The Doan and Carstairs Mysteries

by Norbert Davis

  "Yes," said Edmund.

  "Listen, son," said the blond man. "This is the government you're talking to now. If either one of them even made a pass at you, we'd put them away in Alcatraz."

  "How do I know they'd stay there?" Edmund asked.

  "All right," said the blond man. "Come on out from behind that desk. Sit down in that chair and rest your feet. Look up the tenant index, Curtis."

  The stocky man went behind the desk, found the file of register cards, and ran through them expertly.

  "In two-two-nine," he said. He looked under the desk. "Here's the pass key." He flipped it to the blond man.

  "Okay," said the blond man. "Stay here and watch the board, Curtis. If anybody comes down the elevator, they wait in the lobby. If anyone comes in the front, they wait, too."

  "Sure," said Curtis.

  "You come with me, Barstow," the blond man said. "We'll take the stairs. Go easy."

  They went up to the second floor and along a hall that was carpeted in the same dark blue as the lobby, and stopped in front of the door numbered 229. The blond man fitted the passkey in the lock and turned it without making the slightest sound. He opened the door just as silently.

  It was a single apartment, and the big combination living room-bedroom was bright and cheery with the sun coming in a warm, slatted flood through the Venetian blinds. There was no one in sight, but a door to the left was slightly open and through it came the pleasantly languid gurgle and splash of bathwater.

  The blond man and his tall companion came into the apartment and shut the front door. The blond man nodded meaningly and then, with the tall man close behind him, walked over and opened the bathroom door.

  It was a big bathroom and a beautiful one, tastefully decorated now with fat little coils of steam that clung cozily against the ceiling. It was equipped with an outsize sunken tub, and Doan was sitting in it with his back to the door. He was chubby and pink and glistening, and he looked even more innocent and harmless than he usually did. He held a big sponge up over his head and squeezed it and made happy sputtering noises through the resultant flood.

  "Now that you're here," he said amiably, "would you mind telling me if I've gotten all the soap off my back?"

  "Yes, you have," said the blond man. "How did you know we were here?"

  "There's a draft when the front door opens," Doan answered. He turned around in the tub to peer up at them. "Well! The government, no less. I'm honored."

  "Yes," said the blond man. "I'm Arne. Department of Justice. This is Barstow. Where's Carstairs?"

  "Well," said Doan, "if there should be a fire and you should try to get out of here in a hurry, you'd probably run across him en route."

  Barstow turned around with a jerk to look behind him. "Uh!" he said, startled.

  Carstairs was standing in the doorway, watching him with narrowed, greenish eyes. Carstairs was a fawn-colored Great Dane about as big as a medium-sized Shetland pony, only Shetland ponies at least make a try at looking amiable most of the time and Carstairs never did. He looked mean. Probably because he was. He had many responsibilities and problems to shorten his temper. Carstairs was so big that the first sight of him was liable to be a considerable shock. It was as though something had suddenly gone wrong with your perspective.

  "Relax, stupid," Doan ordered. "These are friends--I hope. At least, if they aren't we can't do much about it."

  Carstairs watched him for a second and then turned and disappeared from the doorway.

  "Wow!" said Barstow. "I'd heard he was a whopper, but I certainly didn't expect anything like that."

  "People rarely do," Doan said. He reached over and turned the drain lever. "Hand me that towel, will you?"

  Arne handed him the towel. "You were notified to come in and report to us. Why didn't you do it?"

  "I was just getting around to it," Doan said. "Hand me that robe, please."

  Arne looked in both pockets of the white robe and then gave it to him. "You didn't get around quick enough, so we did."

  "It was nice of you," said Doan. "Let's go out and sit where it's comfortable."

  They went out into the living room, and Doan lay down with a luxurious sigh on the blue chesterfield that was pushed in slantwise against the corner.

  "Have a chair," he invited. "I'd offer you a drink only Carstairs doesn't approve of it, and he's mad enough at me as it is."

  "Where is he?" Barstow asked.

  "Behind the chesterfield in the corner where he was when you came in. He's sulking."

  "What's he mad at?" Barstow inquired curiously.

  "He had to sleep down in the cellar last night. That offends his dignity."

  "Where does lie usually sleep?"

  "There are twin pull-down beds behind that door," Doan said. "He sleeps in one. I sleep in the other."

  "Why didn't he sleep in it last night?"

  "Well, it was like this," said Doan. "I had a friend calling on me. She's a very nice girl."

  There was a rumbling mumble from behind the chesterfield.

  "She is, too!" Doan said indignantly. "Just because she works in a dime store and chews gum is no reason for you to get so huffy about her, you snob. Anyway, we were sitting here doing this, that, and the other, and she said she positively was not going to do the other any more with Carstairs sneering at her while she did it. So I ran him down cellar. Hey, you. Come up for air."

  Carstairs' head appeared slowly from behind the chesterfield. He rested his chin on the top of it and looked Doan in the eye without any signs of approval at all.

  "Now, look," said Doan. "I've had enough temperament for today. I said I was sorry you had to sleep in the cellar. I apologized."

  Carstairs sighed deeply and wearily.

  "And I said I'd buy you a steak to make it up to you," Doan told him. "A steak. Get it? Slaver-slaver, mumble-mumble, crunch-crunch. Steak. Now come out from behind there and act civilized."

  Carstairs jumped from a sitting position without any visible effort. It was a heart-stopping performance. He sailed clear over the chesterfield and Doan, landing hard enough to rattle the window panes. He licked his chops delicately and politely with a long, red tongue.

  "Yes," said Doan. "I said, steak. But not right now. Wait until I finish my business with these gentlemen. In the meantime, lie down before somebody knocks you down."

  Carstairs sprawled out on the floor and rolled over on his side with a resigned snort.

  Doan nodded at Arne and Barstow. "Well, what can I do for you?"

  "You're not a private detective any more," Arne told him.

  "Oh, yes," said Doan.

  "No. You don't work for the Severn International Detectives now."

  "Yes, I do," said Doan. "They don't dare fire me. If I started to talk about that outfit, they'd be bankrupt in five minutes and on their way to jail in ten--if they weren't lynched first."

  "Maybe. But anyway, they've loaned you to the government temporarily."

  "No," said Doan.

  Arne took a letter from his pocket and opened it. "Read this."

  Doan read the letter. He came to the signature, and his eyes widened slowly. He read the letter again, and then he folded it up very carefully and handed it back to Arne.

  "If you want to call Washington at your expense, you can verify the signature," Arne said.

  Doan shook his head. "That won't be necessary. So I'm loaned to the government. All right. What does that make me?"

  "A Japanese," Arne said.

  "Oh, I don't think the Japs would go for that," Doan told him. "My eyes don't slant enough."

  "Not a Japanese national," Arne explained. "A Jap agent."

  "A spy!" Doan chortled, pleased. "Now that's something like it! I've always wanted to be a spy. Does it pay well?"

  "To you, it pays nothing," Arne informed him. "You're donating your services."

  "Oh," said Doan glumly. "What services?"

  "You are to go to the Mojave Desert and find a man named Dust-Mouth
Haggerty and buy from him the secret of the location of an ore deposit."

  "What kind of ore?" Doan asked.

  "You wouldn't know if I told you, and besides it's none of your business. Dust-Mouth will know what you're after. Don't pretend to be a mining expert. Tell him you're the forerunner of a Japanese invasion force, sent ahead to locate this deposit so they can take it over when they come and use what they get out of it to blow Washington off the map. Understand that?"

  "Yes," said Doan. "But if you don't mind me saying so, it sounds a little on the screwy side from where I sit."

  "That's how we want it to sound."

  "Oh," said Doan. "I take it that this Dust-Mouth Haggerty doesn't like Washington?"

  "Not even any at all," Arne confirmed.

  "Why not? That is, providing you admit that you need a reason."

  "Have you ever heard of Boulder Dam?"

  "Sure."

  "That's why. Dust-Mouth claims it was built as part of a conspiracy to defraud him."

  "Was it?" Doan asked.

  "You'd better practice up thinking so if you're going to negotiate with Dust-Mouth. He had a gold claim on the Colorado River. He was washing out about thirty cents in gold a day. After Boulder Dam was built the river backed up over his claim so that now he can't get at it. He says that was the real reason the dam was built, just to destroy his claim."

  "It seems like the long way around," Doan commented.

  "Not to Dust-Mouth. His claim was investigated, and he was offered compensation for it, but he wouldn't accept. He says the thirty cents a day was merely the forerunner. He says he was just about to uncover the greatest gold deposit the world has ever seen, such an immense quantity of gold that it would have made him financial emperor of the United States, disturbed the world's balance of trade, and resulted in international crises by the dozen. He says the politicians in Washington built the dam to prevent him from doing that."

  "When did he get out?" Doan inquired.

  "Of where?"

  "Of the insane asylum."

  "Six months ago. Don't get the idea that he's a complete whack. He's not. He's a monomaniac. He's hipped on this one point. Other than that, he's pretty shrewd and sometimes nasty. He's just got a mad on with Washington, and he really means it. We've come at him from every direction, but he can spot a government man for a mile, and all he does is froth at the mouth."

  "Hmmm," said Doan. "This ore I'm on the hunt for doesn't have anything to do with his gold claim, does it?"

  "No. Dust-Mouth is an old-time desert rat. He's been prowling around in the Mojave for forty years. He came across the ore deposit we want on one of his trips. He never filed a claim on it, because the stuff was worth nothing at that time. It is now. In relation to the war effort, it's worth just about any amount you want to name. You'll probably have to promise to pay him a billion dollars for the location."

  "What happens if I do, and he shows me where the stuff is, and then I don't pay off?"

  Arne shrugged. "That's your problem."

  "Yeah," said Doan sourly. "How about giving me some counterfeit money to pay him off with? You've got plenty of that around, haven't you?"

  "Yes," Arne said. "But we're not so foolish as to trust you with any of it. You just talk your way out. All we're interested in is the location of that ore deposit."

  "Huh," said Doan. "How do I find this guy, Dust-Mouth? The Mojave is a big place."

  "Start at a town called Heliotrope."

  "Where's that?"

  "Either in California or Nevada."

  "You said either?" Doan asked.

  "Yes. The State of California is now suing the State of Nevada in the Supreme Court to compel Nevada to annex it. Nevada has started a countersuit to compel California to annex it."

  "What's the matter with the place?"

  "Just everything. Offhand, I can't think of any crime that isn't committed there regularly. You'll feel right at home."

  "People circulate more nasty rumors about me," Doan said mildly.

  "We don't deal in rumors," Arne said. "Only facts."

  "Oh," said Doan.

  Arne nodded at him. "Don't cut any corners in front of us. We've got quite a file on you and this hound of yours. There's a car parked in front, downstairs. Use it. In the dash compartment you'll find strip maps with the route to Heliotrope marked on them and an emergency gas rationing book made out in your name."

  "What kind of a car?" Doan asked. "Carstairs is particular what he rides in."

  "It's a Cadillac."

  "Whee!" said Doan. "A new one, I hope, shined up all pretty?"

  "Yes. And don't try to mortgage it or sell it because it's government property. Also, don't stall around giving joyrides to people who work in dime stores. Get started for Heliotrope right away..."

  "Like a flash," said Doan. "How will I get hold of you if I locate the ore deposit?"

  Arne stood up. "We'll get hold of you. We can do that very easily, any time. Remember it. Come on, Barstow."

  Barstow paused in the doorway and nodded at Doan. "Good luck."

  "Well, thanks," said Doan, pleased.

  "You'll need it," said Barstow, closing the door softly.

  Doan got up off the chesterfield and kicked Carstairs in the stomach. "Stop snoring, and act a little more alert. We are starting on a secret government mission of enormous and far-reaching importance." Carstairs raised his head and looked at Doan and licked his lips slowly and meaningly.

  "Stop nagging!" Doan ordered. "I'm working on that steak right now. Give me time, will you?"

  Carstairs let his head fall back on the rug with a disgusted thud.

  Chapter 2

  DOAN PACKED IN TEN MINUTES FLAT, AND WHEN he got through the apartment looked as though he had done just that, but he didn't. He looked neat and fresh and cool in a light gray suit and a lighter gray hat and gray suede oxfords. He parked his two big, battered suitcases at the door, and as a last move pulled the cushions off the chesterfield and unearthed a Colt Police Positive revolver.

  He slid that inside the waistband of his trousers, hooking it in a cloth loop sewn there for that purpose, and then he went over and pulled up the rug in the corner behind the bridge lamp. He found a .25 caliber automatic hidden there. He put that in the breast pocket of his coat and pushed an ornamental dark blue handkerchief down on top of it to keep it in place.

  He was all ready to go when he had another thought. He took out his wallet and counted the money in it. The sum did not impress him. He put the wallet away and picked up the telephone from its stand beside the chesterfield.

  The line clicked, and then a voice said cautiously

  "Yes?"

  "Is this Edmund, you rat?" Doan snarled. "I'll have something to say to you in a minute, but right now you connect me with the manager! I've got a beef with him!"

  "This--this is the manager, Mr. Pocus."

  "Oh, it is, is it? Well, what do you mean by tipping me off to those government men? Do you want to get me hung or something? You squealer! You doublecrosser! Do you think I'm going to recommend this joint to any of my pals as a hideout if that's the way you're going to act?"

  "Wha-wha-what?"

  "Don't try that innocent stuff! I'm going to come down there and tear you up in little pieces! Just listen!"

  Doan kicked Carstairs again and then leaned down and held the telephone close to his face. "Give," he whispered.

  Carstairs snarled into the receiver. He looked enormously bored while he was doing it, but over the telephone the sound must have been horrible, because Carstairs had a company snarl that began low and ended high and undulated blood-chillingly in the middle register.

  "There!" said Doan into the telephone. "Did you hear that? That's just a sample of what you're going to get when..." He listened and then said in a milder inquiring tone, "Hello? Hello, Mr. Rogan? Are you there?"

  There was no answer.

  Doan put the telephone back on its stand, took hold of Carstairs' spiked
collar and heaved. "Come on. Hurry up."

  Carstairs got up one foot at a time and sauntered to the door. Doan opened it for him and picked up the suitcases and bunted Carstairs in the rear with one of them.

  "Go on. Get moving."

  They went down the hall and down the stairs into the lobby. There was not a soul in sight.

  Doan put his bags down and hammered vigorously on the desk. "Service! Service here! Mr. Rogan! Edmund!"

  No one answered. No one appeared.

  "Now imagine that," Doan said to Carstairs. "Obviously I can't be expected to pay my bill if there isn't anyone to pay it to, can I? The answer is no. So I won't pay. That will be a lesson to them to give more attention to their business in the future."

  He picked up the suitcases again and negotiated them and Carstairs through the plate glass door. There was a black sedan glittering with chrome and a beautifully high, lustrous polish parked at the curb.

  "Ah-ha!" said Doan. He opened one of the rear doors and heaved the bags inside and then walked all around the car twice, rubbing his hands blissfully. "Take a squint at this, kid. We're coming up in the world... Carstairs! Where are you?"

  There was a slight typhoon taking place in the thick, neatly trimmed shrubbery that marched precisely along the front of the apartment building. Shrubs heaved back and forth wildly, and branches crackled.

  "Carstairs!" Doan shouted. "Oh, you would pick a time like this! Rogan is going to get over being scared and call copper on us or something if we don't get out of here. Hurry up!"

  Carstairs' head appeared out of the greenery. He did not look like he was hurrying or even intended to. He blinked at Doan in a fatuous and pleased way. Doan started for him. Carstairs sighed comfortably and came out of the bushes. Doan got him by the collar and dragged him across the walk to the open rear door of the Cadillac.

  "Get in there!"

  He heaved vigorously, and Carstairs allowed himself to be urged through the door. Doan slammed it with a thump and crawled into the front seat. He started the car and drove off down the street with a viciously triumphant clashing of gears.

  He drove over to Rossmore and up Rossmore to where it turns into Vine, and up Vine to Sunset Boulevard. He swung around to the right on Sunset, narrowly missing twenty-five sailors, sixteen soldiers and two marines who were doing sentry duty on the corner in the hopes of seeing a movie star. He drove two blocks farther and pulled up in front of an open air market.