The Con Man

by Gerald Verner

  “Why not?” said Mr Spearman. “If you’ll look at those bills which have been brought me since I have been here and which I have paid you’ll see that the hotel has been robbing me for nearly a month. Why shouldn’t I do a little stealing on my own account?”

  The manager cleared his throat.

  “I prefer to think that you’re joking, Captain Chase,” he said with great dignity, “and I should be glad to know what time you will be leaving in the morning.”

  “Immediately after breakfast,” said Mr Spearman. “Tell them to call me at eight.”

  “The floor-waiter will attend to that.” The manager concealed his outraged dignity at being given an order by a stiff little bow. “Good evening, Captain Chase.”

  “Good evening,” answered Mr Spearman, “and don’t forget to put a notice up, telling all the residents to double-lock their doors tonight.”

  The manager withdrew without making any reply, and Mr Spearman settled himself more comfortably in his chair. He had expected the visit that had just been made, and had therefore been prepared for it, and although he had carried it off lightly, it was going to be deuced awkward.

  Hidden away in the bottom of one of his big trunks was the film, and if he moved and Rivington decided to search his luggage again it couldn’t fail to be found. At all costs he must guard against that, and think out some scheme by which he could successfully get rid of the thing.

  His plan for negotiating with Mammoth Pictures for its return would in any case have to be postponed. He could not put that into practice until he was in a safer position himself. In the meanwhile the film would have to be deposited in a safe place.

  He got up, helped himself to a cigarette, and sat down again. Now, what could he do with it?

  If he took it outside the hotel it was practically certain that he would be stopped. He knew Rivington sufficiently well to be sure that the detective would not be satisfied by the fact that he had found nothing in his suite. He was thorough; given the slightest suspicion, would hang on like a bulldog until he had either confirmed it or found that he was wrong. So there was very little doubt that the Beverley Wilshire was under observation. Mr Spearman wrinkled his brows. One thing, however, was certain, he must get rid of that film before he left in the morning.

  He thought of everything, but without success, and then just as he was beginning to think it was hopeless he got an idea. Of course, it was simple. Why hadn’t he thought of it before?

  He got up, went into the bedroom, and locking the door, opened the trunk in which he had put the film and brought it out. Putting it on the table, he found brown paper and string and made the boxes up into a neat parcel. Carefully he addressed it: “John Clayton, Esq., Central Post Office, Los Angeles. To be called for.” He surveyed his handiwork with satisfaction, and unlocking the door, went back to the sitting room and rang the bell. After a short delay the floor-waiter answered the summons.

  “I want you to have this parcel sent off for me,” said Mr Spearman, “it’s rather important, so I wish you’d see to it yourself.”

  He pulled a ten-dollar bill from his pocket and gave it to the man.

  “This will compensate you for any trouble.”

  The man was elusive in his thanks. He would be going off duty in a quarter of an hour and would see that the parcel was posted. He bowed himself out, and as the door closed Tommy Spearman sighed with relief.

  Well, that was that! The film would now rest safely in the care of the postal officials of Los Angeles, waiting for him to collect it, and when it was safe to do so, all he had to do was to go and pick it up. He congratulated himself on his good idea. With great cheerfulness he had a bath, dressed himself, and a little after eight strolled across to the Brown Derby for dinner. The place was crowded as usual, and Mr Spearman looked about him with peace and contentment in his soul, and no shadow or premonition of the future came to him; no warning voice spoke of the fate that was lurking in wait for him, no writing on the wall forecast that this was to be the last dinner he was ever destined to eat.

  He enjoyed that meal, chose it with care, and lingered over each course, watching and listening to the happy chattering throng that surrounded him. Halfway through he wished that he had rung up Mary Henley and asked her to join him. He sat over his coffee and cigar for a long time, until, in fact, the place was beginning to empty, and then reluctantly — for his suite at the hotel would seem very cheerless and lonely after this bright oasis — he rose, paid his bill, and slowly strolled back to the Beverley Wilshire.

  He looked about sharply for any possible watchers, but he saw none. The time was half-past ten when he reached his suite. Slipping off his dinner jacket, he pulled on a dressing gown, mixed himself a whisky and soda, and with the glass in his hand went over to the window and stood looking out on to the Wilshire Boulevard. Cars were passing to and fro in the street below and the neon signs flashing. His mind went back to the morning of his arrival, when he had stood as he stood now and made plans. Well, so far his stay in Hollywood had been a profitable one. He drained his glass and went back to the table for another. He’d never felt so wakeful in his life, and going back to the window, he watched for half an hour, until the traffic had gradually ceased. And then remembering that he had scarcely looked at the bundle of English newspapers that had arrived for him that day, he collected them and settled down to peruse the news they contained.

  It was half-past twelve when he tossed the last one aside, and stretched himself with a yawn. It was a long time since he had seen the Old Country, walked down Piccadilly and Bond Street, and watched the riders in the Row. It would not be a bad idea to go back. America was all right; New York was gay, Chicago was worth seeing, and Hollywood was beautiful, but London took a lot of beating.

  The telephone bell purred softly, and he started up and looked at the instrument. Who the deuce could be ringing him so late? He went over and lifted the receiver; the voice of the switchboard girl came to his ears.

  “Captain Chase?” she twanged, and when he replied in the affirmative, “there’s a call for you. Just a moment, please.”

  There was the click of a plugged-in switch, and then a man’s voice:

  “Hello! Captain Chase?”

  “Yes,” said Mr Spearman in wonderment. “Who is it?”

  There was a chuckle.

  “I guess you don’t know, eh?” The voice still shook with laughter. “You’re goin’ to get a shock, I reckon. Listen, boy, this is the feller you spoke to at the fillin’ station. Get me?”

  Mr Spearman started. He knew who it was now, Lefty Guinan.

  “I get you,” he drawled. “What do you want?”

  “I want to see you,” answered Lefty. “I want you to meet me at the end of the Wilshire Boulevard. I’ll be waitin’ with a car — ”

  “Nothing doing,” broke in Mr Spearman. “Think I’m one of those people who are born every minute?”

  “I guess you will be one if you don’t,” said Guinan, and there was a snarl in his voice. “Say, listen, I’ve been havin’ a chat with your sweetie, Mary Henley. She’s with us now, and she’s not feelin’ kinda comfortable without you.”

  Mr Spearman’s hand clenched hard on the vulcanite of the black cylinder he was holding to his ear, and his face was perceptibly whiter.

  “What’s the idea?” he demanded hoarsely.

  “I guess you’ve got somethin’ of mine,” said Lefty Guinan. “You bring it with you and then you can see Miss Henley home.”

  There was a little silence. Nothing had been said in so many words, but Mr Spearman understood the threat that lay under the apparently innocuous words. Guinan had in some way got hold of Mary and was holding her as a hostage in exchange for the film and the money. His guarded way of saying so was, of course, due to the fact that the hotel operator might be listening in.

  “All right,” Mr Spearman suddenly made up his mind. “I’ll meet you.”

  “Sure, that’s fine!” answered Guinan. “Don’t fo
rget to bring those things with you.”

  There was a click as he rang off. Tommy Spearman wiped the perspiration off his forehead. The greater part of the money he could take, but the film — that was beyond his reach now.

  He flung off his dressing gown, put on his jacket, and struggled into an overcoat. Hesitating for a moment, he went to his bedroom and came back with an automatic which he slipped in his pocket. Rivington had overlooked that when he searched the suite, for the simple reason that Mr Spearman had put it on the window-sill of the adjoining suite which was empty and which he could reach from his own window.

  The lift took him down to the vestibule, and he nodded to the night-porter as he passed out. The broad boulevard was practically deserted as he walked swiftly along, but if it had been crowded Mr Spearman would not have noticed the difference. He saw the car standing beside the sidewalk, and as he came up Lefty Guinan got out.

  “Glad to see you, Tommy,” he said with an unpleasant grin. “Brought that film?”

  “No,” said Mr Spearman, “I haven’t; for the reason that I haven’t got it. What have you done to that girl, Guinan?”

  “Nothin’, yet,” snarled Lefty Guinan, “but unless I get the money and the film somethin’s goin’ to happen to her. You can bet your sweet life.”

  “What have you done with her?” demanded Mr Spearman.

  “Sure, she’s safe enough,” was the retort, “and if you do as you’re told she’ll be O.K.”

  “Do you think I’m going to take your word that she’s all right?” snapped Mr Spearman, and his voice was hard. “See here, Guinan, you take me to her at once and I’ll talk business. But I’m not doing anything until I’ve seen her.”

  “That’s O.K. with me,” said Lefty. “Get in.”

  “You get in first,” grunted Mr Spearman, and the automatic glinted in the car’s dim lights. “Don’t forget that I’ve got this!”

  Lefty Guinan got into the car, and Mr Spearman followed him. They were both too engrossed in their own business to see the figure that slipped out of the shadows of the sidewalk and perched itself on the back of the car as it moved off.

  Chapter 17

  GUINAN SHOWS HIS TEETH

  The car, with Lefty at the wheel, ran on through the night. Every now and again the driver cast a sidelong glance at the silent figure seated next to him, and his lips twitched. Mr Spearman sat rigid, his gun resting on his knees, the muzzle pointing towards the man beside him. This was not quite as Mr Guinan had planned, and as each revolution of the wheels took them nearer to their destination his brain worked rapidly to find a means of steering things in the way he wanted them to go. That unpleasant pistol, with its menacing muzzle, must be got rid of. While Tommy Spearman held that he also held the whip hand. Lefty drove on, his brows drawn together in a frown that was not entirely due to concentration on his driving.

  “How much farther have we to go?” asked Mr Spearman suddenly.

  “Gettin’ impatient?” growled Lefty.

  “Naturally,” answered the other calmly. “I want to get this business over and done with.”

  “Sure! So do I,” snarled Guinan. “I want that money and I want the film.”

  “I think it’s very doubtful whether you’ll get either,” retorted Tommy Spearman, “but if you’ve done any harm to the girl you’ll get something that you won’t like. I can promise you that.”

  Lefty Guinan showed his teeth.

  “Gettin’ all high-hatted, aren’t you?” he muttered. “Anybody’ud think you were goin’ to do the bargainin’ — ”

  “Anybody would be right,” answered Mr Spearman. “Just get that into your head, Lefty. At the present moment I’m in the position to dictate terms, not you. I’ve only got to press my finger on this trigger and you’d cease to exist. Keep that clearly before you — it’ll save a lot of trouble.”

  Lefty Guinan made no reply. It was just that fact that was worrying him. By now they had left the last of the streets of Culver City behind them and were running through open country. It was too dark for Mr Spearman to be able to see where they were, although he strained his eyes into the darkness ahead, for he was intensely curious to learn their destination. Presently the car pulled up with a jerk.

  “Here we are,” said Lefty and made a movement to get out.

  “Don’t move,” ordered Mr Spearman gently. “I’ll get out first, Lefty, if you don’t mind.”

  Guinan muttered an oath, but he was helpless, and watched his companion get slowly and cautiously out of the car, keeping him covered all the while with the snub nose of the automatic.

  “Now you can get out,” said Mr Spearman pleasantly, when he stood in the roadway, and Lefty obeyed. “Which way do we go?”

  “This way,” growled Guinan, choking back his rage.

  He led the way over to the rickety gate and passed through into the weed-choked path leading up to the house. Tommy Spearman followed him interestedly.

  “So this is your rural retreat, is it?” he remarked when they came in sight of the house. “Very pleasant, Lefty. Is this the place where you’ve brought Miss Henley?”

  “This is the place,” grunted Guinan. “Why don’t you put that pistol away, Tommy, and let’s talk things over comfortably?”

  Mr Spearman smiled.

  “I’m quite comfortable as things are, Lefty,” he answered, “and I’ve got an idea that if I hadn’t got this pistol I shouldn’t be! Go on; don’t stop! I want to see the inside of this desirable residence.”

  Lefty went round to the broken French windows and stepped inside.

  “Where’s the admirable Spike?” asked Mr Spearman as they crossed the empty room. “Surely he’s about somewhere?”

  “Sure he’s about somewhere,” snapped Lefty. “He’s at the back with the girl.”

  He negotiated the passage that led to the kitchen and opened the door, Spike Munro, who was sitting on a box chewing stolidly at his inevitable gum, looked up.

  “Got him?” he asked quickly.

  With the muzzle of his pistol Tommy Spearman pushed Lefty Guinan further into the room.

  “Good evening, Spike,” he said genially. “Or rather, good morning. You haven’t cured yourself of that horrible vice of chewing yet, I see.”

  Spike uttered an oath and sprang to his feet, and instantly Mr Spearman’s voice became stern.

  “Don’t move, Spike,” he said sharply. “I hate violence in any form, but if you don’t keep still I shall, without hesitation, shoot you. I mean that!”

  The expression on Mr Munro’s face showed that he realised that this was no empty threat. His jaw dropped and he stared from the pistol in Mr Spearman’s hand to Lefty Guinan and back again.

  “I guess you’d better do what he says, Spike,” muttered Guinan. “He’s got the drop on us.”

  “A most sensible remark,” said Mr Spearman. “Go over and join your friend. The farther away from me you are the better I like it. That’s right,” he went on as Lefty Guinan slouched sullenly over to Spike’s side. “Now let’s get to business.”

  Without moving from the doorway he glanced quickly round the kitchen lighted by the dim light of two candles. His eyes met those of Mary and he smiled.

  “Don’t be frightened, Miss Henley,” he said encouragingly. “You’ll soon be free.”

  He had heard the little exclamation of surprise and pleasure she had uttered at the first sound of his voice, but his attention had been too occupied then with Guinan and Spike Munro.

  “How — how did you know what had happened to me?” she asked in surprise.

  “I didn’t, until our mutual acquaintance over there — ” he nodded towards Lefty Guinan “ — told me.”

  “But I don’t understand,” she frowned in perplexity. “Why should he have told you?”

  “I’m afraid,” said Tommy Spearman, “that the explanation at the moment would take too long. At the present time I’m anxious to get away from here, and I’m sure you are too.”

&nb
sp; He had kept one eye on Spike and Lefty during this short conversation, and now he said, addressing Guinan:

  “Untie her, will you?”

  “See here, Spearman,” began Spike; but Lefty, a little gleam in his eyes, interrupted him.

  “Shut up!” he said gruffly, and going over to where the girl lay, pulled a knife from his pocket and slashed through the cords that bound her.

  “Now — ” said Mr Spearman, and that was all he said, for with a sudden movement that took him completely by surprise Lefty Guinan lifted the girl so that her body came between him and the pistol that was covering him.

  In the same movement the knife which he had used to cut her cords swung up until its sharp point pricked her throat.

  “Now — what?” asked Lefty Guinan triumphantly. “I guess that if you attempt to shoot me you’ll hit the girl, and if you fire at Spike I’ll cut her throat!”

  Mr Spearman stood motionless, but his face had gone suddenly white. Lefty saw the effect of his words and gave a short laugh.

  “Not so confident now, are you, Tommy?” he sneered. “Not so darned clever as you thought you were, eh?”

  “If you touch that girl — ” began Tommy Spearman.

  “I guess I shan’t touch her, so long as you do as you’re told,” broke in Guinan. “Spike, go and take his gun.”

  Spike hesitated.

  “Go on! He daren’t hurt you!” snapped Lefty. “If he tries any funny business this knife goes into the girl’s throat.”

  Spike Munro came over, and with a shrug of his shoulders Mr Spearman gave up his pistol and thrust his hands into his pockets.

  “You win,” he said unemotionally. “What happens next?”

  “You’ll see!” Lefty Guinan could not keep the note of exultation from his voice, “I guess you’ll see what happens next, Tommy. Get some more of that rope, Spike, and truss him up.”

  Mary Henley, her eyes wide with fear, watched while Spike Munro went over to the corner and came back with a hank of cord, part of which had already been used to tie her. With this he proceeded to secure Mr Spearman’s wrists and ankles. Spearman made no effort to resist. He realised that any show of fight on his part would result in injury — probably death — to the girl. He accepted his defeat with the nonchalance of the born gambler. His brain was busy all the same, and even while Spike was tying him up he was striving to evolve some means of getting out of this unpleasant position.