He got up to pay, and a small man eating at a table near him turned suddenly to look at him ... and stared.
Ruble Noon paid his bill and went outside, but he felt uneasy. When he had walked a few yards he glanced back, and saw that the man was standing in the restaurant door, staring after him.
He turned the corner, walked a block, and crossed the street. Glancing back he saw no one, but he felt worried. That man was interested in him, and recognized him perhaps. The sooner he did what he had come to do and left town, the better.
He saw the Acme Saloon ahead of him ... and then he saw the sign of Dean Cullane's office. It was on the second floor, reached by an outside stairway. The windows were dark and the place was empty-looking.
He paused and made a show of wiping his face while he glanced up and down the street No one was in sight, and he went up the steps swiftly. At the landing he knocked, and when there was no response he tried the door. It was locked.
He looked down, but there was no one on the street He drew his knife, slipped the point into the lock, and worked the bolt back, then he pushed with his shoulder. The door was ill-fitting, and it opened easily. He stepped inside and pushed it to behind him. He stood still... listening.
Outside there was only the distant tin-panny sound of a piano. He waited, letting his eyes grow accustomed to the dim light that came in through the windows.
He saw that the room contained a rolltop desk, a swivel chair, another chair, and a leather settee. Under a shelf filled with books there was also a table covered with papers. A brass spittoon was on the floor.
A door stood open just a crack, and in that crack he saw a gun muzzle. Even as he saw it, he realized that the something that had disturbed him since entering the room was the faint smell of perfume mingled with the smell of stale tobacco.
"There's no use of your shooting me," he said. "There would be nothing gained. And besides" - he played a hunch - ''you'd have to explain what you were doing here."
The door opened wider, and he could see a girl standing there, the gun still held level. "Who are you?" she asked.
He smiled into the darkness, and some of the smile was in his tone when he said, "I didn't ask you that"
"All right then-what do you want?"
"To put some pieces together."
"What was Dean Cullane to you?" she asked.
"A name - no more than that. Only somebody shot at me, and a thing like that makes a man curious."
"Dean Cullane would not shoot anyone - at least, I don't think he would."
"We never know, do we? Sometimes the most unexpected people will shoot. You even have a gun yourself."
"But I would shoot, mister. I have shot before this."
"And killed?"
"I didn't have time to look. Anyway, Dean Cullane did not shoot you, so who did? And why are you here?"
"The man who shot at me was paid to do it. He is a man who does such things for money."
"Ruble Noon!" she exclaimed.
"Is he the only one? I have heard there are a dozen here in El Paso, or over in Juarez, who would kill for hire."
By now he realized that she was young and appeared to be attractive, and she was well gotten up, but not for the street ... at least not for El Paso streets at this hour. And not for the vicinity of the Acme Saloon at any hour.
"Whatever you are here for," the girl said, "you have no business to be in this office. You forced the door."
"And you had a key? Perhaps Dean Cullane had a reason to give you a key."
"He did not give it to me, and it does not mean what you think. Dean Cullane was my brother."
"Was?"
"He is dead... he was killed... murdered."
"I am sorry. I didn't know that. If you are his sister you have a right to be here." He reached toward the kerosene lamp. "Shall we have some light?"
"No! Please don't! He would kill me, too."
"Who?"
"Ruble Noon... the man who killed Dean."
He held himself very still, listening for something within him, but nothing spoke to him. . . . Had he actually killed Dean Cullane?
"I doubt if he would kill a woman," he said. "It isn't done, you know."
He removed the lamp chimney, struck a match, and held it to the wick. As he did so, she lowered the gun, and when he replaced the chimney, they looked across the room at each other.
He saw a slender girl, with auburn hair and dark eyes; at least, in this light they seemed to be dark. She was dressed for a party, but had a dark cloak over her arm. She was lovely... a real beauty.
Her eyes fell to his sleeve. "Where did you get that coat?" Her voice was suddenly cold. "That is my brother's coat, Dean's coat I was with him when he chose the material."
"It is? All I knew was that it was not mine. I must have taken it by mistake."
"You don't know?"
"No." He touched his head. "I was struck on the head. I believe I tried to escape from somewhere after I was struck, and I must have caught up a coat from where mine was hanging."
"Where was this?"
"Northwest of here . . . quite a way off. . . . You spoke of Ruble Noon. Did your brother know him?'
"No, but he was trying to discover who he was, what he was. I do not know why, but I believe Dean had some information that related to Ruble Noon in some way. He told me he had to see him, to talk to him, and he seemed to think he knew where to find him."
"You are dressed for a party?" he said inquiringly.
"Yes. I came from one at the home of friends, and I must get back." But she made no move to go. She was giving him all her attention. "What are you going to do?" she asked.
"Stay here and look."
"For what?"
"Ma'am, somebody shot at me. Before they try it again I want to know why they're shooting. I picked up Dean Cullane's coat in the room where I got shot at, or somewhere close by. Dean Cullane is my only clue ... except one other."
"What is that?"
"I know who shot at me." He paused. "Miss Cullane, what do you know about the Rafter D - Tom Davidge's outfit?"
She hesitated before replying. That she knew something was obvious, and apparently she was wondering whether to tell him of it or not. "I know nothing about the ranch," she said finally. "I did know Fan, Tom Davidge's daughter. We went to school together."
He was getting nowhere. And he did not have much time, for without doubt the people who had sent men gunning for him knew he was in El Paso. They would also have an idea of where to look for him.
As he talked his eyes had been taking in the room, locating possible hiding places for whatever it was that he wanted.
"We must go," she said suddenly. "They will be wondering where I am."
"I'll stay," he said.
She smiled at him. "Of course, I cannot demand that you accompany me, but would a gentleman allow a lady to walk the streets of El Paso alone at this hour?"
He shrugged. "I hope I am a gentleman, ma'am, but I have a distinct impression that you got here by yourself ... and you are armed."
Her eyes narrowed a little as the skin tightened around them. This young lady had a temper - and she was used to having her own way.
"If you stay here," she said, "I shall have you arrested. You broke in here, like a thief. I suspect you are a thief."
He had an idea she meant what she said, and he responded, "All right. I will walk you back to the party."
He took her key to lock the door, but she held out her hand for it and he had to return it. They went down the steps and along the street, then around a corner and down another street. He could hear the music and laughter before they saw the house.
It was a white frame house with a lot of gingerbread decorations around the eaves. He went to the steps with her and stopped, about to turn away.
"Peg? Peg Cullane! Who's that with you?" A girl came down the steps. She was shorter than Peg Cullane, and was blonde and pretty and plump. She looked up at him and laughed.
&
nbsp; "Leave it to Peg! She's the only girl in town who could step out for a breath of fresh air and come back with the handsomest man in town! ... Well? Are you coming in?"
"Sorry," Ruble Noon said. "I have to be going. I was just walking Miss Cullane back to the dance."
"Oh, no, you don't! Not without at least one dance with me. Peg, aren't you going to introduce me?"
"My name is Mandrin," he said, "Jonas Mandrin."
"And I am Stella Mackay ... just Stella to you! Let's all go in."
A gray-haired man was standing outside on the lawn smoking a cigar. Ruble Noon saw him look up quickly when he said he was Jonas Mandrin ... and then look again sharply.
Mandrin? It was another of those names that had come from nowhere, involuntarily. Jonas Mandrin ... it was not a usual name-like Tom Jones or John Smith, not the sort of name a man might be expected to come up with suddenly. He might, without meaning to at all, be giving a clue to his identity.
The music was playing, and he found himself inside dancing with Stella, but he watched Peg Cullane. She was not dancing. He saw her go across the room to a tall young man and speak to him. At once the man's eyes sought him out, and then the man went to two others hi the room, and all stood together, watching him.
Trouble ... he would be a fool not to see it coming. Stella was talking gaily, and he was replying ... What was he doing here, she was asking. He heard himself saying he was looking for ranch property, wanting to raise horses.
He finished the dance with Stella, danced with another girl, and had stopped briefly at one side of the room. The man he had seen smoking on the lawn came up and spoke to him quietly. He was a fine-looking elderly man, with clean-cut features and a scholarly face.
"Young man," he said, "if you want to live out the evening you had better slip away." He paused for a moment. "The gate at the end of the garden is open. Go through it to the house next door. The side door. On the other side of the house the side door is open. Go in and sit down in that room, but do not make a light."
"Is that a trap?"
The old man smiled. "No, Jonas Mandrin, it is not. It is my home, and I am Judge Niland. You will be safe in my house." All this had been in a low tone.
The music started again, and he danced around the room through the crowd. When near the door to the kitchen, and opposite the three young men, he whispered a quick good-bye to the girl with whom he was dancing and slipped out through the kitchen. Then he was running.
It was dark outside. He did not open the gate, but touched a hand lightly on the top and vaulted. He landed and, skirting a huge cottonwood, found himself in the Judge's yard. He went to the door on the other side and it opened under his hand and he stepped into the darkness of the room.
The air was close; the room was still except for the ticking of the clock. Only faintly could he hear music from the house he had left. He touched a chair, and sat down.
A moment later he heard running feet, and the sound of somebody swearing. Standing up, he leaned over and flipped the lock on the door.
He heard the steps come close, and a hand trying the door. Then someone said, low-voiced, "Not there, you fool! That's the Judge's house!" And then they were gone.
He eased back into the chair, slowly relaxing. His forehead was damp with perspiration, and he felt tired. He was still weak from that blow on the head and from the loss of blood.
Gradually his tenseness slackened, and presently he fell asleep.
Chapter Nine
He awoke suddenly, to find himself slouched down in the chair. The room was still in darkness, but there was light from an open door down a hallway. He got to his feet, listening.
In that lighted room he could hear the scratching of a pen. He went down the hall and stopped by the door.
Judge Niland sat at a table writing. He glanced up and gestured toward a chair. "Have a seat. I'll be with you in a moment," he said.
When he had finished what he was writing and had blotted the paper, he took off his glasses and put his hands on the table.
"I suppose you are wondering why I have done this," he said, "and just where I fit into this picture."
"Yes."
"I heard you introduce yourself as Jonas Mandrin, and was surprised. But after a few minutes' thought I knew I shouldn't be at all surprised - except that you are alive."
"You have told me nothing."
"No, I suppose not. Then accept this as truth. I am your friend, and I should like to continue to be your friend. I also, it might be said, was a friend to Tom Davidge."
"Then tell me: Why should Peg Cullane put those men on me?"
Judge Niland was surprised now. He threw a sharp glance at Noon, and said, "But you should understand that. Peg is money-hungry, and she wants that money. She was the one who egged Dean into making his try for it They are afraid of you because they are sure you know where it is."
Money? What money?
"They could be wrong," he said.
"Yes, but even if they are wrong, they know you were sent here to get rid of Ben Janish. . . . Oh, yes! I know who you are! That was why you surprised me when you said you were Jonas Mandrin."
"Did you expect me to introduce myself as Ruble Noon?"
"Of course not. What I cannot understand is how Ruble Noon could use the name Jonas Mandrin. Unless - "
"Yes?"
"Unless Ruble Noon' and Jonas Mandrin were somehow connected."
Ruble Noon offered no comment. He had no idea who Jonas Mandrin was, but he was very curious as to how Judge Niland knew he was Ruble Noon.
The Judge was obviously a man of property and of importance. The house which they were in gave evidence of luxury. It was more like an eastern house than a western house at this period. The furnishings of the East were expensive items west of the Mississippi, and the cost of transporting them was high. The walls of this house were lined with books, and not all of them were the Judge's law library.
"I was Tom Davidge's attorney," Judge Niland said. "I am still his daugher's attorney. I knew when he began liquidating his eastern holdings, and I knew why he did it. I wrote his will. I also took steps to eliminate Janish and his outfit. Those steps were failures.
"I am afraid that Tom was a believer in somewhat more violent methods than I would lend myself to.
When my way failed-I had gone to the law-he hired you.
"Tom never told me how he got in touch with you, or what he knew about you. All he would say was that he knew the man for the job. Had he been younger I do believe he would have tried it himself.
"The trouble seems to have been that he made arrangements for you to be paid by the worst man possible under the circumstances. You see, Tom Davidge never realized that anyone else knew of what he was doing with his money. We may never know how Peg Cullane found out, but she did. She thought she knew where the money was, but she was sure that you had been told that, too. And so you had to be killed before you rould recover it... either for Fan or for yourself."
"So she told Ben Janish who I was, and why I was coming out there?"
"No, she didn't. She had her brother do it. Dean pulled out of here suddenly after Tom died, and he hasn't been seen since. Just the other day we received a report that he was dead."
"And that I had killed him?"
"Something like that." Niland looked at him inquiringly "Did you?"
"No." Even as he said it, he knew he really didn't know. But he did not believe he had, or did not want to believe it.
"You were accused of it."
Did that explain the mob at the station? The men who searched the train?
"If you have not grasped the situation," Judge Niland said slowly, "you must. Fan Davidge does not even know there is half a million dollars hidden on her ranch. She does not know there is any money at all.
"Dean Cullane knew, but he is dead. Peg Cullane knows, but she is not going to tell Fan. She wants that money for herself. And Peg does not know that I know, although she has probably wondered about it.
She would assume that if I knew I would tell Fan, but I haven't done so, and she knows I have not."
"How about Ben Janish?"
"A good question." Judge Niland sat back in his chair and put the tips of his fingers together. "And if you did not kill Dean Cullane, who did? If it was Ben Janish who killed Dean, then Ben must know about the money. I can think of no other reason why he would kill him."
"Then," Ruble Noon commented thoughtfully, "if Ben Janish knows, and you and I know..."
The Judge smiled slightly. "It seems we have to get rid of Ben - and quickly."
"Could Dean Cullane have known where the money was?"
"No." Judge Niland was firm. "Tom Davidge knew just what sort of man Dean was. Dean came of a good family, but he was a jackleg lawyer, and one who dealt with men on the wrong side of the law in ways not concerned with the legal profession. Davidge might use Dean to act as a go-between to cover his own trail, but he would never confide in him. That, of course, does not rule out that Dean might know Davidge had the money."
Ruble Noon was silent. Being silent had proved a good way to be, for he had learned almost all he needed to know-almost all.
"Tom Davidge was a shrewd man," Judge Niland went on. "He suffered reverses in the East, though not such bad reverses that he had no money. What he did know, however, was that the wolves would be on his trail; so, as quietly as possible, he turned whatever he could into cash and negotiable securities. Negotiable," he repeated, "but he would use someone who knows how to negotiate them, and who would not be questioned by those with whom he negotiated." He smiled again. "Not a drifting gunman, for instance, or some unknown person from out of nowhere."
Ruble Noon shrugged. "There are fences. There are always men who can handle such things."
"But at great cost, my friend, a far greater cost, let us say, than an even split. With a fence, you'd be lucky to get forty cents on the dollar. On the other hand, you could have sixty-with forty for your partner."
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