The Black Lizard Big Book of Pulps

Chapter XXIV

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I started toward my car, hesitated and stood in the middle of the sidewalk. Had that last crack of his been a threat against his wife’s life? Should I go and tell O’Rourke? Should I—. But the Rolls still stood at the curb and O’Rourke surely expected more than I did that the woman’s life might be attempted. Also O’Rourke and another cop were already in that private hospital. One thing was sure. O’Rourke was a thorough police officer. Only the best men would watch over Madame’s life, and—

“The night air grows chilly,” Michelle Gorgon was calling from the window of his car. “If you would rather postpone our little talk, and chat with the genial Sergeant O’Rourke, it is perfectly agreeable to me.”

“Be right with you,” I said confidentially, hopped into my car, stepped on the starter, shoved the old girl in second gear, and was away, shooting down the street before the big Rolls Royce could even get moving.

No, sir, I didn’t believe that business of taking me off the spot, or if I did believe it, I wasn’t going to test out the accuracy of my instinct in such matters. It might be easy for Michelle Gorgon to pass the word along to certain racketeers, “Empty your machine gun into the car I’m following.”

I burnt up the city streets, lost track of the Rolls entirely, and had my car parked around the corner and was waiting in the pretentious lobby of the Park Avenue apartment when Michelle Gorgon came in.

“An astounding man, Williams, most astounding.” He shook my shoulders playfully. “You do everything with such enthusiasm. Now, when I wish speed,” he went on, as we rode up in the elevator, “I take the airplane. I’m a great believer in the future of air travel, perhaps, even the present. I have more than one plane of my own.”

“Yes,” I said, “I’ve heard about your plane. Your wife likes it too, I suppose.” And the sneer would not keep out of my voice.

Michelle Gorgon looked at the elevator operator, but said nothing until we had alighted at the top floor and the elevator door closed behind us. Then he said:

“That was untactful, and if not unkind, at least thoughtless. I am a man, Williams, who is no longer young. It has only been given me in life to love two women.”

“Then you were married twice.” I wasn’t trying to be tactful.

“Not yet,” he told me, let himself in the heavy steel door, and we walked across the roof, up the steps of the porch and into the bungalow. Once again I found myself in the library. Once again the old servant brought the No. 1 Sherry and left us alone.

I got up, walked about the room, spotted the door behind the curtain, that Madame had left by on a previous occasion and found it locked. Michelle Gorgon watched me without objection, but with a little twist to his thin lips, and perhaps a narrowness to his eyes, though they never blinked. Just regarded me steadily, like the unblinking orbs of a young baby.

One thing I made certain of. That was — that no one was hiding in that room, or behind those curtained windows. Now, I’d fix my chair, back against real solid plaster and keep it there. I wouldn’t be trapped again. Not twice in one night, by a Gorgon, anyway.

“You are perfectly safe here,” Michelle Gorgon told me. “Besides, Sergeant O’Rourke knows you came with me.” And he added, rather suggestively I thought, “Sergeant O’Rourke also knows that I came here with you, as does my servant.”

I looked up.

“What do you mean?”

“That Sergeant O’Rourke probably knows why you came here.”

“Do you know why?” My hand was on my gun now; I was leaning slightly forward. “Do you know why I took a chance like this, coming here alone with you, to your home, again?”

“Yes,” he said, “I do know. To threaten me with physical violence unless I disclose certain information to you. That would be your way.”

That startled me. In fact, that was almost exactly what was on my mind, but not altogether.

“You’re partly right,” I told him. “But not to threaten you, Michelle Gorgon, to act. You know my ways. You took your chance when you brought me here. Colonel McBride has paid me, trusted me. He has disappeared.”

“Not an affair of the heart, I hope.” Michelle Gorgon looked up at me from his easy chair.

And that was that. Not heroic, nor moving picture stuff. Not the sort of blood that runs through the body of a hero, maybe. But I was alone in that room, with probably the greatest murderer who ever cheated the hot seat. I took two steps forward, and had him by the throat. And I was talking.

“Now, where’s McBride? You don’t believe in the physical, Doctor Gorgon, except in the abstract. Well, you’ll believe in it now. Where—” My fingers started to tighten upon that throat, but stopped. Those eyes held me, still staring, still unblinking, and yet there was nothing of alarm in them. Perhaps, just a touch of the curious. He spoke very slowly as he watched me.