The taxi took him to Knight’s hotel, the Royal Palms. At the desk he stopped, said to the clerk:
“Mr. Knight left a key for me.”
The clerk bowed. “He said you were to go right up to his suite.”
“Thanks.”
The suite consisted of a sitting room, bedroom and connecting bath. There was only one closet, though, near a window. There was no one there. The Parson took mental note of the whole layout, paced restlessly up and back. His watch said seven-fifteen.
At seven-eighteen he was electrified by carpet-muffled footfalls outside the corridor door. Frowning, he stood listening while they came closer. There was something vaguely disquieting about them. The door did not immediately open. No key was inserted in the lock. He sensed that whoever was outside was listening first with an ear pressed against the panel. Swiftly, he opened the closet door, slipped into the stuffy darkness and noiselessly drew the door shut. He estimated a thirty-second wait. Then he heard the corridor door open and close.
He pressed his ear against a crack. Hurried, yet stealthy footsteps sounded within the apartment. There were at least two men who had come in, perhaps three. No, two; he could tell by the way the footsteps sounded. But there was no conversation between the men. The sound of their movement ceased suddenly.
Minutes dragged by. The Parson wondered where the two men had gone. They had not gone out. Then he remembered the bedroom. They had gone in there. Yet strain as he would he could hear nothing. These newcomers could not be Knight and Major Rowe; they would have stayed in the living-room. Certainly, they would have talked. And they couldn’t be Carl Dorn and Eva. There had been something heavy in the tread — they were the footfalls of two men. What could it mean?
In the wait ahead of him, the Parson speculated on the identity and purpose of the newcomers. Then his thoughts were interrupted by the corridor door opening a second time. This time the show was on. He recognized Knight’s voice and afterward Major Rowe’s.
Rowe said, “Take a chair, miss,” with old-fashioned courtesy.
Eva’s voice came to the Parson, saying, “Thanks, sport.”
He pictured red-haired Eva with the green eyes and gold-flecked pupils. Instantly, a fourth voice, a man’s, said, “Oke, major, let’s get this over right away.”
That was Carl Dorn’s voice. He was across the room somewhere, farther from the closet than the girl was. The Parson had slipped his blunt-nosed Luger from the underarm holster, had soundlessly squatted on his haunches so as to bring his eyes level with the large old-fashioned keyhole. He saw the four of them. The lawyer, Knight, stood to one side but near the chair in which Eva sat, trim silken legs crossed, both hands closed over a handbag. Carl Dorn was near the hall door; a few feet from him stood the white-haired major. The major, however, moved out of the Parson’s line of vision, as he said:
“Yes. You must give me some guarantee of my daughter’s safety when I pay over the money you demand.”
“Have you got the dough on you?” Dorn asked.
“Yes.”
“Let’s see the color of it.”
The major moved back within range of the keyhole. The Parson saw him reach into the breast pocket of his coat and take out a flat manila envelope. He laid it down on the table, stepped back.
Carl Dorn leaped at it like a dog after liver. The Parson was tense, muscles bunched, lines of worry creasing the space between his eyes. He saw Knight casting anxious glances at the closet door as though inviting him to crack out. But the Parson held back. There was still unexplained in his mind the two men who had come in just after him. If they were a couple of hijackers, perhaps he had best move fast. But if not...
Dorn had torn off the flap of the envelope and had drawn out a packet of bills. But suddenly view of him was blocked by the intervening body of Major Rowe. The old man stood there with a gun in his fist!
The Parson couldn’t see Dorn but he distinctly heard his gulp of sheer astonishment. He could just barely see the girl. She had not moved but a cruel and wolfish grin suddenly appeared on her sensuous face. The most surprised person in the room was Joel Knight. He stood with mouth agape, eyes fairly popping, Adam’s apple working up and down like an agitated pulley-weight of his emotions.
The major straightened his shoulders. His jaw stood out like a chunk of granite. He said slowly and distinctly:
“Kidnapers, are you? You’ll return my daughter safe and sound? Did you think you could really get away with a bluff like that?”
Carl Dorn purpled, started to speak, spread his thick tongue over his lips instead. The gun steadied on him.
“You’re a couple of fools,” Major Rowe went on with quiet dignity. “You didn’t fool me any. I know where Nina is. You haven’t got her. You never had her.”
Dorn jerked out, “It’s a d-double-cross.”
Eva moved her legs. She was still smiling but she said nothing.
“You’ll think about that when the police have you behind bars,” the major said softly. His voice raised a bit. “All right, officers; you can come in now.”
There was movement at the other side of the room and then two men came into the Parson’s narrow gauge of vision. They were thick-fingered, burly men. Police detective written all over them. They held guns.
The foremost of them said, “The pair of you are under arrest. I advise you that anything you may say will be used against you. Put the handcuffs on them, Tom.”
Carl Dorn got white. His knees quaked. He took a backward step, brought up against a table. They were watching him. The Parson wanted to yell a warning. But he kept his mouth shut. Eva had opened her bag. She stood up with a black automatic in her hand. It coughed, ejected flame and sound. She was laughing, white teeth showing. She fired again.
The second shot struck Major Rowe. He staggered like a tree about to topple. His gun boomed. Wood splintered. Something shot past in the darkness above the Parson’s head and behind him plaster detached itself from the wall. The slug had gone through the closet door.
Major Rowe bumped to the floor on his knees with the shock of the bullet in his chest. Then he gently keeled over.
Carl Dorn snatched a gun from his pocket. It cleared the cloth and flamed simultaneously. One of the detectives spun about like a top. When he stopped spinning, he slammed down. The other detective fired. Joel Knight dragged forth a gun, too. But he ducked, went down and stayed down and didn’t use his gun.
Dorn, Eva and the second detective were all firing at once. Powder smoke reeked. The detective snapped a swift shot from behind the shelter of a chair. Carl Dorn turned as if he were going to walk out of the door; he crashed resoundingly to the floor. The Parson could just barely see his head. The head did not move.
The detective’s gun clicked as he leveled it at Eva. She streaked for the door, got it open. Knight fired at her. The bullet split the glass knob, shattered it. She was through safely and running down the hall. The detective snatched the gun from his partner’s hand and raced after her. Shots boomed distantly.
The Parson flung the closest door open and faced Joel Knight. His lips were blue, knees shaking. For a split second the two of them stood motionless. Then the Parson sidled over to the table where the money still lay.
His grin was sour, mocking. “Well, all I gotta do is take it.”
Knight gulped like a stunned carp. “N-no. We can’t dare touch it now. Listen! Get out! Before someone comes in. There’s a back staircase... door... other room.”
The Parson fingered the money lovingly, then let it fall back to the table. He looked down at Carl Dorn. He lay on his side, eyes open and sightless. Dead as a taxidermist’s window display. Major Rowe was groaning, stirring. The detective was dead.
“Somebody crossed somebody,” the Parson snarled softly. “Then somebody else crossed somebody else.” He looked at Knight. “What do you make of it?”