Detective Fiction Weekly. Vol. 118, No. 6, April 16, 1938
- Автор: Трит Лоуренс, Вулрич Корнелл
- Год: 1938
- Язык: английский
- Год: The Red Star News Company
- Жанр: Другие детективы
Электронная книга - «Detective Fiction Weekly. Vol. 118, No. 6, April 16, 1938». Краткое содержание книги:
Grant spoke as I hung up. “You’re acting like an idiot,” he said. “You could take that satched there with twenty-five grand in it, turn us loose and scram.”
I laughed. “l could take the satchel and scram without turning you loose. But I’m not going to do it. I can’t use that kind of money.”
“You’ve already got some of it,” he shot back.
I felt my pocket where the pack of fives still nestled. “That’s different. I didn’t know what kind of money it was when I took it. And I’m not keeping it long, now that I know.”
He sneered. “Just a brave, honest hero, aren’t you? But you didn’t mind doing a job for us when you thought we were a couple of ordinary burglers.”
“I was broke and hungry,” I said, “and burglars are just burglars. But kidnapers are something else again. I’ll have to be a lot hungrier than I’ve ever been before I throw in with kidnapers.”
“Rats.”
“That’s what you are. Now shut up and think of a good story to tell the cops when they get here.”
He must have done as he was told. Anyway he didn’t make a sound and neither did anyone else, except that the crying started up again and Millie went into the other room and then it stopped.
It must have been at least twenty minutes after I’d phoned when it happened. Maybe it was longer. I was just beginning to wonder how long it should take a fast police car to reach the cottage when I saw Grant lurch quickly to his right. His hand, which should have been tied behind him, grabbed up the ashtray from the table. I ducked, but the thing caught me solidly on the left ear and for a second everything went black.
The next thing I knew I was on my hands and knees and Grant was standing over me waving both guns. He was grinning from ear to ear.
“Times have changed,” he said. “Go over there and untie Mercer’s hands. He should be loose but he isn’t. Your girl friend doesn’t tie a very good knot.”
The door in the back opened and Millie came in.
“Sit down on that davenport,” Grant ordered. “There’s been a revolution and I’m on top now.”
She looked at me and then sat down. There wasn’t anything I could do but take the necktie off Mercer’s hands.
“Now you tie them up,” Grant told Mercer, “and see that you do a better job than the little lady did. Use the same necktie — they won’t prove anything.”
The little man did as he was told, working on me first and then on Millie. When he finished he stepped in front of me, swung his right fist and caught me flush on the chin.
“You would let me bleed to death,” he yelled.
“Never mind,” Grant said. “Pick up that satchel and come on. We haven’t got much time.”
As Mercer stooped for the satchel we heard the sound of tires grinding into gravel and headlights hit the front window.
“Drop it,” Grant cried. “They’re here”
I laughed. “Now what you going to do?”
He sat down at the table and motioned Mercer to do the same. “I’m sitting tight,” he said. “I’ve just caught a couple kidnapers with the goods.”
“How long will that story stand up? The boy will know who kidnaped him.”
He looked at me kind of funny, then snorted. “That’s what you think.”
Heavy footsteps sounded on the steps and a shot, broad man came into the room. He wore a gray suit and a felt hat pulled over his eyes and he held an automatic in his hand. Another fellow, thinner but no taller, was on his heels.
“All right,” the first one said. “If anybody moves they won’t move far. Where’s the kid?”
Grant handed him both guns.
“Thank heaven you’ve come,” he said. “My partner and I have been holding that fellow and his girl friend here for an hour. We were getting jittery.”
“Where’s the kid?”
“He must be in another room,” Grant said. “We heard something like a child crying. But we were too busy to look.”
Two other men were in the room by now. One of them, a tall slim man carrying a black case, went through the door in the back. The other, gray haired and broad shouldered, followed.
The one who had come in first seemed to be in charge. He looked at Grant. “What’s happened here?”
“We were driving by,” Grant said, “my partner there and I — we’re traveling salesmen — and we spotted the car out in front by the road. We’d heard the radio broadcast telling everyone to watch for license number RA 364 so we stopped. I had a gun in the car, the little one I just gave you, and we came in here and took them by surprise. That long drink of water there,” he went on, waving at me, “fired one shot and hit my friend but I got to him before he could do any more shooting. I clipped him on the ear, as you can probably notice.”
“That guy’s an expert liar,” I said.
“Shut up,” the fellow with the gun said. “And then what?”
“That’s about all,” Grant answered. “We tied them up and I called for the police. As I said before, I’m sure glad you’ve come.”
“You sweet thing, you,” I said.
The short, broad man jerked a chair back from the table and sat down. “Just to get things straight,” he said, “my names Jordan and I’m with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. So is he,” and he jerked a thumb at his mate who was pulling up a chair beside him. “The two men who went in the other room are J. K. Randall and Doctor something-or-other. I don’t know his name.” He looked at Millie. “You say this girl is in on the kidnaping?”
Grant shrugged. “I don’t know. She was here with him. And all I had to go on was that car out there — or rather, its license.”
The G-man nodded. “Okay. We’ll soon see what’s what.”
The gray haired man with the broad shoulders came out of the back room first. His face was wet with perspiration. He looked around the room and his eyes stopped on me. “Is he the one?” he asked. His voice was hoarse with pent-up rage.
“That’s the way it looks,” said Jordan, “but don’t—”
Randall wasn’t listening. I’d never seen eyes so crazy with hate as his. He brought his right fist around and caught me full on the jaw. That made twice in one night and it hurt. My head snapped back like it was on a hinge and everything went hazy for a minute. I remember jerking at the necktie that held my hands behind my back, but nothing gave. Then Randall had me by the throat. His fingers dug in just below the Adam’s apple. I tried to pull away, but couldn’t. The room started to look like a merry-go-round. Then suddenly the pressure was released.
Jordan was talking and his voice sounded like it came from the next county. “Cut it out, I tell you. We’ll take care of him.” He had Randall by both arms and was pulling him away.
Just then the doctor came into the room. “Is there a phone?” he asked. Grant pointed to it. “I’m calling an ambulance,” the doctor went on. “The boy’s in pretty bad shape, but I think he’ll be all right.” He dialed the phone, got his number, said a few words in a low voice and hung up.
Jordan took the floor. “Since we’ve got to wait for the ambulance,” he said, “we may as well get things straight.” He looked at Grant. “You say you and your friends were driving along and spotted that license number and—”
“They got wonderful eyes,” I said.
“Shut up, you,” Jordan barked.
Just then Mercer let out a yell. “What about me? I’ve been shot and there’s a doctor here and he doesn’t do anything about it.”
The doctor went over to him, helped him off with his coat and looked at his right arm. “Just a scratch,” he said.