He got to his feet.
“You mean you’re goin’ to fall for Maude the Musher an’ walk on the spot?”
Paul Pry nodded.
“Yes. I rather think I have use for this girl you call Maude the Musher. She offers a point of contact with the Gilvray gang. And I have a hunch they’re about ready to do something.”
Mugs Magoo’s jaw sagged.
“Do something— Hell, you don’t mean—”
Paul Pry nodded as he wrapped a scarf about his neck.
“Exactly, Mugs. I have decided to let the goosie lay another golden egg.”
And Paul Pry was gone, the door slamming shut with a clicking of spring locks and bolts.
“I,” observed Mugs Magoo, “will be damned!”
He blinked incredulous eyes at the door through which Paul Pry had vanished, and then bestirred himself to go to the safe where the whiskey was kept.
“I better get plenty while the stuff is here,” he observed to himself, his tongue getting a little thick. “Dealin’ with an administrator is goin’ to be hell!”
3. Embrace of Death
Charles Simmons, known in Chicago as Charley the Checker, sat in Room 13 at the Mandarin Cafe with a heavy calibre revolver on his lap. His right hand rested within a few inches of the gun butt.
Back of him, well to the right, sat Chick Bender, the disbarred lawyer, brains of the Gilvray gang. He was a hatchet-faced man with cold eyes, and the habit of constantly blinking and sniffing. His long bony nose twitched and sniffed, sniffed and twitched. Occasionally he sucked his underlip between his teeth and chewed on it nervously. He was ill at ease.
The girl sat at the table, her chin resting on her cupped hands, her blue eyes twinkling with lazy humour.
“So he fell? You’re sure he fell?” asked Chick Bender.
The girl laughed, a throaty laugh of voluptuous abandon. “Hell, yes,” she said.
Charley the Checker glanced at his watch.
“He’s supposed to be bad medicine, awful fast with a gun.”
The girl’s voice drawled out an insult.
“Gettin’ yellow?”
The gangster sneered at her.
“Don’t get fresh or you’ll get knocked for a loop. You’re getting altogether too certain of what a hell of a swell moll you are lately.”
“Yeah?” she asked.
“Yeah,” he said, and swept his right arm in a backhanded sweep. The knuckles caught her full on the chin and swept her head back, leaving a red spot on her lip where the teeth had bit through the skin.
Chick Bender stirred uneasily, frowning.
The girl’s eyes flashed, but she choked back the words that came to her lips.
“Remember,” warned Chick Bender. “Have your gun all ready. Don’t give him a chance to get organized. Shoot as soon as he comes through the door.”
A clock boomed the hour of eleven.
Below the green curtain appeared the silken pyjamas of a Chinese waiter. The foot showed the typical shoe of the Chinese.
“You leady eatum?” asked a sing-song voice as the waiter pushed through the curtain, set pots of tea on the table, put down bowls filled with thin rice cakes, each cake containing a printed slip of paper upon which had been printed an optimistic forecast of the future.
Charley the Checker slowly moved his right hand back.
“Yeah, but wait about ten minutes before you bring the rest of the stuff. Maybe somebody else comes.”
“All light,” said the waiter, and shuffled from the room.
The clock clacked off seconds which became minutes. Chick Bender lit a cigarette with a hand which shook. Charley the Checker looked at his watch and grunted.
“What the hell. It’s seven after eleven right now. I bet you fell down on the job, Maude.”
The girl sucked the blood from her lip.
“I hope to God I did,” she snapped.
Charley the Checker sneered. “I’ll give you what you’ve been needin’ for a long while when we get done with this guy,” he said. “Now remember the getaway, you guys—”
He broke off as footsteps sounded along the rough board floor. His hand crept down to his gun.
“I’m goin’ to let him have it as soon as he steps in,” he said. “Get ready. We ain’t takin’ any chances with this baby.”
The footsteps drew nearer, seemed to hesitate for a moment, then the form loomed against the curtain. Charley the Checker raised his right hand, the gun concealed beneath a napkin. The girl leaned forward, lips parted, eyes gleaming. Chick Bender pressed himself back against his chair as though to make himself as inconspicuous as possible.
The curtains bulged inward as a form pressed against it, pushed it to one side. And Charley sighed, lowered his hand. Chick Bender took a deep breath. The girl’s lips came together.
For the legs which were visible beneath the green of the curtain were encased in silken pyjamas, and the shoes were those of the Chinese, flat, formless shoes topped with black velvet upon which were embroidered red and green dragons.
The curtain came to one side. A huge tray, piled high with smoking dishes, obscured the upper portion of the waiter.
It was the girl who first noticed that the hand which held the tray was not yellow, but white. She gasped. Charley the Checker, his own eyes caught by some incongruity of costume, streaked his hand up from under the table.
At that precise moment Paul Pry lowered one end of the tray and the steaming dishes, the boiling soup, the hot tea, all cascaded down upon the gangster.
Red-hot chicken noodles caught him on a level with his throat. The soup drained down his collar, the noodles festooned themselves about his collar and down his vest, looping over the vest buttons.
A pot of hot tea fell squarely on his lap. Egg foo yung ha dropped onto his head and slipped back down his collar. He screamed with pain and leaned forward.
Paul Pry flipped his right hand over and down.
There was a rubber slungshot suspended from his wrist. It thunked upon the top of the gangster’s head, and Charley the Checker became as utterly inert as a half-emptied sack of meal.
Chick Bender was on his feet, his eyes glassy, hands clawing nervously at his hip. Paul Pry scooped up a teapot from the table and flung it with unerring aim.
The gangster tried to dodge, failed, and staggered back under the impetus of the blow. Hot tea dashed over him. He tore frantically at his garments as the hot liquid soaked through to the skin.
Paul Pry’s right wrist arced through the air and Chick Bender stretched his length upon the floor. There were running steps. A yellow face surveyed the wreckage through the green curtain, uttered a wild volley of chattering words and disappeared.
Paul Pry grinned at the woman.
It took her a full breath to adjust herself to the suddenly changed situation. For an instant she seemed on the point of flashing her hand to her breast for some weapon. Paul Pry’s voice steadied her.
“They double-crossed you, kid. I found out there were two of ’em in the room. You had told me your bargain called for meeting Chick Bender alone. Then when you didn’t come out in five minutes like you said you would, I knew there was something wrong, and I came to rescue you.”
The girl nodded. Slowly, a smile came over her features.
“My hero!” exclaimed Maude the Musher.
Paul Pry worked fast.
“You said one of them had something you wanted?”
Maude the Musher had not been entirely certain just what it was she had told Paul Pry, but she nodded affirmation. It was time when it was best to agree to anything.
Paul Pry dropped to his knees in front of Chick Bender. His hands parted the tea-soaked garments, went exploring into the still hot pockets.