The Smuggled Atom Bomb

by Philip Wylie

  “We were badly worried!”

  “You needn’t have been. Not to this extent! I was telling Scotty about it. When Charles found Harry Ellings, we were upset, naturally. He’s been a member of the family for so long! He was so quiet—so nice! I don’t suppose we’ll even find a boarder who will replace him.” She sighed. “He’d been ill, of course. His heart just stopped. His funeral is arranged. Eleanor has been trying to get his friends together. There aren’t many.”

  Duff couldn’t hold back the question any longer, “What about the thing Eleanor said she found? Was it another box?”

  Mrs. Yates’ head shook. “The same one. That Mr. Higgins came last night. Poor Harry! He must have been a little off balance about money! He told you he’d sold his platinum, didn’t he? Well, he hadn’t. He did open a small savings account, but apparently he couldn’t bear to part with that—metal. He just moved the box.”

  Duff tried to hide an enormous disappointment. “Oh.”

  Her smile was wistful. “So perhaps it was in your lily pond, Duff. Perhaps he fetched it out between the time you were taken to the hospital and the time the police and all the others searched. He’d put it up in the tree house.”

  “Tree house?”

  “Didn’t you ever notice it? In the woods, toward the house from that pit with water in it? Eleanor’s father built it when she was little and it’s stood all these years.”

  Duff remembered the weathered platform.

  “It was a very sad Christmas for us,” Mrs. Yates said. “And poor Eleanor was exhausted, anyhow.”

  Duff finished his coffee and signaled to Scotty. They went out on the lawn.

  “It looks,” Scotty said ruefully, “as if we’ve been hurrying ourselves and friends around without any need.”

  “I’m glad I’m here, though. They can stand help.” Duff thought a moment. “Do you believe it’s possible that all the rumpus could come from Ellings’ merely moving that box around?”

  “What about seeing the big man in New York?”

  “Sure. That. I’ve got to tell the FBI that—and take a razz, probably. But if all the rest of it isn’t coincidence—if it was just Ellings’ platinum hoard—then two extra-tall men could be coincidence.”

  “Could be,” Scotty agreed with grim sympathy.

  “Only—” Duff shrugged and began again. “Only I had a feeling that there was something about that empty warehouse that meant something. I got one of those spooky impressions. Whatever it was, I can’t bring it up to view in my mind. Tried, off and on, all the way down here.”

  Scotty removed his jacket; New York clothes were too warm even for the early sunshine. He sat down on the grass. “You can be certain, if what you suspected had been going on, that it would take a big organization. Brains. Imagination. Planning. Either there is a mob engaged in a very elaborate routine or else nothing was happening. Harry was a hoarder whose heart failed, and a branch hit you, period. The thing that gets me is, if any such thing is going on, why hasn’t anybody, anywhere, got onto any of it, so the FBI or General Baines—would have some notion?”

  “Maybe I’ve wasted a lot of your time, Scotty. And more than a hundred borrowed bucks.”

  “Forget it!” Scotty grinned and got up; he stretched and walked down the drive to the place where the sleeping cabdriver had parked in the shade.

  At ten, Duff presented himself in the office of the FBI.

  Higgins listened, somewhat dazedly, to Duff’s account of the trip to New York. When Duff finished, the first thing he said was, “Haven’t you got any sense at all?”

  The younger man flushed and stammered. What he finally got out was, “Apparently not!”

  Higgins summed up his view of the affair, “To start with, you go on a wild goose chase. If any customer of Miami-Dade was the sort of drop you thought of, you had no chance of finding it out just by making a call. Take a hundred men, working weeks—short of some lucky break. So your scheme is dumb. The next thing you do, just because you can pick locks, is break into what you call a suspicious building. That was plain crazy! If you’d run into what you suspected, you’d be lying on the bottom of the Hudson now in a barrel of cement. Fortunately, the joint’s empty. But you saw a man—a whopping big man—come out. You’d also once seen Ellings talking to some flagpole-sized guy. There are many big men, Bogan, and unless a man stands beside somebody whose height you know, how can you tell how big he is exactly?”

  “If you’d seen him! Here in Florida. There on Broadway—”

  “So, all right! He gets in a car. Drives off. You never notice its license! So there’s no way on earth of tracing him. Even the FBI can’t find a man in New York by merely knowing he’s outsize.”

  Duff’s face was a deep scarlet. “I know. I’m sorry. I’m at last beginning to think I was souped up over nothing.”

  For perhaps a minute, Higgins merely looked at Duff. When he spoke again, his brisk manner had left him. His tone was level and there was nothing sarcastic in it. “Look here, son. We’ve checked you from hell to breakfast. You’re a solid citizen, from a solid family. Can you keep your mouth shut?”

  The long series of disappointments and embarrassments suddenly, incredibly vanished. Duff said, “Yes.”

  Higgins rocked in his chair. “I wouldn’t tell you this if General Baines hadn’t been brought into it by you lads. He thought you ought to know. One more crazy thing you did! A three-thousand-mile, cockeyed chase! And you go interview the Chief of Intelligence—through Smythe’s pull! Okay! Look. There is something going on in the country, Bogan, that involves a group of agents we’ve only just got wind of. It could be—what you came in here claiming a while back. Getting A-bombs stashed here. It could be. It could be something less spectacular—some other sabotage system. Like making arrangements to start diseases, epidemics. We don’t know. We haven’t connected your boarder—your late boarder—to any of it. But something’s happening!”

  Duff said, in a near-whisper, “I see.”

  “One more thing. The head of this outfit may be just such a big guy as you keep describing. Six-ten, possibly even seven feet tall—and heavy, besides. He’s been seen. He apparently carries orders or gives orders. The men he sees are apt to move on afterward. To turn up missing.”

  “Who is the guy?” Duff asked.

  “You tell me!” Higgins was angry for an instant. “Three or four times, in various cities, our men have spotted him making a contact of some sort with somebody. Always at night—probably because he was so big. Conspicuous. So far, he’s eluded us. The people he’s spoken to have been checked. Nothing on any of them—just like Ellings. Loyal Americans. We don’t care to pick up any of them at this stage of the game. No single one probably knows enough to mean much. Or to point to many others. So we wait. Watch. And, I don’t mind telling you, we worry!”

  Duff repeated, “I see.”

  The G-man rocked forward abruptly and resumed his ordinary crisp manner, “What I just said, you never heard. The Yates place may have been a freight station. It may have been a mere blind. Tell nobody what I told you. I presume, with Ellings dead, the Yates house is safe enough. It’s now under FBI surveillance, in any case, and that’s also under your hat. Go about your business perfectly normally. Keep your eyes open. If you notice anything, phone here at once. I’ll give you a list of people to talk to, in case I’m out. But don’t—absolutely don’t—try to do anything! If you phone us, be sure you aren’t being listened to. That’s all.” He wrote busily for a moment and handed a list of names to Duff. “Memorize it on your way home and then burn it. We don’t want anybody to know that the FBI is interested in you or the Yateses! Understand?”

  “I certainly do!”

  Higgins rose lithely and held out his hand. “Fine! I might add this: We weren’t such chumps as you’ve probably imagined. We didn’t quite believe your tale, but lately we have been watching. Nothing and nobody suspicious has been near the Yates house since you left town. And look. If anything doe
s come out of this, we’ll be grateful. Tips from people like you have helped us before. The tips you gave—that we seemed to brush off—may be a big help now. See?”

  Duff saw.

  When he went out on the street, his steps had new confidence. A great deal of his life was unsatisfactory: the Yates family was sad and Eleanor was pretty sore at him, or had been, before his trip to New York; he was broke and in debt to Scotty. But he hadn’t been such an utter fool as he had believed. Even though, he suddenly reflected, he couldn’t tell Scotty about that. Not yet, anyway.

  Eleanor had just risen when he returned. She was wearing a light green, very sheer negligee that was part of her new wardrobe. He thought she was pale and thinner.

  “Dear old Duff! I’m so glad you’re home!” She was suddenly embarrassed. “Oh, doggone it! When I called down, mother said you were out. I’m a fright! You can kiss me if you can stand it.”

  “I just can.” He grinned and kissed her cheek.

  She stepped back and surveyed him. “Come in the kitchen!” When they were there and the swinging door had shut, she went on. “Duff, what happened? Mother told me you’d gone right off to see Mr. Higgins.”

  He nodded.

  “Where’s Scotty?”

  “Went back to his place. Tired. We flew down in a private plane. Didn’t sleep any too well.”

  “Tell me all about it! Your trip! Why on earth didn’t you tell us what you were doing?”

  Duff walked over to the stove and poured coffee for himself. He felt as if he needed a dozen cups. He refilled her cup and added the two teaspoons of sugar she liked. “Look, Eleanor. What Scotty and I were doing was checking the trucking places. We didn’t find anything important. And from now on the FBI is taking over—whatever there is to take over. I’m out of it. And I promised to quit talking about it to a living soul. And I’m dead tired.”

  She said, “Well, I’m half dead! This Queen business is exhausting.” She sighed and then laughed. “All right. I won’t ask. Positively eaten with curiosity, but a lady to the end. Anyway, I’m dreadfully glad you’re back again!”

  The phone rang. She ran to answer.

  Outdoors, Charles and Marian came in view. They were carrying pails of warm water, mops, cloths and a box of soap powder. Without ado, they began to wash the outside of a kitchen window, their dark heads bobbing in busy unison. Presently Charles called to Duff to lower the top section of the window, which he did. Duff remembered that Mrs. Yates had held a family council at which a list of necessary vacation chores had been drawn up. Charles and Marian were evidently working their way through the list. It wasn’t much of a holiday, Duff thought, but they didn’t appear to mind.

  Eleanor stopped talking, started back, and the phone rang again. Her voice took up a new conversation with a pleasure he knew to be simulated.

  Meanwhile, through the now-open window, Marian and Charles began to discuss their sister, somewhat for Duff’s benefit.

  “Phone again!” Charles said disgustedly. “Rings all day! You answer, it’s for Eleanor. Your pals try to phone you. The line’s busy!”

  “A pain!” Marian agreed. “The doorbell rings, it’s flowers for the Queen. Or it’s a telegram for the Queen. Or clothes in big, fancy boxes. You walk out on the porch, some character is waiting for the Queen—maybe even with a mustache and in striped pants. Every time she skids past you, she’s got on something new. Gifts from the local couturiers.” She made deliberate hash of the French word. “You pick up a newspaper and what do you see? The Queen, wearing her million-dollar, photogenic smirk!”

  Duff chuckled; he was back “at home” all right. And very glad to be.

  The phone rang a third time and Eleanor came through the door. “You, Duff.”

  Through the window, Charles leered. “Amazing!” “A gal,” Eleanor went on, her eyes a little curious. “With a voice like a torch song.”

  From that, Duff knew who it was before he reached the phone. He wondered how Indigo had learned of his return. Probably she’d run into Scotty Smythe. He also wondered what she wanted—and found out. In fact, after elaborate refusals and protests, he eventually found that he was going to have dinner with her. When he hung up, he saw Eleanor in the doorway; she’d been listening; her expression was indignant, and not even humorously so.

  “‘Indigo,’” she mimicked. “She’s notorious!” Duff was surprised, embarrassed, and slightly annoyed. “Is she? She’s also darn good-looking!” He shrugged. “I can get the kids’ dinner—and then go out—”

  “The kids can get their own!” She seemed unduly disturbed. “But, no fooling, she isn’t your type, Duff.” Her attitude somehow pleased him and yet made him feel obliged to seem resentful. “Brunette, you mean?” “She’s actually Russian. Her parents were.”

  “Wha-a-a-t?” He drew the word out skeptically. “Never met a more American dame in my life.”

  “How did you meet, by the way?”

  “Scotty dug her up. She lives in the Gables.”

  “I know where she lives!” Eleanor retorted hotly. “Scotty would!”

  “He told me,” Duff responded with heat, “that she wanted to meet me. What do you mean, she’s Russian?”

  “She wants to meet any person in pants! Being tall, she likes tall ones, if available. White Russian, she was. Family came here to Miami during the revolution. Ask mother.”

  Mrs. Yates, whose door was open, could not avoid overhearing. She called, “Children! Quit squabbling! Eleanor, Duff has a perfect right to go out with Miss Stacey if he wants.” They heard the catch in her breath that indicated she was turning her wheel chair, and then she appeared in the doorway, smiling. “Stacey wasn’t the real name, Duff. It was, originally, Stanoblovsky. They changed it to Stacey. Back in the old days, before Walter and I came to Florida. And I guess the local people were fairly proud of having them. They were nobility, till the Bolsheviks threw them out. Maybe in 1917 or around that time. They made money here in lots of different businesses, mostly in selling cars. Mr. Stacey, Indigo’s father, had a big agency. Her uncle’s still—”

  “Indigo!” Eleanor repeated scathingly.

  “I always thought it was a very attractive name. The girl’s mother chose it because she claimed it was the prettiest word in English.”

  “That’s what some broken-down Russian noble would think!” Eleanor turned angrily to Duff. “Go ahead! Fall for that towering twerp! Have a marvelous time with her! Everybody does!”

  “Eleanor!” said Mrs. Yates reproachfully.

  The phone rang again at that point. Eleanor seized it, and instantly her voice became honey-sweet. “Of course,” she smiled. “I’ll manage, somehow! I’ve got to appear at the Watercade at four. And then there’s a cocktail party for me on the beach. And the ball. But I could spare a few minutes, maybe between eight and nine.”

  Charles came through the swinging door. “Is anybody getting lunch? Or do we just starve to death quietly?”

  After lunch, Duff appointed himself a task that the Yateses had avoided. Harry Ellings’ room had been examined by the police, but his possessions had not been packed and the room had not, of course, been prepared for a new boarder. Nobody had even spoken about a new boarder. But the Yates budget meant that one would have to be found, and very soon.

  Duff first packed Harry’s clothes in his suitcases. Then he put Harry’s letters, papers, pictures, books and personal knickknacks in cartons. These he moved to the barn and stored in its loft until they should learn what to do with them. The men who had gone through his effects and read every word of his correspondence had found no will. Mrs. Yates knew of none. He’d had, apparently, no relatives with whom he had kept in touch.

  When all of Harry’s belongings had been removed from the room, Duff commenced to clean. There was dust beneath the bed which showed that the police, though they might have looked there, had not moved it. Duff presumed, however, that they had probed every square inch of the mattress, and when he stripped it off he thought
he could see, here and there, tiny openings that long pins might have made. He carried the mattress outdoors. He went back and commenced, with the Dutch-wife neatness on which his mother had insisted, to dust the bed frame.

  It was on the inner edge of a steel angle iron that he found the capsule. He presumed it to be one of the large, pliant kind in which liquid vitamins and other medicines are commonly administered. Something Harry had used long ago, dropped and lost track of. It must have fallen between the mattress and the wall and rolled onto the bed frame. But the capsule wasn’t dusty. And wetness showed at the ruptured edge. Also, Duff could see dents where teeth had recently come down on it to bite it open.

  It was brown and egg-shaped. He sniffed. Its odor was medicinal, not identifiable. He decided that it was something Harry must have taken just before his death, something the police hadn’t noticed the day before because they were looking for nothing of that sort. He went to his room to get an envelope and tipped in the capsule without touching it. He finished cleaning the room thoroughly, and then, for the sake of the family and their memories, he rearranged the furniture.

  After that, with the envelope in his breast pocket, Duff went outdoors. He knew now that the Yates place was being watched and he thought he could locate the agent on duty. He walked clear around the large rectangle of roads by which the property was bounded.

  At the back of the property three Negroes were busy in a languid, hot-afternoon fashion, clearing the overgrown edge of the paved street. There was no one else. He then decided the watcher was hidden in the woods, and entered them. The undergrowth was thick and he went cautiously, as he was very sensitive to poison-wood, which abounded in the hammock around the house. He passed the platform where Eleanor had found the box again. The G-men had it now. Platinum. He thought of that and shrugged.

  He came, finally, to the sinkhole. It was about twenty feet one way and thirty the other, overhung by big trees, with a big tree blown across it, and deep enough to contain water. Such sinkholes, common in Dade County, were caused by the eating out of soft limestone by underground water. When a pocket was thus formed its roof eventually collapsed. Most such “glades” were dry, but some, like this one, had been deeply eroded and held pools of dark water.