When I got to the Armitage house out on the highway, I heaved caution out the window and parked right in front of the place. It was a big, ugly house set in the middle of a square lawn with a garage in the back, and there didn’t appeared to be any activity. Lights were on inside but there was no cab in sight and the whole place had a sleepy air about it.
Perhaps I was in time...
Then, as I crossed the walk and opened the gate, I saw a slow-moving car swing around the bend in the highway and knew what had happened; my escort had solved the riddle of my rear warehouse door and had picked up my trail.
A touch of panic hit me, generated, probably by a hope that Gertrude Armitage just might help me. I hadn’t really thought about her until Connie brought up the possibility but now I wanted desperately to talk to her before I was picked up. So I ran.
Around the house and out toward the shadowy shelter of the garage. Of course I wouldn’t be hiding from anyone with the car parked at the curb but I ran anyhow and got behind the garage as the driver of the tail car rolled slowly on past and down the highway.
I felt a surge of relief. Whatever their plan, it obviously did not include picking me up yet. For this courtesy I was grateful. As the tail light vanished I took out a cigarette, snapped my lighter behind the shelter of my hand and raised the flame to head level.
Then I stood there frozen, with the flame holding steady in the curve of my palm.
It was a flash of color that did it; a flash of cream revealed by my lighter-flame through a tear in the heavy curtain over the garage window against which I stood.
And I knew instantly, in a kind of bursting revelation, that my car was in there. They hadn’t had time to get rid of it or have it painted and it was sitting inside that garage waiting to be worked over.
Revelations are strange things. Sometimes they pour in on a person as a result of god’s impatience with stupidity. At any rate, I knew now what I should have realized in the beginning; that Largo would not leave his witness to chance. He would not depend on a casual bystander seeing the blonde in the car with me. Therefore, his witness, Gertrude Armitage, had been primed for her role in the frame long before I picked alias Trudy Miller up on the highway.
So I wasn’t at all surprised when I felt a hard point pressed against my back and heard the female voice: “You’re a trespasser. I could shoot you. So you just walk right on into the house and tread mighty light, mister — mighty light.”
And as I walked lightly toward the house it occurred to me that maybe I rated the electric chair; maybe it was a good idea to kill off the stupid so the smart could have the world to themselves. Just save a few for suckers and patsies.
Bitterness at being a step behind Largo all the way...
It was Gertrude Armitage, all right; the prim hostile face; the gray hair pulled into a tight bun on the top of her head. Only a shotgun had been added and she handled it like a third arm.
This was what I saw in the kitchen where I turned and faced her and wondered at the hatred in her eyes. Had I injured her?
“Why can’t you let him alone?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Why can’t you and all the rest of them let Gus Largo alone. Always dogging him, getting in his way. Not letting him live his life.”
“Lady. It’s my life I’m worried about. I—”
“Gus is a good man. When my Sam got killed, did any of you do anything for me?”
“I’m sorry I wasn’t acquainted with Sam.”
“But Gus did. He bought me this house. Took care of me. Gave me a chance to live out my old age in peace. And all you people sneaking around trying to take away what he’s got. If I had my way I’d kill all of you.”
I actually thought she intended to start with me as she fingered the trigger of the shotgun and I was relieved when she said, “But I’ll call Gus and see what he wants to do. He’ll probably kill you because you’re wanted by the police and you’re a trespasser but I’ll call him.”
She moved to a wall phone, let the receiver drop and hang loose as she dialed. After she picked it up and held it to her ear, she said, “Your girl-friends in there. I took care of her good and proper.”
She almost had to kill me then as I took two steps in her direction. She stopped me by saying, “I got her tied to a chair. I’ll ask Gus about her too.”
“May I see her?”
“Stand where you are.”
I stood there while she talked to Gus Largo, the gist of it being that she’d done fine and to hold everything, he’d be right over. Then we went into the living room.
Connie was sitting in a homey, old-fashioned chair; the kind you’d expect to find in any comfortable middle-class home; with her ankles tied to either leg and her wrists taped to each other.
She smiled at me and said, “I’m sorry, Darling. I didn’t help any.”
I looked at Gertrude Armitage. “She won’t hurt you. Can’t you at least undo her wrists?”
“We’ll wait.”
Gertrude Armitage had evidently had her say. From this point on she held the shotgun on me and stood silent. And fifteen minutes later Gus Largo rolled in.
He was a big man and roll was the word. He looked Connie and me over with thoughtful regard, acknowledging Gertrude Armitage’s presence only when she said, “You came alone?”
He glanced at her sharply. “Of course. You know I never bring anyone here.”
“What are you going to do with them?”
“We can kill Bowman. That will work out all right. With what they’ll find in the woods it will be logical — him coming here to get rid of a witness.”
This didn’t shock Armitage in the least. Largo could have been talking about a chicken for supper. “Do you want me to do it?”
“I’d appreciate it.”
Connie sat speechless; stunned at cold-bloodedness she’d not thought possible in human beings. Largo turned his bland eyes on her. “The girl is different. She complicates things a little.”
“You’ll have to get rid of the car before we call the police.”
“I’ll drive it down the road and have someone pick it up there. We were too slow about that. It shouldn’t have been brought here.”
“You had to get it out of sight.”
It was easy to see that Largo could do no wrong so far as Gertrude Armitage was concerned. She wouldn’t even let him criticize himself.
I said, “You can let this girl go. I swear she won’t say a word. It will be just as though she hadn’t come.”
Largo looked at me. “That’s pitiful.”
He was right, but I had to say something. “What are you going to do with her?”
As he pondered I gauged the distance to Gertrude Armitage’s shotgun. Could I get it? Probably not but I was going to make a try because there was nothing to lose. At the worst I would make them kill me right here and get blood on the rug. Blood on the rug has tripped killers up before and I thought it might work again.
“I know what we could do with her,” Gertrude Armitage said.
We never found out what she had in mind, though, because the doorbell rang at that moment. Largo blinked. “Were you expecting anyone?”
“No.”
“I’ll hold the gun. You answer it.”
The woman handed him the weapon and left the room. A few moments later she came back, took the gun from him and resumed her former position and Largo was staring at the man who had followed her in. It was Jim Palos.
“What are you doing here?” Largo asked.
“Gambling,” Jim said. “I’m betting this is the place I’ve been hunting for — where you keep the records.” And there was a gun in his hand as he finished. “FBI, Largo. This is it. I’m making my play.”