“Youse ’r th’ doctor,” Chimp said, “but kin I take a good sock at him before he goes.”
Mart shrugged, nor did he give more than a casual glance a moment later when there was a thudding blow and Hymie, his face a gory mask, crashed into a corner.
“C’mon, Mart,” Chimp said a moment later. “Let’s get outta disjoint; it gives me de willies. Jees! An’ t’ink of de times I been down here an’ got cockeyed with the guns and frills!”
There was no reply. Mart, his head sunk in thought, walked out through the door and into the morning sunlight.
The Chi Kid was free — and Dogs Miller and Paddy were unavenged.
When they reached the street and found a cruising taxi, Mart directed the driver to circle about for several blocks. Search failed to reveal any trace of the car Chi Kid said he had abandoned and Mart was forced to the conclusion that it was his own motor which had provided the second getaway.
Wearily, disheartened by the ill luck which had pursued them, Mart and Chimp returned to the apartment. There was but one interruption of the silence when Chimp said:
“Dat’s w’at youse get for playin’ square wit’ a sneak, Mart. You shoulda let me have ’im ’n den youse wouldn’t be goin’ aroun’ wit’ yer lower lip hangin’ down like a wet towel.”
“Oh, I’ll get him!” Mart snapped. “I’d given him my word, Chimp — and that’s something I’ve never broken yet.”
“Yaaaah!” Chimp growled. “Dey calls youse De Square Guy — ’n for dat youse’ll mebbe get your noodle shot off. Bla-a-ah.”
They found Speck drowsing in a sleepy hollow chair, but Mart left it to Chimp to tell him the incidents of the night. Without a word he walked to the rear and entered his bedroom.
Tired as he was, almost exhausted, he spent an hour spreading the call among gang leaders, hi-jackers, harbor mugs, anyone who might find a trace of a little crook with a broken nose and a bruised face.
“A grand to know where he is — I’ll get him myself,” was his set formula.
At last, with the hands of the clock pointing to 2 p.m. he literally fell into bed. His last thought was:
“The showdown with Chi Kid is coming. I’m ready for it.”
Midnight! Mart’s bedroom, where for ten hours he had slept without movement was black as the Pit. Not a ray of light filtered in about the curtains and the only sound was the sleeper’s deep breathing.
But one of the jungle animals would have been watching the dark shape crouching in a corner back of a huge wing-chair. More, its night-seeing eyes would have witnessed the method of entrance.
For the dark form, ten minutes before, had swung down on a rope from the cornice, pausing at the bathroom window. There had been just the tiniest of scratching sounds to accompany the removal of an oval of glass, but there was no click, no rustle as the intruder pushed back the catch and raised the sash a sufficient distance to permit him to slip through.
In the next room Speck sat on guard, while Chimp, now thoroughly rested, had gone to a white-tile eating place on Broadway for a substitute for the three meals he had missed. Speck was playing his interminable games of solitaire. The only sound in the apartment was Mart’s deep, regular breathing and the slap-slap of Speck’s cards.
Now the intruder was moving. Crawling, snakelike, he neared the door, rose on hands and knees and grasped the key firmly. For what seemed an age he retained his hold, turning the wards by microscopic degrees until he felt the actuating spring take hold. Then, delicately, he reversed the pressure, holding back the tongue of the lock to prevent it snapping into place.
Finally the task was ended. The metal bar which meant safety to the intruder rested in the mortised stop. The fingers clung delicately to the key, releasing their pressure slowly to guard against even the slightest click.
Then the Chi Kid reversed his position and started creeping, ever so slowly, toward the sleeping racketeer, still so completely immersed in slumber.
He advanced his fingers an inch at a time, feeling lightly over the soft surface of the Chinese rug for any slight inequality which would indicate a hidden alarm contact. With each tiny inch of progress he was careful to test the floor ahead of him for creaking boards by putting part of his weight on his outspread hands.
Once Mart stirred as several fire engines, their sirens shrieking eerily, rushed past on West End avenue. Recoiling like a spring, the Chi Kid squatted on the balls of his feet, right hand on the butt of his gat. The shrieking died away and Mart’s breathing became regular again.
Now the intruder was not more than three feet from the foot of the bed. He arose to his full height and took a cautious step forward. As he moved, his hand came forth and brought with it the rod he had retrieved when he escaped from Fat’s.
Another step, he calculated, would bring him to the foot of the bed. Thence he would work to right or left and when he stood beside the sleeper there would be needed only the flash of his pencil battery lamp, one quick shot — and then the getaway while Speck was battering his way through the locked door.
Cautiously he swept the toes of his right foot back and forth across the carpet. It was soft and yielding. Apparently all was well. Slowly, firmly, he set the foot down and balanced himself with outflung hands, like a tight-rope walker, as he shifted his weight from his left foot to the right.
Too late he realized that something had shifted underfoot. Instantly he caught himself and tried to swing backward.
Too late.
Even as he executed the movement, a gong whirred above his head and two scorching, stunning rays of light leaped out of the wall above the bed.
Blinded by the intense light, off balance and with his gun hand pointed toward the side wall, the Chi Kid stood for a second like one stunned.
But one chance remained for him — he must force his eyes open and plant a pot shot into the place where Mart had laid but a moment before.
But even that was denied him, for, as the motor thought went to the muscles of his arm, a heavy automatic materialized in the light rays and covered him.
“Drop it!” Mart’s voice was low and calm, but Chi Kid sensed the grim purpose behind it. With a grimace of disgust he opened his fingers and let the weapon drop to the floor.
Blows on the door behind him showed that Speck was in action. Then there was a pause and a splintering roar as the gunman sent a slug crashing through the lock. In another split second Chi Kid was covered from the rear and Speck’s arm shot around his neck in a strangle hold.
Mart arose, stretched and smiled at the picture before him.
“I thought you’d come,” he said quietly, “but I had the cards stacked on you. How do you like my system, Kid? Pretty hard to beat?”
Mart stooped and turned back, a corner of the rug.
“They’ll carry you out of here,” he said, “so I might as well show you. See these one-inch strips of wood between the flooring strips? Any one of them will throw a switch. That in turn drops down a projector box containing four 1000-watt lights. Behind these are reflectors and the light is shot out in crossed rays through lenses. The same operation starts the gong in the ceiling — and I always sleep with my gun in a holster strapped to the edge of the bed.”
The Chi Kid tried to stare into the light rays, but was compelled to close his already weakened eyes.
“It’s no use,” Mart said as he noted the action. “Even I cannot stand their glare. They give me time to wake up and get the drop — like I got it on you. Now let me see” — he walked over and picked up the Chi Kid’s gun — “this, I suppose, is the rod you’ve been wanting to show me so badly.