Tiger by the Tail

by James Hadley Chase

  “What time last night?”

  “About half-past ten.”

  “You didn’t see any stranger in the passage?”

  “If I had I would have called Seth.”

  “You said just now that Yarde was out. Didn’t you think it was odd to hear noises in his room after he had gone out?”

  “How was I to know it was in his room? I just heard noises. Why should I care?”

  “How do you know Yarde went out at eight last night? Did you see him?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did he say where he was going?”

  “He said he was going to raise some money.”

  “Did he tell you that?”

  “Yes. He had borrowed ten bucks off me and I wanted it. He said he hadn’t got it on him, but he would give it to me when he got back.” She looked around the room. “Doesn’t look as if he is coming back now, does it?”

  “Did he say how he was going to raise the money?”

  “I didn’t ask him.”

  “Okay,” Adams said, waving her to the door. “You can go.”

  “Thanks copper for nothing,” she said, and flounced back to her room.

  “Got any ideas about this?” Adams asked Cutler.

  Cutler shook his head.

  “If Yarde shows up tell him I want to talk to him. I want information. He isn’t in trouble, but he will be if he doesn’t get in touch with me.”

  “I’ll tell him. Want to go out by the escape?”

  “Anything’s better than your elevator.”

  They walked along the passage to a door at the far end. Cutler opened it and Adams stepped out on to an iron platform. From where he stood, he had a good view of the waterfront and the surrounding buildings. Immediately below him was a dark alley that ran by the side of the hotel and led out on to the waterfront.

  “So long, Lieutenant,” Cutler said.

  Adams wasn’t paying attention. He was watching two men standing in the shadows. Facing them was a cop. The taller of the two men suddenly stepped back.

  There was something about the cop’s cautious attitude that held Adams’ attention. He saw the taller one move slightly around to the back of the cop. He made a sudden movement and then the quiet night was shattered by the sound of gunfire.

  The cop took a step forward and fell on his knees. The man who had fired grabbed his companion by the arm and dragged him down the alley immediately below where Adams was standing.

  Adams’ hand slid inside his coat and he jerked out his .38 police special. He took a snap-shot at the taller of the two men and had the satisfaction of seeing him stagger. He raised the gun to fire again, but Culter appeared to slip and cannoned into him, spoiling his aim.

  The two men had now disappeared down the alley.

  Shoving Cutler aside, Adams raced down the escape, three steps at a time.

  CHAPTER VIII

  I

  While Ken rowed across the dark, oily water of the estuary, he tried to think how he was going to get Johnny into Adams’ hands without raising Johnny’s suspicions, but the problem defeated him.

  Johnny had a gun. He sat in the stern of the boat, watching the outline of the Willow Point as it slowly faded into the darkness, holding the gun in his hand.

  “I should have killed that punk,” he said suddenly. “He’ll come after us. I was a mug not to settle him while I had the chance.” He peered at Ken in the dim light of the moon. “Who the hell are you? How did you appear exactly at the right time?”

  “My name’s Holland,” Ken said. “I had been told Tux was a good man if you were in trouble. I wanted somewhere safe to hide. As I came alongside the cruiser I heard two men talking. They were arranging to murder you. I thought you might want help, so I horned in.”

  “Well, I’ll be damned! You certainly turned up at the right time, but you don’t know what you’ve let yourself in for. Tux won’t forget you. I’m getting out of town. You’d better come with me.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “I know a guy who’ll lend me a car. We’ll go to Los Angeles. I have friends there.”

  “I wouldn’t get far,” Ken said. “The police are looking for me.”

  “I’ll get you out of town,” Johnny said. “You leave it to me. You helped me; I’ll help you. The cops in this town are a dumb lot.” He shoved the gun in his hip pocket. “Here, move over. Let me handle one of the oars.”

  It took them twenty minutes to reach a lonely stretch of the shore. As Ken got stiffly out of the boat he heard the distant engine of a motorboat.

  Johnny heard it too, and he looked across the dark street.

  “That’s Solly going back. We’ll have to get under cover fast.

  Those two guys will come after us, and they’re a damn sight more dangerous than the cops.”

  Leaving the boat, they walked quickly along the path that led towards the waterfront.

  “If we run into a cop, let me handle him,” Johnny said.

  It took them ten minutes to reach the line of shops and cafes that had been Ken’s starting-point.

  The waterfront appeared deserted. The amusement arcade was in darkness. The only light that showed was the electric sign that flashed on and off above the hotel, spelling out the word WASHINGTON.

  Then suddenly a cop appeared out of the darkness.

  Both Johnny and Ken stopped short.

  “Hey you!” the cop said, pointing his night stick at Ken. “I want a word with you.”

  “What is it?” Ken said, his heart sinking.

  Johnny stepped back.

  “You answer to the description of Kenway Holland, wanted for questioning at headquarters. Are you Holland ?”

  Ken saw Johnny move slightly behind the cop, his hand flash to his hip pocket.

  “No!” Ken exclaimed. “Don’t… !”

  The cop spun around, but he was too late.

  The crash of gunfire shattered the silence. Horrified, Ken saw the cop

  drop to his knees and then roll over. He made to bend over him, but Johnny grabbed his arm and dragged him down a dark alley.

  “Run!” Johnny said thickly. “Come on, you fool! They’ll be after us!”

  Immediately above them a gun barked. Ken heard the slug zip past his face and saw Johnny stagger.

  “Run!” Johnny snarled, recovering his balance.

  Panic-stricken, Ken bolted down the dark alley after Johnny as a police whistle shrilled in the darkness.

  They hadn’t run more than fifty yards when Johnny suddenly staggered, lost his balance and fell on hands and knees.

  Ken pulled up and bent over him.

  “Were you hit?” he panted.

  “Got it in the arm,” Johnny gasped. “I’m bleeding like hell.”

  Ken looked frantically to right and left. He could hear someone running down an iron staircase not far off. He could hear distant shouts and more police whistles. He caught hold of Johnny and hauled him to his feet. Johnny leaned against him.

  “Where’s this alley lead to?” Ken asked.

  “I don’t know. Leave me! They’ll be on to us in a moment.”

  “No!”

  Ken wanted to run, but he knew he had to stick with Johnny. Adams had said he wanted Johnny, and Ken was determined he should have Johnny.

  He pulled Johnny back against the wall. Nearby was a door, leading to a tall, shabby house. Suddenly the door jerked open and a shadowy figure of a girl appeared in the doorway.

  “Hey! Come inside quick!” she said in an urgent whisper.

  Ken could hear the thud of running feet coming from the end of the alley. He didn’t hesitate. Dragging Johnny over to the door, he bundled him into the darkness beyond and heard the girl hurriedly shut and lock the door. Almost immediately he heard someone run by.

  “Is he hurt?” the girl asked.

  “He’s shot in the arm.”

  “Stay here. I’ll get a light.”

  “Aren’t women wonderful?” Johnny muttered. “Everytime
I get into a jam there’s a woman to help me out.” He leaned more heavily against Ken. “I feel like hell. I think I’m going to pass out…”

  He slumped suddenly nearly pulling Ken over, then he slid to the ground.

  The girl came quickly down the steep flight of stairs, holding a flickering candle above her head.

  “I think he’s fainted,” Ken said.

  “Can you carry him up? I have a room at the head of the stairs.”

  Ken managed to get Johnny across his shoulder and he staggered up the stairs after the girl, who lit the way.

  He got Johnny into a small room, lit only by an oil lamp.

  “Put him on the bed.”

  When he had lowered Johnny on to the bed, he turned to look at the girl and he saw with a sense of shock it was the girl he had met in the amusement arcade.

  “Hello, handsome,” she said, smiling at him. “So you’re still in trouble.” She handed him the oil lamp. “Hold it so I can take a look at him.”

  Too surprised to say anything, Ken held the oil lamp while she quickly cut away Johnny’s coat sleeve and shirt. The sight of the blood and the torn flesh sickened him.

  “It could be worse, but I’ve to stop that bleeding,” she said calmly. She moved quickly across the room, filled a basin of water, went to a cupboard and pulled out a couple of towels and came back to the bed.

  In an astonishingly short time she had got the bleeding under control and had bandaged Johnny’s arm.

  “That’s fixed it,” she said as she began to clear away the blood-stained rags. “He’ll be okay now.”

  Ken set down the lamp on the table. While she had been working on Johnny he had been uneasily listening to the noises going on outside. He heard police whistles, distant shouting and sirens, and he guessed the alley and the surrounding buildings were being cordoned off.

  He had to get in touch with Adams.

  As soon as the girl had finished clearing up, he said, “I must use the telephone. Have you got one?”

  “Does it look like it?” she said impatiently. “There’s a pay boom at the end of the alley, but you’d better not use that.”

  “I must get him away from here. If they found him here you’d get into trouble,” Ken said anxiously.

  The girl laughed.

  “Be your age, handsome,” she said. “What do I care? I’m never out of trouble.”

  “But you don’t understand. He shot a policeman. He probably killed him.”

  “So what? My brother killed two cops,” the girl said in-differently. “They’re fair game, aren’t they ?”

  Ken looked helplessly at her.

  “I must get him away from here !”

  “Relax. You can’t go yet. They’re out there like a swarm of bees. Sit down.

  I’ll make some coffee.” She bent over Johnny. “He’s lost a lot of blood. He won’t be able to move yet.”

  Ken sat down. He suddenly felt exhausted. While she made coffee he listened to the uproar going on outside.

  “They’re certain to come here,” he said uneasily. “They’ll search every building.”

  “Oh, forget it!” she said impatiently. “They’re not here yet.”

  II

  Standing in the shadows, Raphael Sweeting watched the night clerk at the reception desk as he idly turned the pages of the evening newspaper.

  Sweeting hadn’t expected to find a night clerk on duty at Maddox Court. He was sure the clerk wouldn’t let him upstairs if he saw him, and he thought it unwise to walk in boldly and ask for Gilda at this hour.

  But he had infinite patience. He waited, holding Leo close to him, while he leaned his fat shoulders against the pillar. He had to wait twenty minutes before the opportunity he was hoping for came.

  The clerk suddenly glanced at his wrist-watch, dropped the paper on the desk, and went into a room immediately behind the desk.

  Sweeting was through the revolving doors in a flash. He scuttled across the thick pile carpet that covered the lobby floor and darted up the stairs and around the bend as the clerk came out of the room.

  Sweeting waited, listening; then, hearing nothing to alarm him, he went on up the stairs.

  It took him some moments to work out where apartment 45 was located in this vast building, and eventually found to his dismay that it was on the top floor.

  He was tempted to use the elevator, but decided against the risk. There would be an indicator on the ground floor, and the clerk might wonder who was using the elevator. So Sweeting toiled up the stairs. By the time he had reached the sixth floor, he was sweating and puffing.

  The time was now ten minutes to twelve. What a flop it would be, he thought, as he stood outside Gilda’s front door, if she were out. He dug his grimy thumb into the bell-push and held it there.

  After a slight delay he heard someone coming, and a moment later the door opened.

  Gilda stared blankly at him. She was wearing a pale blue neglige trimmed with blue mink. Her bare feet were thrust into blue-quilted slippers. She made a quick movement to shut the door, but Sweeting had had too many doors slammed in his face in the past not to be ready for such a move. His foot was already against the bottom of the door.

  “Don’t be alarmed, Miss Dorman,” he said, with his oily smile. “I’ve come about Maurice Yarde and your brother.”

  With satisfaction he watched her turn pale. Frightened women were always easy to handle.

  “Who are you?” she said, still pressing the door against his foot.

  “My name is Raphael Sweeting. I am a friend of your brother. He may have mentioned me.” Sweeting said. “Perhaps I might step inside? I have had a most tiring day and I would be glad to sit down.”

  “You can’t come in. I can’t see you now. Please go away!”

  Sweeting smiled.

  “I don’t want to make myself objectionable, Miss Dorman, but I assure you it is to your advantage to hear what I have to say. I have some interesting information for you.”

  The big green eyes swept over him, taking in his soiled creased suit, the three large grease stains on his tie, and the swollen, bloodshot eye the hat brim didn’t quite conceal.

  “What information?”

  “It’s about your brother.”

  She hesitated, then, stepping aside, motioned him to come in.

  Sweeting entered the hall happily. He followed her into a big, luxuriously furnished sitting-room that immediately told him she had much more money than he had imagined. It was possible, he thought as he looked around, that she was the mistress of some wealthy man. But that wasn’t his affair. The point was she was living in style and must have money.

  He took off his hat and settled himself in the most comfortable chair in the room, holding Leo on his lap.

  “You’ll excuse my eye. I had an unfortunate accident,” he said. “Are you fond of dogs, Miss Dorman? This little fellow is a remarkable specimen.” He gently stroked Leo’s silky coat. “Such a companion. Do you have a dog?”

  Gilda stood facing him. Her face hard.

  “What do you want?” she said curtly. “What have you got to tell me?”

  Sweeting lifted his shoulders.

  “Would it be inexcusable of me if I asked for a whisky and soda?” he asked hopefully.

  “You’re getting nothing here!” Gilda snapped. “What have you to tell me?”

  Sweeting’s fat face hardened. There was no reason to be polite to women unless they were exceptionally polite to him. When dealing with men he had to be more careful. Some of them, like that Holland fellow, could be violent, but there was no fear of that with a woman.

  “My information is for sale,” he said. “I have information concerning your brother that you will be anxious to buy.”

  “Shall I?”

  She moved away from him, opened a silver cigarette box and lit a cigarette.

  “Are you attempting to blackmail me?” she asked.

  “I would scarcely call it blackmail. Valuable information is always wo
rth paying for. The price is five hundred dollars.”

  “You don’t imagine I have such a sum in this apartment, do you?” she asked contemptuously.

  “Why not? You are obviously well off. It’s not a vast sum, but if you haven’t, I would consider taking some jewellery as security to be reclaimed for cash tomorrow.”

  “And what is this information?”

  Sweeting smirked.

  “Surely you don’t expect me to tell you that without the money or the jewellery, Miss Dorman? From experience I find women have no sense of honour.”

  She looked at him for a long moment. There was something cat-like in her stillness that made Sweeting feel a little uneasy.

  “Then I suppose I’ll have to see what I have. Will you wait?”

  She went into another room.

  Sweeting took out his handkerchief and dabbed at his aching eye.

  Perhaps his technique wasn’t as good as it used to be, he thought uneasily. He had never had so much trouble before. First, Holland had been violent and had thrown him out, and now this girl was being suspiciously difficult.

  The first indication he had that he had lost control of the situation came from Leo, who suddenly bolted off his lap and dived under the couch.

  Sweeting hurriedly looked over his shoulder.

  Gilda was standing in her bedroom doorway, a .38 automatic in her hand, its blue nose pointing at Sweeting’s head.

  Sweeting froze at the sight of the gun. If he had a horror of violence, guns terrified him. His heart seemed to turn over, and he shrank back in his chair, his fat face turning grey.

  Gilda came over and stood over him.

  “What’s your information?” she said. “You’d better talk, you little rat, or I’ll shoot you in the leg and tell the night clerk you broke in here.”

  Sweeting nearly fainted with fright.

  “Take care,” he quavered. “That gun might go off. Please put it down. I’ll be only too glad to tell you what I know.”

  “Talk!” Her voice cracked like a whiplash. “What do you know about my brother?”

  “Lieutenant Adams came to see me tonight,” Sweeting said, trying to shrink even further back in the chair as she came closer, holding the gun not more than a foot from his flinching eyes. “He’s sure Johnny killed Fay Carson. I told him he was wrong. I told him Maurice Yarde probably killed her.”