The name didn’t strike any responsive chord as far as I was concerned, so I let him continue.
“Then I picked the lock and . . .”
“Wait a second, son.” I looked at him hard. “Say that again.”
“I picked the lock. Why?”
“Just like that you picked the lock. No trouble to it or anything?”
“Uh-uh.” He flashed a boyish grin at me, shyly. “I learned all about locks when I was little. This one was just a plain lock.”
He
“. . . and as soon as I got out I opened a little hatch and crawled up on the deck. I saw the lights from shore and jumped overboard. Boy, was that water cold. They never even heard me at all. I nearly made it at that. After I jumped the boat kept right on going and disappeared, but I guess they found the door open down below. I should have locked it again but I was sort of scared and forgot. Just when I got up on the shore some man came running at me and they had me again. He said he’d figured I’d head for the lights, then he slapped me. He was waiting for the others to come and he made me go into the shack with him. Seems like they tied up in the cove and had to wait awhile before they could take me back to the boat.
“He had a bottle and started drinking from it, and pretty soon he was almost asleep. I waited until he was sort of dopey then threw my pajama pants out the window with a rock in them hoping someone would find them. He never noticed what I did. But he did know he was getting drunk, and he didn’t have any more in the bottle. He hit me a few times and I tried to get away. Then he really gave it to me. When he got done he took some rope and tied me up and went down the beach after the others. That was when you came in.”
“And I went out,” I added.
“Gee, mister, I hope you didn’t get hurt too badly.” His face was anxious, truly anxious. It’s been a long time since someone worried about me getting hurt. I ran my fingers through his hair and shook his head gently.
“It isn’t too bad, kid,” I said. He grinned again, pulled the robe tighter and moved closer to me. Every few seconds he’d throw me a searching glance, half curious, half serious.
“What’s your name?”
“Mike Hammer.”
“Why do you carry a gun?”
“I’m a detective, Ruston. A private detective.”
A sigh of relief escaped him. He probably figured me for one of the mob who didn’t like the game, I guess.
“How did you happen to find me?”
“I was looking for you.”
“I’m . . . I’m glad it was you, Mr. Hammer, and not somebody else. I don’t think anyone would have been brave enough to do what you did.”
I laughed at that. He was a good kid. If any bravery was involved he had it all. Coming back in after me took plenty of nerve. I told him so, but he chuckled and blushed. Damn, you couldn’t help but like him. In spite of a face full of bruises and all the hell he had been through he could still smile. He sat there beside me completely at ease, watching me out of the corner of his eye as though I was a tin god or something.
For a change some of the lights were off in the house. Henry, the gatekeeper, poked a flashlight in the car and his mouth fell open. All he got out was, “M . . . Master Ruston!”
“Yeah, it’s him. Open the gates.” He pulled a bar at the side and the iron grillwork rolled back. I pushed the buggy through, but by the time I reached the house Henry’s call had the whole family waiting on the porch.
York didn’t even wait until I stopped. He yanked the door open and reached for his son. Ruston’s arms went around his neck and he kept repeating, “Dad . . . Dad.”
I wormed out of the car and limped around to the other side. The family was shooting questions at the kid a mile a minute and completely ignored me, not that it mattered. I shoved them aside and took York by the arm. “Get the kid in the house and away from this mob. He’s had enough excitement for a while.”
The scientist nodded. Ruston said, “I can walk, Dad.” He held the robe around himself and we went in together.
Before the others could follow, York turned. “If you don’t mind, please go to your rooms. You will hear what happened in the morning.”
There was no disputing who was master in that house. They looked at one another then slouched off in a huff. I drew a few nasty looks myself.
I slammed the door on the whole pack of them and started for the living room, but Harvey interrupted me en route. Having once disrupted his composure, events weren’t likely to do it a second time. When he handed me the tray with the diagram of the bedroom layout neatly worked up he was the perfect flunky.
“The guest plan, sir,” he said. “I trust it is satisfactory?”
I took it without looking at it and thanked him, then stuck it in my pocket.
York was in an anteroom with his son. The kid was stretched out on a table while his father went over each bruise carefully, searching for abrasions. Those he daubed with antiseptic and applied small bandages. This done he began a thorough examination in the most professional manner.
When he finished I asked, “How is he?”
“All right, apparently,” he answered, “but it will be difficult to tell for a few days. I’m going to put him to bed now. His physical condition has always been wonderful, thank goodness.”
He wrapped Ruston in a robe and rang for Harvey. I picked up the wreckage that was my coat and slipped into it. The butler came in and at York’s direction, picked the kid up and they left the room. On the way out Ruston smiled a good-night at me over the butler’s shoulder.
York was back in five minutes. Without a word he pointed at the table and I climbed on. By the time he finished with me I felt like I had been in a battle all over again. The open cuts on my face and back stung from iodine, and with a few layers of six-inch tape around my ribs I could hardly breathe. He told me to get up in a voice shaky from suppressed emotion, swallowed a tablet from a bottle in his kit and sat down in a cold sweat.
When I finished getting dressed I said, “Don’t you think you ought to climb into the sack yourself? It’s nearly daybreak.”
He shook his head. “No. I want to hear about it. Everything. Please, if you don’t mind . . . the living room.”
We went in and sat down together. While I ran over the story he poured me a stiff shot of brandy and I put it away neat.
“I don’t understand it. Mr. Hammer . . . it is beyond me.”
“I know. It doesn’t seem civilized, does it?”
“Hardly.” He got up and walked over to a Sheraton secretary, opened it and took out a book. He wrote briefly and returned waving ten thousand dollars in my face. “Your fee, Mr. Hammer. I scarcely need say how grateful I am.”
I tried not to look too eager when I took that check, but ten G’s is ten G’s. As unconcernedly as I could, I shoved it in my wallet. “Of course, I suppose you want me to put a report in to the state police,” I remarked. “They ought to be able to tie into that crew, especially with the boat. A thing like that can’t be hidden very easily.”
“Yes, yes, they will have to be apprehended. I can’t imagine why they chose to abduct Ruston. It’s incredible.”
“You are rich, Mr. York. That is the primary reason.”
“Yes. Wealth does bring disadvantages sometimes, though I have tried to guard against it.”
I stood up. “I’ll call them then. We have one lead that might mean something. One of the kidnappers was called Mallory. Your boy brought that up.”
“What did you say?”
I repeated it.
His voice was barely audible. “Mallory . . . No!”
As if in a trance he hurried to the side of the fireplace. A pressure on some concealed spring-activated hidden mechanism and the side swung outward. He thrust his hand into the opening. Even at this distance I could see him pale. He withdrew his hand empty. A muscular spasm racked his body. He pressed his hands against his chest and
