He was on his feet now, trying to “sell” me on the idea.
“Listen, Jenkins, for God’s sake listen to reason. You know that I am only a messenger. There are other interests who are back of me, and who are invincible. You have elected to try and balk powerful men. In order to clear the name of Helen Chadwick’s father you have secured possession of valuable documents, documents which prove that old Chadwick was the one back of that paving graft, but, unless you surrender those documents to us and let us place the blame on the political party which should shoulder it, there will be great harm done.
“Now I’m handing it to you straight, Jenkins, you can’t leave this hotel alive unless you give me those documents. You might kill me, but you’d hang if you did. You’re playing in too big a game. Killing me wouldn’t save your own life, and I must have those documents by midnight. This is an ultimatum.”
So that was it. I pretended to reconsider, and while I bowed my head in silence I did some real thinking.
There were two parties who wanted that last paper that related to the paving graft. Two powerful parties. One was the crook, old Icy-Eyes, the man who was at the head of the newly organized crime trust. The other was a big politician. Also I wanted that last paper, wanted it bad. If the memory of old Chadwick were blackened it would kill Mrs. Chadwick, ruin Helen’s life, undo all the work I’d already done to keep Helen happy, to keep her mother from finding out.
Old Icy-Eyes had been too smooth to let the political crowd know he had the paper. He had claimed it was in my possession. That started the two opposite factions fighting with each other, tended to keep us both busy, and left him free to plan and execute his murder of me.
This fat fellow talked too smooth to be a plain crook. He was probably a lawyer, a “fixer” who was on the inside. All right, he’d threatened me with death, and he could take the consequences.
“All right,” I said at length, “perhaps I have been too hasty in this thing. Here” — I tossed him a ring of keys — “my car’s down in the hotel garage. The attendant will show it to you. Here is my key ring. Take my car, get out of here, and drive it into the alley back of Lip Sing’s at eleven o’clock tonight. Wait there for a minute, and you’ll have my final answer. I can’t promise anything, but the car I give as my security of good faith, and to show you that I’ll be there.”
That satisfied him. His green eyes sparkled and he held out a flabby hand.
“Fine!” he wheezed. “That’s the spirit. I knew I could count on you seeing the thing in the proper light. I’ll be there. Mind you, though, no funny business. I’ll have cops posted on every corner.”
I smiled and nodded, and took his hand with an effort.
If Icy-Eyes wanted to get me in trouble with the political powers that were, I’d show him a thing or two. That note from Maude Enders was a plant. In some way they had found out that I had confidence in her and had forced her to write the note. She had reached a telephone and called to warn me not to keep the appointment. There could be no other interpretation of the words “Ed, don’t…” She had never finished, because someone of her own gang had caught her at the telephone.
All right, Icy-Eyes had sicced the politicians on me. I’d slip this bird into my car, have him drive down the alley, and keep my appointment. We’d see if he’d make any more death threats against me.
“I’ll see you to the elevator,” I told him, and walked down the corridor, my hand on his shoulder in token of perfect understanding.
Somehow I sensed that this was the last round. Sinister forces were seeking my death, forces of power and position. There was something uncanny in the way this head of the crime trust, the man whose name I did not know, but whose outstanding characteristic was a pair of cold, icy eyes, had been able to put his finger on me at will. I was tagged from place to place by the head of this crime trust despite my best attempts at disguise; regardless of my precautions, he could send me visitors, special delivery letters… my back was to the wall. It would be a fight in which no quarter was asked or given.
The worst of it was that I couldn’t disappear entirely from the city because this Icy-Eyes had a document I must have. The last of a series of papers which connected Helen Chadwick’s father with the paving graft. The Chadwicks were a proud family. The head of that aristocratic family had been trapped into a grafting intrigue, had been blackmailed, and had been hounded to his grave. His widow still maintained the social prestige, his daughter was of the inner social circle, but a sword was hanging over their heads. Let this last letter get out and Chadwick’s name would be blackened, the family ruined, and the mother would die.
Helen Chadwick had befriended me. More, she had an effect upon my emotions which I dared not pause to analyze. Ed Jenkins, the Phantom Crook, had no business having a love affair. To confess my feelings, to meet with success in my suit would ruin the happiness of the girl I lov… No, I would not say it, even to myself. Circumstances had impressed upon me that Helen cared for me, yet I would not let her. I would get the letter, destroy it, and then shut myself out of her life, vanish once more into the shadows of the underworld. But there was one thing I would do first. I must show Icy-Eyes that I was his master. And, before I did that, I would dispose of this Walter Wallace, this political henchman who smugly called upon me and threatened my life.
Such were the thoughts which raced through my mind as I walked to the elevator with the fat man who smiled his self-satisfied grin. One hand was on his shoulder, and the other was clenched at my side, ready to crash into his fat neck at the first signs of treachery.
And so we came to the elevator, and I pressed the button, the red light flashed, the door slid open, the fat politician stepped in, and the car whisked down the shaft, and then I glided into swift action.
My hiding place had been discovered, was known to both factions who sought my life. An instant’s delay might be a second too long.
I sprinted for the back stairs, felt my way silently down them, slipped past the lobby, into the basement, through the laundry where tired-eyed girls looked up wearily from their endless tasks, out into the delivery chute where a truck waited with parcels for outside delivery. I stood for a moment sizing up the situation, and then dove inside among the bundles of laundry, burrowing my way past the paper packages until I was fairly hidden.
The driver had been checking his lists in the office, and he came back to the chute an instant later. The light was shut off as the outer door slammed, the car swayed as the driver climbed into the seat, there was a lurch, and we were off.
I dared not stay long within the truck. There would probably be some early deliveries within the business district. I knew that the Colisades Hotel was part of a chain of hotels and that the laundry served some half dozen of the downtown hostelries. Whether it also served outside customers I had no means of knowing, and I could take no chance.
The doors were latched, and it took all the pressure of my shoulder to spring them, and then I nearly catapulted over the rear of the truck as they came open; but I caught my balance, turned, grinned at the smiling occupants of the car behind, as though it was all a huge joke, slipped to the street, and, helped by the momentum from the truck, angled to the curb on a swift trot, ducked across the sidewalk, got my bearings and began my counter offensive.
It was now or never. Either old Icy-Eyes was going to take the count this time or I was, one or the other. I was sick of the whole business. All I wanted was to be left alone, given a chance to live my own life, and I wanted Helen Chadwick left alone.