“What a horrible experience!” Lord said vexedly. “I wish I could understand all this.”
“It’s simple. Frankie and Hugg were at that house in the Puerto last night. They nearly killed the Dutchess. So her new husband trailed them today and when they came here he took his revenge and killed them.”
“Yes, but Judge North. You said he had a deal to make with me.”
“Uh-huh. I don’t know what it was. Probably a deal to turn State’s evidence if he consented to go home with you quietly and submit to formal arrest. We never got around to discussing it, you know.”
“Not with all that happening.”
“Say... that Ching. That was a fast one he pulled, plucking a gun out of his sleeve. It was a good trick even if it failed.”
“Ching was very devoted to me,” Lord said solemnly. “I am very sorry he had to die.”
“So am I.” There was a pounding at the door. “Cops. You do the talking. Just grease it thick and I’ll supply the amens.”
Dusk placed a gossamer, inky blanket over Cariba and as if through tiny rents stars began to appear. Lights began going on here and there among the cottages. Huge drop-lights illumined the dining terrace of the main building of the Queenshaven. The Parson had been sitting in cottage number two all the afternoon. His coat was off and his tie was loosened. A tall iced drink had been riding at his elbow throughout the day. From time to time it had been replenished by the leonine-headed man he called Linny. The Parson was enjoying himself.
“Everything depends on catching up with the Dutchess now!”
The Parson made an expansive gesture. “Don’t worry. She can’t get out of Cariba.”
“I wish I were as certain as you. I wish Clancy would phone.”
“He will. Just hold on to your pants and subside.”
Linny nursed his jaw. “Too damn bad about Judge North. All the guys who can talk knocked off. That helps, doesn’t it? That helps loads!”
“What’s the odds?” The Parson shrugged. “Besides, you know how he came to die.”
“Oh, hell. If you’d brought him here instead of down to Jerry Lord, the whole picture would be different.”
“Maybe. But there would have been nothing in it. I took a chance, I’ll admit that. But it seemed the right thing to do. I wanted to play the string out. You can’t blame me because Frankie Moore and his stooge showed up and dead-pan and his chatter gun. It was a circus setup and I took a header. Before I could get organized, it was all over.”
The other man sank down into a chair. “I’m not blaming you, Parson. You’re fine. But I’m worried. All these people dead and nothing to show for it.”
“There’ll be plenty if you’ll only wait.”
“I’m waiting! Hell, I’m sick and tired of waiting.”
“Everybody’s tired of waiting. Judge North was and he got the shroud.” The Parson’s eyes twinkled. “Boy, if you’d seen the faces on those British cops when they walked into that room. Four corpses! No less than four!”
They were silent a moment and then the Parson said, “You know what to do when Clancy phones, don’t you?”
“Sure. I’ll be at my post just as we arranged.”
“Good. I’d like the act to go over smooth this time.”
The Parson finished what was left in his glass, took out and inspected his Luger. Satisfied, he slipped it back, folded his hands over his stomach, seemed to doze.
The phone rang some five minutes later. Instantly alert, the Parson snatched it up. “Yes?... When?... O.K., Clancy, I’ll be over in ten minutes. Just keep an interested eye on them but don’t make a grandstand play. Swell.”
He hung up, swung about. “Just as I figured, Linny. Clancy just lamped them at the seaplane base. I knew it was either a plane or the Santos Prince, the only boat sailing from Cariba tonight. My dough said the plane all the time.”
“You sure figured the angles right this time, Parson! I hope nothing goes wrong!”
“It won’t,” said the Parson decisively. “Just do your part.”
“I’ll be under the window looking in, just as you said.”
The Parson parked his car in the cinder-spread parking area at the seaplane base and walked to the bright lights of the concrete, modernistic waiting room. Clancy met him near the door, said laconically: “They’re inside. They’ve been buying the kid ice cream.”
He fell in behind the Parson, strode with him across the cork-lined floor. The Parson saw them seated across the room with the little child between them. Three bags were on the floor at their feet. One of them the Parson recognized at Tex Kent’s bag.
Neither the Dutchess nor Carl Blue moved when the Parson came up to them. He did not draw out his gun. His voice was soft, easy when he spoke. “We’ve got a date, folks. Let’s go.”
Carl Blue gazed fixedly at the Parson, but his expression did not change. “You’re making a mistake. We’re leaving on the plane.”
The Dutchess put an arm about the little girl, drew her to her protectingly. The child gazed with solemn, round eyes at the Parson. He leaned over and chucked her under the chin. She did not smile. There was something sinister, deadly about the Parson’s lean, sharp-featured face. The child seemed fascinated by him.
He said, “Don’t ever say I’m making a mistake. This is the show-down. I wouldn’t touch either you or the Dutchess. The kid would be the first thing I’d shoot for.”
Wide-eyed with fright, the Dutchess was saying: “You wouldn’t! You wouldn’t!” She looked deep into the Parson’s eyes. Shuddering, she turned away, tugged at Blue’s arm. “We’d better go,” she said wearily. “He’s not bluffing.”
“That’s sensible. Pick up the bags, Blue. All of them. You can hold the girl by the hand, Dutchess. Now march and act nice.”
Blue bent over, took up the bags, one under his arm, two in his hands. Clancy walked at his elbow. The Parson walked a little behind the Dutchess and the child. Outside, at the car, he said:
“Search ’em for guns, Clancy. You’ll drive. Blue will sit next to you.” And to the Dutchess: “You get in the back. I’ll hold the little girl on my knee. That’s so you won’t go getting ideas.”
The little Austin purred down Cariba’s boulevard, bright and colorful with evening promenaders. “What do you intend doing?” Blue asked.
“We’re going to pay a call on an old friend,” said the Parson. “Say, what’s the little kid’s name?”
“Alice. Parson, you can’t get away with this. You can’t take me where I don’t want to go.”
“Relax, pal. This is my party.”
“Be quiet, Carl,” said the Dutchess. “Oh, please!”
The car rolled through the main artery of town, hit Upper Leeward Road and followed it to Victoria. A mile or so on and it pulled up before a solitary house.
“But this is Jerry Lord’s place!” the Dutchess exclaimed.
“Exactly. There are lights in the lower-story windows, so he must be at home. Now listen, all of you. There’s going to be no break here for a getaway. Unless, of course, you want little Alice killed. I wouldn’t like to do it. Honest. But if you force me... So act nice. You take the bags and go first, Blue. Wait right there before the door. Keep him covered, Clancy. Now you, Dutchess. I’ll carry Alice. Gee, she’s just no weight at all. Now that’s sensible all around.”
Suddenly the child began to cry. Tears rolled down her cheeks. “I don’ wanna go. I don’ wanna. Bad mans!” she said suddenly to the Parson.
“Sh! You’re all right, babe. Cripes, I won’t hurt you.” There was unexpected, soothing gentleness in the Parson’s voice. And to Clancy: “Open the door.”
Clancy took hold of the knob and pushed the door open. Carl Blue stepped in, still loaded down with the bags. Clancy prodded the Dutchess in, followed her. The Parson walked in last, carrying the wide-eyed child.