He Huffed and He Puffed

by Barbara Paul

“Of course you’ll have help.”

  “Then it’s easy. We just let the monitor show you trying to pick the lock to Strode’s bedroom suite.” He grinned.

  Not bad. It would not only accomplish our mutual goal of getting the guard away from his monitors, but it would also satisfy Jack’s private goal of casting me in a less-than-dignified role, in this instance that of failed burglar. “Very good,” I said. “We’ll use it. How long will you need to disable the monitors?”

  He shrugged. “Can’t tell until I see the wiring. Just keep the guard occupied as long as you can.”

  Joanna was frowning. “This won’t give us a whole lot of time. They’ll be sure to get a repairman out here immediately.”

  “It’s Sunday,” Jack reminded her.

  “This is New York, not California,” she reminded him, at last acknowledging his existence.

  I said, “The security firm that installed the cameras and monitors undoubtedly offers around-the-clock service. But we won’t need much time, Joanna, just enough for you and me to get back into the house.”

  She smiled wryly. “Start at the beginning?”

  “Right. You both agree there’s no way we’re going to get into Strode’s office vault on our own?” They nodded. “Well, then, we’ll simply have to get someone to open it for us. Castleberry. He can get us into the building and he’s bound to know how to open the vault.”

  “And why, pray tell,” Jack drawled, “is Castleberry going to do us such a big favor? Out of the warmness of his oversized Samaritan heart?”

  “What’s Castleberry going to be doing today?” I asked rhetorically. “He’s going to be sitting by his telephone waiting for us to call and tell him which one we’ve chosen to sell his House of Glass shares. So that’s what we do. We call and say we’ve decided, and would he kindly get the hell over here, please?”

  Joanna looked interested, but Jack laughed derisively. “And which one of us, he asked innocently, did we choose? It couldn’t possibly be Richard Bruce, could it?”

  “No. Jack McKinstry. You call the number Strode gave us and tell Castleberry you’re the seller. And you also tell him Joanna and I are leaving.”

  “Why leave, Richard?” she asked.

  “Because Castleberry isn’t likely to come here if he thinks he has to face all three of us again. He’s undoubtedly primed the security guards to let him know the minute any of us walks out carrying a suitcase. So you and I walk, and Jack waits for Castleberry.”

  “Why Jack?”

  “Yeah, why me?”

  “Jack has the best line of patter—he can talk rings around someone like Castleberry. Jack, you’ve got to feign enthusiasm when you talk to him. You’re the winner, remember. Tell him we drew straws or played cards to decide, whatever. Convince him it’s all settled and that he can safely come here and conclude the business. Can you do that?”

  He languidly lifted one hand and snapped his fingers.

  “Then what?” Joanna asked. “You and I come back in through the wine cellar?”

  “Yes, but you’re getting ahead of yourself. We have to unlock the door from the inside and then wait until Jack disables the security system. We won’t be able to get back in until he does, because that rear service gate is electronically controlled.”

  “How’m I going to do all that if you’ve already left?” Jack protested. “I need—”

  “All right, let’s back up,” I interrupted. “In sequence, then. The first thing is that Joanna and I pack. Next, you two go to the key cabinet near the kitchen. One of you stands lookout and diverts any passing maid while the other takes the key to the wine cellar. They’re all labeled, but it might take a few minutes to find the right one—that’s why you’ll need a lookout. Once you have the key, I go into Strode’s private wing and pretend to try to pick the lock to the bedroom suite. It was the door to the library that you left unlocked, wasn’t it?”

  “The library, right,” Joanna said.

  “So I’ll fiddle around with the bedroom lock. The security guard sees me trying to break in and rushes up to stop me. Jack goes in and disconnects the cameras and monitors, and Joanna goes down and unlocks the wine cellar door. Joanna and I leave, separately. Jack calls Castleberry. Joanna, just ride around in a taxi for fifteen or twenty minutes and then meet me by the service gate out back. I have an errand to run.”

  “What errand?” Jack asked suspiciously.

  “I’m going to one of those charming places in Times Square that are open twenty-four hours a day, and I’m going to buy three knives.”

  “Knives!” they both said.

  “One for each of us,” I nodded, “the biggest, ugliest knives I can find. Granted, that’s a trifle melodramatic. But the knives are necessary, I think, to assure Castleberry’s cooperation. We’re in the intimidation business now, my friends, so we’d better make sure we do it right. Castleberry isn’t going to give us any trouble if he’s convinced we’re all three prepared to stick a knife in him at the slightest provocation.”

  “Well, all right!” Jack’s big grin was back; he liked the idea of a knife.

  Joanna was laughing silently. “I’m trying to visualize myself menacing Myron Castleberry with a knife, and I’m afraid it doesn’t play. I don’t know anything about wielding a knife, Richard.”

  “I’ll show you—there’s not much to it. But timing is important here,” I cautioned. “I’ll be as fast as I can, but the security repairman is sure to be here before I get back. Jack, make as much work for him as you possibly can.”

  “No problem.”

  I do wish people would stop saying No problem. “Joanna, when we get back into the house, we’ll slip up to Strode’s library and hide there until Castleberry gets here.”

  She nodded. “Because the maids will be cleaning in our rooms. Then we twist Castleberry’s arm and force him to take us to Strode’s office? How do we all get out of the house without either of the security guards seeing us—the service gate again?”

  “No, it won’t matter if they see us then. Remember it’s only Castleberry we have to worry about. He has to think that two of us are gone, but once he’s in the house we’ll show ourselves. Jack, he’ll probably take you into the conference room downstairs to do the paperwork—make sure you disconnect the sound as well as the visuals. But wherever you end up, there’s bound to be a phone there. Call us the minute you two are alone.”

  “And then we go into our muscle act,” Jack said gleefully. “Ah me, I can hardly wait. Poor Castleberry. You don’t suppose I could get away with cutting off a toe or two, do you?”

  “It isn’t Castleberry you want to cut,” Joanna said sharply. “Richard, you’re trusting several crucial parts of this plan to Jack. Do you think that’s wise?”

  “Hey,” Jack said.

  “I’m sure he can do it,” I said with a confidence put on for the occasion. The last thing I needed was dissension in the troops.

  “That’s not the point,” she objected. “What’s to prevent Jack from striking a private deal with Castleberry while you and I are upstairs in Strode’s library waiting for a phone call that never comes?”

  I’d been hoping she wouldn’t think of that. I looked at Jack.

  He sighed. “Jo, I don’t blame you for not trusting me. What I did last night—well, I panicked, okay? Couldn’t help myself, honest to god. I just lost control. Didn’t that ever happen to you? But you don’t have to worry about me. I’ve had my breakdown. It’s behind me now.”

  Joanna looked unconvinced. I said, “I think Jack understands now that Strode isn’t going to honor his part of the bargain. The only way to get hold of that evidence is to take it.”

  “Hoo boy yes I understand,” Jack said convincingly. “I know I’m in over my head. I need you two.”

  Joanna shrugged and accepted it, but without enthusiasm. “When do we start?”

  “Now,” I said. “First, we pack. Jack, you might want to scout out a place where you can stand and watch for the gu
ard leaving the monitoring room.”

  “You got it,” he said as he left.

  Joanna stood looking at me. “You trust him?”

  I put my hands on her shoulders and thought about something I’d rather be doing than tricking Myron Castleberry. “I trust his fear. Jack can’t cope with Strode and Castleberry by himself—he’s not going to take on you and me too. Besides, he’s the only one of us who knows anything about electrical wiring.”

  She gave me a faint smile and went to her room to pack. I was ready in five minutes. We went downstairs together; I carried her suitcase but left mine behind. Then I pretended an interest in the paintings on the wall of that barnlike living room while Joanna and Jack moved off casually in the direction of the kitchen. In a few minutes they were back. Joanna moved a fist slightly away from her side; she had the wine cellar key.

  We were ready. I went up to Strode’s bedroom and began to poke ineffectually at the lock with a nail file. It didn’t take long; in less than a minute I heard feet pounding up the stairs and the guard’s voice telling me to get away from that door.

  I put on an air of great exasperation. “Mr. Strode put some papers on his desk for me … and then he goes away and leaves the door locked! But as long as you’re here, you can unlock it for me.”

  He refused, none too politely. I offered him money; he declined. I offered him more money; he still declined. He took my arm to lead me away from the door; I grew angry. I shook off his arm and called him a name; he grew angry. I kept this farce going until I saw the little red light in the hall camera die away. I informed the guard that I was leaving this house never to return again. He did not look sorry.

  A quick detour by my room to pick up my suitcase and then I stalked out of the house without another word to anybody. The outside guard spoke to me by name in a friendly manner; I brushed by him, radiating as much anger as I could. He’d remember my leaving.

  The taxi let me out at one of the camera-cum-junk places in Times Square; I gave the driver a fifty and told him there’d be another just like it if he kept circling until I came out. In the shop I found that the really wicked knives were too cumbersome to be carried in a pocket; they were big as machetes. The others were deadly-looking enough, though. I bought three different kinds—pearl-handled for Joanna, leather for me, and pink plastic for Jack.

  The taxi came around about a minute after I left the shop, and a few minutes later we pulled up to where Joanna was sitting on her suitcase not far from Strode’s service gate at the back. “Half an hour,” she greeted me as the cab drove away. “But the service gate is still out of commission, fortunately. I tried it.”

  I carried both suitcases as Joanna pushed back an otherwise electronically controlled series of bolts on the gate. She led the way to the wine cellar door; the guardian camera showed no red-light indicator. And then we were inside. The wine cellar was cool and sparkling clean, with a table and two chairs and four or five big steel racks filled with bottles. I dropped the suitcases and grabbed Joanna; we hung on to each other for a moment, charging ourselves up for the next step.

  “We have to be careful,” I warned her. “The cameras are still out but we might run into some of the household staff.”

  “A back way to the private wing?” she suggested, and then vetoed her own suggestion. “No, that’s where the staff is most likely to be. We’ll have to chance the main stairs. What about the suitcases?”

  “Leave them here. Oh … here’s your knife.”

  She tried handling it, first with the blade pointing down, then up. “Which way looks more menacing?”

  “Up. Here, hold it this way.”

  When she felt comfortable with it, we crept up the stairs to the first floor and waited there a moment, listening. When we heard nothing, we made our way to the main staircase and from there to the private wing. We slipped into the library with no trouble. Then there was nothing to do but wait; the next part depended on Jack.

  After what seemed an interminable length of time, the phone rang. Jack was pretending to be talking to one of the maids; he called me “dear” and asked me to bring a small case of papers from his room to the conference room. This was it.

  Castleberry’s face when Joanna and I walked into the conference room was like a bad actor’s in a bad horror movie. Good; if he was starting out scared, that meant less work for me. He stood up; I pushed him back into his chair. Joanna was carrying her knife and I took out mine and showed it to Castleberry. He worked his mouth wordlessly and then he started to shrink. I don’t know how he managed it, but he truly did get smaller as I watched.

  “Where’s mine?” Jack wanted to know.

  I gave him his knife. Castleberry shrank some more. “Castleberry,” I said, “do you understand what’s happening here? Do you understand we refuse to accept Strode’s conditions?”

  “Pink?” Jack said, looking at his knife. “You got me a pink knife?”

  “Answer me, Castleberry.”

  He nodded four or five times and stammered, “Wh-what are you going to do?”

  “Well, now,” I said, “that depends on you, doesn’t it? If you cooperate, we won’t have to do anything to you. But if you don’t …”

  Joanna moved around behind Castleberry’s chair and laid the blade of her knife along his cheek. “Oh, Castleberry’s going to cooperate,” she purred, “aren’t you, Castleberry? You know what we do to people who don’t cooperate.”

  He was making a uhn-uhn-uhn sound, too terrified to move, his eyes rolled in the direction of Joanna’s knife. I said, “What we want you to do is turn over all the original evidence you and Strode have gathered against us. That’s all. It’s in his office, isn’t it?”

  “I can’t do that!” he squeaked. “Mr. Strode would kill me!”

  “And what do you think we’re going to do if you don’t?” I said slowly. “Don’t you understand? The only way you’re getting out of this alive is to hand us what we want.”

  He groaned. Jack was jiggling his knife loosely in his hand and grinning. “I know! Let’s take off his shoes and socks.”

  It was exactly the right thing to say. Castleberry cried out and pulled his feet back under his chair.

  “The evidence, Castleberry,” Joanna said. “Where is it?”

  It took him a couple of tries, but he finally choked out, “In Mr. Strode’s vault.”

  “Can you open it?” I asked.

  He nodded, unable to speak. Castleberry was in bad shape; Jack and I got him to his feet, but one look at the man would tell anyone who was interested that something was drastically wrong here. Jack said, “Come on, my man, you’ve got to do better than this! If anyone even suspects that anything’s wrong, you’re going to go home without any of your toes tonight. So shape up fast, old buddy, or there’ll be no more marathons for you!” He emphasized his points by tapping the blade of his knife on Castleberry’s chest; Jack was having a good time.

  Castleberry made a supreme effort and managed to make himself appear slightly less terrified; he still didn’t look composed, but it would have to do. Joanna led the way; Jack and I followed, one on each side of Castleberry. A repairman was hard at work in the monitor room; Strode’s security firm hadn’t wasted any time getting there. Both the inside and the outside guards were surprised at the sight of Joanna and me; they’d seen both of us go out but neither of us come back in.

  We didn’t stop to explain.

  Castleberry had driven his car; we allowed him to chauffeur us to the office. Castleberry’s presence got us through the rigmarole with the guards both downstairs and on Strode’s floor. The vault we were looking for could be reached only from Strode’s private office; it was a room-sized safe, much larger than the one in my office. Castleberry’s hands were trembling, but he managed to turn off the various alarms and get the vault door open. Jack was sweating and Joanna was breathing shallowly. I pushed Castleberry into the vault ahead of us and told him to get the evidence.

  And there it was. Dete
ctives’ reports. Harry Rankin’s letter to his wife, Estelle, the envelope it had come in, and the statement Estelle Rankin had signed. And there were her new name and address; she was in Oregon. I slipped that piece of paper into my pocket and said, “Is everyone satisfied?”

  “Yes,” said Joanna, reading from her own folder.

  “It’s all here,” Jack nodded.

  “Then let’s have a bonfire.” I went out into the office and grabbed the first metal wastebasket I saw. All three folders went in; Jack lit a match and dropped it on the papers. When the flame began to die down, Jack took the basket and went into Strode’s private washroom to flush the ashes down the loo, remarking that ashes could be reconstructed.

  Castleberry stood in the entrance to the vault watching us. “You can’t get away with this,” he muttered. “What makes you think you can?” His courage was coming back.

  “We’ve already gotten away with it!” Jack sang gleefully.

  I looked over at Joanna and was rewarded with the very first full-hearted smile I’d ever seen from her. She was smiling with her whole body. “Richard, it worked,” she said happily. “You got the evidence back for us. You saved us.”

  I was about to fling both arms around her when Jack stuck out a hand and said, “Put ’er there, Richard, old buddy! I owe you. Anytime you need a favor—anytime—all you have to do is say the word.” The odd thing about that was I believe he actually meant it.

  Castleberry said, “Am I free to go now?”

  “Oh no,” I said mildly. “For one thing, you’re thinking you’ll head for the nearest phone to call the police. Kidnapping, robbery, threats of bodily harm, all that. But consider a moment, Castleberry. The police will want to know why it was so important for us to get those three folders. To answer that, you’ll have to tell them what was in the folders. That means your esteemed employer can be charged with withholding evidence and intent to blackmail. Do you think that will endear you to him?”

  He conceded the point. “So what are you going to do with me?”

  “Ah, your part in our little charade is not quite finished, Castleberry. You still have another job to do.”