He was a tall man with stooped shoulders, and his eyes were set deep in small triangles of flesh. A shabby black suit made him look like a minister. He shook my hand for a long time.
“Please sit down, Mr. Cah-” he said.
“Craven,” I said. “Karl Craven.”
“Yes. Of course. Craven.” He sank down behind the desk and began to make washing motions with his hands. “What can I do for you, Mr. Craven?”
“Mr. Grayson sent me.”
“Ah, Mr. Grayson!” His eyes gleamed. “What does he want?”
He knew damn well what Mr. Grayson wanted, but he wasn't giving anything away. I liked his being smart. I might need help from him.
“I'm supposed to persuade”-I let my month hand over the word-'Miss Grayson to leave the Vineyard.”
He got a package of cigarettes and some matches out of a desk drawer. He gave me a cigarette. “I don't smoke myself,” he said. The cigarette was of the ten-cent-a-package variety. I lit it and threw the match in his waste-basket. I took a deep drag of smoke and blew it out my nose.
“I'm afraid,” he said, “Miss Grayson will be difficult to persuade.”
“I found that out,” I said. “You've seen her?”
“This morning.”
His eyes were narrow. “She told you,” he said, “that she was very happy.”
I nodded. He laughed. It was a queer laugh, a sort of high-pitched giggle. It wasn't what you'd expect to see come out of a guy who looked like a minister.
“You can sec, Mr. Craven,” he said; “that I've been talking with Miss Grayson, too.”
He wasn't giggling any more. If you ever look at a rattlesnake's eyes, you'll see the same triangles. He was thinking. The small eyes were bright with thinking. He watched me for a moment.
“What are you?” he asked suddenly. “A private investigator.”
“What firm?”
“My own.” I grinned at him. “You think a respectable firm would handle a job like this?”
He leaned over the table. “You arc going to kidnap her, then?”
“I don't like the climate in Leavenworth.”
“Quite so.” He sank back in the chair and made the washing motions with his hands again. “Quite so. What do you propose to do?”
“If I knew,” I said, “I wouldn't be here.”
“True, Mr. Craven,” he said, giggling. It was weird hearing him.
“You know how badly Mr. Grayson wants her out, I said. “You worked for him.”
He nodded. “Unfortunately,” he said, “the local court refused to grant an injunction against the Vineyard.”
“That's why he sent for me,” I said.
“Mr. Grayson is a very determined man.”
“And a very rich man.”
He rubbed his hands together. I felt we understood each other, but to clinch it I said: “Naturally, you'll get paid for the work you do.”
“I've already received a small fee.”
“Five thousand,” I said. “Not so small.”
“Just a manner of speaking.”
“But,” I went on, “not so big compared with what he might pay.”
“If we can get her out, Mr. Craven.”
We discussed it. He let his hair down a little and told me he hated the Vineyard. I didn't know as I blamed him: from the way he talked it sounded like a hell of a place. He said he'd been trying to shut it up for twenty years, but every time he'd had Solomon and the Brothers in court they'd gotten the decision. When he was the district attorney, back in 1929, the charge was bootlegging. He knew the Vineyard was supplying the whole county with spiked wine, but the defence proved it had been spiked after it left the Vineyard. Later he got some of the Brothers indicted on a narcotic violation, but the dope he'd confiscated disappeared from the chief of police's office.
“The closest I ever came,” he said, his eyes peeping out angrily from the triangles of flesh, “was on a Mann Act violation.”
He'd proven two girls had their railroad fares paid from California by the Vineyard. Privately he had forced the girls to admit they'd been used sexually by the Brothers in their ceremonies. But when the case came to trial, both girls denied all immorality. That was two years ago. Since then the only thing he'd tried was to get the injunction for Grayson.
“The Vineyard sounds like a fine place to live,” I said. “Liquor and dope and immorality.”
McGee ignored this. He said: “When Solomon died I thought I might get 'em. I thought he was the brains. But they're still smart.”
