“And better come in plain clothes with a coat that has a collar turned well up,” went on Zoom. “I may have a couple of chaps watching the boat, and I’d rather they didn’t think that I was getting too chummy with the police... That’s right. Okay, Sergeant, eleven o’clock. G’bye.”
And Zoom hung up the receiver, got in his car, went to his yacht with the expression of a man who has done a good day’s work.
He summoned his Chinese cook, explained just what he wanted for a midnight supper, reassured his secretary, looked in on the sleeping form of Carver.
Then Sidney Zoom stretched out in his own cabin and slept peacefully. There was about him nothing to suggest that gaunt savagery, that uncanny ingenuity, and that grim skill as a fighter which puzzled the police and had caused so many criminals to come to a luckless end.
Sidney Zoom was awakened promptly at ten thirty as he had ordered; shaved, showered, dressed, and received Detective Sergeant Staples as that individual thudded to the deck of the yacht.
Sergeant Staples was a quiet, unassuming man who felt that society was at war with organized crime, and wasn’t so certain that the outcome would be favorable to society.
He had twinkling, rather kindly eyes, broad shoulders that showed no inclination to stoop, and a jaw that was like a jutting chunk of granite.
He enjoyed the food which was served, enjoyed the companionship of Sidney Zoom and his secretary.
The table was spread in the dining salon. The food was excellent, and the conversation dear to the heart of a sergeant of detectives who goes about his work with a religious zeal.
In the guest cabin the Chinese cabin boy squatted on his heels against the wall, stared with beady, glittering eyes at the form of Edgar Carver, the man who had been directly guilty of one murder, indirectly guilty of another.
Through the door which opened to the dining salon, came the hum of voices, the occasional sound of feminine laughter. The conversation was dealing, among other things, with the very crime which the unconscious sleeper had committed.
The figure on the bed stirred, moaned. The mouth made little tasting noises.
The Chinese cabin boy arose, slipped as noiselessly as a shadow through the side door of the guest cabin, entered the dining salon, caught the eye of Sidney Zoom.
Sidney Zoom arose, affably expansive, glowingly cordial, the perfect host, entertaining guests who were enjoying themselves.
“Excuse me for a moment,” he said. “A small matter which requires personal attention. The cabin boy had orders to summon me.”
And he bowed, smiled, left the salon, entered the guest cabin through the side door.
Edgar Carver was struggling to a sitting position.
Sidney Zoom smiled at him.
“I’m afraid I owe you a very abject apology, young man,” he said. “I certainly didn’t know that my secretary had put a sleeping powder in the bottle of whiskey which was on the buffet. You’ll remember you had a drink from it, and lost consciousness almost at once.
“But that’s not the worst. I understand that the drug is used as a heart remedy and is inclined to give horrible nightmares. I hope you haven’t had any bad dreams.”
Slow incredulity upon Carver’s face gave way to an expression of horror.
“Good God! You! The green door! The chair...”
He broke off, wildly staring.
Sidney Zoom soothed him with his voice.
“I’m afraid you did have some dreams after all. Really, I don’t care for the pendant, but I’d appreciate it if you’d keep the two hundred dollars I paid as a deposit. That will be for your personal account, and will compensate you to some extent for the annoyance.”
Carver blinked his eyes, started to say something, then checked himself.
“You see,” explained Zoom, “you came aboard the yacht. We sat down and I asked you if you’d have a drink. You took whiskey, and I took brandy. You dropped over like a log as soon as you’d had the drink, and then I realized what had happened.
“Sometimes the drug plays thunder with your memory, makes you forget things that have happened, and think other things happened. Now I trust that your own memory is all right. You’re Edgar Carver, you know, and you’re employed at Harmiston’s Jewelry Company. I came into the store this morning to purchase a diamond pendant, and you showed me one that I liked. I asked you to take it to let the prospective wearer see it, and made a two-hundred-dollar deposit on it.
“You came here with me. We stepped aboard, and I offered you a drink. You immediately showed signs of being drugged, and then I knew that I had given you a drink from the whiskey bottle which contained the opiate.”
Edgar Carver made a swallowing motion with his throat.
“That’s all?” he asked.
“Why, yes,” said Sidney Zoom, “that’s all.”
He sighed, lowered his eyes.
“Was there... was... was there a room... with a green door?”
Sidney Zoom’s eyes widened.
“Room with a green door? My dear chap, you’ve been dreaming. I feel guilty. You most certainly have been dreaming! I hope it was nothing very alarming?”
Edgar Carver reached a surreptitious hand down along his leg, pinched the muscle, then smiled.
“Shucks, no!” he said. “It wasn’t anything alarming at all. I had a perfect system worked out, and I dreamt it didn’t work, that’s all. Of course it was a dream!”
Zoom nodded.
“That’s fine. Just wait here for a moment until I excuse myself to some dinner guests and I’ll see that you’re driven to your apartment.”
Sidney Zoom bowed, withdrew, leaving behind him a very bewildered, but greatly relieved young man.
Chapter IX
Lusting for Conflict
He returned to the dining salon, smiled at Sergeant Staples, crossed to a sideboard, opened a drawer.
“Sergeant, I have a little present I want to make you, something that will show my regard for you, and something that you can always keep with you.”
He opened a handsome wooden box, disclosed a pair of revolvers. These were the newest type of gun designed for police work, throwing a shell with a terrific muzzle velocity, guaranteed to pierce the body of an automobile, and be able to account for itself when it had gone through the metal.
There was a leather belt, two holsters dangling from it, and the belt was filled with shells.
“The guns,” explained Sidney Zoom, “are loaded. I purchased four of them. I have a pair that are exactly like yours. You’ll find them quite satisfactory, I’m certain.”
Sergeant Staples gave a deep inhalation.
“Gosh,” he said, “I’ve been wanting one of these ever since I saw them advertised! Gee, Zoom, I can’t thank you enough. I’ll keep ’em with me all the time, one of ’em at any rate. Two guns are all right for the cowpunchers, but that’s a little too much hardware for a plain cop.”
He grinned, fingered the guns.
“Buckle them on, man, let’s see how they look.”
Sergeant Staples buckled on the guns.
Sidney Zoom took out a similar box, extracted from it similar equipment and buckled them on himself. There was a gleam in his eye.
Vera Thurmond looked at that expression on his face, and then inhaled with a sharp catching of her breath.
“You’re not... not...”
Zoom silenced her with a glance, and the remark passed unnoticed by the officer who was busy admiring the balance of his weapons, throwing them down upon imaginary criminals, fingering the triggers.
“Sure a bunch of guns!” he exclaimed in admiration. “Only thing is I’ll never get a chance to use them. Other chaps have had the breaks lately. They’ve been in on the fights. Gosh, Zoom, there’s nothing that gives a fellow the advertisement a good gun fight does. You know what I mean, not one of these kind of shootings where you have to cut down on somebody that’s running away, but a pitched battle with thugs where you stand up and swap lead, and the police come out on top of the heap.