Spare The Rod
by Frederick Nebel

WHEN DONAHUE came into the office Asa Hinkle, the pontifical-looking head of the Interstate Agency, looked up from the stock quotations he was frowning over.

“I thought you'd be at Tony's,” he said.

“I was learning some card tricks.”

“Well, I don't suppose that could be any worse than playing the market.”

“I told the boys I'd be right back.”

Asa Hinkle sat back and pulled a memorandum from the drawer. “You have a reservation,” he said, “on the Pennsy tonight--for St. Louis. You'd better take plenty of clean shirts.”

Donahue stopped a lighted match half-way to the cigarette that hung from his lips. Then he grunted, put flame to tobacco, and snapped the match into a cuspidor.

“Who the hell wants to go to St. Louis?” he said.

“Boy, the way my finances stand now, St. Louis is as good as any place. You'd better take along some Scotch, too. I hear they're having a cold snap out there and you can only buy gin and thrice-cut Bourbon.”

“Listen, Asa, the last time P went to that burg I almost got fogged out. Not only that, but there was a shyster there named Stein who double-crossed us.”--, I

“This is simple,” said Hinkle. “It looks to me like nothing more serious than being a bodyguard. The client's name is William Herron. He's at the Apollo Hotel, in Locust Street--room 804. I think your train gets in at five tomorrow evening.”

“What's the matter; haven't they got any private dicks in St. Louis?”

“That is neither here nor there. Herron called us on long distance just before noon today. I told him that it seemed a little irregular and that I didn't think we could send a man out there unless we had a retainer. He said that would be given as soon as you arrived. I said that it was possible to send money over the Western Union. Half an hour ago I collected three hundred dollars that he sent by telegraph. I just wired him that Mr. Donahue would arrive about five tomorrow evening.”

Donahue tipped back his Homburg. “Providing you supply the Scotch.”

“I have two bottles here in the desk.”

“Suppose I get in Dutch out there?”

“Go to Moss Garrity, in Olive Street. And remember, tip no more than ten per cent. And don't include any money lost in those East St. Louis gambling joints.”

“I'll be good.”

“I seem to have heard that before. But anyhow, start packing.”

The sound of wheels rattling over switches, the slow lurching of the Pullman, the muted jangling of bells, woke Donahue up. He looked out of the window and saw railroad yards: red lights, green lights, many steel rails shining in the gloom.

He picked up a book that had fallen to the floor, stowed it in the Gladstone, took a flat black automatic from beneath a suit of pajamas and shoved it into his pocket.

The train crawled into the shed. Donahue put on raglan and Homburg, submitted to the porter's ministrations, tipped him, grabbed up the Gladstone and got off. He defied porters on the way up the platform, went through the barn-like station and came out in Market Street. He took a taxi and it rushed him to Twelfth,-north on Twelfth, east on Locust. He got off at the Apollo Hotel.

He had wired ahead for a room on the eighth floor. They gave him number 812, and a black boy took the key and the bag and piloted Donahue aloft; opened a window in the room, opened” the closet door, grinned with white horse teeth in a sooty black face.

“Anything else, suh?”

“I brought my own.”

“Thank you, suh.”

The boy left and Donahue stood for a moment staring down into Locust street, where a pall of smoke and fog dimmed the lights. Then he took off hat and topcoat and sat down at the small metal desk. He took up the telephone receiver. “

“Give me room 804,” he said. Presently he heard a man's voice, and said: “Mr. Herron? . . . This is Donahue, the Interstate man from New York. Should I come right over? ... I'm down the hall from you in 812. . . . All right, I'll be right over.”

He hung up and sat staring blankly at the instrument for a full minute. Then he rose, wagged his head dubiously, frowned with his lean-cheeked brown face. He looked like a man reacting visibly to a vague inner instinct; to ah intangible warning against which his better judgment was as nothing compared with the force of circumstance. With a hoarse sigh, begrudgingly philosophical, he went to the' door, opened it and locked it from the outside; went down the corridor with a shadowy forehead and slow deliberate footsteps.

Herron let him in after a moment's scrutiny through big horn-rimmed glasses.

“Well--well, so you got here; so you did get here!”

There was no handshaking. Donahue, hands thrust into jacket pockets, strolled in as though the room and Herron were a familiar ensemble. Herron locked the door behind him, quickly. Donahue walked the length of the room and turned finally when he reached the windows. The shades were drawn. The room, larger and more pretentious than Donahue's, was close, stuffy, as though no air had permeated it in a long while.

Herron, beaming with a fat florid face, chafed fat white hands and stood watching Donahue with eyes that laughed without losing their scrutiny. Donahue returned the look with candid brown eyes and immobile brown features.

“Well--well, now that you are, Mr. Donahue--now that you are here--well, sit down. Of course, sit down--anywhere.”

“I've been sitting all the way from New York.”

Donahue continued to stand, feet a little apart, broad shoulders slouching, hands in pockets. Herron lumbered across the room and turned on another light. He was well-dressed, a vigorous fat man whose fat was not particularly doughy. Solid white fat. Crinkly gray hair. Big eyes with a bright blue baffling look. His age might have been forty or fifty. He sat down in a mohair armchair, lit a dark cigar, began to smile reflectively.

“I suppose you think it odd, don't you?”

Donahue shrugged. “I haven't got the details yet.”

“Oh, I mean--I mean my sending “to New York for a private detective. Eh? Don't you?”

“I'm never surprised, Mr. Herron.”

“Well, I am glad to hear that, Mr. Donahue. I am certainly glad to hear that. Yes, sir--indeed. I think you will find that it was worth your while to leave New York and come here. I have to have a man I can depend on implicitly. Eh? Implicitly! You understand that, of course.”

“Yes.”

“Splendid! And I am a man you can depend on too, Mr. Donahue. Depend on me to compensate your Agency for anything you do. And I might add--I will add, in fact, that a little premium for yourself will not be entirely out of order. Eh?”

“Go on, Mr. Herron.”

“Of course, to be sure. These little preliminaries I think are necessary. I am a man who believes in certain preliminaries, Mr. Donahue; one might even call them courtesies, or delicacies. You appear to me to be a man of intelligence and tact and also a man of courage and tenacity. Said as much to myself the moment I laid eyes on you. And I believe in giving credit where credit is due.

“Now, Mr. Donahue--now.” Herron took three quick puffs on his cigar. “My real name is not Herron. You may as well know that now, though I implore you to keep it a secret. You must at all times call me Herron. My real name is Stanley Edgecomb. As Stanley Edgecomb I was supposed to have left for Hot Springs three days ago. I didn't. I am here, in this hotel, incognito. I have not been out of this room since the night I walked in as William Herron. I want to be frank with you, Mr. Donahue.”

For the first time since he had entered the room a glimmer of interest appeared in Donahue's eyes.

“Surprised--eh?”

“No,” said Donahue.

“By Godfrey, you are an uncommon fellow! A man of parts you are, Mr. Donahue! Ton my word!” He swayed in the chair in what seemed like a paroxysm of sheer delight.

Donahue began to speak frankly, bluntly-- “Mr. Herron, suppose we get down to cases. It's kind of you to spread a lot of bouquets around, to tell me I'm pretty damn' good. I know I'm pretty good, Mr. Herron. What are you driving at? In short, what is your particular kind of racket?”

“Racket, Mr. Donahue, is an ugly word. I wish you would not use it again. Stanley Edgecomb is well known in this city. He is a lawyer. I, Stanley Edgecomb, am a lawyer. A price is on my head, that price set by the head of a notorious gang. I was warned to leave this city within twenty-four hours. To all appearances, I left, deciding that discretion was the better part of valor--outwardly, at least.

“Understand, I dare not show my face on the streets. Not even my friends know that I am here. My house is closed, but I believe it is being watched. And this is where you come in. In my haste to get away from the house, I left behind some valuable papers, in my safe. I want you to get those papers.”

“Anybody in the house?”

“One servant, old Jansen, who sleeps on the top floor. But you will not disturb Jansen. I will give you my keys and the combination to my safe. In the safe is a black metal box. In that box are these papers. You will bring me the box. Eh?”

Donahue frowned. “How long do you expect to stay here in hiding?”

“Until the police have rounded up the gang. It was on the advice of a policeman that I left town. He doesn't know I did not leave. He thought I would be safer while the process of rounding up was going on. I have been worried, thinking that someone might break into my house and get these papers. I think they would be safer with me. Now-- here are my keys. This one opens the rear door. I will give you this one. And here is a diagram of the interior of the house, showing the room where the safe is located. Midnight or after would be the best time.”

“And you got me all the way from New York--for this?”

“Of course, Mr. Donahue. The papers are valuable to me. They contain much evidence against the gang I started out to crush.”

“Why didn't you hire a private cop right in town?”

“Because I am too well known here. Come, come, Mr. Donahue. If you are incredulous, inquire anywhere as to the reputation of mine. Ask anyone who Stanley Edgecomb is.”

Donahue shrugged. “Well, I take the key. And let us go over the plans.”

“To be sure, Mr. Donahue!”
II

AT ELEVEN-THIRTY that night Donahue walked out of the Apollo Hotel and climbed into a taxi. He gave an address and the taxi turned left into Seventh Street, west on Olive. It was cold, and Donahue slouched in one corner of the tonneau, his collar up around his ears, his hat yanked down over his eyes.

Fifteen minutes later the taxi drew up at the corner of Lindell Boulevard and Kings Highway. Donahue got out, paid up, took a look at the Hotel Chase and then dodged traffic on the way across the monumental plaza. He walked west on Lindell, with pretentious homes on his right, Forest Park on his left, a cold wind at his back. His well-shod feet smacked the pavement with dogged deliberation, his dark eyes, hawkish beneath his hat brim, cruised the street and kept watching the houses. Finally his eyes settled on an imposing rough-stone house with a tower on its left. Broad lawns lay before it. The windows were darkened.

But Donahue walked past, his eyes keening, jabbing the shadows on all sides. The street seemed deserted of people, though cars hummed past occasionally. The wind rattled in the leafless trees and the Park was black and silent beyond. After a while Donahue about-faced and retraced his steps. He did not slow down. He turned abruptly into the cement walk leading to the towered house and quite as abruptly went around to the rear.

Basement windows were almost flush with the cement. The door was down at the end of three steps. It was a heavy wooden door, and Donahue inserted the key, turned it quietly, opened the door and entered. He did not lock it.

He drew out a small flashlight, the size of a large fountain pen, and played its beam on the cement floor. He went past coal bins and a warm furnace and found a stairway which he followed upward to a door that opened at his touch. He entered a large pantry, went from it into a large kitchen and then into a small serving pantry.

Next was a swing-door--and he found himself in a dining-room. He moved quickly, surely, because he had memorized the plan of the house by heart. Next a drawing- ' room, large and sumptuous. To the left a foyer--and across the foyer a library. He closed the French doors of the library behind him, turned out the flash, drew down four shades, and then turned the flash on again.

He crossed the room to a row of bookcases, counted off, then swung out one of the compartments. The face of a circular wall-safe glinted in the flash's beam. He took out a slip of paper and went to work. In a short moment he had the safe open. He removed a black metal box, closed the safe, swung the book-section back 'into place. He turned out the flashlight, raised the four shades and returned to the French doors.

In a minute he was outside, locking the basement door. He was starting around the side of the house when he saw a man leaning against a tree on the Boulevard. The man moved slightly, but remained against the tree.

Donahue pressed against the wall of the house and retreated. He held the box tightly under his left arm. His right hand tightened on the flat black automatic in his pocket. He stood for a moment in perplexed indecision. Then he peered cautiously around the corner of the house.

The man was still standing by the tree. Another man walked past slowly, and the two seemed to look at each other. There was no purpose in the walking man's footsteps; he seemed to be strolling idly.

Donahue retreated again, went farther back in the yard. He came to an arbor connecting two octagon shaped summer-houses. Beyond was a high stone wall. He would make considerable noise getting over that, would make of himself a handy target for any wayward gun. Had those men tailed him from downtown? If they had, they would know what he looked like.

Snap-judgment decided his next move. He hid the black box behind a row of shrubbery that grew close to the stone wall. Then he stood up and followed the wall. It was easy work scaling the hedge that separated the grounds of the towered house from the grounds of the next. He went back of three houses, then turned and walked boldly to the street.

Reaching the sidewalk, he looked negligently down the Boulevard and saw the man still leaning against the tree; saw the other walking idly. Donahue set out briskly away from them. Presently he heard footsteps walking rapidly behind him. Two pairs of footsteps. “He did not look around. The automobiles went humming by. The men were walking faster.

Then suddenly a car drew into the curb, passed Donahue and stopped a dozen yards ahead in front of an imposing red-brick house. A tall man got out and headed for the approach leading to the house. But he stopped short and turned towards Donahue. A gun appeared in his hand.

Donahue, thinking only of the two behind, was taken by surprise.

The tall man said: “Get in that car.”

“Listen--”

“Get in!”

The two men came up and crowded Donahue with drawn guns, and the tall man helped them rush Donahue into the big sedan. He landed in the seat and the tall man slid down beside him, pressing his gun against Donahue's ribs. One of the others climbed in front beside the chauffeur, and the last to come in took one of the folding seats facing Donahue and the tall man.

“All right, Charlie,” the tall man said.

The chauffeur shifted into gear and the big sedan started off.

Donahue chuckled. “That was sweet work, boys.”

“Put your hands up,” said the tall man. He took away Donahue's gun and then said: “Where is it?”

“Where is what?”

“The stuff you came after.”

Donahue shook his head. “You've got me wrong.”

“Cut that!” The gun jabbed Donahue's ribs viciously.

“Honest,” Donahue said. “I haven't got a thing.”

“Frisk him, Pete,” the tall man said.

Pete leaned forward and ransacked Donahue's pockets.

After a minute he played a small pocket flash on the spoils, said: “Well, here's his wallet and a key ring and here's a loose key and here's a hunk of paper was in his overcoat pocket, and an Apollo key.”

The tall man examined the articles with exasperated scrutiny. “Private Shamus, eh?” he snarled. “This is certainly a new one on me! . . What's these numbers mean on here?”

“Probably telephone numbers.”

“My eye!”

Pete suggested, “Maybe a combination--”

“That's it!” the tall man rasped. “And this is the key.”

“Hey,” called Charlie from behind the wheel, “should I head out towards the river?”

“Just keep moving,” the tall man said.

“I was thinkin',” Charlie said, “about them woods this side o' the bridge, just in case you want to--”

“Shut up and keep moving,” the tall man growled. Donahue said: “I hope you guys aren't fools enough to

try taking me for a ride.”

The tall man jabbed him again. “Listen, Shamus! You were in that house! You got something--”

“Yeah, he was in that house all right,” Pete said.--,

“Of course I was in that house,” Donahue said.

“Well!” the tall man rasped.

“Well,” Donahue said, “what the hell of it? Have I got anything? Pipe this, you wiseacres. I saw the guys hanging around outside. I knew it was a plant. And when I see you birds, d' you think I'd be jackass enough to walk out waving the bacon? Not in these old trousers, you dumb hoods.”

“Ah, sock 'at loud-mouthed punk,” Charlie flung over his shoulder.

“This key,” the tall man said to Donahue. “You used it to get in, didn't you?”

“Maybe I did.”

“And these numbers on this hunk of paper--”

“I can't imagine how they got in my pocket,” Donahue said.

Pete said, jabbing his finger at the paper: “That's it, I'll bet. I'll bet that's it. And that there's the key. It's a big key, see. It ain't a hotel key. And his other keys are on a ring. That's the key, I'll bet. I'll bet it is.”

“I think you're right, Pete,” the tall man said. “Turn off that flashlight.”

Pete sat back and the flash's beam swept upward before it vanished. Donahue caught a fleeting glimpse of the tall man's face. A long, narrow face, white and bony, with blue hollows on the cheeks, hueless lips, a thin nose, intense black eyes, small, feverish.

The car hummed on in silence.

Finally the tall man said: “Charlie, drive home.” He leaned back, raised his gun and struck Donahue on the head. Donahue pitched to the floor of the car and lay motionless.
III

DONAHUE CAME TO in a large bare room. He lay on a cot, a slim dirty mattress the only thing between him and the spring. A single globe burned in the center of the room. Two green shades were drawn. He got up painfully and slouched to one of the windows, pulled up the shade. It was dark out, windy. He could see gaunt limbs of trees moving, and rolling open land beyond. The window was protected on the outside by three 'vertical bars. He pulled down the shade again and turned.

“That's it: keep that shade down,” a man said from the doorway.

“Now look here,” Donahue began, “what the hell's the use of keeping me cooped here?”

The man was small, chunky, blond. He held a revolver in his hand and his pale blue eyes were glacial.

“I said, keep that shade down.”

“The hell with the shade. What I want to know--”

“What you want to know, buddy, don't mean a thing to me.”

The man's voice, like his eyes, was frigid. He backed out and closed the door.

Donahue shrugged and dropped back to the cot. He fished a crumpled cigarette from his pocket, lit up and reclined on one elbow. His brown eyes thinned down speculatively.-He held inhalations of smoke long in his lungs, then let the smoke dribble out slowly through his nostrils. He looked at his strap-watch. It was half-past one in the morning.

At two he heard the sound of an automobile engine. He rose and cat-footed to one of the windows, drew the shade aside just far enough to peer out. He saw two big headlights among the trees, several shadows of men moving; heard low voices, a door open.

He went back and sat down on the cot. Two minutes later the door swung in and the tall man stood there in. a baggy ulster belted tightly at the middle and a derby tilted on his head. Back of him were some more men: Pete and Charlie and the blond and the other man who had ridden in the car.

The tall man was drawing off his gloves. The cold had put spots on his thin white face. His small black eyes glittered.

“Shamus,” he said in a thin brittle voice, “you've just got to come clean.”

Donahue stretched and yawned. “About what?”

“Jeeze, I'm gettin' to hate 'at guy!” snarled Charlie.

Pete said: “Keep your mouth shut, Charlie.”

The tall man swaggered into the room, his face sinister in a quiet unostentatious manner, his black eyes almost luminous with a suppressed ferocity.

He said: “It was the key. It was the combination. “But”-- he showed thin small teeth gradually--“the stuff was gone!”

“No!”

“Just--yes.”

Back of the tall thin man the others waited, rooted to the floor like images, like Robots that would move at the magic touch of a single word.

Donahue stood up slowly. He swallowed once. He looked from one to another of the men slowly, dispassionately, with a strange brown-eyed candor. Then he spread his hands palmwise.

“What am I supposed to say?”

“You,” came the thin brittle voice of the tall man, “know what to say.”

“So help me, brother, I don't.”

The tall man took a long springy step and caught Donahue by the collar in a long-fingered strong hand. His black eyes stared fiercely, his thin nostrils twitched.

“You'll tell me,” he droned somberly. “By --, you're not as fancy as you think you are! You hear me!”

The brown-eyed candor of Donahue's eyes seemed to enrage the tall man. His taut arm throbbed. He cursed and flung Donahue sprawling to the cot. Charlie whipped out an automatic and started dancing up and down like a boxer, a mirthless grin spreading his lips.

The tall man looked at Charlie and said: “Calm down, you.” Then he looked at Donahue. “We've been watching that house for days. Nobody could have taken it out. Nobody left or went in the house but you. What I want to know is, how do you figure in this spread? Where do you come in? Who sent you?”

“The man who owns the house sent me. Where the hell do you think I got the key--made it?”

The tall man stepped back, bending his brows. “Stanley Edgecomb sent--”

“I guess he had a right to, since he owns the house and the property I went after.”

“Where is he now?”

“Hell knows. I picked up the job in--well--Kansas City. He was on his way West--South. I was to take the stuff and put it in a safe deposit vault, send him the key and receipt. I was paid three hundred bucks in advance--”

“Ah, he's lyin'; that guy's lyin',” Charlie snarled.

“Shut up,” the tall man said.

“That wiper of yours sure has a nasty disposition.” Donahue said, with a nod towards Charlie.

The tall man said: “Never mind him. Why the hell did Edgecomb send you into his own house? Couldn't you've gone to his caretaker?”

“He didn't even want the caretaker to know. Listen. I'm a private cop and when I pick up a three-hundred-dollar job as easy as this looked, cripes, I don't ask too many questions. He said the house might be watched. He warned me. Now what a swell spot I'm in when I report that the stuff wasn't there. You guys have got me all wrong. I've got no grudge against you--none of you, except maybe Charlie, and he smells, or maybe he's just kind of meshuga--”

“Ixnay on them wisecracks,” Charlie snarled, massaging his gun.

The tall man had calmed down considerably. He plucked thoughtfully at his lip, looking around at his men.

Pete said: “It's somethin' phony somewhere, I'll bet. I'll bet my shirt there's somethin' phony. I'll bet you anything there is.”

Donahue chimed in: “You said it, Pete. There certainly is. When Edgecomb sends me to his own house to get something, and it isn't there--” He threw up his hands. “Well, every little thing isn't strictly on the up and up. Look at the hole I'm in. Listen, if I thought”--he jabbed a forefinger rigidly into space--“if I thought I was going to get mixed up in a scatter like this I'd never have taken the job. Not me.” He waved his hands alongside his ears. “No, sir--not this baby!”

Charlie snarled: “Ah, this guy's just tryin' to talk himself out o' the hot grease! Let me take him for a walk in the woods.”

“You,” Donahue said sagely, “had better spare the rod.”

“And spoil the kid, eh?”

“No. And save yourself from the hot seat, torpedo.”

“Sh!” the tall man said.

There were running footsteps racing down a stairway. A man burst into the room.--

“Jeeze, there's a car parked down the street--just parked. It looks like cops--”

“All the shades down?” cut in the tall man.

“Sure.”

Charlie growled: “I'll get the Tommy guns--”

“You wait a minute!” snapped the tall man. “Those plates were changed, weren't they?”

“Sure,” Pete said quickly. “Changed them as soon as we got back.”

“What d' you do with the others?”

“Chucked them down the well.”

“Okey.” The tall man listened intently for a split-moment. “Now get this. No shooting. If it's the cops, let 'em in. Spread some cards on the table, and a bottle. Look contented, everybody.”

He spun on Donahue. “You--you'll sit at the table with the boys. Take your overcoat off. And hold your tongue.”

“Now you wait a minute,” Donahue clipped crisply.

“None of that stuff. You're in a tough spot. So am I. I'll play my part providing I walk out with the cops when they leave. I'll walk to their car, wait till they go, and then go with them.”

“Nix on that!” Charlie barked. “This guy--”

“I'm not talking to you, you heel. I'm talking to your boss.”

“You'll wait till they're gone,” the tall man said.

“Nothing doing,” Donahue flung back hotly. “You can't shoot me now. You can't start a fight. They'd hear it. I walk out with the cops. I tell them nothing. Take that--or leave it.”

“My --!” groaned Charlie.

The tall man muttered: “Okey.”

“Jeeze, you gonna let this guy--”

“Shut up, Charlie! It's the only out.”

Pete said: “Somebody knocking.”

“Answer it,” the tall man said. “You other guys--inside. Quick! I'll do the talking.” His black feverish eyes glittered on Donahue. Donahue smiled. “

“Two-time,” the tall man muttered, “and I'll fog your guts.”

“How about a little stud,” Donahue recommended.
IV

THEY SAT AT A ROUND table in a big room, holding cards, looking contented or bored. Donahue was considering a pair of aces showing, with a third in the hole, and the chunky blond was dealing. A bottle and glasses were on the table, and cigarette smoke writhed and slithered beneath the chandelier.

Pete yelled down the hallway from the front door: “It's just Sergeant Uhl and a couple o' boys.”

“Pair of aces bets,” said the blond.

“Pair of aces bets two blues,” said Donahue.

A small man in a gray velour hat appeared unostentatiously in the doorway and regarded the gathering with mild blue eyes. He had a white mustache, gently inquisitive eyebrows. Two big men, younger, bulked behind him, hands in pockets significantly. The small man had his fingers loosely locked behind his back.

“Oh, hello there, Sergeant!” greeted the tall thin man, leaning back, saluting.

“Hello, Shadd,” Uhl said softly. “I just thought I'd drop around and see who was living here. It's a nice night out.”

“So they tell me.”

Uhl looked slowly around the table. “Just a friendly little gathering.”

“Won't you have a drink?”

“I never touch it, Shadd. My liver can't stand it any more. This is a nice quiet place you have. Sort of off the beaten paths. It used to be a farm here, didn't it?”

“Believe it was--at one time.”

“Yes, yes,” Uhl drawled, “it is a very nice place.”

“You don't get out this way much, do you, Sergeant?”

“No, I don't, Shadd. And I like the country, too. So does my wife, Ella. . . . Now, Charlie, take your hand out of your pocket. I'm not going to hurt you.”

“I was fishin' for a match,” Charlie blurted.

Shadd, the tall man, slid a black look towards Charlie.

Uhl went on drawling monotonously: “We're only on a tail. A man named Jansen was killed a little while ago down on Lindell Boulevard and we thought--no offense, Shadd-we just thought you might know something about it.”

“Gosh, Sarge, I'm sorry--we don't,” Shadd said.

“A man in the house next door heard the shots and ran out in time to see a black sedan draw up. Two men jumped in the sedan and it headed west. It had Oklahoma pads. I noticed outside that you've got Missouri pads, but it was a sedan like yours. I noticed your engine's warm.”

“I just came in a little while ago,” Shadd said. “Did the car come out this way?”

“The man next door called Headquarters and the dispatcher flashed a description of the car to all outlying districts. The car was supposed to have come in this direction.”

Donahue said: “Say, before Shadd and the boys came back, I heard a car go by. I looked out the window and I swear it was doing better than sixty. It was a big sedan. I couldn't tell whether it was black or dark blue.”

“I guess they're heading west,” Uhl said sadly. Then: “Well, we'll get along, Shadd. I'm glad to find you liking it out here. It's healthier than in the city . . . you know, Shadd?” Uhl almost winked; he smiled gently, said: “Well, we'll be going then. Come on, boys.”

Donahue stood up. “You heading back for the city, Sergeant?”

“Yes.”

“Mind giving me a lift?' “Only too glad to.”

Donahue shrugged into his raglan, smiling around the table. He could almost feel the current of suspicion, of brooding fear, that pulsed in the men. “I'll be seeing you, boys,” he said lightly. He rolled out with the plain-clothes men into the windy darkness. They crossed a grubby lawn, passing between two huge oaks, and reached the gravel highway. A man was waiting by a big touring car, the red end of a cigarette incarnadining his nose.

“You can ride in the back,” Uhl told Donahue kindly. One of the detectives climbed in front beside the chauffeur, and Uhl joined Donahue and the other detective in the rear. Uhl stowed away two Thompson sub-machine guns in a compartment back of the front seat; they had been lying on the floor. The driver turned the car about and the big machine roared back towards the city. Donahue took in landmarks carefully.

“He was killed in the basement,” Uhl said wearily. “Shot once in the chest, once in the head. He was an old man. The Edgecomb place. Edgecomb went West--or South-- for a couple of months. You know him, of course: he's a brilliant lawyer.” He turned towards Donahue in the dark windy tonneau. “You're a stranger here, aren't you?”

“Yes, kind of.”

“H'm, I thought so. ... Not too fast, Eddie. Some bad curves along here.”

Donahue got off at Olive Street and Twelfth Boulevard. He walked rapidly to the Apollo and entered a deserted lobby. He stopped at the desk to ask if any telegrams had arrived; there had not; he ascended beside a sleepy elevator boy and went directly to his room. He took off hat and raglan, felt gingerly of the bump on his head, winced, swore softly, and took a long shot of Scotch straight. For a moment he paced up and down with long heavy strides, slamming fist into palm slowly, time and time again.

Then he went down the hall and knocked at Herron's door. It opened almost immediately, and he walked in. Herron closed the door, locked it. He was still dressed; anxiety and eagerness showed in his face.

“You didn't get it--”

“I got it,” clipped Donahue, “but I had to plant it out back of the house. And what a sweet mess I piled into! Bodyguard? Hell!” He dropped to a chair and related briefly what had happened.

“And Jansen was killed!” exclaimed Herron.

“So Uhl says. And let me tell you that Uhl is a pretty foxy dick. One of those quiet guys. But he's got a head on his shoulders.”

Herron blinked. “And Shadd! Shadd is the one! Shadd and his rats! They were waiting, eh? They didn't believe that I had left town. And poor Jansen-- It's outrageous, Mr. Donahue! Why didn't you tell Uhl?”

Donahue scowled. “I made a bargain with Shadd. Uhl's no dumb bunny. He'll get them.”

“But a bargain with Shadd--”

“Was a bargain,” broke in Donahue. “Those guys might have socked and planted me away before Uhl and his men came in. Don't you worry about my end of it. I'll get that black box. One bad thing--Shadd knows where I'm staying. They frisked me and I had the hotel key in my pocket,”

“That is bad, Mr. Donahue, that is bad.”

“I'll admit it's not rosy, but what the hell. Those guys would have a swell job on their hands trying to crash this hotel.”

Herron made a sweeping gesture. “Don't think that we are through with them yet! Evidently Uhl hasn't a shred of evidence. It was just blind luck that brought him to that house in the country. They will still try to get that evidence. Even now they may be watching the hotel, watching what move you will make next.”

Donahue scoffed. “Don't you believe it. They'll lay low for a couple of days at least. They'll think that I might have squealed. They'll watch their tricks for a while. It's almost certain they were keeping an eye on your house, and it's just as certain that if you'd gone out there you wouldn't be alive now to tell about it.”

“Believe me, Mr. Donahue, I am very grateful.”

“You can let that slide. You paid for that service. And I'm thanking my stars I got off with only a crack on the conk. Just rest at ease. Temporarily you're out of danger. As a matter of fact, you can go out, make your official appearance, and do what you please. The time would be ripe right now to plant Shadd and his guns. You say you've got a lot of important data. In a pinch, I can swear that I heard them say they'd changed license plates. And I can swear they entered your house.”

Herron's eyes danced brightly, reflectively. “By Godfrey, perhaps you're right! Indeed I think you are right, Mr. Donahue!”

“I planted the box behind the shrubbery by that rear wall. I can go out just before dawn and get it.”

Herron shook his head. “That would be too dangerous, Mr. Donahue, leave it there. I think it will be safe. In the morning, after I have had some sleep I shall decide on a course of action. And remember, I am depending on you to stand by me.”

Donahue stood up. “Naturally. And I think I'll hit the hay myself.”..

Herron grasped his hand. “You have practically saved my life, Mr. Donahue. I am deeply grateful. Let us have breakfast at--say--ten tomorrow morning, in here. Eh?”

“Only omit the grapefruit,” Donahue said.
V

AT NINE-THIRTY Donahue awoke, yawned, swung out of bed and took a cold shower. He shaved and dressed, took a look out of the window and saw the inevitable pall of smoke and fog hanging over the city, in the streets.

Whistling, feeling bright and chipper, he went down the hall and rapped on 804. The door opened and a Negro maid looked out.

“Mr. Herron in?” Donahue said.

“Ah's just cleanin' up, suh. Party checked out o' heah.”

“Checked out?”

“Yassuh.”

“Thank you.”

Donahue retraced his steps down the hall, not whistling, and looking very dark and somber. He swung into his room, closed the door, and stood with feet spread, arms jammed against hips. He nibbled tightly at his lower lip. His eyes became round and hard, staring fixedly at the carpet.

He chopped off a short oath, put on hat and raglan, went downstairs and out into the street. He called the hotel from a cigar store at the corner. Asked for Mr. Herron. Mr. Herron had checked out at seven that morning. Donahue hung up savagely, went out lighting a cigarette, knew that cigarettes didn't agree with him before breakfast, and snapped it away. He entered a lunch-room and ordered tomato juice, poached eggs on toast and coffee. He ate vigorously but with no great appetite. Finished, he roamed the streets, walking swiftly, seemingly with purpose but actually without it. In that manner, he was surprised to find himself at length in front of the Apollo, and entered.

He was striding across the lobby when Uhl rose placidly from a divan and laid down a rumpled copy of the Globe-Democrat.

“Good morning, Donahue,” he said, smiling.

Donahue stopped short, his scalp contracting, a scowl starting on his -forehead. But on second thought he grinned, said: “Oh, hello, Sergeant.”

Uhl was alone, his hat in his hand, his white hair thick and bushy. “I would like to have a few words with you-- in your room.”

“Sure thing. Come on.”

When they were in Donahue's room, Uhl seemed oddly embarrassed for a moment, turning his hat round and round in his neat white hands.

“Sit down,” Donahue urged.

“Yes--thanks.”

Uhl sat down and said: “I'm sorry you didn't tell me last night that you were an Interstate operative. I think pretty highly of your agency.”

Donahue started. If Uhl's knowing he was a guest at the Apollo had startled Donahue, this second revelation was a distinct shock. But Donahue appeared to take it like an old campaigner. He even chuckled.

“Take it from me, Sergeant, the only thing I was worrying about last night--or this morning, rather--was getting away with my guts intact. I wouldn't fool you a bit.”

Uhl nodded understandingly, then went on: “I hope your head is better, too.”

“You know things, don't you, Sergeant?”

“Through no fault of mine, Donahue. I suppose you were surprised to find your client gone this morning.”

Donahue sat down suddenly on the bed. “I like you, Uhl.”

“Thank you. Can you spare the time to go out to Edgecomb's house with me to show me where the black box is?”

“A command in the form of a question, eh?”

“Well”--Uhl smiled modestly--“you know how it is.”

Uhl had his own flivver downstairs, which he drove himself. Donahue sat beside him on the way out. When they drew up before the towered house on Lindell Boulevard a policeman came towards them. Uhl told him to stay by the car.

Donahue led the way into the grounds behind the house, through the arbor.

“I always wanted a garden like this,” Uhl remarked dreamily. “But it costs money.”

“I was born in a hotel,” Donahue said.

He reached the shrubbery, no indecision in his movements. He searched for a couple of minutes, his face falling. Finally he stood up and faced Uhl, shrugged and shook his head.

“It's gone.”

Uhl looked suddenly sad. “No, is it?”

“It's gone. I planted it right there, alongside that vine that comes down the wall.”

“Pshaw,” Uhl drawled.

Donahue began thrashing through the shrubbery, inspired by anger more than by a belief that he would find the box. Finally he stopped and came back towards Uhl wearing a brown scowl.

“What's the lowdown, Sergeant?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, how is it you know so much about what happened last night? Did you go out to that place in the country again and make a pinch?”

“No,” Uhl said. “I didn't do anything. Your client called me up this morning. Mr. Edgecomb called me up and explained in detail. He said something had happened that made him leave the hotel abruptly. He called from a West End public booth and told me that I should communicate with him tonight or tomorrow morning at the Rex Hotel, in Kansas City.”

“Why the devil did he do that?”

He explained his hiding incognito in the Apollo and asked me to keep it a secret. He was a lot concerned over you and asked me if I would look you up and go out with you to get the box. He said you would swear that Shadd and his mob had beaten you up, taken the key and gone back to the house to look for certain important papers. I've heard a lot about Edgecomb. He's an honest lawyer. He was supposed to have left by car for Hot Springs some days ago because this mob was out to take his life. And by the way, he left an envelope with the clerk at the Apollo for you. A little gift, I suppose.”

Donahue was searching Uhl's face intently. “Edgecomb's got a good reputation here, hasn't he?”

“None better. Why?”

“Well, I was just wondering if he's entirely on the up and up. Take it from me, Sergeant, this is one of the queerest cases I've ever tackled--and I've had a lot in my time.”

Uhl thought for a moment. “The only answer I see, Donahue, is that Shadd's boys came back here again, maybe thinking that you might have planted the box somewhere. One of them might have tailed you to the hotel--”

“They knew where I was staying. Edgecomb--or Herron, as he was down on the books--didn't like that a bit.”

“One of Shadd's men probably tailed you, planted himself in the hall, and maybe listened at the door while you were talking with your client. That's logical, isn't it?”

“I guess it is.” But Donahue was not emphatic. His brown eyes wandered thoughtfully.

Uhl sighed. “Anyhow,” he said, “I guess I have a perfect right to collect Shadd and his boys. You'll testify, won't _ you, Donahue?”

“What else can I do? Edgecomb may be a swell lawyer, but he's certainly afraid of his precious skin.”

“Let's go down to Headquarters,” Uhl said. On the way Donahue stopped at the hotel. The envelope his client had left contained a hundred dollars.

He met the police car in front of Headquarters, on Twelfth Boulevard. Uhl was there, quiet, retiring. Smiddy was at the wheel. There were three other men in plain-clothes: Knoblock, Reems and Brannigan. Donahue squeezed in front beside Uhl and Smiddy. The big Packard, rated at a hundred miles an hour, headed west on Olive Street. The wind hammered the top and the side curtains. They followed Route 40 through the city and kept to it on the outskirts.

“You were out here last summer, weren't you?” Brannigan asked.

“Yes,” said “Donahue. “And last winter. Every time I come out here I get in trouble.”

“Don't go too fast now, Burt,” Uhl said. “Time enough when we have to.”

The big car was doing fifty past bare fields. The curtains clapped in the grip of the' cold wind, and the men in the rear kept pounding their feet on the floor to keep warm. “Turn off here, Burt,” Uhl said.

Smiddy swung into a crushed gravel road that met the state highway obliquely. The tires ground on the gravel; gravel drummed against the undersides of the mudguards; dust ballooned behind. The road was wide, smooth, and the car passed scattered farmhouses and went through small sleeping towns that looked run down and hopeless.

The road rose slightly, then dipped in a long straight run between sparse timber. It curved beyond, and Uhl pointed to the big weather-beaten farmhouse ahead, on the right, set back fifty yards from the road.

“There may be trouble,” Uhl said. “Burt, drive past and then pull up alongside those woods just beyond.” The big car swished past the house and skidded to a stop in the lee of the woods. Donahue and Uhl got out. The three men sat in the back holding Thompson guns. Uhl leaned in.

“You boys stay here for the time being. Burt, I guess you'd better come with me. Donahue, you stay out of sight. Well, come on, 'Burt.”

Uhl and Smiddy walked slowly across the grubby lawn and climbed three steps to the ramshackle veranda. Uhl knocked. He waited patiently, listening. He said something to Smiddy and Smiddy left the veranda and went around to the rear. Uhl kept knocking at intervals. Smiddy returned shaking his head.

Uhl drew his gun and knocked the panes out of a window. He and Smiddy went in. Five minutes later they came out and returned to the car.

“They're gone,” Uhl said sadly. “But I want you to stay out here, Brannigan, in case they come back. Stay in the woods. If they come back, walk to the nearest town--it's only two miles--and telephone in.”

On the way back to the state highway, which was distant eight miles from the house, Uhl stopped in several towns and asked questions. It was in the third town that he came back to the car smiling quietly.

“A big black Cadillac sedan, coming from the country, stopped at the filling station at ten this morning to load her tank. There were six men in it. One of them tallies with Shadd. They left headed for the state highway, speeding. The man at the filling station remembers the car had Illinois pads, because after he filled the tank he dusted off the rear plate. He doesn't remember the number, though. Ten to one' they're flying west right now. Hit the highway, Burt, and go west.”

At the entrance to the St. Charles Bridge across the Missouri River, the ticket agent remembered a similar Cadillac sedan. It had crossed the bridge at about ten-thirty. The Packard crossed the bridge, went through St. Charles, and struck Route 40.

“You can let her out,” Uhl said.

Smiddy jammed his foot down on the throttle and the car roared at eighty miles an hour, its siren screaming at intervals. The men sat motionless while trees and fields whipped past. At the first important crossroads, Uhl called a halt.

“I want to telephone ahead,” he said, “and have the news relayed. A black Cadillac sedan, with six men and Illinois plates.”

He telephoned from a pretentious filling station and then came back, told Smiddy to keep to Route 40.

A mile east of Wentzville Donahue suddenly said: “Hey, pull up!”

Smiddy looked across at him.

“Pull up!” Donahue yelled above the beating of the wind.

Smiddy took his foot off the throttle and applied the brakes gradually. The Packard bumped gently on the frozen shoulder alongside the road.

“There was a car parked in a lane back there,” Donahue said. “I think it had bullet holes in the rear.”

“You have eyes, you have,” Uhl said. “Turn around, Burt.”

It was a narrow lane that met the highway at right angles. Bushes grew thickly on either side of it. The Packard swung in and stopped behind an empty Lincoln sedan.

“By--, you're'right!” Reems said.

The men piled out and stopped by the Lincoln. Donahue jabbed six bullet holes with his finger.

“There's baggage inside,” Uhl said. “No glass broken. And I don't see any blood.”

Donahue hauled out a yellow suitcase and tipped it on the ground. “Take a look at these initials: S. E.”

“It looks,” drawled Uhl, “as if they got Edgecomb.”

“He was a fool to have left the hotel!” Donahue snapped.

They searched the ground around the car, finding nothing of consequence.

“I'll telephone Jeff City,” Uhl said, “and check up on these plates. Knoblock, you drive the Lincoln. We'll go up to Wentzville.”

Nobody had heard any shooting in Wentzville.

Uhl came out of a restaurant and said: “It's Edgecomb's car all right. I just telephoned.”

Reems looked out of the Lincoln. “His bags are opened. Doesn't look as if there was any ransacking.”

Donahue was looking through the bags too. Every piece of linen was spotlessly clean. --

“His body'll probably turn up along the road somewhere,” Reems offered.

Donahue got out of the Lincoln, lit a cigarette and stared transfixed at its red end. A puzzled shadow moved slowly across his forehead, and his lean strong fingers began to tremble, his eyes suddenly became round and hard like brown bright marbles.
VI

AT SIX THAT EVENING Uhl called Donahue at his hotel.

Shadd and his five men had run into trouble in Jefferson City, where they had stopped to put water in the radiator. One of the attendants at the filling station went inside while another was filling the radiator and telephoned the authorities. The county sheriff happened to be only a block or so away and he came down with three deputies and some police.

They stopped the Cadillac just as it was starting. The driver tried to speed up, but a deputy cracked him with a gun and the car ran into a tree. Shadd and his men piled out dragging two Thompson guns with them, and warning the law officers to clear out. Shadd had one of the Tommy guns.

A deputy shot him through the thigh and in a minute all the guns were in action. The gangsters were outnumbered. One of the Tommy guns jammed after having put twelve bullets in an officer and another officer emptied his gun at the assassin. The gunfight lasted three minutes, and all six gunmen were killed.

They had had fifteen hundred dollars among them. However, no black metal box was found. It was natural to assume that they had thrown that away. But there were no papers, either, though there too it was natural to assume that they had destroyed them.

Since it was likely that they had kept to Route 40 at least as far as the town of Mexico, parties were on the hunt for the discarded body of Stanley Edgecomb. Bus drivers and motorists were asked to keep an eye out also. Circumstances pointed unwaveringly to the fact that Stanley Edgecomb had been attacked in his car, taken in the gangsters' car, relieved of important documents, then killed and thrown out somewhere between Wentzville and the town of Mexico, or between Mexico and the State capital.

Uhl concluded: “This case has many strange ramifications, Donahue, and it's going to take us a while to clear it up. Already there's a lot of people saying that maybe Edgecomb was not all that he was supposed to be. Kind of insinuating, you know, that he might have had his fingers in a dirty piece of pie. Are you staying-in town a while?”

“Yes. There are a few things I'd like to clean up for my own satisfaction. I'll be seeing you, Sergeant.”

He hung up and drained the highball he had started on before Uhl telephoned.

There was a knock on the door and Donahue let in the hotel's head porter, a gaunt old man in a blue flannel shirt.

The head porter said “No, Mr. Herron didn't send down any clothes to be laundered while he was here.”

“You would have handled the clothes whether they went to the hotel laundry or an outside one?”

“Yes. If they go to an outside one, the man in the receiving room pays the bill when they're delivered back and then collects from the cashier, who would put it on the guest's bill.”

“Thanks,” Donahue said, and dismissed the man with a quarter.

Then he returned to a collection of train and bus timetables, studied them intently, made a few notations. He telephoned the St. Louis terminal of the Central States Motor Express, spoke briefly and hung up. Then he telephoned Union Station and got a reservation on the 11:55 p.m. train for Kansas City.

At ten-forty he checked out of the Apollo, carrying his bag. A taxi ran him over to Union Station. It was raining when the Wabash train pulled out at midnight.

It was raining in Kansas City next morning. Donahue had checked his bag in the station, had gotten there in the chill early morning.

When he entered the Central States Motor Express waiting room, he said: “Will Nixon be in soon?”

“You mean Sam Nixon?”

“I mean the man who was chauffeur on your through bus from St. Louis yesterday that arrived after dark last night.”

“He's out in that bus you see through that door. He's due to leave in. half an hour.”

Donahue went out through the door. “Mr. Nixon, I'd like to speak with you in private for a minute.”

“Who, me?”

“I'm just a private cop on a tail. Come on.”

They went back of the bus. Donahue said: “You made a stop at Wentzville yesterday, didn't you?”

“Sure.”

“How many passengers did you pick up?”

“Three. A couple for Mexico and one for here.”

“The man for here--what did he look like?”

“Hell, I can't remember exactly. Fat guy, I think. Glasses.

Had a suitcase along. Or maybe he didn't have glasses.”

“But,” Donahue said, “he was the only man who got on at Wentzville destined for here.”

“Yeah, I'm sure of that. What's the matter?”

“I don't know yet,” Donahue said. “I'm trying to find out.”

He went around to the taxi stand. Three cabs were there. The drivers had not been on duty last night when Nixon's bus arrived. However, Donahue got the names of those who had been. From the taxi company's garage he got their telephone numbers. He spent twenty minutes telephoning.

Then he took a taxi to the Hotel Bretton-Palace. The big lobby was noisy. It was a travelers' hotel. Donahue went directly to the desk and asked for the house officer. A page took him down a corridor and into an office. A small bald man blinked sky-blue eyes, dismissed the page.

Donahue sat down and produced identification.

“Oh, yeah, I've heard of you,” the house officer said.

“I came right in here,” Donahue said, “so I could put my cards on the table. I'm on a quiet little tail. It would be doing me a great favor, if you'd go out, look at the register for last night, and get me a list of names of men who arrived and registered here between six-fifteen and six-forty-five.”

The house officer blinked. “No rough stuff on the premises.”

“Nothing like that.”

“Wait here.”

Five minutes later the house officer came back into the office holding a memorandum as if reluctant to hand it over. “Remember, no rough stuff.”

“Not if I can help it.”

“Six men. I didn't take the women's names. Six men. I guess they were from that St. Louis bus. Here.”

Donahue eyed the list closely. Room numbers were beside the names. All the names were strange.

“Look here,” Donahue said, “do me another favor. Have a girl call these rooms, one by one, and let me listen in on an extension.”

“I wouldn't want to get in any trouble,” the house officer demurred, ill at ease.

“Be a good scout,” Donahue urged. “And you won't get in any trouble. There's an unemployment drive on. Get a girl and have her ask these men over the phone if they will contribute. Anything for a stall. Just so I can hear their voices.”

'“Hell, I'd lose my job if the manager--Besides, there's no jane around here I'd care to trust. You know janes.”

Donahue shrugged. “All right, then: never mind. I'll make the calls myself and take a chance.”

He went out into the lobby, entered a booth and began calling the rooms. He said he was on the committee of the new drive to relieve the suffering of homeless men. Could he come up and collect a small donation? He tried to keep ' his voice in falsetto. Two of the rooms did not answer. One man refused to contribute and bawled Donahue out 'for calling. Donahue did not make the sixth call. The fifth was sufficient.

Stepping out of the booth, he saw the house officer leaning against one of the marble pillars at the other end of the lobby. Donahue crossed to him.

“Please, now,” he said, “don't mastermind around after me.”

“Only no rough stuff,” the bald man said, worried.

Donahue strode to the elevators, went up to the sixth floor. He walked down a red-carpeted corridor, turned sharp right and followed another corridor. He stopped in front of a door marked 645 and knocked.

A voice said: “Who is there, eh?”

“Just Donahue.”

“Donahue!”

“On the level.”

Silence.

Then-- “Well, well, this--this is extraordinary, Mr. Donahue!” The door whipped open and Donahue's recent client bubbled buoyantly on the threshold, saying: “'Pon my word! Well, well, come right in--come right in, Mr. Donahue. It has been something of a travail for me.” He locked the door.

Donahue moved squinted eyes around the room, said absently: “I suppose it has been. Your Lincoln was riddled all right.”

“Indeed it was! By Godfrey, Mr. Donahue, I shall never be the same man again!”

“I wondered why you took the bus from Wentzville, leaving your car parked down the road, hardly a mile, and with all your baggage in it.”

“My dear man, wasn't I attacked? Do you suppose I was going to linger around that spot?”

“I see you registered here as Baldwin Coombs of Indianapolis.”

“A very original name, eh? Eh, Mr. Donahue?”

“You're a very original man. I'm not. I'm just a plain everyday guy trying to make a living--as honestly as possible. There's not a hell of a lot of romance attached to my business. I'm no drawing-room cop. One day I'm here--the next day, somewhere else. That's not romance. It's damned monotonous. When I take on a client, I expect a break. I expect the truth. If it is the truth, I'm just as liable to risk my neck for the guy as not. I'm a nice guy ordinarily. But when a man two-times on me, I'm a louse--the lousiest kind of a louse you ever ran across. Understand?”

“Why, yes--of course. But what is the point, eh? Eh, what is the point? After all--”

Donahue snarled: “After all, you two-timed! You're not Edgecomb. You never were Edgecomb. That baggage in the Lincoln was not your baggage. It was Edgecomb's. But you were driving that Lincoln. Edgecomb wasn't in it. You were never attacked, either. You drove the car in that lane, put the bullets in yourself. You walked the mile to Wentzville and boarded the bus and arrived here between six and six-, thirty last night.

“Shadd and his mob were fogged down in Jeff City. They had nothing on them. The theory was--I didn't hold it-- that Shadd and his men overtook you and mobbed you, chucked your body out somewhere farther on. I began to smell other things when we opened the baggage in the Lincoln. Every stitch was clean. I figured that a man who had made a quick getaway, like yours, would at least have a dirty shirt along, you had plenty, I imagine, because you sent out no laundry in the five days you were at the hotel.”

The other clapped his hands gently. “Very, very good, Mr. Donahue. As I said once before, you are a man of parts. Indeed, that you are, Mr. Donahue. I should like to hear some more about it. But, please, if I am not Stanley Edgecomb, who am I? By Godfrey, there is a splendid side of the ridiculous to this: having assumed so many aliases, I find it hard to recapture my real name. Droll, don't you think? Eh?”

Donahue's brown face looked hawkish, predatory, keenly alert. “You may think you can song and dance yourself out of this, mister, but you can't.”

“Eh?”

“I'm taking you back to St. Louis.”

“Of course, Mr. Donahue. I intend going. I shall engage a drawing room for both of us. Let me see--I had a timetable--in my overcoat.” He picked a blue overcoat up from a divan, rummaged in the pockets. Then he dropped the coat and turned around holding a small automatic, smiling buoyantly. “You will keep your hands well up, Mr. Donahue.”

Donahue twisted his lips in a sneer. “This won't get you anywhere, you--!”

“Language, Mr. Donahue!”

Donahue shoved his hip against the telephone and deliberately knocked it to the floor.

“Pick that up,” the fat man said.

“Pick it up yourself.”

“Pick that up. You knocked it down.”

“Horsefeathers,” Donahue chided. “If you want it picked up, then pick it up. I knocked it down because I wanted it knocked down. You want it picked up. Okey. Pick it up. You better hurry up. Operator may think there's a murder going on up here.”

“It's wedged between the table and the wall. You will have to bend way over to get it.”

“You mean,” Donahue said, “you will.”

“I am no longer fooling, Mr. Donahue!”

Donahue shrugged. “Neither am I. You're not going to get anywhere with me, mister. You're not going to threaten me. Oh, no you're not. You're not going to shoot me and make a lot of noise with the telephone disconnected. You're not going to be a jackass like that.”

“Mr. Donahue, pick up that telephone.”

Donahue lowered his hands, chafed them together, smiling with utmost self-assurance. He turned and walked to the door, his back to the man and the gun. He unlocked the door.

“Mr. Donahue!”

Donahue palmed the knob, about faced, bowed with mock courtesy. “I'll be waiting for you. And I'd advise you, mister--spare the rod. You're in bad enough as it is. Besides, I promised the house dick there'd be no rough stuff.”

The fat man stood like a man petrified, staring wide-eyed through his horn-rimmed glasses. For a brief moment he looked oafish, stripped of guile; looked like a man trying hard to believe what his eyes and ears transmitted to his brain; and believing it, in spite of himself, and still incredulous of his own intelligence.

Donahue, eyeing him levelly, turned the knob, opened the door behind him.

The glaze left the fat man's eyes; it was like windows thrown suddenly upward.

“Remember: spare the rod,” Donahue said.

The fat man emitted a groan. His gun drooped. The actor had disintegrated; the man was present now, humble, flushing, fearful, prey to encroaching terror.

“Will you step to one side, Donahue?”

Donahue ducked, half-whirled.

Sergeant Uhl stood in the doorway, placid and sad, holding a big gun in his hand. Back of him stood the house officer.

“It was funny about that phone,” Uhl said, smiling.

Donahue growled: “How the hell did you get here?”

“Oh, I've been behind you since the time you left St. _ Louis. I thought you might get in trouble. Is that Mr. Edgecomb?”

“That,” said Donahue, “is liable to be anybody.”

Uhl sighed. “Yes, Silkhat Willems always was known for inventing swell aliases.”

“Is that his name?”

“It was the name he started with.”

“Hell,” Donahue said, “this isn't even funny any more.”

“No. I never found anything humorous about murder.”

Donahue looked at him. “Who's been murdered now?”

“Stanley Edgecomb was murdered,” Uhl said, drawing out manacles. “Quite a few days ago.”
VII

POLICE HEADQUARTERS, St. Louis. . . .

Donahue sat on a desk, dangling one leg, when Uhl opened the door and came in wearily. It was after midnight, and the Sergeant, not a young man, looked pale and haggard--but still placid.

“It's all over now--practically,” he said.

He let himself slowly down into a swivel-chair, drew out an old briar, began stuffing it. His gentle eyes had a faraway look.

“So he came through,” Donahue muttered.

Uhl nodded. “Yes, he came through. He murdered Edge-comb.”

Donahue got off the desk, paced up and down with long angry strides; stopped, flung up a fist. “And I was working for that guy!” He brought the fist swishing down. “I knew it, Uhl. By--I sensed everything was not on the up and up! But I had to go along with him. He was smooth, Uhl-- he was smooth. I was a gofor. He pulled the wool all over my eyes.”

“Silkhat Willems has always been a smooth crook. It was his first murder. But the stakes were big. He must have thought it was worth the chance. But think of it: almost a hundred thousand dollars.”

Donahue laughed mirthlessly. “And he had me believing they were important legal papers, notes; data.”

“Whereas,” Uhl smiled, “they were emeralds. Edgecomb picked them up for a song a year ago, in Siam. Willems has been an international card sharp and con man for years. He was in Siam at the time and made a note of the sale. He came here to get the emeralds. He laid pretty careful plans. He struck up an acquaintanceship with Shadd in the Lido, a gambling house in the country, and got Shadd to throw in with him. He then called on Edgecomb. He had a lot of front, you know, and it was easy for him to pose as a globe trotter. He said he was on his way to California. He remarked about the sale in Siam, and Edgecomb was fool enough to show him the emeralds. Conditions being what they are and have been for a year, Edgecomb was holding the emeralds till better times would warrant a better price. He wasn't feeling well, and spoke of going to Hot Springs. Willems so planned their meetings that nobody ever saw them together.

“Shadd was to get the emeralds, and there was to be a fifty-fifty split. Remember, Willems had never killed a man before. But then Shadd and Willems got into an argument. Willems wanted to break. He was finding Shadd a hard man to boss. But Shadd wouldn't have anything of it.

“Willems got desperate. He worked himself into getting a ride from Edgecomb as far as Hot Springs. Edgecomb picked him up in the car. Willems wanted those emeralds. He knew they were in the house. He attacked Edgecomb in the car, choked him senseless, threw his body in the river, weighted with stones, came back in the car himself, put it in a garage, became Mr. Herron at the Apollo.

“The killing hit him hard. He had the keys to the house, he had the combination, but he was afraid it would mean another killing. Besides, Shadd was looking for him. So Willems got the idea of getting you.

“You ran into trouble. You got the box, planted it in the garden. While you were sleeping, Willems went out and got the box himself, just before dawn. He made that call on me. He also called Shadd's house in the country and said that the police were going out there on a hot tip. Shadd and his men beat it, for they'd killed Jansen, the caretaker. Willems figured that we'd spend all our time hunting Shadd. He knew someone would find the Lincoln he drove out in. Willems, of course, drove it off the road and put the shots in it. That would make us believe that Shadd had overtaken Edgecomb. As a matter of fact, it did. Up until the time I called Headquarters here when I arrived in Kansas City, I thought Edgecomb was still alive and knew nothing about Willems. And I knew nothing of Willems until I looked at him while you were standing in the door of his hotel room in Kansas City.”

Donahue put his head in his hands, made a sour face. “It's sure going to take me a long while to get back my self-respect.”

“Nonsense, Donahue. You really caught Willems, didn't you?”

“Where did they find Edgecomb's body?”

Uhl winked. “They didn't find it. A man in a boat picked . up a toupee. It took them an hour to find the place that made it. The place identified it as belonging to Edgecomb. That was enough to make Willems confess.”

Donahue reached for his hat. “Come on back to the hotel and sock a bottle of Scotch with me.”

“I'd like to, but my liver can't stand it.”

“Okey. Then it means looking-glass drinking for me. I'm going to get plastered and then I'm going to call my boss on long distance.”

“What, a new case?”

Donahue laughed. “Hell, no. By the time I get through telling him what I think of him, young Donahue will probably be out of a job.”

“I wouldn't do that.”

“I wouldn't either,” Donahue said, “if I stayed sober. That's why I want to get plastered! . . . Well, toodle-oo, Uhl.”

THE END