“So!” Mickelson said, grinning at the lined old face of his former employer, and then grinning at the rustic room. “This is the hide-away! And that puts Veshnir in cahoots with you! I had an idea it would be like that. I’d have bet you were up here.”
“How did you know of this place?” asked Sangaman wearily. He wasn’t particularly curious about the answer. He felt completely beaten down. “I thought Veshnir had kept it a close secret—”
“Sure! So close that nobody knows he owns a place in Maine — but me. I know it because he wanted it kept secret. I let him use me as dummy. I bought the place, giving still another name, and paying cash Veshnir handed me. I never thought it would mean anything to me. Then you disappear, and I put two and two together and find it does mean something to me.”
“What?” sighed Sangaman. “The notoriety of being the man who found me? But if that was all you wanted, you’d have come here with police.”
“That’s right,” smirked Mickelson. He was a spindly man with eyes that could bully, even though they were inherently those of a coward. “It’s not fame I want.”
Sangaman stared with dawning comprehension.
“It’s money,” Mickelson said. “And believe me, I want plenty.”
“I don’t quite understand—”
“Oh, yes, you do!” said Mickelson. “You are wanted for murder. And for a lot more. As long as you stay here you’re safe. But if the cops ever get you, you’ll go to the chair. That is, you’ll go to the chair if you live that long. You’re apt to be lynched if the public gets hold of you.”
“Well, that is all true.”
“Sure it’s true! So that’s where I come in. You give me one hundred thousand dollars, or I turn you in to the police.”
Sangaman sat with his head in his hands. His voice was that of a thoroughly beaten man when he said without looking up:
“I was rich last week. I could have given you that much money. But not now. I fled from New York too abruptly to have been able to bring much money. I have only two thousand dollars with me.”
“You can get the rest,” said Mickelson threateningly. “And believe me, you’d better.”
Sangaman only sat with his head in his hands. Mickelson went on:
“I’ll take what cash you have as a first payment. Then you get in touch with Veshnir. He wouldn’t have hidden you here if he wasn’t willing to help you. Get the rest from him. I’ll give you twelve hours—”
The door of the luxurious log cabin opened suddenly. Sangaman didn’t even move. He knew who it was: Veshnir. He knew because he had heard the slight rasp of a key in the lock before the door opened; and only Veshnir had a key. But even if he hadn’t heard the preliminary rasp, even if the door had been pushed open by the police, Sangaman still would not have moved. He had gotten to the point where he didn’t care much if he were captured or not.
Mickelson whirled with his lips open as he heard the door. He half rose from the divan as he saw Veshnir, then sank down again. He glanced defiantly at the other partner.
Veshnir stared back in surprise.
“Well, Mickelson!” he said. Then: “You here! But I remember — you bought this place for me, didn’t you? So you would know of my ownership. But why are you here now?”
Mickelson was wary, but aggressive. He jerked his head toward Sangaman.
“I’m here because of him.”
“He wants blackmail money,” Sangaman said. “He guessed I’d be here, came and made sure; then he demanded hush money if I’m not to be turned over to the police,”
On Veshnir’s kindly face grew a look of shock. He looked like a benevolent deacon who had been kicked in the shins by a man he was only trying to befriend.
“Why, Mickelson! This from you?” he mourned.
“Why not from me?” snapped Mickelson.
“After all Sangaman and I have done for you—”
“What have you done for me, I’d like to know? You gave me a job, sure. At wages about the same as I’d get in anybody else’s laboratory. You paid me a little for a couple of dirty jobs I did for you. But damned little. I don’t owe you anything. But you owe me, now. One hundred thousand, or the police come here and get Sangaman. And things won’t be so hot for you, either. You’ll be a murder accomplice, hiding a murderer.”
“I’d never have believed there could be such ingratitude,” sighed Veshnir.
“Oh, stow it,” snarled Mickelson. “Do I, or don’t I, get the hundred thousand?”
Behind the countenance of Veshnir, “saddened” that any one could be so unkind, a shrewd brain was clicking out a solution — and a slight change of plan.
Mickelson had to be eliminated. An unexpected source of danger, he was as menacing to Veshnir as to Sangaman. Also, it had begun to look as if Sangaman would have to go, too.
He had been holding Sangaman in reserve, in a manner of speaking. He had meant to let the tired, elderly man live another few days — and then take the responsibility for the death factory in the woods. He’d have had Sangaman’s body found there, as if the man had been sole owner of the place and responsible for the frosted death. He’d have made it look as if Sangaman had been murdered by some double-crossing crook who’d been buying the white stuff.
It looked now, however, as though it might be risky to keep the old man alive that long. And, actually, it wasn’t necessary. Sangaman could be tagged with the whole affair, even if his body weren’t discovered in the plant. His mere disappearance would be enough. And if he were carefully buried here in the trackless woods—
“Speak up,” said Mickelson, with the arrogance of the little man who is for once on top. “Do you come through, or don’t you?”
“We’ll pay,” sighed Veshnir, shaking his benevolent head reproachfully. “Tomorrow night—”
“Tomorrow morning, as soon as the banks open,” Mickelson corrected him. “I’ll be at the laboratory. You can bring the money there, in cash.”
“How can you get back to New York from here so fast?”
“I’ll be going with you,” said Mickelson. “You came here by plane, of course. Well, I’ll go back with you — by plane. It will save a lot of trouble for me.”
Veshnir clicked that over, in that cold and cunning brain that functioned behind the benevolent face. It was quite satisfactory, he decided.
“All right,” he said. “You can come with me. I’m about due at the plane now. My pilot will be waiting.”
“Just a minute,” objected Mickelson. “I’ll have your two thousand here and now, Sangaman.”
Sangaman started to reply. But Veshnir cut in quickly, with a protective glance at the older man:
“I’ll get the money,” he said. “Just wait right here.”
Sangaman relaxed, without saying anything. It was odd how he had misjudged his partner. Or, rather, judged him too harshly. Veshnir had pulled some shady deals. But no man could be more loyal in a pinch than Veshnir was being. Even now, he was going to save Sangaman’s slender store of cash for him. Probably had money out in his plane. Going to give up two thousand of his own rather than see Sangaman, fugitive from justice, stripped of all resources.
But Veshnir did not go to the plane. He went quickly to the sinister, tarpaper building, and came quickly back to the cabin. Just before entering, he took two thousand dollars from a bulging wallet.
Veshnir had had buckskin gloves on before going back into the weird little factory. He still had them on. But now there was a slight difference. Under them, not showing, were rubber gloves.
Veshnir had held the right little finger of his gloved hand apart from the rest, so it would not scrape. He carefully rubbed the sheaf of bills over a part of this finger. Just a part.