The dog’s jaws clamped about the wrist. The gangster gave a low cry of pain, tried to brace himself, and was swept to his knees.
“That’s all, Rip,” said Zoom, speaking in a low, conversational voice.
The dog let go his hold, backed away, eyes watchful and hard, lips curled back from fangs.
Chapter VIII
The Sleeping Powder
Zoom was apologetic.
“Trust you haven’t been inconvenienced,” he said. “The dog is really dangerous, you know. He’s been trained for exactly that sort of thing. If you do exactly as I say, you won’t have any more trouble.”
“Go in to that adjoining room, lie down on the bed, stretching out flat on your stomach.”
The gangster took a deep breath, let his eyes sweep the room appraisingly. Zoom motioned to Rip. The dog took a swift step forward, eyes glaring, lips curled back, hot breath coming on the gangster’s nostrils. The gangster moved at once, obediently, toward the door of the adjoining apartment, stretched himself on the bed, and let his wrists be bound with the strips of cloth. His ankles were also fastened.
Zoom gloated over him.
“Hang a murder rap on me, will you? I’ll show you a trick worth two of that. You can’t pull that stuff on me and get away with it!”
Then he strode from the room, leaving the dog on guard behind him.
He walked to the telephone and took down the receiver, holding his right forefinger, however, over the catch so that the hook did not rise up and complete the connection. He called a number, and that number was the number of Charles Stanhope, the well known criminal attorney.
After an interval, Sidney Zoom carried on a one-sided conversation, speaking into the transmitter of the dead telephone.
“Hello. Let me speak with Mr. Stanhope at once. He’s expecting me to call... Yes, the name’s Carver...
“Hello, Mr. Stanhope. This is Carver talking. Say, listen, that idea of yours worked like a charm. The dog was a wonder. I tied the man up just like you told me to. Yes, I’ve got the gems... Now what do I do next?”
And Sidney Zoom waited a minute as though receiving telephoned instructions.
“Not until tomorrow, eh?” he said, at length, injecting a note of disappointment into his voice. “Gee, that’s sort of long to wait, ain’t it? I know the district attorney don’t come into his office until ten o’clock. But we should be able to get a deputy... I see... Can’t grant immunity, eh? Only the D. A. himself. Okay.
“Now, listen. I can tie this bird up so he’ll stay, and I’ll gag him. I can keep him here. What the hell do I care if he does choke on the gag? Yeah!
“Well, I’m going down to a guy’s yacht tonight. A man named Zoom. He’s got a yacht, the Alberta F., moored down near the commercial docks. Yeah, it’s easy to find. Just remember the name, Alberta F. I’ll be there a little after midnight. Then I’ll duck out some place and hide until nine o’clock. Then I’ll come direct to your office.
“I won’t come back to this place. It’s too hot. And if you want me you can send a messenger to that yacht. Yeah, the Alberta F. But if you send a messenger see to it that he’s got that secret password I gave you. Otherwise I won’t pay no attention to the message.
“Yeah, that’s right. Okay. I’ll be there until midnight. Yeah, sure I got the stones. That’s tight, you get half of them as your fee. Yeah, sure. First thing tomorrow morning. Okay. G’bye.”
He slammed the receiver back on the hook, making considerable racket with the instrument in doing so. Then he walked into the adjoining apartment, stared down at the bound gangster.
“I don’t think you’re the kind to let out a bellow,” he said, “but my lawyer says I gotta slip a rag in your mouth. You got a long wait, buddy. You’ll have to stick around until tomorrow morning. So take it easy. You’re getting the bum breaks. When you leave here it’ll be to take a nice ride in a black wagon. After that you’ll have some more bad luck. I don’t even dare to tell you what it is. G’bye.”
“I won’t talk,” mumbled the gangster, speaking through the gag Zoom was thrusting into his mouth.
“You’re right about that,” grinned Zoom, and pushed the gag deeper into the mouth, tied it in place.
Then Sidney Zoom called to his dog, left the apartment occupied by the tied and gagged gangster, paused long enough in the Carver apartment to adjust his collar and tie, and then left the house.
He had seen, to it that there was a loose knot in the strip of cloth which tied the gangster’s wrists. He estimated that less than fifteen minutes would suffice to bring about the man’s release.
Sidney Zoom went to a pay station, called police headquarters.
“Detective Sergeant Staples, please,” he said when the connection had been completed.
Sergeant Staples was a man who had one code. “Never compromise with crooks,” was his slogan. He had waged a bitter war against gangsters, and the gangs hated and respected him. Sergeant Staples was about due either to find a bomb fastened to the starter of his car some morning, or to learn that he had been demoted and transferred to some quiet spot where he could do no harm.
In the meantime, he had become friendly with Zoom, was interested in the savage philosophy of the yacht owner, and came to dinner once in a while.
“Hello,” said Detective Sergeant Staples, speaking with that gruff accent which creeps into the voices of those who have the courage of their own convictions, yet know that the world is against them.
“Sidney Zoom talking, Sergeant. Can you come down to the yacht for a midnight supper tonight? Yeah, come around eleven o’clock. I’ve got something to show you, and I’ve got some rye bread and cheese, some mighty fine claret, and...”
There was no need to say more.
“At eleven on the dot,” growled the sergeant’s voice.
“And better come in plain clothes with a coat that has a collar turned well up,” went on Zoom. “I may have a couple of chaps watching the boat, and I’d rather they didn’t think that I was getting too chummy with the police... That’s right. Okay, Sergeant, eleven o’clock. G’bye.”
And Zoom hung up the receiver, got in his car, went to his yacht with the expression of a man who has done a good day’s work.
He summoned his Chinese cook, explained just what he wanted for a midnight supper, reassured his secretary, looked in on the sleeping form of Carver.
Then Sidney Zoom stretched out in his own cabin and slept peacefully. There was about him nothing to suggest that gaunt savagery, that uncanny ingenuity, and that grim skill as a fighter which puzzled the police and had caused so many criminals to come to a luckless end.
Sidney Zoom was awakened promptly at ten thirty as he had ordered; shaved, showered, dressed, and received Detective Sergeant Staples as that individual thudded to the deck of the yacht.
Sergeant Staples was a quiet, unassuming man who felt that society was at war with organized crime, and wasn’t so certain that the outcome would be favorable to society.
He had twinkling, rather kindly eyes, broad shoulders that showed no inclination to stoop, and a jaw that was like a jutting chunk of granite.
He enjoyed the food which was served, enjoyed the companionship of Sidney Zoom and his secretary.
The table was spread in the dining salon. The food was excellent, and the conversation dear to the heart of a sergeant of detectives who goes about his work with a religious zeal.
In the guest cabin the Chinese cabin boy squatted on his heels against the wall, stared with beady, glittering eyes at the form of Edgar Carver, the man who had been directly guilty of one murder, indirectly guilty of another.
Through the door which opened to the dining salon, came the hum of voices, the occasional sound of feminine laughter. The conversation was dealing, among other things, with the very crime which the unconscious sleeper had committed.
The figure on the bed stirred, moaned. The mouth made little tasting noises.
The Chinese cabin boy arose, slippe
d as noiselessly as a shadow through the side door of the guest cabin, entered the dining salon, caught the eye of Sidney Zoom.
Sidney Zoom arose, affably expansive, glowingly cordial, the perfect host, entertaining guests who were enjoying themselves.
“Excuse me for a moment,” he said. “A small matter which requires personal attention. The cabin boy had orders to summon me.”
And he bowed, smiled, left the salon, entered the guest cabin through the side door.
Edgar Carver was struggling to a sitting position.
Sidney Zoom smiled at him.
“I’m afraid I owe you a very abject apology, young man,” he said. “I certainly didn’t know that my secretary had put a sleeping powder in the bottle of whiskey which was on the buffet. You’ll remember you had a drink from it, and lost consciousness almost at once.
“But that’s not the worst. I understand that the drug is used as a heart remedy and is inclined to give horrible nightmares. I hope you haven’t had any bad dreams.”
Slow incredulity upon Carver’s face gave way to an expression of horror.
“Good God! You! The green door! The chair...”
He broke off, wildly staring.
Sidney Zoom soothed him with his voice.
“I’m afraid you did have some dreams after all. Really, I don’t care for the pendant, but I’d appreciate it if you’d keep the two hundred dollars I paid as a deposit. That will be for your personal account, and will compensate you to some extent for the annoyance.”
Carver blinked his eyes, started to say something, then checked himself.
“You see,” explained Zoom, “you came aboard the yacht. We sat down and I asked you if you’d have a drink. You took whiskey, and I took brandy. You dropped over like a log as soon as you’d had the drink, and then I realized what had happened.
“Sometimes the drug plays thunder with your memory, makes you forget things that have happened, and think other things happened. Now I trust that your own memory is all right. You’re Edgar Carver, you know, and you’re employed at Harmiston’s Jewelry Company. I came into the store this morning to purchase a diamond pendant, and you showed me one that I liked. I asked you to take it to let the prospective wearer see it, and made a two-hundred-dollar deposit on it.
“You came here with me. We stepped aboard, and I offered you a drink. You immediately showed signs of being drugged, and then I knew that I had given you a drink from the whiskey bottle which contained the opiate.”
Edgar Carver made a swallowing motion with his throat.
“That’s all?” he asked.
“Why, yes,” said Sidney Zoom, “that’s all.”
He sighed, lowered his eyes.
“Was there... was... was there a room... with a green door?”
Sidney Zoom’s eyes widened.
“Room with a green door? My dear chap, you’ve been dreaming. I feel guilty. You most certainly have been dreaming! I hope it was nothing very alarming?”
Edgar Carver reached a surreptitious hand down along his leg, pinched the muscle, then smiled.
“Shucks, no!” he said. “It wasn’t anything alarming at all. I had a perfect system worked out, and I dreamt it didn’t work, that’s all. Of course it was a dream!”
Zoom nodded.
“That’s fine. Just wait here for a moment until I excuse myself to some dinner guests and I’ll see that you’re driven to your apartment.”
Sidney Zoom bowed, withdrew, leaving behind him a very bewildered, but greatly relieved young man.
Chapter IX
Lusting for Conflict
He returned to the dining salon, smiled at Sergeant Staples, crossed to a sideboard, opened a drawer.
“Sergeant, I have a little present I want to make you, something that will show my regard for you, and something that you can always keep with you.”
He opened a handsome wooden box, disclosed a pair of revolvers. These were the newest type of gun designed for police work, throwing a shell with a terrific muzzle velocity, guaranteed to pierce the body of an automobile, and be able to account for itself when it had gone through the metal.
There was a leather belt, two holsters dangling from it, and the belt was filled with shells.
“The guns,” explained Sidney Zoom, “are loaded. I purchased four of them. I have a pair that are exactly like yours. You’ll find them quite satisfactory, I’m certain.”
Sergeant Staples gave a deep inhalation.
“Gosh,” he said, “I’ve been wanting one of these ever since I saw them advertised! Gee, Zoom, I can’t thank you enough. I’ll keep ’em with me all the time, one of ’em at any rate. Two guns are all right for the cowpunchers, but that’s a little too much hardware for a plain cop.”
He grinned, fingered the guns.
“Buckle them on, man, let’s see how they look.”
Sergeant Staples buckled on the guns.
Sidney Zoom took out a similar box, extracted from it similar equipment and buckled them on himself. There was a gleam in his eye.
Vera Thurmond looked at that expression on his face, and then inhaled with a sharp catching of her breath.
“You’re not... not...”
Zoom silenced her with a glance, and the remark passed unnoticed by the officer who was busy admiring the balance of his weapons, throwing them down upon imaginary criminals, fingering the triggers.
“Sure a bunch of guns!” he exclaimed in admiration. “Only thing is I’ll never get a chance to use them. Other chaps have had the breaks lately. They’ve been in on the fights. Gosh, Zoom, there’s nothing that gives a fellow the advertisement a good gun fight does. You know what I mean, not one of these kind of shootings where you have to cut down on somebody that’s running away, but a pitched battle with thugs where you stand up and swap lead, and the police come out on top of the heap.
“That’s the sort of stuff the public like to read about when they sit down to their toast and coffee in the morning. It makes ’em feel the cops are on the job. And that’s the sort of stuff that puts us in solid with the chief. He likes to feel that we’re getting the confidence of the public. You know this thing of public confidence is a pretty big factor with us.
“Now that crooks are getting organized, it’s a pretty vital thing to have the public feeling the police are a part of their side of the game. Now that we’ve got such a split in sentiment over prohibition, there’s a tendency on the part of lots of people to sneer at the police.”
Zoom nodded his sympathy.
“I know, Sergeant. I know how you feel. And I know something of your skill with six shooters. I’ve heard of your wonderful target scores. Well, I’m wishing you luck with these guns. I have a hunch they’ll see use before long.”
Sergeant Staples grinned.
“Think so? Well, I bet the babies can sure talk!”
Vera Thurmond’s face was drained of color. She watched Sidney Zoom with eager, apprehensive eyes. Full well she knew the significance of that glitter that was in his eyes, that slight expansion of the aquiline nostrils, that tightening of the comers of the mouth.
“Please,” she said to him, “won’t you remember...”
And she said no more.
There was the crack of a revolver, sounding very close, the smashing impact of a bullet against the deck of the yacht. A man screamed a curse. There sounded the patter of running feet, then a fusillade of shots.
The police dog was on his feet, hairs along his back bristling, eyes gleaming. Sidney Zoom gained the door in three swift strides. Sergeant Staples was at his heels.
They raced down the corridor, up the companionway to the deck.
The darkness of the wharf loomed like a vast mass of ink against the sky. There were boxes and barrels, odds and ends of piled timbers. The deck of the yacht was also dark save where the after companionway opening caught the rays of light that streamed down from a drop light.
A man lay on the deck of the yacht, hardly twenty feet from that openi
ng. He was gasping. Red stains streaked the white deck of the yacht. One leg was doubled under him. His white face was twitching, but he was holding a revolver, shooting slowly, regularly. Three shots he fired, and then the hammer clicked.
And the darkness of the wharf was spurting little tongues of flame.
Bullets flicked down upon the deck. Long furrows appeared in the white wood as by magic. The body of the stricken man twitched under the impact of a bullet, straightened, gave a convulsive quiver. Two furrows appeared in the deck within inches of his body, then another bullet thudded into the inert flesh.
Sergeant Staples fired one of the new guns.
A man leapt up from behind a pile of timber, screamed, flung himself half around and pitched forward. The flickering tongues of flame from the wharf were directed toward the two men who had debouched from the forward companionway. Bullets hummed and sang.
Sidney Zoom, his face showing a keen zest for conflict, looking like the face of some savage eagle as it is about to swoop, shot twice from the hip.
Sergeant Staples fired once more.
The police dog gained the landing float in a single long leap, tore through the night, his paws beating a tattoo upon the heavy timbers of the wharf.
A man yelled and jumped up. A tawny figure was springing through the air. The man swung his gun.
He was dead before he fired, dead before even the dog’s fangs sank in his throat. Staples had fired one of his deadly accurate shots, and the bullet, hitting its mark with that terrific smashing impact which is the distinguishing mark of the new weapon and ammunition, hurled the man as though he had been blasted by some unseen thunderbolt.
Sidney Zoom, grinning with savage joy, was running after the dog. Sergeant Staples, feet flat on the boards to give him a steady support, lips compressed in a thin line, twinkling eyes gleaming in cold calculation, studied the black outlines of the wharf.
Suddenly there was a hissing noise, a blinding glare of light.
The Casebook of Sidney Zoom Page 21