The Black Lizard Big Book of Pulps
- Автор: Anderson Lars, Barr Randolph
- Год: 2007
- Язык: английский
- Год: Vintage Books
- ISBN: 978-0-307-28048-0
- Жанр: Криминальные детективы
Электронная книга - «The Black Lizard Big Book of Pulps». Краткое содержание книги:
Weighing in at over a thousand pages, containing over forty-seven stories and two novels, this book is big baby, bigger and more powerful than a freight train — a bullet couldn’t pass through it. Here are the best stories and every major writer who ever appeared in celebrated Pulps like Black Mask, Dime Detective, Detective Fiction Weekly, and more. These are the classic tales that created the genre and gave birth to hard-hitting detectives who smoke criminals like packs of cigarettes; sultry dames whose looks are as lethal as a dagger to the chest; and gin-soaked hideouts where conversations are just preludes to murder. This is crime fiction at its gritty best.
“You mean — drop the case entirely?”
“Yes, sir.” Ryder leaned forward. “We’ve had excellent reports about this Cobra from Bombay headquarters. It was he who brought those Persian renegades to justice after they murdered Kilgore, one of the C. I. D.’s best men.”
“I remember that,” Marshall nodded.
Ryder grimaced. “We owe him a good turn. Commissioner — I don’t know who or what the Cobra is. But I do know that he gets results because he goes outside of the law. He saved me a lot of trouble getting Kirk. And there must be a reason. I wager that important business has brought the Cobra to London.”
“Very well,” the commissioner sighed. “Drop investigation.”
At that moment, there was a knock on the door. An attendant looked in. “Mr. Bradley to see you, sir.”
“Send him in.”
The door opened, and the dark-skinned, hawk-faced Deen Bradley walked in.
“Happy to know you, Bradley,” Marshall exclaimed, rising and shaking hands with sincere enthusiasm. “Meet Inspector Ryder. Bradley is one of the best in Bombay, Ryder.”
“I know,” the inspector said. “Thanks for helping us out on that Kilgore case down there.”
“I did very little,” Deen replied softly. “In reality, you should thank him who calls himself the Cobra.”
“That’s a coincidence!” Marshall cried. “Your Bombayan avenger happens to be in London. Did you read it? The Kirk affair.”
“The commissioner’s called off an investigation,” Ryder remarked, eyeing the American keenly.
Deen nodded without a trace of emotion, said: “Very wise.”
“But what brings you here?” Marshall queried. “Bombay cabled me to watch for you and give you any aid you asked.”
Deen sat down and pulled a peculiar greenish cigarette holder from his pocket. Slowly, he inserted a cigarette in it and lighted it.
“For the last month,” he began, “there have been strange robberies in India along the eastern coast. Emeralds and diamonds of priceless value have been purloined by hired dacoits. Most notorious was the recent theft of the Kubij opal of the Rajah Sarankh.”
“We heard of that,” put in Ryder.
“All these jewels are being exported from India,” Deen continued. “Somehow they are being smuggled out — past the customs officials. More paradoxical — they are being smuggled into England past the watchful scrutiny of your revenue officers here.
“I resolved to investigate. It was no general sneak-thief job, I knew. It appeared to be an international imbroglio, carefully planned and executed. A jewel ring. I tracked a Wentworth Lane to London to lead me to the lost jewels. Last night, he too was murdered — by his own cohorts.”
“But how can these jewels get into England past the customs?” the inspector demanded. “They are very rigid, you know.”
“True, they are rigid,” Deen murmured. “But do the customs men cut open the bellies of regal pythons to look for stolen jewels?”
Ryder stared at the American, dumbfounded.
“Good Gad!” he cried sharply. “Smuggling by snakes! You mean, then, that Gorgan-Wilkins reptile outfit is the center of the ring! They import nothing but pythons. And they hardly ever sell any of the snakes. The reptiles just disappear. I checked that when I first became suspicious of that company.”
“You see,” Deen explained, “it is very simple. The jewels are stolen in India by hired dacoits. Then, securely wrapped, they are placed in food which is swallowed by the pythons immediately prior to shipment. Since a big snake takes ten to eighteen days to assimilate and digest its food before throwing off waste, the seven-day sea trip to London is completed within that time. When the snakes arrive, they are killed and the jewels recovered from the stomach!”
“Amazing!” breathed the commissioner. “We’ll arrest them at once!”
“No.” Deen’s voice was clear and firm. “You must not arrest them yet. You must help me. We will need evidence — the Kubij opal, perhaps. And I have a simple plan.”
Maxie Gorgan eyed John Wilkins thoughtfully as the latter paced the floor of the House of Kaa in Rokor Street. Wilkins was highly excited and nervous. He had been smoking incessantly.
“You’re acting like a kid,” Gorgan muttered.
“I can’t help it, Maxie,” Wilkins said. “This thing’s getting my goat. First you knock off Lane—”
“Keep your mouth shut!”
“Aw, no one can hear us. Anyway, Lane dies first. Then Kirk, after dumping him, is found dead right outside with one of those damned poisoned darts in his throat. I wouldn’t give a hang, Maxie, if it weren’t for that Cobra story that Lane told us before you rubbed him out.”
“You’re getting scared over nothing,” Gorgan said. “Suppose this guy who calls himself the Cobra is on to us. What of it? He’s outside the law, isn’t he? And he’s a lone wolf, isn’t he? And above all, remember, he’s a man — a single man. And he’ll have to come to us. He can’t go to the police. One man. I can handle him, Wilky.”
Wilkins shook his head.
“I’m leery. Suppose they’re on to the shipment we got today. The pythons. They’re here, aren’t they?”
“Yeah,” Gorgan growled. “And when you lose those jitters, we’ll go down and get the Kubij opal.”
“I don’t like it, Maxie,” Wilkins protested. “The whole organization is shot. With Kirk gone, who’s going to fence the jewels after we melt them down? With Lane gone — who’s going to take over the Bombay end of the business?”
The doorbell at the front of the house jingled stridently.
A deep pall of silence covered the office. Gorgan’s hand crept inside his coat and brought out an ugly automatic. He waved Wilkins away and went to the window.
A solitary man was standing before them. A tall, gaunt man with piercing black eyes. No one else was in sight.
“Let him in,” Gorgan said curtly. “Keep him covered all the time. Lock the door after you. Hurry!”
Wilkins complied nervously and went downstairs.
He presently reappeared behind Deen Bradley who entered the office smoking a cigarette, that same peculiar green holder held tightly between his teeth. He bowed to Gorgan.
“Sit down,” Maxie said, nodding to a chair.
Deen seated himself and smiled mirthlessly. “You may remove that finger from the trigger of your gun,” he purred. “I am unarmed.”
Gorgan flushed guiltily and his eyes narrowed. He lifted the pistol from his pocket and laid it on the desk in front of him, his right hand still curled around it.
“Frisk him, Wilky,” he said.
“I did before,” Wilkins replied. “No gun, Maxie.”
Gorgan nodded. He said, “Okay, then. What do you want?”
Deen shifted the cigarette holder to the corner of his mouth. “I know you killed Lane,” he said quietly.
Instantly Maxie Gorgan hurled himself to his feet and glowered at the American, the heavy Luger held tensely in his hand and aimed point-blank at Deen’s skull.
“No need to fire,” Deen said jocosely. “I could never prove it.”
Gorgan hesitated, eyeing Deen warily. He sat down and fingered the trigger of the gun longingly.
“Who in hell are you?” he spat, “and what do you want? You’d better get down to business, mister. You’re due for a slug.”
“My name is Sam Trent,” Deen replied. “I want to cut in.”
“Cut in?”
“I know that Lane and Kirk were cogs in your jewel-smuggling organization,” Deen said. “Since they are defunct, the necessity of engaging a capable man to assume charge of the Bombay headquarters is imminent. I learned all this from Lane. I saw, in India, that his courage was dissipating, that he would attempt to withdraw, so I followed him to London. Zah! There you have it. You need a man. I am he.”