Shooting Star/Spiderweb

didn’t know what I was looking for, but I had to find it.

“The bootleggers had to have a place to cache their liquor and guess what they did?”

They stacked it right out here in the open, in the fox pen. No, they couldn’t do that. There’d be foxes in the pen, to make things look right. But—I saw it over in the corner, shadowed by the house above. A black circle: the metal lid covering a cistern.

Of course! That’s where they hid the liquor in the old days—down below, in the hollowed-out hillside! Lift the lid and climb down the stairs to the storage rooms, the vaults. That’s where they hid the liquor, and that’s where the Professor would hide whatever he wanted hidden.

The frogs croaked a triumphant chorus as I walked over to the iron cistern cover, bent down and reached for the ring in the center. It was heavy. I tugged and I had trouble. I couldn’t seem to move my shoulder. That’s because something was holding it back, gripping it tightly in restraint.

I glanced around at my shoulder and saw what rested there. It was a hand...

Seventeen

“Mr. Roberts—what are you doing?”

I looked up into the plump white face of Miss Bauer.

“Come away,” she whispered. Her hand left my shoulder, traveled to her lips. “He will hear you.”

“He?”

“Otto. He works down in the vaults tonight.” She urged me to my feet. “Do not fear. He will sleep below. Come to the house, eh?”

I followed her out of the pen, up the porch steps. She kept whispering. She had been asleep in the bedroom, she said, and when she heard me prowling around she thought at first I was the Professor. Then she finally tiptoed out to investigate and found me.

All this I learned in the kitchen. Gradually the story filtered through her accent, her idiom, her fear. For Ottilie Bauer was afraid.

She did not know, at first, what crazy business Otto had in mind when he urged her to come and live with him here in the Canyon. This Dr. Sylvestro, he was partly responsible—Otto had been his patient, once, years ago when he’d first come to America, after the war. Otto had been a brilliant man in the old country, but something went wrong. He got crazy ideas about making money, about success, about his power.

Now he was going too far. All this extortion, and threats, and the wild talk—Miss Bauer had warned. Miss Bauer had coaxed. Miss Bauer had pleaded. But he wouldn’t listen.

“Now I do not know what will come. He is preparing more of those horrible photographs. I have wanted to see you, to warn you. This must be stopped. And if you can not stop it, it is better for you to go away while you can. While he is—”

We both heard the sound, both turned. But it was only the wind. I smiled at her, but my hands clenched. She smiled at me, but her lip quivered.

“I can’t go away,” I said, softly. “You see, the Professor knows I killed Mike Drayton. You know it, too.”

Her lower lip quivered, stopped, quivered again.

“No. You did not kill him. That was a lie.”

“But—”

“He made you go away. You saw nothing after that. How I worked on the lungs in the car, how he revived.”

“He revived?”

“He sat in the car and Otto, he drove him away. For air, he told me, and I must go home to bed. It would be all right. So I went home, thinking how lucky we were, and next day in the papers—”

I stood up. “So the Professor murdered him and pinned the rap on me! You’re a witness, you can testify. You’re sure you saw Drayton alive after I left?”

She nodded, and I saw the part in her straight black hair.

“Yes. I can testify. I do not wish to tell this, but he must be stopped for his own good. You go away.”

“You bet I’ll go away, and fast!” I stepped around the table, then halted.

“But what about you—isn’t it dangerous for you to stay? If the Professor knew that you had tipped me off —”

“He will not harm me, Mr. Roberts.” She smiled. It was a very old smile, borrowed from the Sphinx. “You see, he is my brother.”

I drove back before dawn, slept until noon, then called Ellen.

“Go home and start packing,” I said. “We’re getting out of here.”

“When?”

“Tomorrow or the next day, as soon as I can clear up a few odds and ends.”

“You really mean it?”

“Cross my heart and hope not to die. Have you ever wanted to go to Niagara Falls on your honeymoon? Or do you prefer the Zambezi? That’s in Africa—Southern Rhodesia, I think.”

“You sound high.”

“I’m right up there, and you’ll be, too. Now, listen to me. I’ve just come from the Professor’s place. No, I didn’t see him, but I did see Miss Bauer. She turns out to be his sister. That’s right.

“The Professor didn’t leave town at all. That was just a cover-up to fool me. He’s actually getting ready to start his campaign on you and your uncle, and lining up Caldwell for another touch. So he’s still around, but don’t worry.

“Miss Bauer just supplied me with enough information to quiet the Professor—put him behind bars, if necessary. But he’s her brother, and naturally she doesn’t want to see that happen unless it’s absolutely necessary.

“So instead, I asked her for the file and the photos on Caldwell. These she agreed to get. They’re hidden out there at the house, she thinks, down below in a concealed basement. Some time this afternoon, if she’s alone and gets the chance, she’ll get the stuff and bring it over to Caldwell.”

“Caldwell?” Ellen’s voice rose.

“Of course. That’s where I’ll arrange to meet her—and you. Let’s say four o’clock. I’ll call him now and tell him we’re coming over. Once Caldwell has his photos and negatives, we can thumb our noses at the Professor and leave whenever we like.”

“You’re sure there won’t be any hitches?”

“How can there be? Nobody’s going to suspect Miss Bauer of double-crossing her brother. Nobody’s going to trail her to Caldwell’s place. That’s what makes it all so safe.”

“But Eddie—you’re being trailed. By Jake.” I paused. I’d forgotten that little detail. “Don’t worry about Jake. I’ll handle him this afternoon. Now, get busy and pack. Bring your things over to Caldwell’s house. Here, I’ll give you the address.” I read it off to her, made her repeat it. “Take a cab so there’ll be no slip-ups. And I’ll see you at four. Meanwhile, in case you happen to be interested, I love you.”

“You say the cleverest things.”

I hung up, not feeling clever. I’d forgotten about Jake. Well, that problem would be faced shortly. Right now there was the question of Caldwell.

I called him at home. A tired woman answered the phone. At first I thought it might be Marge, but it turned out to be the maid. Yes, Mr. Caldwell was there. He wasn’t feeling very well, but whom should she say was calling? I gave my name and waited.

Mr. Caldwell wasn’t feeling very well. I could imagine why. He’d just had another little phone call from Jake, about more pictures. And perhaps tonight or tomorrow he’d be taking a trip with a little black bag full of bills.

Perhaps a mention of my name would do the trick, though. I hoped so, anyway.

It did.

“Roberts! My God, I’m glad to hear your voice!” He didn’t wait for a reply. “I’m in trouble again. I got another call from—”

“I know. And that’s why I phoned you. I think your troubles will soon be over. Now, listen carefully to what I’m going to say.”

He listened and I told him everything.