by J. T. Edson
‘No, Mr. Clint,’ the old man contradicted and pointed again at Borofin. ‘You will kill him here and now!’
‘That’s out!’ Clint stated flatly. ‘I’m already so bad wanted I can’t stay over here. Which being, I’m damned if I’m going back with this many witnesses able to say they’ve seen me kill a G-man.’
‘You’ll kill him,’ Olga put in, pressing the muzzle of the Remington Double Derringer she had had concealed inside her blouse against Beryl’s temple and drawing back the hammer with her thumb. ‘Or I’ll blow her brains out.’
‘Not in front of witnesses,’ Clint repeated, tense as a compressed coil spring beneath his apparently relaxed exterior.
‘Is that the reason, Mr. Clint?’ Flack challenged and his left hand rose into view grasping a long barreled Mauser automatic pistol which he pointed at the Texan. ‘Or does your refusal come because you are “Cap” Fog?’
As soon as the old man produced his weapon, the Gambel brothers and Kinch drew theirs. All of them displayed their pleasure at the situation.
‘Somebody snitched,’ drawled the man who had called himself “Rapido Clint”, bitterly aware that for once he had been taken unawares. He had allowed himself to be distracted by Flack’s gestures with the right hand. ‘Blast the radio. Word gets passed around too quickly on it.’
‘As you say,’ the old man answered, but his voice was growing brittle and his hands shook a little. ‘Receiving information from even so far away as your homeland is not a lengthy process with one.’
‘It takes a right smart hombre to set up something like that,’ Alvin Dustine “Cap” Fog praised, playing for time and an opportunity to utilize his speed in drawing the big Colt holstered against his left side.
‘True,’ Flack replied, noticing how the Texan’s respect for his brilliance did not appear to have diminished. ‘Establishing a secret radio receiver and transmitter of such power was very expensive, but worth every penny it cost. Not even that old swine Reeder learned of its existence.’
‘Keeping him from learning about it must have taken some doing,’ “Cap” Fog conceded, throwing a quick glance over his shoulder. Much to his relief, he found that—although pale and tense—Beryl was showing no sign of panicking. ‘And, talking about him, I wonder where’s he’s at right now?’
‘He’s dead, father!’ Olga almost screeched, as the old man’s gaze stabbed at her. ‘I saw the dust fly from his clothes as he was hit!’
‘Wax bullets do that, ma’am,’ the Texan pointed out, still watching the women.
‘Wax bullets?’ Olga gasped.
‘Wax bullets,’ repeated “Cap” Fog, returning his scrutiny to the old man. ‘Ordinary blank cartridges don’t always feed properly in an automatic, so you make a hard wax head shaped like a regular metal bullet. It’ll feed from the magazine to the chamber without jamming, but softens as it’s being shoved along the barrel. Happen it comes up against something—like a real thick cloak, say—it’ll kick out dust, but won’t go through to the feller who’s wearing it. I was real surprised, though, at Stiwins’ Wharf when good old J. G. said he’d got some “waxies” we could use to make folks reckon he’d been gunned down by “Rapido Clint”.’
Never had Beryl Snowhill needed to draw so deeply upon her reserves of inner strength. It took every fragment of will power she possessed to stand motionless with the cold twin muzzles of Olga’s Remington touching the side of her head. Yet she knew that she must continue to do so. While she could not see any way out of their desperate predicament, she was confident that the Texan was doing all he could to produce one. She also realized that any mistake, or untimely and ill-conceived action, on her part, could ruin whatever slender chance they might have.
Once they had been in the safety of his room, while she had been on the point of defending her honor by any means possible, Rapido Clint had told her his true identity and purpose. He was Alvin Dustine “Cap” Fog, commander of a special Company of the Texas Rangers. Posing as outlaws, he and his men infiltrated criminal organizations and, by causing dissension among the members, brought about their downfall. Hearing from ‘Bucky Borofin’ that something unusual was taking place in England, but not where, “Cap” had been allowed to follow in case the Federal agent required assistance.
Being unable to contact Mr. Reeder the previous night, “Cap” had called the private telephone number of an English relative. Colonel Brian Besgrove-Woodstole—the relationship had come about through the marriage of “Cap”’s grandfather, Dusty Fog, to Lady Winifred Amelia Besgrove-Woodstole 73—to ask for assistance. Although the Colonel was unavailable, his capable batman had provided “Cap” with the transport and knowledge needed to circumvent the ambush. With this accomplished, other plans—including the story 74 about the digression between Scotland Yard and the Public Prosecutor’s Office—had been formulated.
Unfortunately, Beryl told herself, her impulsive interference had created a serious hazard and was throwing “Cap” into even greater danger.
‘Reeder’s still alive!’ Maurice Gambel screeched, his face losing its triumphant leer as he realized what was implied.
‘Alive and kicking,’ “Cap” Fog confirmed and hoped the girl would realize that the moment of climax was very close.
‘That’s more than you will be!’ Flack howled and sent his chair flying as he thrust himself to his feet.
Immediately, displaying exultation, the Gambel brothers and Kinch started to raise their weapons.
Knowing there was not the slightest chance of dealing with all his assailants before he was killed, “Cap” Fog commenced his draw.
A whistle shrilled outside the house!
With crashes, the dining room’s three doors and French windows burst open. Through each came –
Mr. J. G. Reeder!
Apart from slight variations in height, the four newcomers were identical in their characteristically archaic attire, hirsute adornment and features. There was only one major difference in their appearances. The man who erupted through the French windows swung the barrel of his telescopic sighted Lee Enfield rifle into alignment on Cyril Gambel. His duplicate in the left side doorway pointed the Winchester trench gun towards Maurice. Showing an equal determination, the triplicate on the right side of the room covered Kinch with Mrs. Grible’s double barreled shotgun. Carried past Beryl and Olga by the impetus he had put into entering from the entrance hall, the quadruplicate was armed with a Colt Government Model automatic pistol.
Hearing the sounds of the forcible entries, the Gambels and Kinch stared about them. So amazed were they by the sights which confronted them, that each was frozen into immobility.
Not so old Mad John Flack!
However, the aged villain was in such a rage filled state that he had eyes only for the two men who were standing in front of him. He was not aware of the other three identical newcomers’ presence. Nor could he select which of his enemies he wanted to kill first. Much as he hated the young Texan who had so successfully outwitted him, his abhorrence of Mr. J. G. Reeder was of far longer standing. So the Mauser began to turn in the direction of his older enemy.
Neither Beryl nor Olga duplicated the Gambels’ and Kinch’s lack of action. Feeling the Remington move from her head as the quadruplicate Mr. Reeder dashed by, the girl showed remarkable presence of mind considering she had never been in such a desperate and dangerous situation. Snatching her arm free, she flung herself sideways and down. Ignoring her, realizing what the arrival of the four Mr. Reeders must mean, Olga thought only of escape. Turning, she darted out of the door through which they had entered.
Even as “Cap” Fog’s Colt emerged from beneath his jacket, the automatic in Mr. James Garfield Reeder’s hand crashed. Aimed in the only manner appropriate under the circumstances, to ensure as near an instantaneous kill as possible, the .45 bullet punctured a hole between Flack’s eyes. Spinning around, with the load from the Texan’s weapon narrowly missing his head, the old man involuntarily discharged his Mause
r. By the kind of coincidence no author would dare allow to happen in a work of fiction, the barrel had turned until it was pointing at Benner and the bullet that was emitted flew to strike him in the heart. Oblivious of what he had done, Flack tripped over the chair he had thrust away from him as he rose and went down. He did not feel the impact as his body struck the floor.
Mad John Flack was dead!
‘My … um … bird, I think,’ Mr. James Garfield Reeder said mildly to “Cap” Fog.
‘Yours,’ the Texan confirmed and swung around to find out what had happened to Beryl.
With the sound of the shots ringing in her ears, Olga crossed the threshold. As she entered the entrance hall, she saw several obvious plainclothes policemen coming through the front door and was conscious of another person much closer. Before she could react to the sensation, a powerful hand grasped her right wrist and shook the Remington from her grasp. Then the trapped arm was deftly twisted behind her back. Looking over her shoulder, she found herself staring into the grim visage of Mr. Reeder’s housekeeper.
‘You won’t get away this time, my beauty,’ Mrs. Grible warned. ‘I’m not Mr. Grant.’
Finding themselves menaced by the firearms held by three obviously determined men—Mr. Jeremiah Golden’s shotgun and the trench gun carried by Mr. Jason Grant being even more effective inducements than Captain John Gray’s rifle under the circumstances—the Gambel brothers and Kinch flung aside their weapons. Raising their hands in the air, they loudly announced a mutual eagerness to surrender.
‘It’s all finished now, ma’am,’ “Cap” Fog said, going over and helping Beryl to her feet. ‘You’re not hurt, are you?’
‘N–No,’ the girl replied, after taking a few seconds to bring her emotions under control. Then her gaze went from one to another of the quartet who had arrived so fortuitously. Having seen photographs of the detective in newspapers, she identified him; but her eyes widened as she looked at the duplicates. ‘Wh … Which of you is J. G. Reeder?’
‘Confusing as it may … um … seem to you, young lady,’ answered the man with the shotgun. ‘We all are.’ 75
In Conclusion
Realizing that Mad John Flack would not assemble his subordinates until his hated enemy was dead and wanting to capture them all, Mr. James Garfield Reeder and Alvin Dustine “Cap” Fog had hatched a plot following their meeting at Stiwins’ Wharf. Having persuaded Olga Flack to arrange for the gang leaders to join her father on Tuesday, the Texan had signaled the information to Captain Gray’s valet, Parker, who was at Paddington Station disguised as a porter.
Summoned from their vacations, Mr. Grant and Captain Gray had joined Mr. Golden and Mr. Garfield with the intention of ridding themselves of the malignant threat to their existence. Wanting to obtain the fullest dramatic effect, without exposing their true identities, it was decided that they would all dress as Mr. J. G. Reeder.
Knowing that the men they were up against were dangerous and would almost certainly be armed, the Reeders had laid a trap. Assembling their police helpers in hiding on a lonely stretch of road, Captain Gray had used the rifle equipped with a silencer and telescopic sight to puncture one of the horse-box’s tires. Doing so brought it to a halt without its occupants suspecting the truth. As the area had appeared to be deserted, the drivers told his passengers to alight. On leaving the vehicle, they found themselves surrounded by the armed officers—the Reeders remained concealed—and surrendered without a fight.
With the horse box carrying the raiding force following them, the Reeders and Mrs. Grible had made their way to Charles Wagon’s training stables. They were in position around the building when the trainer came out to greet what he thought to be the arriving gang leaders. He was secured without raising the alarm and told where they could locate Flack. Knowing that a large body of men could not move in silently and would endanger the lives of the prisoners, the Reeders and their housekeeper had entered with the results already described.
One of Flack’s traits was that he always committed all of his plans to paper. So the Reeders found details of the proposed race course coup 76 and how he had intended to create his ‘criminal empire’ in England. In addition to supplying him with finances, the proposed bank holdups which were to have taken place simultaneously in several London suburbs and major cities throughout the country were to demonstrate to the rest of the underworld the full extent of his powers. 77
There was sufficient evidence to prove that the Right Hon. Horatio Benner was a willing accomplice in Flack’s scheme. However, wishing to avoid a scandal, the leaders of the three major political parties had asked that this aspect was suppressed and his death passed off as an accident. They were helped in the deception by the perception of the Reeders. Before any of the police officers entered the dining room, Benner’s face was covered and none of them learned his identity. The Gambels, Wagon, his “stable hands”, Kinch and the rest of the domestic staff—no charges were brought against the imported jockeys, none of whom knew the M.P.—were persuaded it was in their best interests to remain silent on the subject. For some reason, despite her normally vindictive nature and being faced with a life sentence in prison, Olga also refrained from mentioning her father’s connection with Benner.
In return for their part in the suppression, the Reeders insisted that there must be no mention of “Cap” Fog’s activities. So the true facts of the Richmond Terrace were distorted. It was claimed that the murder bid was genuine, but Mr. Reeder survived as he had been wearing a bulletproof vest under the cloak. In addition, it was stated that Rapido Clint had killed Joseph “Joe the Actor” Steffens and his two associates—whose bodies were found in an abandoned stone quarry—during an argument over the division of spoils.
So “Cap” Fog came to and left England without his presence receiving public attention. According to his records, he and Beryl Snowhill met again. 78 However, as yet no evidence is forthcoming that he and the Reeder organization were ever required to work together after having brought to an end the career of the brilliant, completely ruthless master criminal, old Mad John Flack.
About the Author
J.T. Edson was a former British Army dog-handler who wrote more than 130 Western novels, accounting for some 27 million sales in paperback. Edson’s works - produced on a word processor in an Edwardian semi at Melton Mowbray - contain clear, crisp action in the traditions of B-movies and Western television series. What they lack in psychological depth is made up for by at least twelve good fights per volume. Each portrays a vivid, idealized “West That Never Was”, at a pace that rarely slackens.
If you enjoyed the westerns of J. T. EDSON, you may also enjoy the westerns of
BEN BRIDGES and MIKE STOTTER:
BEN BRIDGES:
APACHERIA SERIES:
Apacheria
Lockwood’s Law
ASH COLTER SERIES:
Gunsmoke Legend
Ride the High Lines
Storm in the Saddle
COMPANY C SERIES:
Hit ’em Hard!
To the Death!
HELLER SERIES
Heller
Heller in the Rockies
JIM ALLISON SERIES:
Rattler Creek
Blood Canyon
Thunder Gorge
JUDGE AND DURY SERIES:
Hang ‘em All
Riding for Justice
Law of the Gun
Trial by Fire
Barbed Wire Noose
Judgment Day
MOVIE TIE-INS:
Day of the Gun
O’BRIEN SERIES:
The Silver Trail
Hard as Nails
Mexico Breakout
Hangman’s Noose
The Deadly Dollars
Squaw Man
North of the Border
Shoot to Kill
Hell for Leather
Marked for Death
Gunsmoke is Gray
Cold Steel
Mean as Hell
Flame and Thunder
THREE GUNS WEST (Writing with Steve Hayes):
Three Rode Together
Three Ride Again
Hang Shadow Horse!
WESTERN LEGENDS (Writing with Steve Hayes):
The Oklahombres
The Plainsman
THE WILDE BOYS SERIES:
The Wilde Boys
Wilde Fire
Wilde’s Law
Aces Wilde
STAND-ALONE WESTERNS:
Ride for the Rio!
Back With a Vengeance
Blaze of Glory
Tanner’s Guns
Coffin Creek
The Spurlock Gun
All Guns Blazing
Cannon for Hire
Montana Gunsmoke
Starpacker
Cougar Valley
SHORT STORIES:
Five Shots Left
MIKE STOTTER
McKINNEY WESTERNS:
McKinney’s Revenge
McKinney’s Law
BRANDON AND SLATE SERIES:
Tombstone Showdown
Tucson Justice
STAND ALONE WESTERNS:
As Jim A Nelson
Death in the Canyon
FILM TIE-IN
As Nelson Hunter
Vermijo (Vengeance is is the Spur)
SHORT STORIES:
Six Trails West