instrument for a full minute. Then he rose, wagged his head dubiously, frowned with his lean-cheeked brown face. He looked like a man reacting visibly to a vague inner instinct; to ah intangible warning against which his better judgment was as nothing compared with the force of circumstance. With a hoarse sigh, begrudgingly philosophical, he went to the door, opened it and locked it from the outside; went down the corridor with a shadowy forehead and slow deliberate footsteps.

Herron let him in after a moment's scrutiny through big horn-rimmed glasses.

“Well-well, so you got here; so you did get here!”

There was no handshaking. Donahue, hands thrust into jacket pockets, strolled in as though the room and Herron were a familiar ensemble. Herron locked the door behind him, quickly. Donahue walked the length of the room and turned finally when he reached the windows. The shades were drawn. The room, larger and more pretentious than Donahue's, was close, stuffy, as though no air had permeated it in a long while.

Herron, beaming with a fat florid face, chafed fat white hands and stood watching Donahue with eyes that laughed without losing their scrutiny. Donahue returned the look with candid brown eyes and immobile brown features.

“Well-well, now that you are, Mr. Donahue-now that you are here-well, sit down. Of course, sit down-anywhere.”

“I've been sitting all the way from New York.”

Donahue continued to stand, feet a little apart, broad shoulders slouching, hands in pockets. Herron lumbered across the room and turned on another light. He was well-dressed, a vigorous fat man whose fat was not particularly doughy. Solid white fat. Crinkly gray hair. Big eyes with a bright blue baffling look. His age might have been forty or fifty. He sat down in a mohair armchair, lit a dark cigar, began to smile reflectively.

“I suppose you think it odd, don't you?”

Donahue shrugged. “I haven't got the details yet.”

“Oh, I mean-I mean my sending to New York for a private detective. Eh? Don't you?”

“I'm never surprised, Mr. Herron.”

“Well, I am glad to hear that, Mr. Donahue. I am certainly glad to hear that. Yes, sir-indeed. I think you will find that it was worth your while to leave New York and come here. I have to have a man I can depend on implicitly. Eh? Implicitly! You understand that, of course.”

“Yes.”

“Splendid! And I am a man you can depend on too, Mr. Donahue. Depend on me to compensate your Agency for anything you do. And I might add-I will add, in fact, that a little premium for yourself will not be entirely out of order. Eh?”

“Go on, Mr. Herron.”

“Of course, to be sure. These little preliminaries I think are necessary. I am a man who believes in certain preliminaries, Mr. Donahue; one might even call them courtesies, or delicacies. You appear to me to be a man of intelligence and tact and also a man of courage and tenacity. Said as much to myself the moment I laid eyes on you. And I believe in giving credit where credit is due.

“Now, Mr. Donahue-now.” Herron took three quick puffs on his cigar. “My real name is not Herron. You may as well know that now, though I implore you to keep it a secret. You must at all times call me Herron. My real name is Stanley Edgecomb. As Stanley Edgecomb I was supposed to have left for Hot Springs three days ago. I didn't. I am here, in this hotel, incognito. I have not been out of this room since the night I walked in as William Herron. I want to be frank with you, Mr. Donahue.”

For the first time since he had entered the room a glimmer of interest appeared in Donahue's eyes.

“Surprised-eh?”

“No,” said Donahue.

“By Godfrey, you are an uncommon fellow! A man of parts you are, Mr. Donahue! Ton my word!” He swayed in the chair in what seemed like a paroxysm of sheer delight.

Donahue began to speak frankly, bluntly-“Mr. Herron, suppose we get down to cases. It's kind of you to spread a lot of bouquets around, to tell me I'm pretty damn good. I know I'm pretty good, Mr. Herron. What are you driving at? In short, what is your particular kind of racket?”

“Racket, Mr. Donahue, is an ugly word. I wish you would not use it again. Stanley Edgecomb is well known in this city. He is a lawyer. I, Stanley Edgecomb, am a lawyer. A price is on my head, that price set by the head of a notorious gang. I was warned to leave this city within twenty-four hours. To all appearances, I left, deciding that discretion was the better part of valor-outwardly, at least.

“Understand, I dare not show my face on the streets. Not even my friends know that I am here. My house is closed, but I believe it is being watched. And this is where you come in. In my haste to get away from the house, I left behind some valuable papers, in my safe. I want you to get those papers.”

“Anybody in the house?”

“One servant, old Jansen, who sleeps on the top floor. But you will not disturb Jansen. I will give you my keys and the combination to my safe. In the safe is a black metal box. In that box are these papers. You will bring me the box. Eh?”

Donahue frowned. “How long do you expect to stay here in hiding?”

“Until the police have rounded up the gang. It was on the advice of a policeman that I left town. He doesn't know I did not leave. He thought I would be safer while the process of rounding up was going on. I have been worried, thinking that someone might break into my house and get these papers. I think they would be safer with me. Now-here are my keys. This one opens the rear door. I will give you this one. And here is a diagram of the interior of the house, showing the room where the safe is located. Midnight or after would be the best time.”

“And you got me all the way from New York-for this?”

“Of course, Mr. Donahue. The papers are valuable to me. They contain much evidence against the gang I started out to crush.”

“Why didn't you hire a private cop right in town?”

“Because I am too well known here. Come, come, Mr. Donahue. If you are incredulous, inquire anywhere as to the reputation of mine. Ask anyone who Stanley Edgecomb is.”

Donahue shrugged. “Well, I take the key. And let us go over the plans.”

“To be sure, Mr. Donahue!”

Fifteen minutes later the taxi drew up at the corner of Lindell Boulevard and Kings Highway. Donahue got out, paid up, took a look at the Hotel Chase and then dodged traffic on the way across the monumental plaza. He walked west on Lindell, with pretentious homes on his right, Forest Park on his left, a cold wind at his back. His well-shod feet smacked the pavement with dogged deliberation, his dark eyes, hawkish beneath his hat brim, cruised the street and kept watching the houses. Finally his eyes settled on an imposing rough-stone house with a tower on its left. Broad lawns lay before it. The windows were darkened.

But Donahue walked past, his eyes keening, jabbing the shadows on all sides. The street seemed deserted of people, though cars hummed past occasionally. The wind rattled in the leafless trees and the Park was black and silent beyond. After a while Donahue about-faced and retraced his steps. He did not slow down. He turned abruptly into the cement walk leading to the towered house and quite as abruptly went around to the rear.

Basement windows were almost flush with the cement. The door was down at the end of three steps. It was a heavy wooden door, and Donahue inserted the key, turned it quietly, opened the door and entered. He did not lock it.

He drew out a small flashlight, the size of a large fountain pen, and played its beam on the cement floor. He went past coal bins and a warm furnace and found a stairway which he followed upward to a door that opened at his touch. He entered a large pantry, went from it into a large kitchen and then into a small serving pantry.

Next was a swing-door-and he found himself in a dining-room. He moved quickly, surely, because he had memorized the plan of the house by heart. Next a drawing room, large and sumptuous. To the left a foyer-and across the foyer a library. He closed the French doors of the library behind him, turned out the flash, drew down four shades, and then turned the flash on again.

He crossed the room to a row of bookcases, counted off, then swung out one of the compartments. The face of a circular wall-safe glinted in the flash's beam. He took out a slip of paper and went to work. In a short moment he had the safe open. He removed a black metal box, closed the safe, swung the book-section back into place. He turned out the flashlight, raised the four shades and returned to the French doors.

In a minute he was outside, locking the basement door. He was starting around the side of the house when he saw a man leaning against a tree on the Boulevard. The man moved slightly, but remained against the tree.

Donahue pressed against the wall of the house and retreated. He held the box tightly under his left arm. His right hand tightened on the flat black automatic in his pocket. He stood for a moment in perplexed indecision. Then he peered cautiously around the corner of the house.

The man was still standing by the tree. Another man walked past slowly, and the two seemed to look at each other. There was no purpose in the walking man's footsteps; he seemed to be strolling idly.

Donahue retreated again, went farther back in the yard. He came to an arbor connecting two octagon shaped summer-houses. Beyond was a high stone wall. He would make considerable noise getting over that, would make of himself a handy target for any wayward gun. Had those men tailed him from downtown? If they had, they would know what he looked like.

Snap-judgment decided his next move. He hid the black box behind a row of shrubbery that grew close to the stone wall. Then he stood up and followed the wall. It was easy work scaling the hedge that separated the grounds of the towered house from the grounds of the next. He went back of three houses, then turned and walked boldly to the street.

Reaching the sidewalk, he looked negligently down the Boulevard and saw the man still leaning against the tree; saw the other walking idly. Donahue set out briskly away from them. Presently he heard footsteps walking rapidly behind him. Two pairs of footsteps. “He did not look around. The automobiles went humming by. The men were walking faster.

Then suddenly a car drew into the curb, passed Donahue and stopped a dozen yards ahead in front of an imposing red-brick house. A tall man got out and headed for the approach leading to the house. But he stopped short and turned towards Donahue. A gun appeared in his hand.

Donahue, thinking only of the two behind, was taken by surprise.

The tall man said: “Get in that car.”

“Listen-”

“Get in!”

The two men came up and crowded Donahue with drawn guns, and the tall man helped them rush Donahue into the big sedan. He landed in the seat and the tall man slid down beside him, pressing his gun against Donahue's ribs. One of the others climbed in front beside the chauffeur, and the last to come in took one of the folding seats facing Donahue and the tall man.

“All right, Charlie,” the tall man said.

The chauffeur shifted into gear and the big sedan started off.

Donahue chuckled. “That was sweet work, boys.”

“Put your hands up,” said the tall man. He took away Donahue's gun and then said: “Where is it?”

“Where is what?”

“The stuff you came after.”

Donahue shook his head. “You've got me wrong.”

“Cut that!” The gun jabbed Donahue's ribs viciously.

“Honest,” Donahue said. “I haven't got a thing.”

“Frisk him, Pete,” the tall man said.

Pete leaned forward and ransacked Donahue's pockets.

After a minute he played a small pocket flash on the spoils, said: “Well, here's his wallet and a key ring and here's a loose key and here's a hunk of paper was in his overcoat pocket, and an Apollo key.”

The tall man examined the articles with exasperated scrutiny. “Private Shamus, eh?” he snarled. “This is certainly a new one on me!... What's these numbers mean on here?”

“Probably telephone numbers.”

“My eye!”

Pete suggested, “Maybe a combination-”

“That's it!” the tall man rasped. “And this is the key.”

“Hey,” called Charlie from behind the wheel, “should I head out towards the river?”

“Just keep moving,” the tall man said.

“I was thinkin',” Charlie said, “about them woods this side o' the bridge, just in case you want to-”

“Shut up and keep moving,” the tall man growled. Donahue said: “I hope you guys aren't fools enough to try taking me for a ride.”

The tall man jabbed him again. “Listen, Shamus! You were in that house! You got something-”

“Yeah, he was in that house all right,” Pete said.-,

“Of course I was in that house,” Donahue said.

“Well!” the tall man rasped.

“Well,” Donahue said, “what the hell of it? Have I got anything? Pipe this, you wiseacres. I saw the guys hanging around outside. I knew it was a plant. And when I see you birds, d' you think I'd be jackass enough to walk out waving the bacon? Not in these old trousers, you dumb hoods.”

“Ah, sock 'at loud-mouthed punk,” Charlie flung over his shoulder.

“This key,” the tall man said to Donahue. “You used it to get in, didn't you?”

“Maybe I did.”

“And these numbers on this hunk of paper-”

“I can't imagine how they got in my pocket,” Donahue said.

Pete said, jabbing his finger at the paper: “That's it, I'll bet. I'll bet that's it. And that there's the key. It's a big key, see. It ain't a hotel key. And his other keys are on a ring. That's the key, I'll bet. I'll bet it is.”

“I think you're right, Pete,” the tall man said. “Turn off that flashlight.”

Pete sat back and the flash's beam swept upward before it vanished. Donahue caught a fleeting glimpse of the tall man's face. A long, narrow face, white and bony, with blue hollows on the cheeks, hueless lips, a thin nose, intense black eyes, small, feverish.

The car hummed on in silence.

Finally the tall man said: “Charlie, drive home.” He leaned back, raised his gun and struck Donahue on the head. Donahue pitched to the floor of the car and lay motionless.