Detective Fiction Weekly. Vol. 62, No. 2, October 3, 1931
- Автор: Энгланд Джордж Аллан, Philips Judson P.
- Год: 1931
- Язык: английский
- Год: The Red Star News Company
- Жанр: Другие детективы
Электронная книга - «Detective Fiction Weekly. Vol. 62, No. 2, October 3, 1931». Краткое содержание книги:
“Back from Chicago, eh,” said Schuyler.
Talbott looked him over, grinning.
“Yeah, just in. You intending to go away?”
He was looking at the pigskin bag resting beside Schuyler.
“Yes, and I got to go pretty quick,” said Schuyler. “Just about can make my train for Lake Dorrance.”
“Ah!” said Talbott. “A lovely place. Especially in this infernally hot weather. It’s quiet, cool, peaceful and nice crowd — a lot of dumb ones.”
Talbott wiped his pink neck with a silk handkerchief and slumped into a chair opposite Schuyler. He was smiling affably. And although Schuyler said he had to hurry, Talbott wasn’t urging him to be gone.
“It is awfully hot,” agreed Schuyler.
“And I guess some people feel it more than others,” said Talbott.
Still holding his silk handkerchief in his hand, he lifted a handbag he had brought with him and placed it on the desk. Schuyler noticed for the first time that it was a pigskin bag — very similar to his. Talbott, too, noticed the similarity, grinned.
“Just alike, eh,” he said. “Good week-end bags?”
Schuyler didn’t like the way Talbott laughed.
“I’ve got to run, Jim,” he said.
Talbott was still looking around searchingly. For quite a while his eyes rested on Schuyler’s bag. Then they wandered over to where the note lay so prominently on Pope’s desk. Schuyler felt a colder chill. He wished he hadn’t written that note.
“Ah, what made you decide to go away so suddenly?” asked Talbott.
“Well, you know, the heat’s hell on one,” said Schuyler. “And everybody else was out of town. Pope’s away until Monday and — and I wasn’t expecting you.”
“I know you weren’t expecting me,” said Talbott, “and I guess the heat is giving you trouble right now. You look hot.”
His eyes were wandering from Schuyler’s bag to the note on Pope’s desk.
“Well, I guess I got to run along, Jim,” said Schuyler. “Got to make that train.”
Talbott’s gaze was now concentrated on that note — the note that so conspicuously bore the name Al Pope. Talbott put his elbows on the desk and, with his fists supporting his chin, turned slowly from the note to Schuyler.
“I left a note,” said Schuyler, “to let Al Pope know where I was — in case he came in.”
“A good idea,” he said, “to let the boys know where you are when you go away — suddenly!”
He stood up, walked over to Pope’s desk, lifted the note, stared at the name on it.
“I got to run along, Jim,” said Schuyler. “Got to make my train.”
Talbott showed his teeth.
“Go ahead and run,” he said, “if you can run fast enough.”
Then he picked up the note and tore it open. Schuyler went pale, lifted the bag with the money and set it in front of him on the table.
“You win, Talbott,” he said, “I’ll split — fifty-fifty.”
Talbott read the note — and laughed.
“Jeez, this is funny,” he said. “Jeez, you are a funny guy. We three peddle a million dollars’ worth of fake lottery tickets and then you grab the dough and leave poor old Pope and me one of the tickets and hope we win. Jeez, you’ve got a sense of humor!”
Schuyler’s face had gone very white. His eyes narrowed.
“Don’t kid me, Talbott,” he said. “You aren’t worrying about Pope. Come on... we’ll cut. Only I want to do it quick. I want to duck.”
Talbott walked back across the room and sat down at the desk. He calmly took a pair of rubber gloves from his pocket and, grinning, his elbows resting on the desk, he slowly pulled them on.
“A hot day for such work as this,” he said, “but it’s got to be done... No, Schuyler, I’m sorry, but there will be no split. Your idea is the best. One guy ducks with everything — me!”
Schuyler watched him incredulously. He laughed hysterically.
“What’s the idea?” he said. “You couldn’t get away with anything here. I’d—”
Talbott reached over and slowly opened the bag — the bag he had brought.
Schuyler’s expression turned to horror. But he still laughed shrilly.
“You couldn’t pull a stunt like that here,” he said, “because I’d— Why, man, you couldn’t kill any one in this office, because I’d— You’re crazy, Talbott, you couldn’t hit me with that hatchet because I’d yell and—”
“I won’t, eh?” snarled Talbott. “What do you think I brought this hatchet up here for? Why, you sap, I found out at the bank you’d copped that dough. The only break I got was I got here before you beat it!”
“But you can’t do that— You can’t hit me — I’ll yell, I’ll—”
“Yeah?” snarled Talbott as his arms swung across the desk in an arc.
Schuyler fell backwards. Talbott grabbed up the bag with the million dollars in it almost before Schuyler slumped out of the chair onto the floor. And he took the back stairs out of the building.
III
Louise didn’t like her job with the Schuyler Importing Company. She had only been there four days, but she already was looking for another place. She didn’t like Schuyler or the men that visited him. They all had a manner of grinning at her as if she wasn’t quite right in her mind.
There was something very mysterious about the business. She couldn’t make heads or tails out of it. There were a lot of mysterious phone calls and mysterious accounts that she could not understand. And all the time men were coming in and grinning at her.
At noon on Saturday, a very hot noon, she sat before her typewriter, listening intently for Mr. Schuyler to leave. As soon as he went, Louise herself was going to duck. It was too hot to work.
She was very startled to hear voices in Mr. Schuyler’s office. She decided that some one had come in the private door. She couldn’t make out exactly what they were saying. Of course, she could have gone to the door and listened, but Louise wouldn’t do that.
After a short while the voices stopped and Louise ran to the door and listened.
All was absolutely quiet in Mr. Schuyler’s office. She decided that Mr. Schuyler and his visitor had probably just stepped out. She opened the door to peek.
The outer door was closing. A man was going out. Louise for a moment could see a shadow against the frosted glass. Nothing but a blurred shadow. Then she saw something else and she felt faint, reeling.
“Oh,” she gasped and she closed the door quickly. She found it hard to breathe. The sound of riveting machines across the way were suddenly beating on her brain.
“Oh,” she said again and slumped into the chair before her typewriter. She sat there, breathing hard, dazed for probably two or three minutes. Then she jumped up. She felt a sudden desire to get out of that office, to get away from—
Without a hat, without even an idea of where she was going, Louise dashed out into the hall. It was deserted. She shuddered. She felt a sudden overwhelming urge to see some one human — alive!
An elevator shot past the floor. Louise ran to the cage, pressed a button, held to it. In a minute an outraged elevator operator opened the door.
“Say, what’s the idea of—” he bellowed.
But something in the look of Louise made him stop.
“There’s... there’s Mr. Schuyler in there,” she stammered, “and I was sitting in the other room.”
“Yeah? What of it?” demanded the operator.
“Some one came in and hit him... hit him with an ax. And I walked in just as the man that did it was going out the door.”
“What did he look like?” demanded the operator.
“I haven’t the least idea,” said Louise.
She fell to the floor in a faint.