“I wanted to see Mr. Maxison,” I said.
She stared at me, then at Tim. “It’s very late,” she said. “Couldn’t you see him tomorrow?”
“Well, no,” I said. “It’s something I would like him to handle and it’s urgent.”
She hesitated, then nodded.
“If you’ll wait,” she said, and turned away. She got half-way down the passage, then came back. “What is the name, I please?”
“He wouldn’t know my name,” I said.
“Oh,” she said, looking at me again, and went away.
“That’s Laura Maxison,” Tim said. “Maxison thinks a lot of her. Odd little thing, ain’t she?”
I shrugged. “I guess if you had a daughter you’d think a lot of her whichever way she looked.”
“I guess you’re right,” he said.
The door opened again, and a lean, elderly man with a stoop peered at us.
“Good evening,” he said. “Was there something?”
“Yeah,” I said, eyeing him over. He was bald, with a great dome of a forehead, and his eyes were small and close set. He looked what he was, and foxy as well. “Can we come in?”
“I suppose so,” he said doubtfully, standing to one side. “It’s very late for business.”
“Better late than never,” Tim said for something to say.
We entered the passage and followed Maxison into the green-carpeted reception-room. The air in there smelt musty. There was also an odour of floor polish and embalming fluid, aromatic, sweet and sickening.
Maxison turned on a few more lights, and took up his stand by a large glass showcase full of miniature coffins.
“Now, gentlemen,” he said, pulling nervously at his faded purple and white tie. “What can I do for you?”
“I’m Chester Cain,” I said.
He took an abrupt step back, his hand jumped to his mouth. Fear made him look old and stupid. His thin, almost skull-like face turned the colour of ripe cheese.
“You don’t have to worry,” I said, watching him closely. “I’m here on profitable business… profitable business to you.”
His teeth began to chatter. “Please,” he stuttered, “you mustn’t stay here. I can’t do business with you…”
I jerked a straight-back chair towards him. “Sit down,” I said.
He seemed glad to.
“You and I are doing business whether you like it or not,” I told him. “I’m going to ask you some questions, and if you know what’s good for you, you’ll answer them. You’re burying a woman prisoner at the jail tomorrow?”
He cracked his finger-joints, his limbs trembled, but he obstinately shook his head. “I can’t talk to you,” he mumbled. “I hold an official position at the jail, and it’d be a breach of faith.”
“You’ll talk,” I said, standing over him, “or I’ll take you for a ride.” Jerking out the .38, I rammed it into his chest. For a moment I thought he was going to faint, but he managed to control himself.
“Don’t…” he began, in a husky whisper.
“You talking?”
He nodded wildly.
I put the .38 away.
“Okay. We’ll try again. This time get your answers out quick.”
He nodded again. His breathing had a rattle in it that added to the spooky atmosphere of the room.
“You’re burying a woman prisoner at the jail tomorrow morning,” I repeated. “Right?”
“Yes,” he said.
“What time?”
“Ten o’clock.”
“What time will you arrive at the prison?”
“Nine-fifty.”
“What’s the procedure ?”
He blinked, hesitated, then blurted out, “I and my assistant will prepare the body after the post-mortem, put it in the coffin and bring it back here for the relatives to claim.”
“You load the body into the coffin in the P.M. room or the woman’s cell?”
“In the P.M. room.”
I grimaced. That was what I had expected, but not what I had hoped to hear. It meant I should have to get Miss Wonderly from her cell down to the P.M. room. That wasn’t going to be easy.
“The coffin ready?”
He nodded.
“Show me.”
As he got to his feet, a bell tinkled faintly somewhere in the house. The sound took me like a flash to the door.
“Watch him,” I said to Tim, and shoved the .38 into his hand. I darted out into the passage.
As I moved towards a door at the far end of the passage, I heard a telephone dial whirring. I ran on tip-toe to the door, jerked it open and went in.
The thin, narrow-shouldered Laura was feverishly dialling the telephone. She looked up with a gasp as I entered. I cross the room, gently took the receiver out of her hand, hung up.
“I’d forgotten about you,” I said, smiling at her. “Call the police?”
She jumped back against the wall, her pale, plain little face terrified. She clasped her hands to her flat chest and shaped mouth for a scream.
“Don’t do that,” I said, “I want to talk to you.”
Her mouth trembled, hesitated, closed. She stayed where she was and stared at me; fear lurked in her eyes.
“You know who I am, don’t you?” I asked.
Her throat tightened, but she managed to nod.
“I wouldn’t hurt you, and I want you to help me. Don’t be scared of me. I’m in trouble and I want help.”
She looked puzzled, blinked her eyes, but she didn’t say anything.
“Look at me,” I said. “I don’t look dangerous, do I?”
She looked. I could see the fear leaving her eyes, and she straightened up.
“No,” she said, in a voice that wouldn’t have scared a mouse.
“I’m not,” I assured her. “You’ve read about me in the newspapers, haven’t you?”
She nodded.
“You know they’ve arrested Miss Wonderly, and they’ve charged her with murder, don’t you?”
She nodded again. Interest had replaced fear.
I took out the newspaper photograph of Miss Wonderly and showed it to her.
“Do you think she looks like a killer?” I asked.
She studied the photograph. There was a wistful look on her face when she handed it back.
“No,” she said.
“She didn’t kill Herrick, nor did I. It was a political killing, and they’ve pinned it on me because I happened to come to this town with a bad reputation.”
She looked down at her hands. There was a faint flush on her face.
I stared moodily at her.
“Have you ever been in love, Laura?” I asked abruptly.
She flinched.
“You have?” I went on, when she didn’t speak. “It didn’t work out?”
“My father …” She stopped.
“All right,” I said. “It’s not my business. But if you have been in love, you’ll know how I feel.
I’m in love with that girl. I’m crazy about her, and I’m going to get her out of that jail if it costs me my life. I want you to help me.”
She began to breathe quickly. “But how can I help?” she said, without looking at me.
“By not making a fuss. I’ll tell you what I have to do. I don’t want to do it, but I have to do it. My girl’s life is at stake, and I’ll do anything to get her out of the mess she’s in. I’m going to take you away from here, and keep you until she’s free. That’s the only way I can make your father work with me. I give you my word you won’t come to any harm, and you’ll be returned here in a day or so.”
She started up.
“Oh no,” she said. “Please don’t take me away.”
I walked over to her and lifted her chin.
“Still scared of me?” I asked.
She looked at me.
“No.”
“Swell,” I said. “Come on, I want to talk to your father. I thought you’d help me.”
We returned to the reception-room
. Maxison was sitting glaring at Tim, who was trying to look like a Chicago gangster. He didn’t do it very well.
“Your daughter’s got a lot of guts,” I said to Maxison. “Now show me that coffin.”
He took us into a back room. It was large with bare walls. Coffins stood on the uncarpeted floor.
Maxison pointed to an imitation ebony coffin with ornate silver handles.
“That’s it,” he said.
I went over, lifted the lid. It was well finished inside, complete with a lead shell and a thick mattress.
“That’s an expensive box for a jail-bird,” I said, looking at Maxison. “Who’s paying for it?”
“Her husband,” he said, cracking his finger-joints and looking at Laura in a puzzled way out of the corners of his eyes.
I took out the mattress, fiddled around trying to get out the lead shell. I spotted the screws, and went over to the tool rack and brought back a long screw-driver. I took out the lead shell. Without the mattress and the lead shell there was an additional twelve inches from the bottom of the coffin to the top.
I did a little measuring and stood back, frowning.
“Could you put a false bottom to this?” I asked Maxison.
He gaped at me. “Yes, but what—”
“Skip it,” I said, and turned to Laura, who was watching me with large eyes. “Will you do something for me, kitten?” I said. I patted the coffin. “Get in here.”
“Oh no,” she said, with a shudder. “I—I couldn’t do that.”
“Please,” I said.
Maxison started forward but Tim raised the gun, bringing] the old man to an abrupt stop.
“Stay where you are, Laura,” Maxison grated.
She hesitated, looked at me and then stepped to the coffin. I lifted her up and lowered her in. She sat in the thing, her eyes dark, her mouth working. She looked like something out of the Grand Guignol.
“Lie down,” I said.
Shuddering, she lay down. I took more measurements.
“Fine,” I said, and pulled her up. “Out you come.” When she was out, I turned to Maxison. “I wanted to see if this coffin was big enough to hold two bodies. It is. You and I are putting your dead woman in and Miss Wonderly goes in under her. You’re to fit a false bottom to this box. That’s how I plan to get Miss Wonderly out of jail.”
4
I arrived at Maxison’s place at nine o’clock the next morning. There was a sedate, oldfashioned motor hearse parked outside.
I gave it a quick glance, then pushed open the glass door of the showroom and walked in.
Maxison was waiting for me. He was dolled up in a long black coat with silk lapels and a high hat. His face looked ghastly in the hard sunlight, his mouth twitched.
“Is she all right?” he asked anxiously, as soon as he saw me.
“Sure,” I said. “So long as you play ball with me, you don’t have to worry about Laura. She isn’t worrying, and she has a woman to look after her.” I tapped him on his bony chest. “But one false move from you, Maxison, she won’t be all right.”
He flinched, looked away. I felt sorry for the old geyser, but there was nothing else I could have done. I knew I couldn’t trust him, and I had to have a hold on him.
“Did you get rid of your assistant like I said?” I asked.
Maxison nodded. “He’s been wanting to do a trip with his wife to Miami for a long time. I told him he could go.”
“Okay,” I said. “We’re almost set?”
“Yes.”
“Let’s go into the back room,” I said, and pushed past him.
The coffin was standing on trestles. I raised the lid, examined the false bottom and the airholes. Maxison had made a swell job. I told him so.
“We’d better have a couple more air-holes by the handles,” I said. “It’s going to be a tight fit, and I don’t want her to have a bad journey. Will you fix that?”
While he was doing this I unpacked a grip I’d brought with me. Neither Davis, Tim, nor I had ceased to work on our plans during the night, and none of us had had any sleep, but I was now satisfied that everything had been covered satisfactorily. We had seen Mitchell again, and I had bought his co-operation for a grand. He was to play an important part in the jail break. He knew it would cost him his job, but he didn’t care. He was sick of Paradise Palms and Flaggerty, and was ready to pull out as soon as he’d done his job for me.
I changed into a prison-guard’s uniform that Mitchell had obtained for me. It wasn’t a bad fit; I studied myself for a moment in the long mirror on the wall.
Maxison watched me furtively, but he didn’t say anything. I took out a long black coat like his and put it on. It was high-necked and successfully hid the guard’s uniform. Then I slipped into my mouth two little rubber pads Tim had borrowed from an actor friend. The effect of the pads was remarkable. They completely changed my appearance, making me look plump and rabbit-toothed. A pair of horn-rimmed glasses completed a simple, but excellent disguise.
“How do you like your new assistant?” I asked, turning so Maxison could see me.
He gaped. “I wouldn’t have known you,” he said, and he sounded as if he meant it.
“I hope not,” I returned. “Flaggerty knows me a little too well. This has got to fool him.”
Maxison had refitted the false bottom to the coffin and was now ready to go.
“Right,” I said, going over to him. “We’re not going to fail. Things may get sticky, but whatever happens, you must keep your head. I’m George Mason, your new assistant. Your other assistant is on vacation. I come from Arizona, and I’m the son of an old friend of yours. I don’t suppose they’ll check up, but if they do, you must give them the answers without batting an eyelid. If I’m caught, it’s going to be just too bad for Laura. Understand?”
He licked his lips, looked sick, said he did.
“Okay,” I said, putting on a stove-pipe hat like his. “Let’s go”
I drove the hearse. Although it looked old-fashioned, there was nothing wrong with its eightcylinder engine. It had a lot of speed, and I let it out on the coast road. A mile or so from the jail I eased up on the accelerator; we drove along at a sedate twenty miles an hour.
As the roof of the jail appeared above the sand-dunes, I saw two policemen standing in the road. They had Thompsons slung over their shoulders; they looked bored, and waved to us to stop.
“You do the talking,” I said to Maxison, out of the corner of my mouth. “This is only a
rehearsal for the real thing. These boys won’t worry us.”
The two cops stood each side of the hearse, peered at us.
“Where are you going?” one of them asked Maxison.
“The jail,” he said curtly, and produced a burial certificate and the court order for the release of the body.
The two cops read the papers and handed them back. I could see by the blank looks on their faces they couldn’t make head nor tail of the legal jargon, but they weren’t suspicious.
“Okay, seems in order,” one of them said importantly. He took a yellow sticker from his pocket and pasted it on the fender of the hearse. “That’ll get you to the gates. No speeding, and stop if you’re signalled.”
“And that means stop,” the other cop said, grinning. “The boys up there are sure itching to use their rods.”
Maxison thanked them, and I released the clutch. We continued up the road.
“They’re certainly taking no chances,” I said.
Maxison gave me a surly look, grunted. “What did you expect?” he said.
On the other side of the sand-hills, I spotted four cops sitting round a machine-gun on a threelegged stand, covering the road. One of the cops was equipped with a portable radio, and he was tuning-in as I crawled by. They eyed the yellow sticker and then waved us on. It began to dawn on me that Mitchell had been right about it being impossible to get into the jail in the ordinary way.
Four hundred yards from the side- road that led through the
sand-dunes to the jail was a barricade made out of a big tree-trunk on wheels.
I stopped.
Three cops in their shirt sleeves appeared from behind the barricade, and swarmed round us.
One of them, a big, red-faced guy with sandy hair, nodded to Maxison.
“Hey, Max,” he said, grinning. “Howja like the war conditions? Ain’t it hell? That punk Flaggerty sure has the breeze up. We’ve been camped out here all night, and now we’re being skinned by the sun. You going to the jail?”
“Yes,” Maxison said.
The cop looked me over.
“Ain’t seen him before,” he said to Maxison. “Who’s he?”
“George Mason,” Maxison said calmly enough. “My new assistant. O’Neil’s on vacation.”
“He would be, the lazy rat,” the cop said, spitting in the sand. “He’s always on vacation.” He looked at me. “Glad to know you, Mason. I’m Clancy. Howja like the new job?”
“Pretty good,” I said, shaking his sweaty paw. “The beauty of this job is our customers can’t answer back.”
He bellowed with laughter.
“Say! That’s a funny one,” he exploded, slapping his thigh. “Did you hear what the guy said, fellas?” he went on to the other two cops who stood around, grinning.
“We heard,” they said.
“Pretty funny,” Clancy declared. “I didn’t think guys in your trade had a sense of humour.”
“That’s all we have got,” I said. “What goes on? I’ve never seen a jail guarded as tight as this one.”
Clancy wiped sweat from his fat face with his forearm. “Aw, the hell with it,” he said in disgust. “We got that Wonderly dame locked up, and our Chief thinks Cain’s going to get her out. He’s nuts, but there’s no one with enough guts to tell him. I bet Cain’s out of the State by now. Why the hell should he bother with a dame he picked up for the night?”
“She’s a nice looker,” one of the other cops said. “I’d trade her for my wife.”
“I’d trade her for mine too,” Clancy said, “but I wouldn’t risk my neck for her.”
“This guy Cain must be a tough egg if Flaggerty thinks all you boys are necessary to keep
him out,” I said, grinning.
“I tell you Flaggerty’s nuts,” Clancy snorted. “Mind you, if that dame did escape, he’d lose his job. I heard Ed. Killeano tell him.”
I'll Get You for This Page 13