"I hate worse to think of his being caught with it, and so do the directors of the corporation. We'll have to make sure it doesn't happen." Tillery was silent briefly; then he asked: "Did you find anything else on this man?"
"Just the usual keys and change and matches and stuff. Oh, and a good-sized pocket knife, nice and sharp. I don't figure he uses it just to trim his nails."
"You say he's a government man. How do you know? There's no badge or I.D. card here."
"Frankie had his motel room and phone bugged. The boys heard him calling Washington, D.C., checking in with the guy he works for. The name wasn't mentioned, or the department, but Frankie seemed to think it was spy stuff, like C.I.A. or something."
"The damn fool!" Tillery's voice was definitely peevish now. "It's not enough that he gets himself and the corporation mixed up in some far-out dope-smuggling deal; he's got to get us all involved with a female foreign spook as well-and help her kill a U.S. agent. Don't we have government trouble enough without getting the cloak-and-dagger boys down on us? Damn it, Jake, I wish you'd alerted me sooner!"
Jake was still on the defensive. "I called as soon as I had something definite to report, just like you told me, Mr. Tillery. I'd already warned you about the dope angle, way back when Frankie started fooling with the boat and all. And I'd told you the girl he was playing footsie with wasn't exactly the little Hollywood tramp she pretended to be, not with the hardware she was packing and the contacts she kept slipping off to make."
"But you never did manage to identify any of her contacts, did you?"
"Hell, the girl is… was a professional, Mr. Tillery; and you said we should be careful not to alert either her or Frankie. We did manage to catch a glimpse of her with one man, a Chinese character, kind of a Charlie Chan type, big and smooth and plump with a little moustache-" It was the most interesting piece of information I'd received since arriving on the West Coast. It scrambled all my previous ideas about the assignment so thoroughly that, trying to sort them out once more, I missed some of what Jake was saying.
"… no, sir, we never identified him," he finished up. "Hell, who's going to tail a chink in that part of San Francisco? Might as well try to shadow a nigger through Harlem."
"A black man, Jake, please. We must display no prejudice these days. What about our guest here? You're certain it was the murder that brought him on the scene?"
"Yes, sir. He went straight to the hospital when he got to L.A. Seems like the redhead who was shot belonged to his government department or bureau or whatever they call it-the real redhead, not Frankie's little dame with a dye job, the one who did the shooting. This guy was sent to find out who killed their girl and settle the account. It was a definite contract. The boys heard him get his orders over the phone. It shook up Frankie and his dame, they hadn't expected anything like that from the government, I guess, at least Frankie hadn't. They tried some fancy play-acting to throw our friend here off the scent, using Basher Brown as a patsy, but this government character was too smart to buy their script-" Roberta Prince's sultry voice broke in, sounding offended: "Who're you calling Frankie's dame? Frankie's ex-dame, if you please! I'm Frankie's dame now, and God help me if he learns I've sold him out."
"Sweetheart, you're just camouflage," Jake said bluntly.
"I heard them talking. The other chick was planning to leave, even before the shooting happened. She had important business somewhere else-"
"You couldn't find out where, Jake?" This was Tillery. "It might give us a lead."
"To what? We know definitely that the lab is somewhere in that crummy Bernardo trailer village up the coast. We know Frankie's on his way there with his boat to pick up a load-"
"What I want to know is what else he's got us mixed up in besides dope!"
"I wouldn't know that, Mr. Tillery," Jake said. "I just know Frankie picked this kid, here, out of her night club act to make it look like he'd got tired of the other one and booted her out. That way there wouldn't be any questions asked when she turned up missing."
"Gee, thanks a lot for the compliment!" Roberta's voice was sharp. "Just the same, if he knew where I was and what I was doing here, he'd kill me!"
Tillery said, "You've been promised protection and an adequate sum of money, Miss Prince. You'll get both, if you continue to cooperate." There was a brief silence; then his voice came again. "I gather from what you've reported, Jake, that our guest has just fulfilled his government contract."
"Yes, sir," Jake said. "We kept an eye on him all the way down, after he made contact with the female fuzz in that garage near L.A. where she was having her car fixed. We saw him ditch the Blame girl's body. It was kind of funny, since he'd just got all wet saving her life." I remembered my uneasy feeling of being watched down there among the rocks. Jake went on: "At least I figure he thought he was saving her life, to start with, but something must have tipped him off she was just playing the same old please-rescue-me record all over again-"
"Which brings up the question," Tillery interrupted, "after the failure of the original charade she and Warfel had set up to fool him, why should Miss Beverly Blame still have been trying to gain the confidence of this government man? Why did she stay behind and put on an elaborate act for his benefit? She even had Frankie send the rub-out men after The Basher just to make it look as if she were in real danger! Why?" Jake didn't answer, and after a moment, Tillery went on thoughtfully: "The three of them. Warfel and the girl, using Warfel's corporation contacts to set up something big-maybe on instructions from that fat Chinaman you saw-with Hansen to supply the muscle and do the driving. But just what the hell are they after besides dope, Jake?"
"I'm sorry, Mr. Tillery. I never heard anything that would help. Frankie always had something for me to do somewhere else when they started talking real seriously."
"Warfel heads south towards Baja California in his boat," Tillery said in the same musing voice. "Hansen heads south in a jeep. The girl heads south in her convertible-but she wrecks it deliberately, with Hansen's help, and stays behind to be rescued by this employee of Uncle Sam. Why? It looks as if they were afraid of Mr. Matthew Helm and wanted to have one person keeping an eye on him-or a gun on him-while the others carried out the operation, whatever it is. Which in turn kind of indicates that our so-unconscious friend here must know something about what they're planning, enough to worry them. What about it, Mr. Helm?" There was a sharp little laugh. "Come on, Mr. Helm. I've been letting you lie there and listen to save explanations, but that's enough of a nap. You can catch up on the rest of your sleep tonight. Wake up now and join us."
I opened my eyes obediently. I'd figured him for a small man, with his squeaky voice, and I was right in a way. He wasn't very tall. However, he was pudgy enough to outweigh a lot of taller men, a pink-faced butterball character with a little round head on a little round body. He was dressed in the informal West Coast fashion: slacks, sports coat, sports shirt, and a natty little cocoa-straw hat with a brim too small to keep the sun off anything, but maybe he wasn't planning to spend much time out in the sun. He looked like a pink, plump cherub except for his eyes, which were small and mean.
I looked at him, and I looked at big Jake watching me hopefully, obviously wishing I'd be foolish enough to make trouble, and I glanced over at the limber blonde in the loudly checked pants outfit, sprawled bonelessly across the armchair in the corner. Then I looked at the fourth person in the room, whose presence I hadn't even suspected until now, because he'd made no sound.