Detective Fiction Weekly. Vol. 105, No. 5, October 10, 1936
- Автор: Вулрич Корнелл, Tinsley Theodore
- Год: 1936
- Язык: английский
- Год: The Red Star News Company
- Жанр: Другие детективы
Электронная книга - «Detective Fiction Weekly. Vol. 105, No. 5, October 10, 1936». Краткое содержание книги:
Then, below on the road, the purring of the sedan’s motor rose to a soft roar.
Hands clutching the steel picket tips, Ellen hesitated. If the big car straightened out, continued its flight, her best course was to return to her own car. If not—
Groaning and creaking, those wildly spinning wheels sought for and found traction in the road ruts again. The car settled into movement, creeping inexorably backward.
That settled it. Her arrival had been noticed, was being investigated.
Teeth set grimly over her quivering lips, Ellen clambered upward and over those sharp-spiked pickets, tearing her skirt and gouging her hip cruelly.
The next instant she was racing across the hillside. It was uneven going and twice she pitched headlong. Finally, soaked to the skin, and panting heavily, she approached the house only to bring up abruptly behind a syringa bush. With breath-taking suddenness, the savage baying of a dog cut the silence.
There was something terrifying about that deep-throated challenge. For the instant her knees went weak, then grimly she darted forward again, making for the shelter of the wide veranda.
Stumbling on the top step, she slid forward, almost to the feet of the tall man who abruptly appeared in the doorway. Above, a light flooded on.
“What the hell?” the growled, peering suspiciously.
A second figure appeared at his elbow, shorter, heavier. Both glared down at the girl.
Gasping, Ellen struggled to her feet. “There was a shooting down on the detour!” She waved a smudgy palm. “They... they saw me — driving up — I ran — you’d better phone Conningsby.”
“Just a minute, Paget.” The shorter man shouldered forward. Ellen noted vaguely that he wore baggy knickers and plaid stockings. He spoke from a mouth that was like a steel trap. His sharp, small blue eyes swept over her. “Now, young lady, what’s this about shooting?”
Ellen passed a hand wearily over her eyes, drooping weakly. He seized her elbow. “Get inside where you can sit down,” he suggested.
Ellen’s eyes lifted falteringly to the taller man. There was an air of startled menace in his dark, high cheek-boned face. His mouth was a slash.
“’Yeaha,” he offered. “Start talkin’, baby—”
“Shut up,” snapped the other. “Here, Miss, over by the fire.”
Still gasping weakly, Ellen crossed the large, cheery room with its deep chairs and low, wide divan backed by a broad winding stair, to sink gratefully down before the generous, glowing fireplace.
“Why, it’s like I said,” she offered, brushing wet hair from her face. “I was driving along the detour behind the big green sedan. The road was terrible and I was afraid I’d slide into him when he slowed for the dips—”
“My gosh, get on with it!” burst out the tall Paget. “The shooting — who—?”
“Stow the gab,” snarled the shorter man. “She’s doing her best.”
“Okay, Kessler,” clipped Paget. “If that was a Tavelli stick-up, we’ve plenty time for fairy tales.”
“Go on, Miss,” Kessler scowled, patting her shoulder, but there seemed savage hurry in his action. The girl’s eyes had suddenly widened on his broad, intent face. “Tavelli?” she murmured.
“A guest we were expecting,” he offered. “Now, what happened?”
She swallowed, wetting her dips, then she smiled faintly, spreading her hands. “A fight in the deep pit where the road bridges the creek. The sedan was in the ditch when I made the turn — two men started shooting — one dropped — the other put him in the car. I ran, climbing over the fence when he started backing toward my coupé. I saw the house lights — then that terrible dog—” She shuddered.
“Kato,” explained Kessler. “The watch dog — but he’s chained.”
“And just who the devil are you?” Paget scowled at her.
Ellen wet her lips. “Why, Ellen Conway. I’ve been making a survey for the State-Board of Public Education. This is my new district.” She flinched back from the quizzical appraising eyes. “I... I was headed for Gonningsby—” she faltered — “when—”
“And this sedan, it was green, you said?” It was Kessler speaking.
“Yes — a Packard, I think.”
“And the men — hard to see, of course—?”
“Yes. I didn’t recognize them, naturally. They wore raincoats—”
Paget’s and Kessler’s glances clashed above the drooping girl. Each carried a burning question. Kessler nodded.
Paget swung away with an oath. “This is a hell of a state of affairs,” he growled. “Tavelli think—”
“Better take Kato and get down there,” snapped Kessler. “You can pick up Miss Conway’s car. She’ll be staying here tonight.”
Ellen started up. “Oh, no,” she objected hurriedly. “I must be getting on—”
“Yeah,” Paget wheeled round, speaking gruffly. “We’re not fixed for guests—”
“We’re fixed swell,” Kessler spoke evenly, holding the other’s rebellious glance. “Best ’tend to things, Paget, outside.”
With a muttered curse, the tall man turned and strode out the doorway. Kessler smiled, a bit grimly Ellen thought, and reached for a cigarette, holding out the case.
“The detour, it appears,” he said, “is not such a safe place for ladies traveling alone at night.” He sank into a chair, nodding, his big head topped by its mane of reddish-blond hair. “Contrary to Paget, we’ve plenty of room. My wife — Mrs. Kessler—”
“Yes?”
They both turned at the low spoken voice on the stairs. A woman was descending. Ellen saw first the tiny silver slippers with rhinestone buckles. After that the sweep of silken skirts.
Ellen sat tensely watching the length of dull green crepe come into her line of vision — the beautiful white arm — the hand that caressed the rail as it descended. The polished, crimsoned nails. Ellen frowned. It looked almost as if the woman had dipped her fingertips in blood. Kessler rose.
“Irene,” he said, “this is Miss Conway, a representative of the State Educational Department.”
Ellen rose, smiling. “I’m glad to know you,” she said simply.
Mrs. Kessler paused, puzzlement tugging at her thread-thin brows as she bowed acknowledgment. Her eyes drifted slowly over Ellen. She saw a slightly built young woman in a well-tailored tweed suit, a rumpled blouse of egg-shell crepe and a small, rather forlorn brown felt hat. Ellen had large, serious gray eyes, fringed with up-curling black lashes. A tip-tilted nose, a wide mouth and a chin which jutted definitely. The hair showing under the wet hat was dark brown.
She swept regally toward the fire, speaking in a low, throaty contralto. “Of course you know we have no children here, Miss Conway,” she said, “if it’s a survey—” She reached languidly for a cigarette on the mantel.
Ellen broke in hurriedly. “Oh no, nothing like that! I was going to Conningsby. There was trouble below on the road and I—”
“Yes — some thugs in a stick-up,” said Kessler. “Miss Conway sought temporary sanctuary and I’ve just suggested she stay the night.”
Irene Kessler had whirled, the cigarette snapping in her slim fingers. “Why... why, of course!” Her tones had thickened, wide, brown eyes on her husband’s face. “Tavelli—” the half whispered word formed on her lips, then she said: “Ralph, do you suppose our — our guest is in trouble?”
Kessler’s thick shoulders lifted in a slight shrug. “The car was a green Packard, but there are many such. There was some shooting. Miss Conway didn’t wait. I’ve sent Paget down.”
Ellen’s eyes were on the woman’s face that had suddenly drained of color. She was strikingly beautiful, limned in fire glow, with stormy red hair like a crown and her curves displayed in the simple draping folds of the jade-green gown.