"All right," said Doan. "What's next?"
Edmund felt behind him and opened the rear door of the Cadillac. "Tell your dog to get in there," he said, sidling away from the car.
"Get in," Doan said, nudging Carstairs with his knee.
Carstairs climbed slowly into the car. Edmund slammed the door.
"Turn around."
Doan turned around. Edmund came closer and pushed the shiny revolver against his spine.
"Don't move."
Doan stood still. Edmund's hand slid lightly over his shoulder and retrieved the .25 automatic from the breast pocket of his coat. The hand disappeared, came back empty, and slipped the Police Positive out of Doan's waistband.
Edmund moved backward cautiously. "Open the door and let the dog out. Keep him close to you."
Doan obeyed. Carstairs sat down on the sand, his ears tucked low against the whip of the wind, and examined Edmund with a sort of speculative interest.
"Well?" said Doan, doing the same.
"We'll go to the shack," said Edmund. "There are some things I wish you to tell me. Walk that way. Walk slowly. Keep your hand on the dog's collar. I'll shoot you instantly if you don't do exactly as I say."
Doan turned around and headed into the wind with Carstairs walking beside him. The rain slashed at Doan's face in slanting flicks, and the sand packed heavily on his shoes. The faint straggle of a path led around a knoll and through scarred, knee high brush, and then the shack loomed at a little higher level across the draw in front of them.
It was small, no more than about twelve-by-twelve, made of odd-size lumber that had weathered and warped, and it had a roof shingled with flattened five-gallon tins and a stovepipe chimney that drooped disconsolately.
Doan stopped when he saw it.
"Go on," Edmund ordered.
"You've got visitors."
"What?"
"There's someone inside," Doan said. "If they're friends of yours, it's okay by me, but I wouldn't like to get caught in a crossfire."
The revolver nudged into Doan's spine again, and he could sense rather than hear Edmund's heavy breathing just back of his ear.
"How do you know there's someone inside?"
Doan pointed down. Carstairs was staring at the but with his ears pricked forward sharply, his head tilted a little. The stunted brush along the sides of the draw clashed and chittered uneasily, and rain ran curiously around among exposed roots.
Edmund moved closer against Doan's back. "Hello!" he shouted suddenly. "Hello!"
A voice came back like a flat, muffled echo. "Hello!"
Edmund sighed noisily. "It's all right. Go ahead."
Doan dug his heels in and slid down the bank. The sand at the bottom of the draw sucked mushily under his shoes, and he climbed up the other side, skidding slightly.
The braced door of the shack moved a little, uncertainly, and then opened back and revealed a square of dim, blue gloom. Rain slapped and spattered on the tin roofing and drooled messily down from the eaves.
"Inside," said Edmund.
Doan and Carstairs edged through the door.
"Why, Mr. Doan," said Harriet Hathaway.
She was sitting down on the floor against the wall at Doan's right with her feet out in front of her. Blue was sitting beside her with his feet out, too. He was studying them with gloomily absorbed interest. He looked like a man who has been suspecting the worst and has just found out that it is all too true.
MacAdoo was sitting on a nail keg against the opposite wall. His sombrero was spotted blackly with rain, and some of the colors had run from the band across its wide, tilted brim. He looked worried, but not about the rifle he was holding on his lap. He seemed to be quite at home with that.
"Don't tell me," said Doan. "Let me guess. It's old home week."
Edmund shoved the revolver against his back. "Get out of the way."
Doan and Carstairs stepped sideways in concert.
"Hello," MacAdoo said to Edmund.
"So it's you," said Edmund. "What do you mean by coming here?"
MacAdoo moved the rifle to indicate Harriet and Blue. "They were following you. I followed them. I thought I'd best collect them and bring them along."
"What were you following me for?" Edmund asked.
"Oh, you," said Harriet. "What would anyone want to follow you for? I mean, you're just a desk clerk. I mean, we weren't following you at all. We didn't even see you. We were following Mr. Doan."
"Why?" Doan asked.
"You were acting suspiciously. Sneaking."
"Don't blame me," said Blue. "I was agin the whole idea." He had shaved, and his skin looked new and pink and polished. He still wore his black glasses.
"Well, you know it was a good idea," Harriet told him. "Just look. I mean, it's obvious that there is some kind of a subversive plot going on somewhere. Just why are you neglecting your duties in this frivolous manner, Mr. Doan?"
"Ask Edmund," Doan advised.
"Be quiet," said Edmund. "Speak when you're spoken to." He nodded coldly at MacAdoo. "How did you get here ahead of us?"
"Drove," MacAdoo answered. "I've got no governor on my car. I passed you back at the crossroads."
"Well, why did you come here?"
"I thought--"
"Tchah!" said Edmund contemptuously. "Thought! You do nothing but think. This is a time for action, not thinking. You should have killed them somewhere else."
"What?" said Harriet.
"Who?" said Blue.
"Tchah!" Edmund said. "When you meddle, you die."
"It's no act," Doan told them. "He means it."
"But why?" Harriet demanded shakily.
"Be quiet," Edmund ordered. "Perhaps I will rape you before I kill you, although I don't think it would be worth my time. You." He jabbed the revolver at Doan. "Sit down there beside them. Keep your hands folded in your lap."
Doan sat down and extended his feet. Carstairs sat down in front of him.
"Where'd you get that rifle?" Edmund asked MacAdoo.
"Bought it."
"What kind is it?"
"Mannlicher 6.5 sporter with a five power scope."
"Tchah!" said Edmund. "Austrian. You."
"Present," Doan answered.
"Where is the ore deposit?"
"We're sitting on it."
"No," said Edmund. "The other one, Tonto Charlie, brought me here. There is no ore in this area that could be of any possible use to any government. Right?"
MacAdoo nodded. "Right."
"I'm blanked, then," Doan said. "Why don't you ask Blue?"
"Huh?" said Blue.
"Don't be silly," Harriet said sharply. "Blue doesn't know anything about ore. He doesn't know anything about anything. Do you?"
"Nope," said Blue.
"Hmmm," said Edmund, watching him. "You are too stupid to be real. You are not even a good actor. What do you know about this matter?"
"Nothin'."
"You'd better answer," Edmund said. "I'm very impatient."
Doan was staring narrowly at the back of Carstairs' neck. Carstairs flicked his ears twice and then finally turned around to stare at him. Doan stopped looking at his neck and began studying the door. It was not latched. The wind moved it slightly, and the bottom edge scraped on the rough floor.
Carstairs began to watch the door, too.
Harriet said, "You're a very silly person. I think you're getting a little above yourself, aren't you? Going around kidnapping people and threatening them. There are laws--"
"If you don't keep quiet I'll kick you in the face," Edmund told her.
Blue sighed drearily. "I dunno why I had to get mixed up with such people."
The wind moved the door back a little more. The muscles along Carstairs' back quivered slightly.
"Edmund," Doan said.
Edmund turned toward him. "What?"
"Which brand of enemy agent are you?"
Edmund's lip curled. "Need you ask?"
"Not any more
," said Doan. "What were you doing as a desk clerk?"
"Preparing to get in an aircraft factory."
"I see," said Doan. "That would be--Hike!"
Carstairs moved in a blurred streak. He hit the edge of the door with one shoulder and knocked it wider open and slipped through.
Edmund whirled around and fired. Carstairs was in midair, taking off from the threshold. He turned clear over in the air with a breathless grunt, slammed down on his side, and skidded out of sight down into the draw.
"You!" said Edmund to Doan, white-faced. He whirled again and snatched the rifle out of MacAdoo's hands. "I hit him! He won't go far! I'll follow... Take this! Watch! Make no mistakes!" He thrust the shiny revolver at MacAdoo and ran headlong out the door.
MacAdoo settled the revolver competently in his palm. He still looked worried, but no more so than he had before.
"No more tricks," he warned. "I'm not quite as bloodthirsty as Edmund, but I have some few instincts of self defense."
He got up off the nail keg, holding the revolver carefully leveled, and shut the door tight. He walked backward to the nail keg and sat down again. The rain thrummed noisily on the roof.
"I don't think I like Edmund," Doan said conversationally.
"No one does," said MacAdoo. "Naturally. He's a graduate of the Ordensburgen. "
"What are that?"
"Where they train the Geheim Staatspolizei. The Gestapo. Their graduates are very clever. They are given a very thorough education in how to assume any particular background they might choose. Edmund's slang and mannerisms are good, I think."
"Very good," Doan agreed. "Do you go around heiling Hitler, too?"
"Adolf? No. Although I've always rather liked him."
"You talk as though you knew him."
"I do."
"I mean, personally."
MacAdoo nodded. "Yes. I do."
Harriet gasped. "You know Adolf Hitler?"
"Certainly," said MacAdoo.
"That's horrible!"
"No, it isn't. He's rather amusing sometimes. Better than the radio. That is, he was. I understand he's run to seed a bit lately--"
"How'd you happen to meet him?" Doan asked.
"I ran an art shop in Munich for several years. He used to hang around and cadge coffee money off me. I sold a couple of his pictures."
"They're terrible pictures!" Harriet snapped. "Everybody knows they're just old house-painter's smears."
"No, they're not," said MacAdoo. "They're not bad at all. They're not wonderful, but they're pretty competent jobs of work. I wonder why you Americans always have to try to make anything your enemies do seem ridiculous and bungling. It causes you a lot of needless casualties."
"You ain't lyin'," Blue said.
"Why what do you know about it?" Harriet demanded.
"He was maybe thinking of airplanes," Doan suggested.
Harriet stared at him. "Everyone knows that our planes are the best in the world and that the German planes are nothing but a lot of old junk and ersatz, and that their pilots are all cowards."
"Sure," said Doan. "MacAdoo, if you were kicking around in Munich when Hitler was trying to sell pictures, how come you didn't hitch up with the Nazis when they started going?"
"I did. I've got party card number eleven."
"What does that mean?" Harriet inquired coldly.
"It means there were a total often Nazis, including Hitler, when I joined up. I didn't join, really. Hitler presented me with a membership when I asked him to pay me back some of the dough I'd lent him."
"That must have sort of put you in on the ground floor," Doan said thoughtfully.
"Yes."
"You ought to have cleaned up when the Nazis began to get rolling."
"I did."
"How?" Doan asked.
"I was art director of the Reich. I--ah--bought pictures from people and--ah--sold them to other people."
Doan said, "You mean you confiscated pictures from Hitler's enemies, and blackmailed people who wanted to be his friends into buying them."
"That's putting it very crudely," said MacAdoo, "but lucidly."
"Did you have a monopoly on that business?"
"Yes."
"You must have put away plenty."
"I did."
"What'd you stop for?"
MacAdoo's lips tightened. "Goering. That big tub of guts. He was building castles all over Germany, and he informed me I should donate pictures for them. He had a list of the pictures. The most valuable ones I had--ah--purchased. Imagine that. I should give him pictures. He wasn't satisfied with stealing all the steel mills in Germany, he's got to cut in on my business."
"What did you do?" Doan inquired.
"Told him to go to hell."
"What did he do?"
"Tried to murder me six times within six days. I had a few bodyguards of my own, of course, but even then he had ten regiments of thugs plus the air force. I had to cut and run for it. I'm going to get even with him for that one of these fine days. I'll probably have to wait until after the war, I suppose."
"Goering is going to be hung after we win the war," Harriet told him.
MacAdoo looked at her. "Don't be silly. The Kaiser didn't have much more than a hundred million dollars, and nobody hung him. Goering is worth two or three billion by this time, and besides that he has heavy influence in England and the United States."
"How do you know?" Doan asked.
"Read the papers. Who do you think is paying for all this bilge about Goering being a harmless, jolly fat man with a love for medals and a heart of gold? Stuff like that isn't printed for free. Particularly not after the guy involved has murdered a half million civilians with his air force. I shouldn't wonder but what he'll wind up as president of the Reich under a, pause for laughter, democratic government."
MacAdoo leaned sideways on his nail keg and pulled a leather covered flask from his hip pocket. He snapped the patented top open with his teeth.
"Have some brandy?"
"No, thanks," said Doan. "Edmund's taking a long time, isn't he?"
MacAdoo smiled. "Isn't he? He'll be back, though. Are you thinking about the FBI? Don't. They won't be around. They didn't follow you. I believe they had an idea of scouting for you in a plane, but one couldn't get off the ground in this kind of weather, and if it did no one in it would be able to see anything."
"Hmmm," said Doan. "How'd you get into the country, and stay so long without being spotted? They must have a record and pictures of you."
"There are ways. They do have pictures of me, but in the pictures I was forty pounds heavier, bald, wore a beard, and had a hooked nose."
"Oh. What'll you look like tomorrow?"
"Not like I did then or do now."
"How'd Edmund spot you?"
"Goering. He's never quit trying to find me. He finally did."
"How come he didn't try some more murder?"
"I got in touch with Adolf. I told him to call Goering off, or I'd start talking to the United States Government, and not about pictures, either."
"Edmund doesn't like you very well."
"No. He thinks I'm a party backslider."
"When are you going to kill him?" Doan asked.
"After he attends to you--"
The thin, distant crack of a rifle sounded somewhere outside. It was repeated almost instantly.
"That's the end of your dog," said MacAdoo. "He never had a chance. Edmund is an expert killer."
"Too bad," said Doan. "But then, I never liked Carstairs much anyway. Do you think he really could have gotten a job in pictures?"
"I think so."
"How about me?"
"No," said MacAdoo.
Doan sighed. "That's what comes of having brains instead of beauty."
The rain rippled musically on the roof, and the wind brushed tentative, prying fingers along the wall of the shack.
"I don't understand this!" Harriet wailed suddenly.
Doan sighed agai
n. "I might as well tell all, I guess. We might have a long--wait."
The Essential Works of Norbert Davis Page 50