Austin cut him off and then he smiled, as though really understanding his reporter for the first time and liking what he saw. He did not argue. He made a flat and unequivocal statement.
‘You’re on salary and expenses until I say different’, he replied. ‘You’ve already made a damn sight more progress than I believed possible three days ago—or however long it was. Don’t worry about your getting our money’s worth. The obligation is still there and we have to do what we can.’
He put his pipe aside and stood up. ‘Why don’t you stop by your place and pack a bag? You don’t have to ask Destler if you can stay; just tell him you’re going to. Keep away from the office, but call me or Kelly if anything breaks. I’ll handle the F.B.I.’
‘The important thing now,’ Palmer said, ‘is the girl.’
‘Absolutely.’ Austin pressed his shoulder firmly and smiled again. ‘You did the right thing tonight in calling me here. Tell Destler I said so and—stick with it.’
Frederick Austin’s confidence and remarks were like a tonic to Palmer as he went back to his apartment and pulled a cowhide bag from a closet. There was room here for an extra pair of shoes, extra slacks, his toilet kit. He filled the rest of the space with ties, underwear, and shirts, selecting all he had of those that would dry quickly without ironing. When he had put his typewriter in its case he was ready to start his role of the uninvited boarder.
Larry Palmer awoke the next morning to the appetizing smell of coffee and frying bacon, and as he stretched and glanced round the small bedroom, the details of his prebedtime session with John Destler came back to him. Such a scene would, he realized, have been humorous had the circumstances been less ominous and depressing.
For when Destler had first seen Palmer’s overnight bag and understood what he planned to do, he had been incredulous, appalled, alarmed, and obstinate—in that order. He said Palmer could not stay and to do so would increase the danger to the girl. He had been told to wait alone and that is what he proposed to do. Palmer disagreed. He was as interested in seeing Janet Evans back safely as Destler. He was in this and he was going to stay unless Destler thought he could throw him out bodily; he would sleep on the floor if he had to.
Unable to cope with the problem physically, Destler had relented sufficiently to say that Palmer need not sleep on the floor. There were two bedrooms and Palmer could use Janet’s, and to Palmer it seemed now as if some part of her were still here. The lingering fragrance on the pillow, the mules on the floor, the sheer gown hanging on the back of the closet door, the traces of powder on the bureau—all these made a poignant reminder of the girl he had known and liked so well. For a fleeting moment he felt closer to her than ever, and then his imagination moved on to dissolve the mental picture in worry and new concern as he began to wonder where she was, and how she was, and what would happen next.
When he went into the kitchen Destler asked how he liked his eggs, and Palmer said fried would be all right and one would be sufficient. After that they ate in silence and, as if by common consent, worked at the sink to wash and dry the breakfast things. Then, at nine-thirty, there was a knock on the back door. The man who stood there when Destler turned the knob was dressed in the overalls and cap of a workman, a leather kitbag suspended by a shoulder strap.
At first glance Palmer thought this might be a repair man of some kind, and then, recognizing the face under the cap brim, he stepped forward and drew Destler back from the door so Tom Hansen could enter. This told him that Austin had been busy, and he introduced the F.B.I. agent to Destler.
Once again the little man protested and his quick alarm was disturbingly genuine. Hansen reassured him and Palmer joined in, and together the force of their arguments silenced Destler and crumpled his resistance.
‘Have you got a picture of your niece?’ Hansen asked. ‘Get it’, he said when Destler nodded.
Even as he spoke Hansen was opening the leather case and taking out a small camera, a tripod, and a couple of clamp-on floodlights. By the time Destler returned with a cabinet photograph, Hansen was nearly ready.
‘I don’t think there’s a chance they’ve got this place staked out,’ he said, ‘but I want to get out of here in a hurry … We’ve got pictures of Henkel and Muller,’ he added to Destler, ‘but we want one of the girl.’
He set up the photograph, and as Palmer studied it he decided it did not do her justice. Clear enough, but obviously retouched, he thought it might be a class picture taken during her last year in college, and as such had the production-line characteristics of all inexpensive, mass-produced photographs. It was a good likeness, but he missed the warmth of her smile and the natural softness of the face as he remembered it.
Hansen talked as he worked, but offered little actual information. The things he said were for Destler’s benefit and his instructions were simple enough: wait for the next contact, be ready to move out at a moment’s notice, and do as he was told.
‘Leave the rest of it up to us’, he said. ‘We’ll be around one way or another.’
‘How long do you think it will be?’ Destler asked.
‘No telling. Today’s Saturday. If they’ve left town, and my guess is they have, it could be another couple of days. Chances are the word’ll come over the telephone.’
He slung the bag over his shoulder and adjusted his cap. ‘Take it easy’, he said and went out the way he had come. In all he had been there less than ten minutes.
During that Saturday morning and afternoon John Destler remained uncommunicative. Just before noon he asked Palmer if he liked tuna fish and then set about making a salad with lettuce, celery, tomatoes, and cut-up hard boiled eggs mixed with the canned fish and dressing. To Palmer’s surprise, he baked some biscuits and made tea—he said Palmer could have it hot or iced—and altogether it was as tasty a lunch as Palmer had had in some time.
In the afternoon Destler worked in his flower border in the back yard and Palmer got out his typewriter and worked on his notes. When he had them up to date he looked over the magazines, finding most of them of the home-and-garden variety. Later Destler reminded him that the stores would be closed the following day and sent him out to the neighbourhood market with a shopping list. That evening, with the radio tuned softly to a classical-record programme, Destler voluntarily told his story of the blanks and seal which were to serve as ransom, his attitude sugggesting that he was no longer able to carry the pressure of his secret singlehanded.
‘Leo Flynn didn’t know in the beginning that I had them’, he said. ‘He always thought that I’d sneak a blank from the office from time to time and use the official seal. But once I’d made up my mind to do this thing, I was afraid I’d get caught if I worked in the office.’
‘So you printed your own’, Palmer said.
‘Had them printed. In New York. A little shop on the lower west side. Took a wax impression of the seal and had a copy of that made too … I kept them in my safe-deposit box,’ he said, ‘and it was a good thing I did. Used to take them right into one of those little cubbies the bank has for its customers and fill out the blanks right there. That’s why, when I was arrested, no one ever found out just how I’d done it.’
He paused, his smile wistful and unconscious as he considered in retrospect what had happened. When he continued, he selected his words with care so that the phrases sounded halting and uncertain.
‘I was afraid to say anything about them at the trial; afraid it would go worse for me if I told about the copies.’
‘Janet told me she paid the box rent one year,’ Palmer said. ‘She also explained why you fell for Flynn and the racket in the first place.’
‘I guess she told you I had to get that extra money so she could finish college.’ Destler shook his head, a little sadly it seemed. ‘That’s only part of it’, he said. ‘I could have still given her the money if I’d cashed in my annuity.’
‘Oh?’
‘I’d been paying on it a long time, long before there was anything like so
cial security. Janet had to have the money,’ he said as though any other alternative was unthinkable, ‘and I was afraid to let go of the annuity, so’—he shrugged—‘I turned thief, and I got caught, and I served my sentence. I haven’t any excuses. I just didn’t have guts enough to stay honest. The only thing I insisted on was that Leo sell the certificates to decent people. I made him promise there’d be no Communists or agitators, and I even checked once in a while to make sure. I didn’t know I’d made out blanks for Henkel and Muller until a little while ago, and that scared me because I was afraid there might be others like them.’
Palmer nodded, beginning to understand the little man better and liking the way he accepted the penalty for his mistakes. There was no resentment or bitterness here, or any attempt to blame others for his downfall.
‘But you kept the blanks and seal’, he said.
‘Yes.’
‘Why?’
‘I don’t know, not for certain anyway. Somehow I was afraid to take that one step and get rid of them. Also I guess I thought I might want to make out a false certificate for myself one day.’
The reply was as surprising as it was unexpected, and Palmer checked the question that first came to mind. There were still things he wanted to know, but there was no hurry and he thought it best to let Destler tell the story his own way. He was aware that the music on the radio had been replaced by a commentary on the day’s news, so he went over and turned it off.
‘What were you going to do, disappear?’
‘In a way maybe.’ Destler took a long breath and leaned back in his chair. ‘I’ve always thought about retiring’, he said. ‘I’ve got some money now. The annuity is paid up. I won’t get any pension from the city, but they had to give me back what I had paid in. There’s only me, you know, and I don’t ever want Janet to feel she’s obliged to me, and I decided the best way to get rid of Leo Flynn was to get out of the country. I’ve been looking at places. I know where I want to go, but I might want a passport and—’
His voice trailed off and Palmer prodded him with a guess that seemed logical in the light of what he had heard.
‘Then Flynn knew you still had those blanks and seal. You said he didn’t.’
‘In the beginning he didn’t’, Destler said.
‘How did he find out?’
‘Because I’m stupid. I told him one time before we were caught. He was worrying about someone in the office suspecting me and I said I did the work outside.’
Palmer considered this, and the pattern he had been seeking began to take shape. Knowing Flynn, he could see why Destler’s secret had been safe. Flynn, with an eye for future thievery, had remained silent about the hidden blanks and seal. Destler had been afraid; Janet had said so. He was afraid because Flynn had been putting pressure on him. Palmer spoke of this now and Destler verified the hunch.
‘You know about the men who came to me and said Flynn had been blackmailing them’, he said. ‘What I didn’t tell you was that Flynn began offering me more and more money to make out another couple of certificates. He threatened to tell the police about my safe-deposit box. He came around a couple of weeks ago and offered twenty-five hundred for the blanks and seal, and then Henkel and Muller came and offered five thousand for the same thing. I figured then that Flynn had told them.’
‘It has to be that way’, Palmer said.
Destler swallowed and his eyes clouded. ‘And now they’ve got Janet. I thought I had to talk to someone I could trust. I wanted to tell her what I was going to do and why I had to do it.’
‘What did Janet say?’
‘She said I didn’t have to go, that all I had to do was destroy the seal and blanks. I didn’t tell her about the threats that Henkel and Muller had made. I pretended to agree with her, but I knew in my own mind I had to get away … I’d be gone by now,’ he added, ‘if the police hadn’t come the other night and then left a car outside all the next day.’
‘Janet told me she didn’t know what was in the package’, Palmer said.
‘That was only to protect me.’ He exhaled noisily, a hopeless sound. ‘She knew, all right. And she knew I couldn’t turn over those blanks and seal to any Communists.’
Palmer had been avoiding that particular problem, and now, reluctantly, he brought it into focus. Destler would need the blanks and seal for ransom, and yet to turn them over to Henkel and Muller would mean that other alien Communist hoodlums, or worse, would be able to operate here behind the curtain of false citizenship.
‘How many blanks are there?’
‘Twenty-eight.’
‘You know what Henkel will do with them once he gets them.’
‘Don’t think I haven’t that on my mind every waking minute.’ Destler sat up, gaze steady as his jaw tightened. ‘They’ll never be able to use them.’
Palmer started to answer and then checked himself, for there was a determination in the little man’s tone that he had never heard before. Destler understood his moral obligations and it seemed now that he had a plan of his own and Palmer had the impression that it would do no good to press for details.
‘Are they still in one of those parcel lockers?’
Destler shook his head. He said he had moved them to a safer place yesterday afternoon after the police car had been withdrawn. Not here, but where he could get them when he wanted them.
‘But suppose you get a call at two in the morning’, Palmer said with quick concern. ‘Suppose you have to deliver them—’
‘I can get them when I have to’, Destler interrupted, and with that would talk no more.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
THE FOLLOWING DAY was a bad one for Larry Palmer. After the breakfast dishes were put away he occupied himself with the Sunday Bulletin, reading it thoroughly and noting especially the gravure page with the sports pictures he had captioned. After that he read it line by line, including the classifieds, and finally, in desperation, he hurried to a nearby drugstore and bought two paper-backed novels.
These lasted him until Monday noon, when Destler, who had been spending more and more time in his room, asked him to do a little additional shopping. This time Palmer gambled a half-hour by taking his car out from behind the house and driving to his apartment for the rest of his notes.
By Tuesday he had them all in proper order. During the rest of the day and evening he had plenty of time to consider each incident with care, and it was then that he realized the truth of a statement O’Neil had made when the veteran reporter first suggested that Larry put the facts on paper. How had O’Neil put it? That by studying details in relation to the whole, possible discrepancies, seemingly irrelevant at first glance, might prove to be very important indeed.
Because he had little to do but think and concentrate, Palmer found some discrepancies. He could not explain them all, but they served to suggest that certain assumptions he had made could not be true. In the end he had no satisfying answer, but he did have an idea that seemed to demand additional investigation once he found the time to do it.
Twice each day the telephone rang. Each time both men jumped, for the tension was always with them, an inexorable force that mounted imperceptibly with each passing hour. Each time the call had come from Mr. Austin to ask if there had been any word, and each time when the call was over the pressure began anew.
The call they wanted came at ten minutes to eight on Wednesday evening.
Destler answered it and his involuntary gasp told Palmer this was the big one and took him close to the little man so he could hear a little of what was said from the receiver.
‘A seat has been reserved for you to Miami,’ the accented voice said, ‘on South-eastern Airlines out of Idlewild at twelve-forty tonight. You can take any plane to New York that will get you there in time. Have you got that?’
‘Yes.’
‘If you wish to see the girl alive, you will tell no one and you will come alone.’
Palmer heard the instruction and the thought that now came to him wa
s so discouraging he could not understand why it had not occurred to him before. Everything he had done had been on the assumption that he would stay with Destler until the girl was safe. Now, facing the reality of the situation, he knew it would be both foolhardy and dangerous if he were to try to accompany Destler unless Henkel was prepared in advance.
It was impossible to visualize what might happen once Destler reached Miami, but it seemed likely that Henkel or Muller, or someone working with them, would be watching for Destler and alert to any attempt on his part to contact anyone. If their instructions were not followed, the girl would pay the penalty, and yet it was unthinkable that he stay here and wait while Destler went on alone.
The impulse that struck him then came out of the tortured convolutions of a mind too long inhibited by strain. Without a word, not stopping to consider the wisdom of his course, he found himself wrenching the telephone from Destler’s astonished grasp, heard himself say:
‘Henkel! Listen to me. This is Larry Palmer.’
He thought he heard a faint grunt of surprise at the other end of the line. He did hear Destler’s cry of alarm as he tried to regain the instrument. But it was the ensuing silence on the wire that brought the quick pressure of his fears. Suppose Henkel hung up? Suppose—
‘Henkel!’ he called, half shouting now. ‘Listen to me.’
For another agonizing second the silence continued; then the voice came and Palmer’s heart began to beat again.
‘Destler disobeyed us.’ The tone was ominously quiet. ‘He was ordered to tell no one.’
‘He couldn’t help himself’, Palmer lied. ‘I was right here when you phoned him Friday evening. I’ve been with him ever since. We’ve been waiting … We haven’t told a soul’, he said with harsh conviction. ‘We’ll do whatever you say, but I’m coming with him.’
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