Detective Fiction Weekly. Vol. 62, No. 2, October 3, 1931

I

Holly, tall, lean-faced, slouched uncomfortably in the deep chair, should, perhaps, have been pale with the fear of death. But he wasn’t; not because he failed to realize the imminence of death, but only because he was the kind of man for whom death held no terrors.

His hands were securely bound. So were his feet. And a strong rope stretched about his middle and around the back of his chair held him fast.

There was a quizzical half smile on his face as he watched the two men who had him prisoner.

Those two men were dissimilar in build — one short and heavy, the other tall and slim — yet seemed brothers in thought. They were both flashily dressed, both furtive, both on edge. And both restlessly waiting.

They were waiting for the death of the man in the chair.

Holly spoke to the short, heavy one.

“Crest,” he asked, “how long will I have to wait?”

“How the hell should I know?” retorted Crest irritably. “Until Starke gets here. That’s all I know.”

Holly turned his head toward the tall, slim one.

“How about you, Stone? Can you give me anything more definite?”

Stone scowled at him.

“I dunno,” he said. “When Starke gets here, you get croaked, see? That’s all I know. Maybe twenty minutes, maybe thirty, I dunno.”

“So we have to wait for Starke?” repeated the man in the chair.

Crest sat down in a chair opposite. The tall man, Stone, continued pacing impatiently up and down the well-furnished room.

“Sure,” Crest went on. “Starke said to tie you up good. And he would come over from Shattuck as soon as he could make it and croak you.”

“Well,” ventured Holly, “he should be here before long, surely. It shouldn’t take him long to get here from Shattuck.”

“I dunno,” growled Crest. “The sooner the better.”

“Yeah,” put in Stone. “The sooner the better. This dump gives me the willies.”

“It is rather a lonely spot,” agreed Holly, with a smile. “Three miles off the highway, and four miles along the highway to Shattuck, which is the nearest town.”

“Yeah,” said Stone again. “It gives me the willies. The bright lights for me!”

“At that,” commented Crest, “it’s a fine place for bumping a guy off. No one around to butt in, or nothing.”

“What did you call Shattuck?” asked Stone derisively. “A town?”

“Well,” said Holly, “there’s a store there, and a garage, and a livery stable.”

Crest laughed hoarsely. Then there was silence. A very deep silence. Silence seemed to hang about Holly’s retreat in the woods like a tangible thing. That was, perhaps, why Holly went there, alone, whenever he could. He was the kind of a man — reflective, whimsical — who appreciated silence.

But the other two didn’t like it. They were not reflective, and far from whimsical. They were impatient, irritable, morose, anxious to finish the job and get away. Still, they were watchful. Sitting down or pacing about, their eyes never left Holly, bound as he was, for more than a brief moment.

“I wish we could plug you now,” blurted Crest, suddenly, staring at Holly. “And then beat it. I don’t like this dump.”

“Yeah,” muttered Stone. “But Starke said to wait until he got here.”

“Too bad you’re kept waiting,” remarked Holly. “Anyway, there’s nothing to worry about, is there?”

“Hell, no,” said Crest. “But I don’t like this dump.”

He paused, shot a suspicious glance at the man in the chair.

“Starke said you’d be all alone. You are, ain’t you?”

“Almost,” said Holly.

“What do you mean, almost?”

“Well,” said Holly, “so far as I know, there’s no other human within miles. But I’ve got a horse out in the stable. His name’s Tommy, and I’m very fond of him.”

“A horse, huh?” said Crest, visibly relieved.

“Yes. A horse named Tommy. A black horse. I ride him about the hills a good deal.”

Holly’s tone was gentle as he spoke of the horse. Evidently he was sentimental about horses, Tommy in particular.

“Yeah,” said Crest. “Well, you ain’t gonna ride him no more.”

He said it savagely. Not that he had anything personal against either Holly or his horse. But he had a job to do. And he was anxious to do it, and get away from there.

“By the way,” said Holly, “how will Starke come here from Shattuck?”

Crest laughed.

“Well,” he said, “he won’t ride no horse. He’ll come in his car.”

“Then he shouldn’t be long.”

“Naw.” Crest laughed again. “When you hear that car stop outside, you can figure you got about two minutes to go!”