The Black Lizard Big Book of Pulps

So! I smiled to myself. That was why Jobson dared try blackmail! It wasn’t the gang he had to face, but somebody connected with it who had tried to double-cross them! And right then there’s the little buzz of a telephone in their room.

I glanced around the room here while I heard one of them thump across the floor. There wasn’t any phone here; probably 311 was used for business conferences only, and the only connecting phone was in that room. I heard Jobson’s voice muttering something into the mouthpiece. Then he slammed down the receiver with a vicious jerk.

“Listen!” he said in a hoarse whisper, and I could almost see him whirl around to his companion. “She says to tell you the cops are on their way upstairs! I must have been shadowed, and... and — for — sake, I can’t be found talking to you! Hide, man! Hide!”

And then, for the first time, I heard the other guy’s voice; just a half dozen low words:

“Just a second. I want to tell you...” His voice became a mumble; then a whisper; then I couldn’t hear it at all, and I figured he must be hiding. And he only had a minute to do it before I heard the thump of two or three men’s feet coming along the hall. Oh, yes, I could hear it. It takes more than a thick carpet to deaden the step of a good bull.

They passed my door, went on to the next, and rapped, short and sharp. I heard steps cross the room, heard the key turn in the lock and the door open. And then I got a jolt.

A deep voice spoke, and I recognized it right away for Police Sergeant Rooney’s.

“Well,” he says; “so here’s our little bird! You was right after all, Mr. Bond!”

And I heard Bond say in that slow drawl of his:

“Oh, I knew we’d find him, all right, Sergeant!” And I sat back and scratched my head.

So Bond was doing a little detective work on the quiet, was he! Taking a crack at that ten grand reward himself! I set my lips tight. I didn’t know how he’d trailed Jobson here — unless by the bull stationed outside the apartments on Bradford Street — and I didn’t give a damn; but when they brought that other bird — the guy what had done the shooting — before the Captain, little Percy Warren (Yeah, that’s the name!) would be tripping alongside them, ready to put in part claim for the bonus! There are ethics in every trade, and Harley Bond was going to stick to lawyering, or I’d know the reason why! But I wasn’t feeling so cheerful while I sat there listening to Jobson’s pulling his sob stuff.

“Why, I wasn’t doing nothing, Mr. Bond! I just came around here because—” And Bond cuts in:

“Nobody’s accusing you of doing anything, Jobson,” he says; “I just wanted to have a little talk with you to see if you knew anything more about this affair; and I asked the sergeant to come along and—”

And just then a truck went rumbling by; and though it was on the other side of the inn, it shut off all connections with the next room. Before the air cleared and I could tune in again it was all over.

“Well, come along!” Rooney snaps.

I stood up, ready to join the party and do a little arguing; and then I stopped short. Had they found the other guy — the bird that did the dirty work? They’d had time, maybe, to dig him out from wherever he was hiding; but how did I know they knew he was there in the first place? I crossed the room softly, slipped my key in the lock, turned it, and waited. If they had the killer with them, that was my tough luck; if they didn’t, it was Bond’s. I’d produce him in my own good time, when the lawyer wasn’t around to split the bonus.

I listened while they piled out the door and locked it behind them; waited while they tramped past my door. Then I opened up a crack and peeked.

There were four of them going down the hall. I could just make them out as they passed under the gasjet: the sergeant, another cop, Bond, and Jobson — and nobody else! I chuckled to myself, apologized to Lady Luck, and shut the door quick; for just then I spotted a girl down the hall ahead of them. Miss Kelly, probably.