He said: “We won’t worry about that part. It isn’t nice to go throwing bombs around, either. You take her over to Ben’s place and see what he can chisel out of her. I hope you’re right. I hate to do it this way, Nance, but I’ve got to think of Spurck.”
Her eyes were suddenly soft. “You don’t have to tell me, Bill. I understand. But why not bring Ben here?”
Lennox said: “Because I don’t want Maria here. It might be dangerous for her after what I’m going to do.”
Her eyes got suspicious. “What are you up to?”
He said: “I’m just going to try a bluff. I haven’t time to explain. Take her over to Ben’s. Tip him off that she has to talk, and if you learn anything, phone me at once. If she won’t talk to him I’ll have to turn her over to Harker, the Federal man. I hate to, but it’s the only other out. Now scram, and don’t argue.” He watched Nancy speak to the girl, watched them disappear through the door, heard Maria say: “You mean that Ben Houser was worried about me?” and grinned sourly. From the sound of the girl’s voice he judged that Nancy had guessed right again. He shut the door, went to the phone and called the Corn Club, asked to speak to Zimm, Phil Zimm.
The man who answered said: “He’s busy.”
Lennox snapped, “He’ll be busier if he doesn’t talk to me. Tell him that and that it’s Bill Lennox.” He waited almost five minutes before Zimm answered.
Bill said grimly: “That was a swell present you tossed at us this morning, but your aim was poor. Don’t try a repeat.”
Zimm said, sharply, “What are you getting at?”
Lennox said: “Only this, Zimm I’ve found the girl, found her at Mike Payman’s apartment. She talked, and that tells you where you stand.”
Zimm swore. “I don’t believe it.”
Lennox laughed. “Send a man over to Payman’s joint. I left a big heel tied up on the bed. He’ll tell you I’m not lying, and don’t bother to look for her. When I hold an ace, I protect it...”
He wondered whether his bluff would stick. All he was playing for was time. If Houser got the girl to talk it would be okey. What puzzled Lennox was why she was still alive. That her knowledge was a threat to Zimm he knew, and it wasn’t like the man to let a threat live.
Zimm was saying, “Well...”
Lennox told him, “Go ahead. Check up on Payman’s place, then call me back.” He hung up without giving the man a chance to answer, lit a cigarette and waited. It was ten minutes before the phone rang. When he answered it was Nancy Hobbs, not Zimm.
She said excitedly, “He’s not here, Bill. He’s gone. Houser’s gone to see Zimm.”
Bill swore. “How do you know?”
“The clerk here at the apartment heard him threatening Zimm over the phone, heard him say ‘I’m coming over for a showdown, you cheap grafter.’ Then he slammed the receiver and dashed out.”
Lennox swore under his breath. “The crazy fool! Did Maria hear?”
“She was standing right beside me,” Nancy told him. “What shall I do with her?”
He thought a moment. “Take her to your place, and don’t open the door for anyone.” He slammed the receiver, and sat waiting for Zimm to call. The phone rang and he caught it up, but it wasn’t Zimm. It was Nancy.
“Maria’s gone.”
“Gone? Where?”
“After Houser, I guess. She took my car while I was calling. Drove away just as I reached the door. You should have seen her face. What will the crazy kid do?”
Lennox spent no time wondering. He did not even answer. He was on his feet, already diving for the door. A car was pulling up before the apartment as he dashed out. He jumped to the running-board and yelled, “Take me to the nearest cab-stand. It’s life and death.”
The driver slashed in the gears and the Packard jumped ahead, made the turn with rubber screaming. At the intersection a red light stopped them. Lennox hit the pavement running. He dived across against traffic, jerked a cab door open, panted, “Corn Club,” and fell in. His apartment was much nearer to the Corn Club than Houser’s place was. There was just a chance that he might head the little singer off.
The cab slid to a stop before the club entrance, its wheels throwing loose gravel over the doorman. Lennox was out of the cab in a moment, said to the doorman: “Has a little girl come in alone in the last few minutes?”
The man looked uncertain. “I don’t know. We’ve got quite a crowd.”
Lennox swung back to the taxi-driver. “Park your hack and stand here. If a girl about so tall,” he held up his hand, “comes along, keep her out of the joint.”
“What if she yells copper?”
“She won’t.” Lennox thrust him a bill. “There’s another ten in it when I come out.” He wheeled and was gone, pushing his way through the crowded foyer towards the office. It was dark, deserted. He swung about and went down the steps and along the tunnel which led to the gambling rooms. A big man with a thick jaw and reddish hair got in his way.
“Where’s your card?”
Lennox reached inside his coat and brought his gun out. He let the guard take a look at it, then shoved it against the man’s ribs and got the gun from his shoulder-clip. The guard said, hoarsely, “What is this? A hold-up?”
“Wrong guess. Where’s Zimm?”
“Go to hell!”
Lennox said, “You’re very dumb. You don’t get paid for getting roughed.” His gun tapped the man’s head smartly. “Move,” he said, and jammed the muzzle against the guard’s back.
The guard was through arguing. He led the way to a door in the side of the tunnel, pushed it open, and went down the cross tunnel to the door at the end. Lennox said: “Careful,” as the man knocked.
A voice called, “Who’s there?” and the guard answered, “Varco.”
“What the hell do you want?” The bolt was shot and the door started to open. Lennox gave the guard a sudden shove and he fell headlong into the room, taking running steps, trying for his balance. There were three men in the room, Zimm, Switzer, and Houser. The radio man sat in a chair beyond the desk, one eye discolored, his lips bloody.
Lennox was inside the door, his gun swinging slowly. Zimm stared. “What the hell do you want?”
Bill made himself grin. “I figured you’d have had time to check up. I wanted to talk, and I don’t like phones. Get their guns, Ben.”
Houser recovered from his surprise and moved from one man to the other.
Lennox said: “You know I’ve got the dead wood on you, Zimm, but for a reason of my own, I’m giving you one chance. You can get out now, get out of town and stay out. If you ever show up in this country you know what will happen.”
Houser said: “Why let them go? Why not turn them over to the cops? They’ve got Maria.”
Lennox said, “They haven’t got Maria. I have.” He was praying that the girl had not yet arrived, that he could get Zimm away before she did.
Zimm said, slowly, “How’d you like to have a million dollars, Lennox?”
Bill laughed. “Not a chance, Zimm. You’re going to leave here with me, and head for the airport, you and Switzer, or you’re going down and talk to the Feds. Think it over.”
Switzer stiffened, said under his breath, “What’s the big shot going to say?”
Lennox hid his surprise. “The big shot?” He’d figured Zimm for the big shot. He said: “You’re wasting time. I’ll take care of him. Do you want the chance, or don’t you?”
A voice apparently from the ceiling said: “You and who else? Drop that gun, Lennox.”
Bill pivoted and a bullet tugged at his shoulder. “Drop it!” He let the gun slide from his fingers and stared upwards. An elevator was descending into the corner of the room, Mike Payman standing in the car, a gun clenched in his small hand. “What’s going on here?” The car reached floor level, stopped, and Payman stepped out.