The Complete Casebook of Cardigan, Volume 2: 1933

by Frederick Nebel

  The man jerked a thumb toward the bridge.

  “Show the way,” Cardigan said.

  “Sa-ay—”

  “Cut it out, sailor, show the way.”

  THE man shrugged, struck off across the deck. Cardigan followed him up from the well-deck by way of an iron ladder. They took another ladder to the bridge deck, entered a door, went down a narrow companionway past two doors and stopped before a door at the end. The man in the visored cap knocked, and a voice said, “Come in.”

  Cardigan thrust the man aside, opened the door, stepped into the cabin and saw a lank, bearded man sitting behind a wicker table.

  “You the skipper of this wagon?”

  “Who are you?”

  “You’re the skipper, aren’t you?”

  “I am.”

  “Swell….” Cardigan picked up a chair, swung it around, planked it down, and sat. “My name’s Cardigan, skipper, and I’ve come a long way. I’m a private detective. I’m looking for two persons you’ve got on board.”

  “Who?”

  “The guy’s name might be anything. It has been Tod Lester, and before that it was Gink Padden—his real name. There’s a girl with him. It’s the girl I want.”

  The captain leaned back. His beard was coal-black; it went up the side of his face and joined a mop of equally black hair. His shirt sleeves were rolled up, showing long woolen undershirt sleeves. His eyes narrowed and widened several times, and he took a few slow, ruminative puffs on an old briar.

  “I’m clearing for Balboa in the morning. You got any papers saying I should turn these people over?”

  “No. I don’t need papers.”

  The skipper puffed. He was not a hasty man. “I’ve been paid to carry these people.”

  “They married?”

  The skipper puffed. “I don’t ask too many questions.”

  “You were probably paid too to marry them at sea, huh?”

  The skipper leaned forward on his elbows, bending his black brows. “You’d have to have papers, mister, to take them off. You can’t expect to bust on board my ship and get away with anything like this. Why didn’t you bring the police along, if you’re on the up-and-up?”

  Cardigan said: “I don’t run to the cops for things I can do myself. I don’t give a damn about this guy Padden, but I want the girl.” He struck the desk curtly, without any vehemence, and said crisply: “I intend to get her.”

  “I’m sorry, mister.”

  Cardigan stood up, lowering. The skipper leaned back placidly, drew on his pipe, met Cardigan’s dark stare with a bland look of his own.

  Cardigan said: “If I bring the cops on board, it won’t be for the girl. There was a murder pulled this evening in a Powell Street hotel room. It was intended for me, because I’m after the girl. But it was a murder out of turn. It got a San Francisco dick instead of me. Try taking that on the chin.”

  The captain stood up, a lank and bony man. His eyes darkened and his lips came together hard on the stem of his pipe, the pipe jutted upward. His voice was hard and blunt like the blow of a hammer: “I hate to be kidded.”

  “Would you like this pinch to take place on board your wagon?”

  “I’m trying to figure you out.”

  “I’m like an open book. I don’t want the cops in on this, but if I have to get them in order to get the girl, I’ll do it. And don’t think I’m kidding.”

  “How’d you find this ship?”

  “I nailed the guy that went after the bags and made him squawk.”

  THE skipper leaned forward, pressed a button. In a few minutes the door opened, a small man wearing a white jacket came in and ducked his head.

  “Steward,” the skipper said, “go and tell the lady I want to see her in my cabin.”

  The steward went out. The skipper pulled down his shirt sleeves, buttoned them, took a blue uniform coat from the back of his chair and put it on. All the while he kept eyeing Cardigan. He buttoned his coat, took his pipe from his mouth and knocked out the ashes into a brass bowl.

  He said: “There are two friends visiting them.” He put a dark implication into his words.

  Presently the door opened and a slim, dark-haired girl came in. She came in slowly, with a wide-eyed look. She wore a dark blue suit, no hat. She was young and beautiful, oval-faced.

  “You—you wanted to see me?”

  Her eyes sprang wider still and a flush leaped to her face, her red lips came together, tightened.

  Cardigan said: “I was sent by your father to bring you back.”

  She kept her lips tight, said nothing. Her eyes had a harried, hunted look.

  The skipper said: “If what this man says is true, I don’t think I can take you to Balboa. I’m not against turning a shady deal, but murder’s out.”

  “Murder!” she gasped.

  Cardigan said: “A cop was killed in my hotel this evening. He got it instead of me. I tailed you and your boy friend from Reno. His real name is Padden, and he’s a rat.”

  “I don’t believe it!”

  “I didn’t think you would, but none the less he’s a rat. If you want to save yourself a load of grief, you’ll leave this ship and come back with me to Cleveland. I’ve got a girl to accompany you.”

  The color drained from her face, left it white and shocked. Her voice was a hoarse, passionate whisper. “I don’t believe you! I shan’t leave! I intend leading my own life and I won’t have you or anyone else interfering.”

  “You’re pretty young to know the best kind of life to lead. This man you think is the nuts, why he’s got a record—”

  “I don’t care! I love him!”

  “He knows I’ve been following him. He knew it in Reno. He laid a trap to kill me in this city, but a cop died instead. He’s part of a ring. The idea is to grab the dough that will come to your first son—”

  “I don’t believe it. It’s too absurd to think—to think—” She turned, reached for the doorknob.

  But Cardigan got in the way. “Little lady, I was sent after you, to get you, to save you from a vicious trick. You may love this mug now, and no doubt you do, but you don’t know what it’s all about. You’re a kid. You talk about leading your own life! What the hell do you know about life?”

  Her lips shook. “No matter what you say, you can’t make me change my mind. I know what I want to do.”

  “You may think you do—but you’re going back to Cleveland to think it over.”

  “I’m not!” she cried. “I have my own life to lead—”

  He blazed: “Life to lead! You learned to live at country clubs, in swell roadsters, swell speaks—and now you’ve run out on your old man, the guy who supplied the dinero—dough to you! And you’re such a swell judge of human nature that—”

  “I hope you’ve finished,” she cut in, lifting her nose. “I told you what I intend doing.”

  Cardigan held out his palms, looked at the ceiling, said: “My God.”

  The captain looked pessimistic. “We’re headed for trouble. I can’t afford to have trouble on this ship. Miss, do what he says. Go with him. I tell you I can’t run the risk of sailing with you if what he says is—”

  She was spiteful. “I don’t believe a word he says!”

  Chapter Five

  The Real McCoy

  THERE was the sound of footsteps in the corridor, and then a rap on the door. The captain said: “Come in.”

  Cardigan stepped to one side as the door opened, and a tall, dark young man came in saying: “Just what did you want to see—” He stopped short. He saw Cardigan and his mouth closed, his sleek brows came together. He looked at the skipper, his lip twitching, but in a moment it stopped and the man said. “Oh, I didn’t know you had a visitor.”

  “I’m no visitor, Padden,” Cardigan said sourly.

  “I beg pardon?”

  “Padden I said. Should I spell it?”

  The young man shrugged, smiled. “Goodness, you look mean enough to eat a man.”

  “I
am,” growled Cardigan. “Not only mean but nasty about it. I’m taking this girl back home.”

  “I imagine she and I’ll have something to say about that.”

  “Lay off the good manners, Padden. I don’t expect them.”

  The girl moved, said: “I’m going back to my stateroom.”

  “Stay where you are!” Cardigan snapped.

  The young man chuckled. “After all, darling, we ought to hear him out.”

  “I’ve heard enough. I’m going.”

  She moved again and Cardigan took one long stride, shoved her away from the door. The young man swung on him. Cardigan chopped upward with a short blow and the young man landed on the floor at the opposite side of the cabin. The next instant there was a gun in Cardigan’s hand. The girl’s eyes widened with horror.

  Cardigan said: “I’m about beginning to lose my patience, which I never had much of to begin with. Get up, Padden, and if you’re heeled, don’t get ambitious. And listen close. I’m taking this girl back home, see? I’ve got your record from way back, from the days of ‘Boston Louie’s’ gang, from the days when you gigoloed it in New York and Chicago. You were always a good society front, due to the fact you spent a year on the stage and learned how to eat and not to drink out of finger bowls. There was a cop killed in Powell Street tonight, which is no news to you—but I don’t want you, I want the girl. McCoy is on the prowl with a hot gun. But I’m not steering him onto you, and you know why. I’m striking a bargain, because my agency’s client comes first and the law as it’s written comes afterward. I don’t want you. I want the girl.”

  The young man was on his feet now. His lip was bleeding, his eyes bright and hard like lacquer. “What if I am Padden? She loves me.”

  “I do!” she cried. “I don’t care who you are, I love you!”

  “Laugh that off, Cardigan.”

  Cardigan said soberly: “You don’t seem to get me, punk. I’m bargaining with you. I don’t have to find any fingerprints to know who engineered that bomb. I can just turn McCoy on you and your pals and on Aunt Mag. I can crucify you. But I’d rather bargain. I want the girl. I take the girl and go away quietly or I squawk to the cops and God help you. Now what do I do? Do I get the girl or do I sic the cops on you?”

  Padden held up his chin: “You’ve got me cornered, eh?”

  “If I ever had a rat cornered, I’ve got you.”

  The girl cried: “Don’t believe him, Tod! This isn’t true, this can’t be true!”

  Padden’s eyes narrowed on Cardigan. “You have got me cornered, Cardigan, but I’ve got two friends on this tub. And I don’t like your bargain. I don’t believe you. The minute you got away, you’d call on the cops.”

  “I swear to God I wouldn’t. Why should I? If I told the cops, this case would get in the papers. My client hired me because I swore to keep it out of the papers.”

  “It’s silence he wants, eh? Afraid of his good name. O.K. But he’ll pay for that silence. How do you like that?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He’ll turn over a couple of hundred grand for his kid!”

  The girl clapped hands to her face. “Tod!”

  He didn’t look at her. He said to Cardigan: “You’ve got me in this room, but it won’t get you anywhere. I’ll bargain. I’ll make a real bargain. Go back to the old man and tell him.”

  The captain broke in hoarsely: “I don’t want any trouble on board this ship. Do what you want, but off this ship. I took you and the girl on board against my judgment, but I needed the dough—but you didn’t tell me the whole story.” He opened his desk drawer, drew out a roll of bills, tossed them on the desk. “Take it back—and get off, all of you!”

  Cardigan said: “Now listen—”

  “I’ve listened to enough! Get off!”

  Cardigan said: “If you send us off in a boat together, there’ll be murder!”

  The door whipped open and the man in the pea-jacket and the visored cap stood there holding a gun. “Drop that gat, mister.”

  Cardigan lowered his gun, looked over his shoulder.

  The man in the pea-jacket lifted his chin and said to the skipper: “Trouble, sir?”

  “Plenty.” The skipper drew a gun from his desk drawer, jacked it. “Get Blount and Williams and tell ’em to get their guns, rush the cabin where those two visitors are and disarm them. Take Cardigan’s gun before you go.”

  The man in the pea-jacket did this, then left the cabin. The captain turned on Padden, said: “Hold your hands up.” He took two steps, removed a gun from Padden’s shoulder holster, put it away in his drawer. He added grimly: “I’m going to keep this ship bloodless, gentlemen. You all turn now and walk out. Stay close together. I’ll be right behind you.”

  THE fog rolled over the deck. The deckplates were wet and shone where light fell on them. The captain, Cardigan, Padden and the girl stood in the forward well deck. Soon four dim figures came down the ladder from ’midships. Two of them walked close together; two followed, carrying guns.

  A voice croaked: “Hey, Gink, what’s the idea o’ this?”

  “Shut up,” Padden said.

  There was a moment’s silence, and then the captain said: “Cardigan, you go down first. I’ll give you time to start the engine. Then I’ll send the girl down.”

  Cardigan swung over the rail, said: “You’re the boss.” He went down the rope ladder, stepped on to the bow of the boat. It took him a couple of minutes to get the engine started. There was a tool-box near it and from this he took a heavy wrench.

  “O.K.,” he called up.

  The girl came down the ladder slowly, crying; Cardigan caught her in his arms, carried her to the stern sheets, set her down. He removed his overcoat and put it around her shoulders. The small boat rolled, its engine idled, coughing, and the wooden steps of the rope ladder thumped against the metal plates of the ship’s side.

  Cardigan drew the wrench from his pocket, gripped it. He watched the first of the three men come down, saw him fall into the bows.

  Cardigan said: “Stay there. Come this side of the engine and I’ll knock your brains out with this wrench.”

  The other two came down, and the last to land in the bows was Padden. The girl shivered, cried, her face in her hands.

  Cardigan called out: “Cut loose that line.”

  One of the men moved, loosed the line, and the small boat fell away. Cardigan advanced the throttle, then retarded it again. He gripped the tiller, curved the boat slowly away from the ship, then advanced the throttle and headed straightaway from the ship’s bow.

  One of the men in the bows stood up.

  “Sit down,” Cardigan growled. “And stay where you are. Or I’ll use this wrench on you.”

  He kept looking back at the ship’s bow until it vanished; and then, looking ahead, he caught a glimpse of wharf lights. The water lapped, slapped, and the thick wet fog rolled about those in the boat. Horns and whistles blew, bells clanged, near or far away. The dark shapes in the bows were restless; they muttered among themselves.

  Padden called out: “This is a trick, Cardigan! That wharf will be lousy with cops!”

  “Shut up.”

  “I’ll—”

  “You’ll stay where you are, punk.”

  The girl was moaning and rocking on the seat.

  There was a moment of silence, and then suddenly the three men rose and tumbled aft. Cardigan let the tiller go, jumped up. He said nothing. His arm rose, his hand gripping the heavy wrench. The girl did not scream but flung herself face down on the seat. Cardigan chopped sidewise with the wrench. The first man went down screaming wildly, but Padden and the other landed on Cardigan and bore him backward.

  The girl crept forward, kicked off her shoes. With a weak little cry she dived overboard. Cardigan saw her and yelled: “You guys lay off! She’s jumped!” But they hung on and kicked and punched him. He gritted: “You bums, let me get after her!”

  By main strength he carried both men forward past th
e engine. He landed with them in the bows, trying to get his wrench into play, but Padden had his arm in a brutal lock, the other man was kicking him in the stomach. The motor boat chugged on, going round and round in a circle.

  Padden rasped: “Kick him in the head, Biff!”

  “I’m tryin’ to!”

  Sweat became mixed with the fog on their faces. Cardigan knew that one of his eyes was closed. He threw the wrench overboard so that he could use both hands. Padden stepped on his face and Cardigan ripped the foot off, twisted it viciously so that Padden screamed.

  Biff roared: “I tried to bomb you out, baby, but this time we’ll break your neck and toss you overboard!”

  There was a violent bump, and both men jumped off Cardigan, reeled to their feet. They saw a small rowboat alongside, the shape of a man coming on board over the gunwale. They staggered toward him, but a sharp, cold voice snapped: “Easy, or you’ll get a belly full.”

  Padden and Biff stopped, swaying.

  “I heard that last crack about a bombing,” McCoy said. “So you killed my partner Reilly, did you?”

  Biff groaned: “Geeze!” He spun, started to dive overboard.

  McCoy’s gun boomed, shot flame into the dark fog.

  Biff sank, his head banging against the gunwale.

  “I feel better already,” McCoy said. He raised his voice: “That you, Cardigan?”

  But Cardigan was unconscious, his mouth bleeding and both eyes closed. McCoy stepped back, caught hold of the tiller. He said to Padden: “Just stay as you are. I found a guy manacled on the wharf and he talked about things. If you want to move, go ahead. I’d like to give you the same dose I gave your boy friend. Would you like to move?”

  Padden sat down very quietly. The engine chugged, and the boat slopped along through the water. The fog rolled over it in streamers and ribbons, thick and damp, leaving wet beads on Cardigan’s battered face.

  HE came to in a hospital room. He licked his dry lips, and a nurse leaned over with a glass of water.

  “How do you feel?”

  “Never felt rottener.”

  “You were in a fight.”

  “You’re telling me?”

  He closed his eyes, and his thoughts went back and he remembered the open boat, the clammy fog, and he thought he remembered McCoy’s voice but he wasn’t sure. He remembered the girl and how she had dived overboard, and a chill knifed him, he opened his bruised eyes.