“Can you tell me,” he said, “who killed this Wacco?”
“A man,” I said, “called Farron Bronson.”
McNab knitted his eyes. Hulbert Clovelly clutched at my arm and his whole body shuddered, but he said nothing.
“So—” said McNab, “it’s that bad then.” And suddenly: “How much would you want, Mr. Williams, to spend the night at the Park View Hotel under the name of another man?”
I had had that line before, and the answer was not as easy as the simple “yes” I had given then. Now I was cautious.
“It would depend,” I said, “on the name of that man.”
“Of course,” McNab nodded, “it would not be entirely without danger. What do you mean ‘it would depend on the name of the man’?”
“Simply if I were to pose as Al Capone I would want a heap of jack, a machine-gun or two, a steel vest — and even then, I don’t know.”
“I see.” I think that he smiled. “The name, then, is Hulbert Clovelly. The price we offer is one thousand dollars over and above your expenses and the five hundred retainer we sent you. There may be something bigger in it for you later. Mr. Clovelly doesn’t think that there will be an attempt on your life.”
“Then why the offer?”
“To find out if there will be. To find out if certain people have tracked down Mr. Clovelly. We understand you accept money to face danger — real or imaginary. Does the price suit you?”
“Oh — the price is all right,” I told him. “It seems tricky. Won’t these people know Mr. Clovelly — am I to sit in the dark and wait?”
“On the contrary, you are to act as you would in any hotel room. These people, as you put it, have never seen Hulbert Clovelly. We have been at the Park View Hotel for a few days. I did the registering. Mr. Clovelly has spent his time in his room. When I telephoned you we had learned that a certain party was in town.. But if it were to track Mr. Clovelly or the unfortunate Wacco we do not know. We have brought you here to find out. Mr. Clovelly’s clothes are still in his room. I left word he would return to the hotel. You will simply ask for the key to room No. 746.”
“And the police?” I was thinking the thing out.
“The police must be out of it. Entirely out of it. If Mr. Clovelly were in a position to use the police we would have sought that protection. Shall we say a thousand dollars, then, to spend a single night in a hotel room under the name of Hulbert Clovelly?” And quickly, as I rubbed my chin: “If there were anything criminal in the procedure we would hardly suggest that you take Mr. Clovelly’s name. It wouldn’t make sense.”
“Crime never does make sense,” I told him. I was thinking up some questions. Yet — perhaps the less I knew, the better. Certainly the thing was in my line. Unlawful to pose as another man? Hardly — and easy to work out of with the police. It wouldn’t be the first time I took an assumed name.
“You’ll do it?”
“And if my life is attempted, what do you gain?”
“Knowledge — as well as fear,” he said. “Will you do it?”
“Yes—” I finally told him. It was late now — not much of a vigil to keep in a large hotel room. “Is there anything else you wish to tell me?”
“Not at the moment,” he said. “Here are five hundred dollars.” He shoved a roll of bills into my hands without counting them. “And here is the Park View Hotel. I think we will leave you outside. You will find us in the morning at the Jefferson Hotel. Simply ask for Mr. McNab. I’ll have the other five hundred ready for you.”
“Scotch.” I smiled. Somehow. Well, it’s funny how a bank roll will make you coddle more or less to a lad.
I hesitated there, flat against the wall of the Park View Hotel, as the taxi pulled away. Then I looked at the entrance to the hotel again. A girl was coming down the steps. She was carrying a light bag and looking back up into the now dimly lighted lobby. For a minute, perhaps, she stood under the single lamp. What I could see of her face was good — and there was a tilt to her head. If she was making a decision, she didn’t motion picture it. But finally she decided against going back into the hotel. At least, she came down the remaining steps with a determined air.
There were two taxis just to the left of the hotel; on the side away from me and nearer the corner. They were regulation hotel cabs. Either one would have suited the girl. She raised her hand towards the nearer cab. The chauffeur saw her, came to life, stepped on the starter — and the motor whirred. Then, as the girl crossed the sidewalk to the curb, two men suddenly came into the picture from the darkness. They came from either close to the hotel or around the corner, though I favored the idea that they came from the shadows against the building. Why did I favor that? I don’t know, but at the moment that was my thought.
They weren’t together. That is, apparently they weren’t. For one sought the first cab and the other sought the second cab. The driver of that first cab must have fancied a man passenger rather than a woman, or maybe a bill went into his hand. Anyway, he gave up his idea of drawing up for the girl.
A car which had been further down the block broke into life. It was not a hotel cab. It was not a taxi — at least, not a regulation metered taxi. It was a big blue limousine.
The two taxis went speeding down the street. -The thing was a cinch, from my point of view. The two men were simply there to take those cabs out of the way: nice and quiet-like, without fuss or trouble — or anything suspicious, to be looked back on later.
In a way, I think the girl was on — but she didn’t have time to figure it out exactly. The big car had swung to the curb; the chauffeur had hopped quickly from behind the wheel instead of leaning back, and now stood with the door open, his right hand sort of helping the girl into the car.
Maybe she drew back and maybe she didn’t. I couldn’t be sure of that. But she did take one hasty look at the hotel lobby, and I caught her voice when she spoke to the chauffeur. Half in the car she was then.
“The railroad station,” she said.
That was all. She was in the car, the door slammed closed, the chauffeur hopped quickly in behind the wheel and threw the car into gear.
Where was I? Why, I simply dog-trotted from the shadows to the curb, swung aboard the car, jerked open the door and was inside, closing the door behind me just as the car started.
4
The chauffeur didn’t see me burst into his car. Not that I cared much, except perhaps for a bit of pride that I do things well. As for hearing me! Well — maybe he heard the door close, or the noise of it closing. Maybe he didn’t, for he kept the car in low gear, the engine making the devil of a racket. Later I knew the reason for that low gear and the racing engine. Yes — later. Three seconds later, to be exact.
“Don’t be frightened,” I started in before I was fairly into that car. Just started, mind you. Then I stopped dead — for two reasons. One was to curse as a foot kicked me in the shin. The other was the bit of a row going on in the far corner of the car. I saw it plainly in the quick flash of a street light, for although the front curtain between the driver and the rear was drawn, the side curtains were up.
Yep — four of my senses went into action at once. See — hear — feel — and smell. I heard the girl’s stifled scream. I saw the hard cruel face of the man who held her tightly, and I smelt the soft odor of chloroform. The “feel” was entirely on my shin.
The man had seen me, too — for all the good it did him. At least, I think he saw me — for he had thrown the girl on the seat and half risen, crouched in the car, a hand in a jacket pocket, clutching something that he tugged from that jacket pocket — or almost from it. Then I let him have it. I crashed him a right, smack on the chin, that nearly put his head through the side of that car. I could hear his skull crash against the steel, and wondered if he’d be so proud of the fact that his car was one that wouldn’t be damaged because of an all steel frame.