In the end his loyalty and basic integrity had won out over his love for money. He had told Danaher so. It had cost him his life, and this knowledge served only to increase MacLaren’s sense of loss. A new bitterness welled up in him to focus on this man who was responsible. There was no longer any doubt in his mind that Danaher would pay, and it pleased him that he, MacLaren, was the one who could help make this possible.
“It’s still your move, Harry,” he said coldly. “What are you going to do with the gun?”
“Use it, if I have to.”
“On me? On Carla, Ruth, Lucille Baron?”
Danaher half closed one eye and his mouth tightened before he spoke.
“Carla had an idea and it just might work. This bullet hole in my arm may turn out to be a help after all. If we take a boat ride and something happens, the cops would easily figure that Carla blew her top and started blazing away with her Woodsman. If I was the only one found alive, they might buy the theory that she shot you and Ruth and then turned the gun on herself when she realized she had only wounded me and I cornered her.”
The half-closed eye opened and the gleam that showed through had a wild and desperate look. “Yeah,” he said slowly. “It could work.”
“Not in a million years,” MacLaren said.
“It’s all I’ve got left,” Danaher said, “and I’m going to give it a try…. Stand up, Mac. Keep your hands nice and easy and kick that Woodsman over here.”
MacLaren stood up as directed. He kept his hands in sight. He kept his shoulders loose as he shifted his weight the way he wanted it. This put him about eight feet from the gun in Danaher’s hand. He knew what he had to do, and when he was ready to get on with it, he said:
“If you want the Woodsman, come and get it.”
Danaher stood up. Not looking down, but reaching behind him, he began to pick the money from the vanity and stuff it into his trouser pocket. He had a little trouble because the fingers of his injured right arm were not as strong as usual. He was still working at it when MacLaren took his first step.
Danaher’s left hand tightened on the gun. “Hold it,” he snapped. “Move the other way. If I have to drop you right here I’ll do it, because I’ve got nothing more to lose.”
MacLaren kept his eyes on the gun and the trigger finger. He took another step directly at Danaher, and he heard the two women cry out in unison, and then Danaher’s final hoarse warning.
He saw the trigger finger jerk and heard the click of the hammer. He heard it click again as he made his final lunge, and he was talking to Danaher now, saying: “It’s no good, Harry. You fired too many shots up at Sam Willis’s place.”
He saw the amazement and consternation in Danaher’s widened gaze. He heard the gun click for the third time as he wrenched it free and then, leaning a little, he hooked his left to the side of that broad jaw, and Danaher bounced off the edge of the vanity and fell down.
He may have been too startled to get up, or perhaps he realized that he had played out the string and was at the end of the line. He made no attempt to rise but blinked his eyes at the gun as MacLaren stepped back. Behind him MacLaren heard someone exhale noisily and there was a murmured comment of relief from Ruth; then the distant sound of a bell ringing reached the room. It came again after a moment and by that time MacLaren knew what it was. So did Carla Lewis.
“Someone’s ringing for the dinghy,” she said. “It must be Neil.”
MacLaren backed up and retrieved the Woodsman. He glanced at Ruth Kingsley and saw that her face was white and still. Traces of shock still lingered in the corners of her green eyes and he stepped a little closer and gave her a small smile.
“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said.
“Oh, but you did,” she said with a sigh. “I knew he was going to shoot, and I wanted to scream and couldn’t and—” She frowned and swallowed. “It—didn’t go off.”
“There were only six shots in it,” MacLaren said, “and Harry used up four of them before he planted the gun. When I looked at it I turned the cylinder so he’d have to pull the trigger four times before he had a live shell under the hammer. He didn’t know I’d fixed it because I guess he didn’t stop to think that I would have had the chance.”
As he finished, the door opened suddenly and Lucille Baron gave the room a haughty glance. It had taken her a long time to dress and fix her face but the result justified the effort. She stood tall and slender and regal in her clinging black dinner dress. The tinted blond hair was perfection itself, and lipstick, rouge, eye shadow, and mascara had been blended and applied with an artistry that gave her narrow face a striking beauty.
If she found anything odd in Harry Danaher’s position on the floor and his bandaged arm, she took it in stride. She had but one thought in mind, and with no more than a glance at the others in the room, she said:
“Didn’t you hear the bell ringing for the dinghy? It rang twice…. What’s the matter with you, Harry? Aren’t you going to get Neil?”
The remarks were so much in character yet so incongruous under the circumstances that MacLaren laughed. It was not a hearty laugh and it had a nervous quality that was born of his reaction. But it served its purpose. It shattered the tension and quieted his mind, and his voice was persuasive as he turned to Carla and Ruth.
“You’d better go get Neil, Carla,” he said. “You know how to start the motor. Are you the one who cut the telephone wires?”
“Yes.” Carla dropped her glance and shook her head slightly. “I must have been out of my mind. I guess I was, actually.”
“All right,” MacLaren said. “When you get over to the dock use that pay telephone and call the police.”
She started to turn away, then stopped. She put her hand on his arm and looked up at him, and now there was a mistiness in the dark eyes that he had never seen before. Her mouth was trembling, and she made an obvious effort to still it before she spoke.
“Thanks, Don.”
He knew what she meant and it embarrassed him. He patted her hand lightly and managed a smile.
“Forget it,” he said. “The police would probably have worked it out anyway.”
“Not the way Harry had it planned. I wouldn’t have had a chance. I just want you to know I’m grateful.”
She turned quickly then and followed Lucille into the hall, and now MacLaren was aware that Ruth was watching him. Her eyes were shyly inquisitive as he looked into them and the curve of her mouth seemed softly content.
“Harry and I will sit it out until the police get here,” he said gently, turning her toward the door. “Will you wait for me in the living-room?”
“Yes, Donald.”
He said he didn’t think it would be too long and she said it didn’t matter. His hand was still on her arm, and now she covered the hand with her own and pressed it warmly. For another second or two they stood that way, their eyes still steady and unwavering as they looked at each other. Then the moment passed and she was going through the door and he turned back to give his attention to Harry Danaher.
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copyright © 1959 by George Harmon Coxe
cover design by Mumtaz Mustafa
978-1-4532-3342-9
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