The book slipped in his fingers and he lost the page. He bent his head and opened it again, searching for a date. May. June. And suddenly, there it was.
June 9—Perkins kiled Farson for money belt. Hamilton had him do it. No one nos this. Buried him at nite.
Culver stiffened in his chair, his hand tightening into a fist that crushed and wrinkled the book in its savage grasp.
June 9—Perkins kiled Farson. …
And now Crip himself was dead. Dead, more than likely because of that very entry in the book. Killed because Hamilton was afraid that it might be there, because he knew that Crip had many things in the book that no other man should know. That especially a man named Culver should not know.
Culver rose from the chair, blew out the light and let himself into the hall.
Downstairs he stopped and tossed the book onto the desk.
“Will you put this in your safe?” he asked.
The clerk picked up the book and stared at it nervously.
“Know it?” asked Culver.
The clerk gulped and nodded.
“Someone killed Crip to get that book,” said Culver. “Only I got there first.”
“But … but … where are you going, sir?”
“I’m going out to collect a debt,” said Culver.
CHAPTER FOUR
When a Hero Fails
Hamilton glanced up swiftly from his desk at the sound of the footstep, froze at the sight of the gun in Culver’s hand.
Culver chuckled softly. “How are you, Cal?” he asked.
Hamilton’s lips moved drily in his face. “How did you get in?”
“Through the basement window,” said Culver. “All the others were locked. The place was dark but I saw the light in your window here.”
One of Hamilton’s hands slid along the desk top and Culver snapped at him: “Keep those paws where they are. Don’t go reaching for a drawer!”
Hamilton slid his hand back again and Culver moved into the room, closed the door behind him. Piles of bills and heaps of silver coin were piled upon the desk top and in front of Hamilton was a heavy ledger.
“Counting up the profits?” asked Culver.
Hamilton didn’t answer and he went on. “I been wondering what you do when you make a windfall. Ten thousand dollars, say. Put it in the book, all regular-like and neat?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Hamilton said.
“Suppose you kill a man,” said Culver. “Or have someone kill him for you. Suppose he has a money belt with ten thousand dollars in it. What do you do with that?”
“I wouldn’t know,” said Hamilton. “It’s never happened. I never thought about it.”
“I’d hate to have a memory like yours,” Culver told him, softly. “Bad for business. Imagine going around and forgetting a wad of cash like that.”
“Look,” said Hamilton. “I’m busy!”
Culver snarled savagely. “Don’t try to high-hat me, Cal. You can’t run a sandy on me because I know you from the bottom up. In case you’ve forgotten, I’m talking about Farson.”
“Farson?”
“Yes, Farson. The man you had Perkins kill.”
Hamilton shrugged. “Perkins probably has killed a lot of men I don’t know about.”
“Not Farson,” said Culver, evenly. “You knew about him, all right.”
“You haven’t any proof,” Hamilton pointed out.
“A book,” said Culver.
Hamilton snickered. “Crip’s book. It would never stand in law.”
“I’m not talking about the law, Hamilton. I’m talking about a debt.”
“A debt?”
“That’s right. Ten thousand bucks. That money Farson had belonged to me.”
“You mean—”
“I mean I want the money back.”
“That’s all?”
“All for right now,” Culver told him. “After I get the cash I’m going out and find Perkins and when I’m done with him I’ll come back for you. I’ll give you that much chance, Cal. I’ll give you time to run if you want to run.”
“And if I don’t?”
“I sure hope you don’t,” said Culver.
One of Hamilton’s hands twitched nervously. “Look, Culver, we’re old friends. We knew one another back there on the river.”
Culver grinned wryly. “You’re stretching the truth some when you say that we were friends. How about starting to count out the money.”
“I haven’t got it here,” said Hamilton. “I’d have to get into the safe.”
“Okay,” said Culver. “Start getting into it.”
He moved around the desk, gun held ready. “One wrong move,” he warned, “and you’ll never finish what you’re doing.”
Hamilton swiveled the chair around, got out of it and knelt before the safe. His fingers went out to the dial and turned it, fumbling as they worked.
“You gave in pretty easy,” Culver told him. “If you got any aces up your sleeve don’t try to pull them out.”
The dial clicked and Hamilton pulled the handle of the safe. In the silence of the room, Culver heard the bolts shoot back. The hinges squealed a little as the door came open.
Another sound, a noise that was scarcely heard, brought Culver spinning around, away from the kneeling man to face the door. Perkins stood in the doorway, one hand on the doorknob, the other clutching a six-gun.
Culver jerked his own gun up, finger already tightening on the trigger. Perkins’ gun coughed harshly, like a rasping throat, and burning fire sliced its way across the knuckles of Culver’s gun hand. He felt his fingers loosen and the gun jumped from them as it fired, bouncing high into the air, then spinning to the floor.
Perkins’ gun was leveling again and behind it the man’s face was a mask of hate. Culver backed toward the wall, step by slow step.
Hamilton had swung away from the safe, was still squatting on his heels, but he also held a gun. That’s why he gave in so easy, Culver told himself. He had the gun in there and he gambled on it. But he never would have made it if it hadn’t been for Perkins. He’d never had a chance to reach for it.
Culver felt the wall at his back and stood rigid, watching Perkins pace toward him, gun leveled, face twisted into livid hatefulness.
Hamilton’s voice cut through the tenseness of the silence. “Perkins! Perkins, don’t shoot!”
Perkins’ eyes did not waver from Culver. He asked: “Why not?”
“He’s got the book!” Hamilton yelled. “He’s got Crip’s book. He’s the one that scared you off and took the book.”
“Hell, all we have to do,” snarled Perkins, “is to cut him down and take it.”
“You fool!” Hamilton screamed. “You don’t think he has it on him? He’s too smart to have it on him.”
“You’re right, Cal,” Culver said. “I haven’t got it on me.”
Perkins moved closer. “Where is it?” he asked.
Culver shook his head.
“Don’t push your luck too far,” Perkins told him, fiercely. “I got a thing or two to settle with you and I might forget myself.”