The Black Lizard Big Book of Pulps

Martindel grinned, swung around and, leaving Dombey staring after him, barged outside. He cast a quick glance across the street, but could see no sign of Phyllis. A whimsical smile twitched the corner of his mouth, then he let his gaze wander casually down the block. The green sedan was parked within a hundred yards of where he stood. His smile vanished. His hand brushed against the hard lump in his pocket where the gun reposed and he felt the impulse to run amuck. He felt stifled, as though a great unseen web were slowly tightening around him. The sacrificial goat! But why? What was back of it all? Why were these mugs tailing him? How did they know where to pick him up? No one knew that but Dombey and himself. For a brief moment he felt the urge to charge the green sedan and gun out the pair, but almost immediately reason prevailed. That would be suicide and get him no place, except, perhaps, the morgue.

A cruising cab offered a chance to meditate. The driver caught his signal and a moment later he was comfortably ensconced in the tonneau. Up until the moment that the driver asked him where he wanted to go, Duke had been undecided, but when the question was suddenly propounded, he gave directions for reaching a small cottage in the mountains just back of the city. As the driver turned back to his task of piloting the swaying cab, Duke risked a hasty glance out the rear window. The green sedan had swung in line behind.

He had no plan. The tiny cottage suggested itself because of its isolation; he wanted to get these two hoods alone someplace where he was not likely to be disturbed. It was situated on the edge of a small lake; Duke and Phyllis had spent their honeymoon there.

He wanted first to know why these men were tailing him and who sent them. He fished a cigarette out of his pocket and tapped it muse-fully against the window. Abruptly the possible answer came to him: Egan! Egan had released him on a writ when he might well have been held; Egan had sent his flat-feet to follow him, and now two hoods magically appear on his tail. That was too coincidental especially since one of the pair was a stoolie of Egan’s. There was only one possible explanation — Egan, knowing that Duke was friendly with Dombey and often called when he was in trouble, had tapped the wires on all the Skipper’s calls. That would explain the appearance of the two mugs at the rendezvous.

A grim, cynical smile twisted the corner of Martindel’s mouth. He could use more direct methods in dealing with two known criminals than with the police. His fingers slipped into his coat pocket and massaged the checkered butt of the gun Dombey had given him. Perhaps Tubby Arnison could be induced to wag his tongue.

The cab suddenly swung into a clearing and stopped before the little cottage. Duke stepped out and handed the driver a bill.

“Want I should wait, mister?” asked the man at the wheel.

Martindel grinned, shook his head. “No. I’m expecting friends.” He waved the cab away and mounted the steps to the wide veranda that encircled three sides of the little cabin. He opened the front door, walked swiftly through the dust-covered living room and let himself out a rear door. A short run brought him to the fringe of trees that formed a hedge around the cottage. He took out his gun and padded in a great arc until he came to a spot where he commanded a view of the front of the cabin.