I’m grateful to you. If you hadn’t hit that goon he would have stuck that knife into me.’
Perelli smiled. His swarthy, thin face had a jeering, humorous expression. He wasn’t a badlooking guy: a little like George Raft, come to think of it. His clothes were good, and he wore them well.
‘So you’re the fella who runs Universal Services, are you? That’s a nice racket. Wish it belonged to me.’
‘It has its low moments. This is one of them. I’d like to put it on record if there’s anything I can do for you now or in the future, let me know. It’ll be on the house, and you’ll get our Grade A service.’
‘I’ll remember,’ he said, and grinned. ‘Right now I’m pretty well fixed, but you never know.’ He stuck his toe into the girl’s side and gave her a little nudge. ‘Is this one of the services?’
‘One of the less pleasant ones. I came here to take her back to her father.’
Think he’ll be pleased to have her back? I wouldn’t be if she belonged to me. I wouldn’t want her back if she was going away with a yacht.’
I fetched the blanket and dropped it over her.
‘Her old man’s only one degree better than she is. What’s the bouncer downstairs going tosay when he sees me carrying her through the lobby?’
‘Maxie?’ Perelli laughed. ‘He’ll hang out the flags. He’s been longing to get rid of her, only Barratt scares him. I’m on my way to meet my girl. We can go down together. I’ll see he doesn’t bother you.’
‘Fine,’ I said. ‘I’d hate to be run in for kidnapping after what I’ve just been through.’
‘The bathroom’s through there if you want to tidy up,’ he said, pointing. ‘You look a bit of a wreck. I’ll watch her until you get back.’
I went into the bathroom and repaired the damage as best I could. Even after a wash and I had pinned up the torn lapel I still looked as if I’d been wrestling with a wild cat.
I came out, gathered up the unconscious girl in the blanket and heaved her over my shoulder.
‘Nice if she comes round in the car.’
‘She won’t,’ Perelli said with confidence. ‘When I sap them, they stay sapped.’
We got her into the elevator without anyone seeing us.
‘Do you usually carry a sandbag when you go to meet your girl friend?’ I asked as the elevator sank between floors, He grinned.
‘Never without one. I play cards for a living, and a cosh is the best way to settle postmortems. I get quite a few.’
‘Well, you certainly know how to use one.’
There’s nothing to it. The secret is to hit them hard. A tap only makes them mad.’
The elevator came to a silent stop and we marched out into the lobby.
The girl behind the desk started out of her chair and gaped at us. Her hand fluttered along the desk and one finger poked into the bell-push. The bouncer in the bowler hat materialized from behind his pillar like a jack-in-the-box. He look one look at me and the girl draped over my shoulder, made a growling noise deep down in his throat and started purposely towards me.
‘All right, Maxie; relax,’ Perelli said. ‘We’re only clearing out a little garbage. There’s no need to get excited.’
Maxie stopped in mid-stride. He stooped to peer at the girl, and as soon as he recognized her he lost his belligerent look.
‘Oh, her! Where are you taking her?’
‘What do you care so long as we take her?’ Perelli inquired.
Maxie chewed this over in his mind.
‘I guess that’s right. Hasn’t Barratt got anything to say about her going?’
‘He’s asleep at the moment,’ I said. ‘We thought it would be a shame to wake him up.’
Maxie eyed the scratches on my face and whistled softly.
‘Yeah. I guess I haven’t seen you two guys.’ He looked across at the girl behind the desk. ‘Did you hear, Grade? We ain’t seen nobody.’
The girl nodded and went back to her funnies. Maxie waved us to the door.
‘Careful there’re no cops around.’
We went down the steps into the sunshine. There were no cops around.
I laid the unconscious girl along the back seat of the Buick and closed the door.
‘Well, thanks again. It wouldn’t be an over-statement to say you saved my life.’ I gave Perelli my card. ‘Don’t forget; anywhere, any time, I’ll be glad to even the score.’
An easy thing to say, but the way it worked out I was scrabbling around like a monkey with a can tied to its tail, three weeks later, trying to make good my promise.
III
Jack Kerman, long, lean and dapper, lay full length on my divan; an immaculate figure in a bottle-green flannel suit, cream silk shirt and brown buckskin shoes. On his chest he balanced a highball, while he beat time a little drunkenly to the swing music coming from the radio.
Opposite him I relaxed in one of those down-to-the-ground easy chairs, and looked through the open windows at the moonlit Pacific, while I tried to make up my mind whether to go in for a swim or mix myself another drink.
Wingrove’s daughter was an almost forgotten memory; Perelli just another name. Ten days had gone past since I had returned the unconscious little junkie to the bosom of her family, and so far as I was concerned the case was closed.
‘It’s about time I had a vacation,’ Kerman said suddenly. This continual grind is giving me ulcers. What we should do is to shut up the office for a couple of months and go to Bermuda or Honolulu. I’m bored with the local talent in this burg. I want a little more fire; grass skirts instead of lounging pyjamas: something with a little zing in it. How about it, Vic? Let’s do it. We can afford it, can’t we?’
‘Maybe you can, but I’m damn sure I can’t. Besides, what would we do with Paula?’
Kerman took a long drink from his glass, sighed, and reached for a cigarette.
‘She’s your funeral. That girl is a menace. All she thinks about is money and work. You might tell her not to keep picking on me. To hear her talk, you’d think I don’t earn my keep.’
‘Do you?’ I said, shutting my eyes. ‘Do any of us? Anyway, a vacation is out, Jack. We’re getting on top and we’ve got to stay on top. If we shut the office, we’d be forgotten in a week. You can’t stand still in a job like this.’
Kerman grunted,
‘Maybe you’re right. I’ve a redhead who’s costing me a pile of dough. I don’t know what’s the matter with her. She thinks I’m made of money. Mind you, she’s not a bad little thing. She’s willing, and that’s what I like about a girl. The trouble with her is…’
The telephone bell began to ring.
Kerman raised his head and scowled at the telephone.
‘Don’t answer it,’ he advised. ‘It might be a client,’
‘Not at ten past ten,’ I said, hoisting myself out of the chair. It’s probably my past catching me up.’
‘Then you’d better let me handle her. I have a very nifty line with women on the telephone.’
I shied a cushion at him as I picked up the receiver.
‘Hello?’
A male voice asked, ‘Is that Mr. Malloy?’ A voice that would send an immediate prickle up most women’s spines. A voice that conjured up a picture of a tall, powerfully built man, probably sun-tanned and handsome, who would rather drop in for an afternoon cup of tea when her husband’s at the office than look in the evening when he’s at home.
Perhaps I was doing him an injustice, but that was the mental picture I got of him from the vibrating baritone voice.
‘Speaking,’ I said. ‘Who is that?’
‘My name is Lee Dedrick. I have been trying to get you at your office. There doesn’t appear to be anyone there.’
‘I’m sorry. The office closes at six.’
‘And sweat-shop hours at that,’ Kerman muttered, punching the pillow at the back of his head, ‘Tell him we’re in bed with the croup.’
The voice said sharply, ‘But surely you have a night service?’ ‘You’re
talking to the night service now, Mr. Dedrick.’
‘Oh. I see.’ There was a pause, then he said, ‘I would like you to come out to my place right away. It’s rather urgent.’
In spite of the domineering tone, I had a sudden impression that he was frightened. There was a peculiar shake in his voice, and he seemed very breathless.
‘Can you give me some idea what you want, Mr. Dedrick?’ I asked, ignoring Kerman’s frantic signals to hang up.
There was a moment’s silence. I waited and listened to the uneven, hurried breathing.
‘A few minutes ago some man rang me up and warned me an attempt would be made tonight to kidnap me. Probably a practical joker, but I thought it wise to take precautions. I happen to be alone here, except for my chauffeur; he is a Filipino, and would be quite useless in an emergency.’
This sounded screwy to me.
‘Have you any idea why anyone should want to kidnap you?’
Again there was that pause. Again I listened to the hurried breathing. It was an eerie sound, and conveyed his fear to me as plainly as if I could seethe fear on his face.
‘I happen to be Serena Marshland’s husband,’ he said curtly. ‘I’d be glad if you wouldn’t waste time asking pointless questions. There’ll be time enough to satisfy your curiosity when we meet.’
I didn’t like his tone, but I knew he was scared. I didn’t want to go out on this job. I had been working all day, and would much rather have spent the rest of the evening swopping drinks with Kerman, But that wasn’t the way to build up a successful business. Besides, Serena Marshland was the fourth richest woman in the world.
‘Where are you, Mr. Dedrick?’
‘The house is called Ocean End. You probably know it. It’s rather isolated and lonely. I’d be glad if you would come quickly.’
I know it. I’ll be over in less than ten minutes.’
‘There is a private road from Ocean View. You’ll find the gates open. As a matter of fact, I have only just moved in here and…’ He suddenly stopped talking.
I waited, then as nothing happened, I said, ‘Hello?’
I could still hear his quick, uneven breathing, but he didn’t answer.
‘Hello? Mr. Dcdrick?’
His breathing went off the line. There was a long, silent pause, then a gentle click, and the line went dead.
IV
Ocean End is situated in the sand dunes, about three miles from my cabin. It was built in the late ‘twenties for a millionaire who never lived there. Before he could take possession, be was caught in a financial smash and shot himself. For some years the place stood empty, then a syndicate bought it and made a pot of money out of it by renting it to visiting fleshpots and foreign nobility who considered themselves too grand to stay at the Orchid Hotel.
The Estate is quite a show place, and has been advertised as the millionaire’s dream home. It has a hundred acres of terraced gardens and a swimming pool half outside the house and half under it. The house itself is Italian Baroque in style, and built of concrete and coraline stone. The interior is famous for wine magnificent murals and works of art.
As I sent the Buick racing along the two miles of private road that leads to the Estate, a fine, wide road, lined on either side by Royal Palms, Kerman said, ‘I’ve always wanted to see this joint.’ He leaned forward to peer into the circles of light that fled before us. ‘I’ve been kidding myself I’ll rent it for a week myself one of these days. What do you think it’d cost me?’
‘About ten years’ pay.’
‘Yeah, maybe you’re right. Well, I guess I’d better just go on kidding myself. Pity, though. With a background like this, I’d have that redhead eating out of my hand.’
‘Should have thought you’d have preferred her to eat off a plate. You know, I’m worried about this guy, Jack. What made him hang up like that in the middle of a sentence?’
‘You know what these punks are like. They’re so damn lazy it’s an effort for them to breathe.’
‘I have an idea someone came into the room, and he didn’t want them to hear what he was saying.’
‘But then you always try to make a mystery out of anything. My bet is he got bored talking to you and just hung up. All these rich jerks are alike. They don’t have to watch their manners the way we do.’
Ahead of me were the main gates of the Estate. They were wide open. I didn’t reduce speed. We flashed past them, and went storming up the road drive-way, banked on either side enormous rhododendron shrubs.
‘Must you drive as if we’re going to a fire?’ Kerman asked plaintively.
‘He sounded scared, and I have a hunch he may be in trouble.’
I swung the Buick around a long, curving bend. The house seemed to leap at us in the light of the headlamps. Kerman gave a gasp of alarm as I slammed on the brakes. With a squeal of tortured tyres, I managed to bring the Buick to a skidding standstill a couple of inches from the balustrade that surrounded the courtyard.
‘Why stop?’ Kerman said, mopping his face. ‘Why not drive slap into the house? You know I hate walking.’
‘Your nerves are bad,’ I said, a little pop-eyed myself. ‘The trouble with you is you drink too much.’
I got out of the car and he followed me.
Parked to the left of the front entrance was a big, glittering battleship of a car with the parkers on.
Except for a light that spilled through an open casement doorway on to the far end of the terrace, the house was in darkness.
‘Do we ring or go in that way?’ Kerman asked, jerking his thumb towards the lighted window.
‘We’ll take a look in there first. If no one’s around, we’ll ring. Got your gun handy?’
‘Here. You have it,’ Kerman said generously, and thrust the .45 into my hand. ‘It spoils the set of my suit.’
‘What you really mean is if I have the gun I naturally go first.’
‘What a sweet, charitable mind you’ve got. I honestly don’t know why I work for you.’
‘Probably for the money, and who but you calls it work?’
We were moving silently along the terrace while we whispered at each other, and as we neared the lighted window I motioned him to be quiet. He gave me a little shove forward, milking signals for me to go ahead.
I went ahead while he watched me. When I reached the open casement door, I peered into a long rectangular room, furnished in Mexican style with rich rugs on the floor, saddles and bridles ornamenting the walls and big, lounging settees by the windows and before the vast empty fireplace.
On the table were the telephone and an untouched tumbler containing whisky and probably soda. A cigarette stub had fallen off the glass ash-tray and burned a scar on the highly polished table.
There was no one in the room.
I beckoned to Kerman.
‘Pretty lush,’ he said, peering over my shoulder. ‘Imagine living in a joint like this. What do we do now?’
I walked into the room. The cigarette stub worried me; so did the untouched whisky.
Kerman sauntered in behind me and wandered around one of the settees before the fireplace to look at a Mexican saddle hanging on the wall. He took two steps towards it, then stopped with a start that flopped his hair into his eyes.
‘Gawd!’
I came around the settee fast.
A man in the black uniform of a chauffeur lay on his back. I didn’t have to touch him to know he was dead. There was a purple hole in the centre of his forehead, and a lot of blood had soaked into the Mexican rug on which he was lying. His yellow-brown hands were set rigid, his fingers were hooked like claws, and his small, brown face was twisted in a grimace of terror.
‘Sweet grief!’ Kerman said soberly. ‘He gave me a hell of a fright.’
I bent to touch the claw-like hand. It was still warm. The arm dropped to the carpet when I lifted and released it. He couldn’t have been dead for very long.
‘Looks bad for Dedrick,’ I said. ‘They must have arrived while he
was talking to me.’
‘Think they’ve kidnapped him?’
‘Looks like it. Go ahead and call the police, Jack. There’s nothing we can do. You know how Brandon reacts to us. If he thinks we’ve been poking around, wasting time, hell raise Cain.’
As Kerman reached for the telephone, he paused, cocked his head on one side, listening.
‘Sounds like a car coming.’
I went out on to the terrace.
There was a car coming, and coming fast. I could bear the snarl of a powerful engine, and the whine of tyres as the car swept around the bends in the drive.
‘Hold it a moment,’ I said.
I could see the headlights of the car now through the trees. A moment later the car swept around the drive and pulled up a few yards from the Buick.
I walked along the terrace, and as I reached the head of the steps leading from the terrace to the garden a girl got out of the car.
In the dim, uncertain light of the moon and the combined parking lights of the three cars, I could just see she was tall, slender and hatless,
‘Lee…’
She paused, looking up at me.
‘Is that you, Lee?’
‘Mr. Dedrick doesn’t appear to be here,’ I said, and came down the steps towards her.
I heard her catch her breath sharply, and she made a half turn as if she was going to run away, but she controlled the impulse and faced me.
‘Who—who are you?’
‘My name’s Vic Malloy. Mr. Dedrick ‘phoned me about a quarter of an hour ago. He asked me to come out here.’
‘Oh.’ She sounded both surprised and startled. ‘And you say he isn’t here?’
‘He doesn’t seem to be. There’s only that light you can see showing. He isn’t in there. The rest of the house is in darkness.’
By now I was close enough to get a vague idea what she looked like. I could see she was dark and youngish and in evening dress. I had an idea she was pretty.
‘But he must be here,’ she said sharply.
‘May I ask who you are?’
For a fraction of a second she hesitated, then she said, ‘I’m Mary Jerome; Mrs. Dedrick’s secretary.’
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