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  Velda scurried after Horton without emitting a sound.

  Until they reached the Oldsmobile, Horton didn’t give up hope that the police might still arrive in time to rescue them. But not a soul was in sight as they went down the front walk and across the street. For all the sign of life from the houses either side of Velda’s, they might have been vacant. With a touch of bitterness it occurred to Horton that the only time in his life he actually looked forward to the arrival of police, they had failed him.

  Velda was ordered to sit next to Hippo in the front seat of the Olds. Horton drew the center of the back seat, between Russ and Joey.

  Hippo drove right past the parked Ford in which Belle sat waiting. Her gaze met Horton’s as they passed, but aside from a slight widening of her eyes, she gave no indication of surprise. He controlled an urge to turn and glance through the rear window to see if she was swinging the Ford around to follow.

  Hippo headed straight for the Sixth Ward Athletic Club. He parked the Olds in the alley behind it, and they all entered the building by a rear door. A set of back stairs took them to the second floor without being observed. When they reached the same small office where Horton had been taken before, Joey left the two prisoners under the guns of Russ and Hippo and went off to find Tony Manzetti.

  Horton dropped into a chair against the wall and calmly lit a cigarette. After a moment of indecision, Velda sat next to him and gave him a tentative smile.

  “Want to be friends again, huh?” Horton asked with irony.

  He offered a cigarette and lit it for her. Under cover of leaning toward him for the light, she asked in a low voice, “What will they do with us?”

  Before Horton could reply, Russ said, “All right, break it up. Either of you have anything to say, speak up so we can all hear.”

  Then the office door opened and Tony Manzetti came in followed by Joey.

  CHAPTER XXVI

  THE RACKETEER looked at Horton with satisfaction. After a brief glance at Velda, he ignored her.

  In a jovial tone he said to Horton, “You’ve given me a little trouble, Jimmy-boy. What’d you do with my Buick and with Russ’s gun?”

  “The Buick’s on Quincy’s Used-Car Lot,” Horton said. “Unless one of the salesmen has sold it.”

  “Yeah? No wonder we couldn’t find it. My boys have been checking the streets. How about the gun?”

  “Russ seems to have acquired another,” Horton said. “He doesn’t need it.”

  Manzetti laughed. “We got lots of guns,” he agreed. “We’ll skip it.” He glanced at Velda to include her in the conversation. “You kids shouldn’t have picked me as your patsy. Now see the jam you’re in?”

  Horton blew a smoke ring and examined it with mild pride as it floated away. “Joey obviously hasn’t told you the whole story, Manzetti. He’s given you a lot of unnecessary trouble just because he’s after my hide. I had things all set up to take both of us off the spot when he blundered in and complicated everything again.”

  Joey started to say, “This smooth-talking—” when Manzetti silenced him with a gesture.

  “Go on, Jimmy-boy,” he invited pleasantly.

  “That gun in Joey’s side pocket is the one that killed Quincy. I had a comparison test run on it. It was—”

  “How’d you manage that?” Manzetti interrupted.

  “You’re not the only one with a contact at Police Headquarters. How I worked it isn’t important, but there isn’t any question about it being the murder gun. It was Quincy’s gun, and probably is registered to him. It was safely planted in a dresser drawer at Velda’s house, and police were on their way to search for it. If they’d found it, it would have been all the evidence the police needed to drop the murder in her lap. They wouldn’t even have glanced in your direction. But Joey’s got a grudge. He doesn’t care how much trouble he causes you, so long as he draws the privilege of killing me.”

  Manzetti’s jovial smile had faded as Horton spoke. He turned his head to study his number-one hatchet man. “Is this true, Joey?” he asked quietly.

  In a sullen voice Joey said, “You can’t believe anything this guy says, Boss.”

  Manzetti glanced at Russ. “How about this, Russ?”

  With an uncomfortable look at Joey, Russ said, “Well, Horton told the same story before we hauled him and the dame away from her house.”

  Manzetti swung back toward Joey, and his eyes suddenly blazed. He yelled, “You give us two people to get rid of just to satisfy a personal grudge? Who the hell you think you are?”

  Joey’s face paled, leaving the scar on his thin cheek a fiery red. His pallor wasn’t fright, though. His expression resembled that of a dog whipped by its master.

  “Give me that gun!” Manzetti snapped, holding out his hand.

  Wordlessly Joey brought out the gun he had gotten from Velda. When Manzetti jerked it from his grasp and glared at Joey, for a breathtaking moment Horton thought he meant to shoot the thin gunman in cold blood.

  Apparently Joey thought so too, for he flinched. He made not the slightest movement of defense, though. He just stood regarding his employer with a sick expression on his face.

  Tension in the room relaxed when Manzetti merely dropped his gaze to the gun and studied its serial number. Wheeling around, the racketeer strode to his desk and slammed himself into the swivel chair behind it. He lifted the phone and dialed a number.

  A small shudder passed over Joey’s body and his shoulders slumped as tension drained out of him.

  Manzetti said into the phone, “Let me talk to Sergeant Thom.”

  After a pause, he said, “Tony Manzetti, Sergeant. See if this gun is registered, will you?” He read off its serial number.

  There was a wait of a minute or two, then Manzetti said, “Yeah? Okay, that’s fine, Sergeant. Thanks. And forget this call, huh?”

  Hanging up, he glared at Joey and said with barely suppressed rage, “You fixed things good. This is registered to Quincy, just like Horton said. Why the hell didn’t you at least have sense enough to phone me?”

  “I suggested it,” Horton offered. He smiled at the uncomfortable Joey.

  Manzetti blazed at Horton, “You got nothing to be happy about, Buster. You’re as good as dead. Both of you.”

  Horton’s smile faded. Velda gave Manzetti a frightened look.

  “Now we’ve got to wind it up,” Manzetti raged at Joey. “Take ‘em out somewhere and rig it double. Murder and suicide, or a suicide pact—I don’t care which. Just so it’s foolproof. We’ll settle your working off personal grudges on my time later.”

  He flung the gun back to Joey so hard, Joey backed a pace and grunted when he caught it.

  Joey said tentatively, “The woman too, Boss? She couldn’t rat on us.”

  “You harebrain!” Manzetti spat at him. “With the gun traced back to Quincy, you think the cops won’t go to work on her? Even if you used a different gun, they’d pull her in for questioning after getting a tip that the murder gun was at her house. And if you think I’m betting on a woman being able to keep her mouth shut even to save her own skin, guess again. Do what I said.”

  Velda said in a panicky voice, “I wouldn’t talk. Honest I wouldn’t.”

  Manzetti didn’t even bother to answer. Rising from his desk, he stalked out and slammed the door.

  There was a period of silence. Finally Russ emitted a long-held breath. “Whew! I told you we should have checked by phone, Joey.”

  Joey had regained both his color and his aplomb, now that the only person in the world whose opinion mattered to him was out of sight.

  “Shut up,” he said coldly. “Let’s get out of here. We can figure out where to pull it on the way.”

  Horton and Velda were herded down the back stairs again to the Olds parked in the alley. Seating arrangements were the same as before. Hippo drove as far as the alley mouth, then braked and looked inquiringly back at Joey.

  “Take a left,” Joey ordered.

  As the Olds swung
left, Horton saw the rented Ford parked just next to the mouth of the alley, facing it. Belle sat behind the wheel gazing into a compact mirror as she touched lipstick to her mouth. She didn’t glance up as the Olds passed, but a moment later Horton heard the motor of her car start.

  Following Joey’s instructions, Hippo drove north clear to the edge of town. As they passed the city-line marker, Hippo asked, “Where we bound, Joey?”

  “Tony’s beach house,” Joey said.

  They drove in silence for a time. Then Russ said, “We can’t pull it there.”

  “You think I’m that stupid?” Joey asked frigidly. “We’ll just hold them there until dark.”

  Another mile went by in silence before Russ finally said, “I been thinking, Joey. If this is supposed to look like a suicide pact, the cops are gonna wonder how they got to wherever we dump them. There ought to be a car around that it’ll look like they came in.”

  “I know it,” Joey said in a short voice.

  With a show of spirit Russ said, “Well, you gonna let us in on your plans?”

  “He doesn’t have any,” Horton said. “He’s ad libbing as he goes along.”

  Without a word Joey smashed the barrel of his gun across Horton’s forehead. The blow rocked Horton back in the seat without knocking him out. Dazedly he raised a hand to touch his forehead. His fingers came away wet with blood from a two-inch gash.

  “Go ahead and mark me up, you stupid jerk,” Horton said thickly. “The cops will go fine for your rigged suicide when they see I was beaten to hell before I died.”

  With an enraged expression on his face Joey raised the gun to hit him again. Russ reached across Horton to grab Joey’s wrist.

  “Hold it, Joey!” he said sharply. “The guy’s right.”

  The rage gradually left Joey’s face. Russ released his grip on Joey’s wrist and sat back.

  Again there was a period of silence. Joey’s eyes continued to glitter at Horton, but he made no further attempt at violence. Presently he said to Russ in a tone of near apology, “We can put the slug right in the cut. Nobody’ll be able to tell the difference.”

  There was no more conversation the rest of the trip. Their destination was a trim, four-room beach cottage about ten miles north of town. They reached it by means of a dirt-road turnoff from the main highway which wound through underbrush for a couple of hundred yards before it ended at a sand-and-shale strip of beach at the river edge.

  The cottage was well-isolated, Horton noted as they all climbed from the car. There was no other building in sight in any direction.

  Except for a splitting headache, Horton had recovered from the pistol blow by the time they reached the cottage. He and Velda were ordered inside and told to take seats in a small but well-furnished front room.

  “I’m going to leave you guys in charge while I drive back to town,” Joey told Russ and Hippo. “I’ll be back about dark. Stay on your toes for a change.”

  “Where you going?” Russ asked.

  “To case the dame’s house. The cops won’t stick around there forever. If they don’t leave the place staked out, that’s where we’ll pull it.”

  Russ frowned. “Ain’t that taking a chance? Suppose it is staked out?”

  “Then we’ll figure out another plan,” Joey snapped.

  Russ shrugged. “You’re calling the shots.”

  “Where would be more logical?” Joey inquired. “The cops find them both dead in her bedroom, him with a gun in his hand. He’s bumped her and then himself. Makes more sense than if they was found in a ditch someplace.”

  He went out after a final admonition to Russ and Hippo to stay alert. They heard the Olds start and drive away.

  Russ thoughtfully looked Horton and Velda over, then said to Hippo, “Why sit here with guns in our hands all day? See if you can find some rope.”

  Nodding, Hippo lumbered off into the kitchen. Shortly he returned with a long section of clothesline.

  “On your feet,” Russ ordered the prisoners.

  He herded them at gunpoint into a bedroom containing a double bed.

  “You first,” Russ said to Horton. “Lie on your stomach and put your hands behind you.”

  Horton removed his hat and hung it on a bedpost. He lay face down on the bed.

  While Russ held the gun, Hippo thoroughly hogtied Horton, then rolled him over with his back to the wall. After similarly tying Velda, he rolled her into a position facing Horton. Thoughtfully Hippo removed her little black hat and laid it on the dresser.

  After studying his handiwork, Hippo said, “Maybe they could shift around back-to-back and pick each other’s knots loose, huh?”

  “That’s easy to fix,” Russ said.

  Putting away his gun, he heaved the bed away from the wall. Going behind it, he looped a short length of clothesline around Horton’s wrists, tied the other end to the sidebar on which the springs rested. After pushing the bed back to its original position against the wall, he performed a similar operation on Velda’s side of the bed.

  “Houdini couldn’t get out of that,” he said to Hippo. “Hunt up a deck. I’ll take you over at a little gin.”

  CHAPTER XXVII

  HIPPO’S KNOT-TYING had been designed more for security than for the comfort of the prisoners. Their feet were awkwardly drawn up behind them and lashed to their wrists. After one brief test of the knots, Horton gave up all effort to free himself.

  “Don’t try to struggle,” he advised Velda. “He tied them so the knots tighten if you force them any.” Already he was beginning to regret his own brief attempt, for it had drawn the bonds tight enough to partially cut off circulation.

  They lay with their thighs pressed together and their noses almost touching. Velda looked as though she were on the verge of tears.

  “Go ahead and cry, if it will make you feel better,” Horton suggested.

  Velda gave her head a small shake. “I couldn’t use my handkerchief,” she said forlornly. “My nose would get all shiny.”

  Even after all his experience with women, Horton wondered if he would ever fully understand them. Trussed up like a chicken and facing imminent death, Velda was still concerned about her appearance.

  Velda said in a small voice, “What are we going to do?”

  “Nothing at the moment,” he told her. He listened to the sound of the gin game going on in the front room. “Any idea what time it is?”

  “It must be past one.” Her face grew tearful again. “I’m hungry.”

  My God, Horton thought. First she worries about her face, and now about her stomach.

  He said with heavy irony, “That’s quite a serious problem. Glad I don’t have any large worries.”

  She gave him a reproachful look. “You’re making fun of me. You ought to want to co-operate. We’re in this together.”

  “If I could think of anything to do, I’d be glad to co-operate,” he said with sincerity. “What would you suggest?”

  “I don’t know. But at least we ought to be friends. In case we think of something.”

  “All right. We’re friends.”

  “You mean it?” she asked. “You’ll help me if a chance comes up, and I’ll help you? We’ll stick together?”

  “It’s a pact,” he said. “A mutual defense pact.”

  “We won’t try to throw each other to the wolves any more? Like you did me first, and then I did you?”

  “It’s all for one and one for all.”

  She moved her head an inch and kissed him on the lips. “That seals it.”

  “Contract is signed,” he said. “But I still haven’t any ideas.”

  Velda sighed. “I wish we weren’t tied up.”

  Horton cocked an eyebrow at her.

  “I mean at least we’d have something to do,” she explained. “Would you like to kiss me again?”

  The dialogue struck Horton as a little unreal.

  “I’m afraid I couldn’t keep my mind on sex at the moment,” he said politely.

&
nbsp; “Oh,” she said a little disappointedly.

  Conversation lapsed for a time. Then Velda said, “You don’t still think I shot John, do you?”

  “Didn’t you?”

  “Would I lie to you now?” she asked. “Well both probably be dead in a few hours.”

  “Who did it then?”

  “Manzetti must have had it done.”

  Horton shook his head. “I don’t think so. I don’t think he even sent that threat. He just wants the case wound up because he’s afraid the papers will get on his back if I’m proven innocent.”

  “Well, I didn’t do it. What I told you about the gun disappearing before the murder was true.”

  “Who had access to it, aside from you and your husband?” he asked.

  “Nobody. Except the cleaning maid. And she’d have no reason to kill him.”

  “You must have had visitors in the house occasionally. Do you have any idea how long the gun had been missing?”

  She thought for a moment. “Not long, I’m sure. I think I recall seeing it when I was putting laundry in John’s dresser drawers a few days before he was killed. That would have been on Monday, five days before the murder.”

  “And it was missing Friday evening when he looked for it?”

  “Yes.”

  Horton said musingly, “That leaves only four days during which it could have been lifted. You ought to be able to remember what guests you had during that time.”

  “We didn’t have any,” she said. “Recently we hardly ever entertained. My husband and I hadn’t been getting along.”

  “Yeah, I know. Wasn’t anyone at all in the house?”

  “Well, my husband did have some people over for a business conference of some kind. On Wednesday evening, I believe. But he barely knew them. As a matter of fact, I don’t believe he’d even met the man before that night. They wouldn’t have had any reason to kill him.”

  “Who were they?”

  “A Mrs. Whitney and a Major Walsh. It was something about some stocks Mrs. Whitney wanted advice on.”