The guy had, undoubtedly, been all unnerved to begin with by whatever was causing all the cacophony outside, and then had expected to come in here and find the dangling corpse of an inmate who had hanged himself. Seeing not only the “corpse” alive and kicking, but another big ape leaping at him—because by this time I was leaping at him—was, naturally, enough to surprise him a good deal.
I hadn't seen the man before, but I knew he was no friend of mine, and he must have felt the same way about me because the surprised expression on his face started going away at the same time he balled his right hand into a fist and launched it at me. I landed close to him, ducked aside to let his arm whistle by my ear, and dug my fist into his belly, the knuckles sticking out so my fist would go in deeper, into a smaller space. He bent way over fast, with the air spewing out of his lungs and making a whistling sound I beard even over the wild noise all around us.
He wasn't out completely, just out of commission, and I stopped paying attention to him for a minute because I saw another guy behind him. It was the pale-faced guy from behind the counter in the main corridor, but as I started for him he whirled around and took off like a deer.
I swung back into the room just in time to see Todhunter standing close by the guy I'd socked in the stomach. The guy was still bent over, barely starting to straighten up. Todhunter had a look in his eyes that I could only call the light of battle. A tight grin cut a straight line across his angular face and he had his right hand hauled about a yard back behind him. As I looked, he launched his fist from way back there and brought it down and under and up like a hunk of lead on the end of a rope. The hunk of fist smacked into the guy's face and he straightened all the way up. He did even better than that. He kept on going back like an acrobat, and his head hit the floor before he crumpled completely like a rag doll minus half its stuffing.
Todhunter straightened up and his eyes flicked to the open door, then to me. That tight grin was on his face still, and he actually looked as if he were enjoying himself. He looked like a magnificent savage for a second, and in that moment I felt a warm liking for the man jump up in me, and I thought that he must have given somebody a lot of hell before they got him into this place.
I jerked my head toward the door and he nodded as I spun around and ran out. Finally there was a brief moment for me to figure out where all the noise was coming from. Hell, then it was obvious—that was the sound of people honking. It was automobile horns. It was people blowing their horns and tops.
For the first time in quite a while I had time to think about that detour sign I'd put on Eucalyptus. Then I'd acted on impulse, “in haste, grabbing at any idea that might offer a later advantage. I hadn't stopped to consider the staggering number of cars that would pass a given spot on Eucalyptus in a quarter of an hour. And the bars would have been closing at two a.m. A lot of people in the cars now adding their blasts to the unmusical symphony threatening to split my eardrums, would be drunks, half-drunks, and people who wished they were drunk or half-drunk.
I was jumping toward the door I'd come through earlier, Todhunter right behind me, when the door opened and Director Beecham was framed in it. He had a big gun in his hand, and a stunned look on his face, as if he'd just run bravely outside to shoot the invaders from Pluto, only to find mere Fords, Buicks, and Chevrolets.
He looked bewildered and confused, and I might have been able to sympathize with him except for the fact that he raised the gun and aimed it at me—and it was obvious that he meant to shoot me in several places.
Chapter Twelve
Todhunter's feet slapped against the corridor and he skidded to a stop beside me. Beecham swung the gun to cover Todhunter and his jaw sagged lower and lower. Even in his condition Beecham's movements were slow, and I imagined that his voice, if we could hear it, would pour slowly over us like syrup or honey, “Stick ... ’em ... up ... or ... I'll ... I'll ... shoot...” He was obviously heading for a state of shock, but it was also obvious that he meant to shoot us just as soon as he recovered his wits. My gun was still in its shoulder clip, and I couldn't get it out now without taking a chance on Todhunter's getting shot—or getting a couple more holes in my own head.
As Beecham had come in from outside, he'd left the door standing open and beyond him I could see some of the pandemonium. At first all I noticed was cars’ headlights, pointing every way but up. The farther out my eye reached, the wider became the field of vision, and all told I could see about fifty cars. They were aimed north, south, east, west, and most of the compass points in between. They were pretty well jammed up. I saw two guys who had just gotten out of their cars start socking each other.
I took all this in—Beecham, the open door, cars and lights and two guys socking each other—in half a second. Then I saw Beecham's gun wavering back toward me and I yelled at the top of my lungs that soon there would be about nine hundred people here asking what the hell—and if there were a couple corpses lying in his hallway he would be stuck for an answer.
My voice didn't cut through the noise like light through darkness, but it reached him, and I almost felt sorry for poor Beecham. He wanted so much to shoot us; but he knew, too, that there was truth in my shouts. And I could almost tell from the pained, woebegone expression on his face that he had realized he couldn't even shoot us and haul our bodies away from here, because the place was truly surrounded; we were hemmed in by sedans and coupes and panel trucks.
I yelled across about ten feet at him, “Beecham, we're going out!” He looked from me to Todhunter, and I chose that moment to reach up and yank out my .38. When Beecham saw the gun in my hand, pointed at him, he just let his arm fall slowly to his side, the gun hanging almost forgotten in his fingers and pointing toward the floor.
Todhunter was already sprinting toward the door—at least I thought he was headed out. But he paused briefly to let go another of those looping blows with everything he had behind it, and his fist must surely have broken Beecham's jaw the way it slithered around on his face before he sailed backward and landed on his fanny, out completely.
Todhunter jumped past him and through the open door. I raced after him. The horn-blowing seemed even worse now, and inside this building a number of the inmates in ordinary, not soundproofed, rooms were adding their bit to the bedlam. I ran through the door and turned left to see that Todhunter, despite his desire to get the hell away from here, had stopped and was gazing about him. That was understandable. There had never been a visiting day like this night at Ravenswood.
I guess there were countless cars in sight, and more were out of our line of vision, on the other side of the hospital building. I dreaded to think how many were on the narrow road leading from Eucalyptus up here. The first cars that had taken the new “detour” might have been able to circle the hospital and get back down the road past my Cad to Eucalyptus again; but that happy state of affairs couldn't have lasted long. Soon the inevitable must have happened: the slow-moving mass of cars reaching the hospital, circling it, meeting other cars coming up, going around in circles, backing up and going forward with more, and more, coming from Eucalyptus all the time.
I slapped Todhunter on the shoulder as I raced by him. There were open spaces between the cars and I ran through them like a broken-field runner until I was almost at the Y where the road joined itself. There the cars were jammed so close that I had to slow to a walk and even step on a couple of bumpers to get through. About then I realized I was still hanging onto the .38, and I put it away, but not before I'd been given plenty of startled glances.
A couple of times I glanced around, but Todhunter was right behind me. Once he shook his head and gave me a wide grin, pointing to his ear, and then toward me. I assumed he was asking by sign language if I'd maybe had something to do with this unprecedented conglomeration of traffic here at Land's End. I nodded and he threw back his head; I heard his laugh even over the honking.
When we reached my Cadillac I thought for a moment that we'd just have to leave it there and walk
. Cars were still streaming up toward us from Eucalyptus, but there were still about fifty feet behind my buggy that weren't jammed nearly solid. It was a good thing I'd parked with the car aimed back toward town, and quite a distance from the fork in the road near the hospital, because it looked as if we could still manage to get out of here. A few more minutes, though, and the pile-up of cars would have reached down the dirt road to this point, and we'd have been stuck for sure.
As it was, we didn't have much trouble. I had to go partly off the road a few times, and almost got stuck once, but we were facing Eucalyptus and the real mess was behind us. As we got nicely under way down the dirt road, though, the noise behind us receded and I was able to breathe easily for the first time in quite a while.
Then I swung into Eucalyptus and stopped, jumped out of the car and grabbed the detour sign that was still in the road. I tossed it into the back seat of the car and got the hell out of there before somebody shot me.
Todhunter said, “That was your idea then.”
“Yes and no. I thought the detour might bring some help up there, but that mess wasn't my idea.”
He said, “I assumed you had something to do with it. Your arrival simultaneously with the unprecedented occurrence could hardly have been an accident. You must have planned this all rather carefully.”
“I didn't plan it at all. Frankly, if I'd thought about it, I probably wouldn't have done it.”
He said soberly, “It's well you did, Mr. Scott. There is no doubt in my mind that we'd both be dead now if it hadn't been for the superabundance of witnesses.”
“I suppose so.” I stopped talking, my mind. turning to another problem. Then I said, “Mr. Todhunter, I didn't even think beyond the point of seeing you at Ravenswood—dead or alive. And maybe talking to you. So we'd better figure out where you want to go.”
“A hotel, I dare say,” he said. “Register under an assumed name. I don't want to wind up in a mental hospital again, or hanging.” He paused. “Incidentally, my name is Gordon. It sounds strange to hear you calling me Todhunter—when you've just saved my life. I certainly picked the right man when I put that note to you-on the envelope I wrote to my daughter. How is she?”
“Toddy? She's all right. We'll see her soon.”
“Fine, fine.” He smiled at me. “Toddy ... is that what you call her?”
“Yes. Isn't that her name?”
“A nickname. I've always called her Barbara.” He sighed. “I couldn't even be sure she would notice the little note I scribbled—or if it would be legible. I never had a chance to read it. But that was the only chance I had.”
I swung off Eucalyptus and headed back toward downtown L.A. “How'd you manage to get it out?”
“I talked to Doctor Beecham. Told him it would be more sensible—from his point of view—to let me send the letter. He could read it, even tell me largely what to say if he wanted, to be sure I wasn't sending some sort of message in code. Told him otherwise Barbara would be down on the hospital like a ton of bricks. I convinced him that my only concern was to ease my daughter's mind.”
“She said she'd been traveling, just got back the day she found your letter in the box.”
He nodded. “Beecham, of course, didn't know that. I expected her home. Didn't know just when she'd arrive. Anyway, I convinced Beecham it was the wisest course to allow me to send my daughter an innocuous letter, telling her to stay away. Wrote it right in front of him.” He smiled. “I can still marshal a good argument. I'm an attorney, you know—that is, I was. Corporation lawyer. Good one, too. Retired now.”
“Uh-huh.”
Todhunter suddenly slapped his thigh. “Do you know,” he said briskly, “that you just earned ten thousand dollars?”
That surprised me. I said truthfully, “I'd completely forgotten about that. It was in your note, under the flap—”
“Yes,” he interrupted me. “I put it down, but wasn't sure it was legible. Well, you've certainly earned it.”
“There's still about twenty questions unanswered, Mr. Tod—Gordon.”
“I'll answer all I can. But some of the questions you probably want to ask puzzle me, too.”
We were approaching the business district of Los Angeles and we let the explanations wait until I'd found a small hotel, the Preston, on Twelfth Street. Todhunter checked in as Mr. Elbert Jacobs and when we got settled in a room I said to him, “Well, Gordon, you want to start at the beginning?”
“Probably the best way.” He paused. “You know, I can't get over it even yet. An hour ago I was hanging by the neck. I was the same as dead. And here I am...” He shook his head. “I don't feel like playing handball, but I'm alive, talking.”
“I'm mighty curious about what information you have. And how you knew somebody was going to try to kill me.”
He leaned back in the chair, laced both hands around one knee and said, “I got into this by accident, and I don't know to this day just what it was I got into. It was the night of Stone's murder—out at the Melody Club.”
“George Stone?”
“Yes. I overheard two men talking about it—mind you, this was before it was in the newspapers. The following morning all the papers were full of it, but it wasn't common knowledge then. I was in the Ascot Building, on Wilshire. I'd been talking to my tax man, a CPA there, left his office and went down the hall to the men's room. I don't know if you're familiar with the building, but there are two rooms composing the restroom, and in the second one there's a little alcove in the corner with a wash basin. Unless you know it's there, sometimes you can look right at it and the room appears to be empty. I'm not making this very clear—”
“Clear enough.”
“At any rate, what is important, is that I was in that alcove and quite obviously the two men, who came in and looked around, thought they were alone. It would have seemed a good, safe place to talk, undoubtedly.” He paused. “I say, Mr. Scott—”
“Shell.”
“Shell, then. I ... well, I mentioned it earlier, but I am rather anxious to see my daughter. Talk to her at least and let her know I'm all right.”
“Of course. Forgive me, I wasn't even thinking.” I went to the phone, got put through to the Biltmore.
In a few seconds, Toddy's delightful, but sleepy, voice was at the other end of the line. “Toddy,” I said, “this is Shell.”
“What do you want?”
“You're not still angry, are you? I didn't think you were the type to carry a grudge—”
“If that's the only reason you called—”
I was afraid she meant to hang up and I said quickly, “It isn't. Would you like to talk to your father?”
“What kind of a joke is this, Shell?”
“No joke.” I waved Todhunter over.
He took the phone, smiling. “Barbara?”
He listened, then laughed. “Yes, dear,” he said. “Mr. Scott—yes, Shell. He surrounded Ravenswood with a fleet of automobiles, and then got in somehow ... What? Yes, I know it sounds crazy ... they were hanging me. I mean, I was hanging. Practically dead—no, there's nothing wrong with me. Yes, it really happened. Yes ... yes ... all right.” He gave her the hotel's address and room number.
Then he turned to me. “She's coming right over. She was afraid that being at Ravenswood for so long had done something to my mind. Then she was afraid that my being with you had done something to my mind. Oh, yes, she said she forgives you. For whatever she had to forgive.” The last part was almost a question.
I just let it die there. It would have served no useful purpose to tell him why his daughter had become somewhat miffed with me. Instead I said, “How about those two men?”
“Oh, yes. Well, I don't recall their exact words, particularly after the events of these last several days. But one of them said Stone was taken care of. The other one—he seemed to be the more important of the two—asked if he was sure Stone was dead. The first man nodded—I was by then watching their reflections in the mirror.”
; “I see.”
“Then the second man, the bigger one, said something to the effect that that was good, but that it looked as if he'd have to take care of Shell Scott, too—and would have to be more careful with Scott. That Scott's death should look like an accident or there'd be—be a stink, I think he said. That's it, roughly.”
“You got a good look at the men, then.”
“At one of them, the shorter of the two. I got only a glimpse of the big man, but I'd recognize him if I saw him again. And I'd know his voice. But right then the short one turned and saw me in the mirror. He swore and jumped for me. I ... well, I've kept myself in rather good condition, and I hit him quite hard.”
I had a pretty good picture of what Todhunter meant, having twice seen him deliver the blow which, if often repeated, could become famous.
He went on, “The bigger chap immediately went out at a run. The one I'd knocked down was still conscious, and he pulled a gun. I didn't wait around to argue any more with him. This all happened very fast anyway, and I ran out, got into the elevator alone and left the building. That's really all that happened.” He paused. “The next day, of course, I saw the newspapers. There was a good deal about Stone's connection with the mess you people were investigating—I'd followed the San Francisco hearings. So I immediately wrote you, saying that I knew who had killed Stone and so on.”
I started getting a little confused again. “Yeah. That part's been bothering me plenty. That next day was the day all this hit the newspapers? About Stone's murder?”
“Yes. I can only assume that one of the two men recognized me. I'm not completely unknown, especially among attorneys. At any rate, shortly after I'd mailed the letter—that very evening in fact—that same chap came to my house and held a gun on me, forced me to go with him. I don't recall much after that. I was unconscious or drugged—or crazy—from then until I woke up in the hospital.”
“That's all you know about whoever was responsible for your commitment to Ravenswood?”
The Wailing Frail (The Shell Scott Mysteries) Page 13