The Golden Gizmo

He opened a second door, tugged furiously, and slammed it shut. And Toddy knew at last the reason for the chinless man's perfume.

The air was heavy with the odor of chloroform. The room with its tightly closed windows swam with its sickening-sweet stench.

Alvarado released his ankle, and Toddy tried to sit up. He fell back, groaning, and his head banged against the wall. He lay there, not quite prone, staring dully at the two long pine boxes on the floor. Alvarado chuckled.

He had wiped his sweating face, and now it and his hand were both scarlet. He was smeared with blood; his face was a hideous, blood-smeared mask.

The mask crinkled in a mirthless grin, and he picked up a hammer from one of the boxes. He hefted it in his hand, gazing steadily at Toddy, inching a little toward him. And then he burst into another laugh.

'Do not worry, Mr. Kent. There is nothing to worry about yet. I would first have you observe something…'

He inserted the claw of the hammer between one of the boxes and its lid. He pried downward, moved the hammer, reinserted the claw and pried again.

'You do not understand, eh?' he panted. 'So much effort-so much more, thanks to you. Why not, simply, since I am leaving, leave the bodies here? It is this way'- he wiped, smeared, his face again-'there is always the chance of some flaw in planning; the possibility of apprehension. And murder is regarded much more seriously than smuggling. But even without that, without error or misfortune, there would be great unpleasantness. Your squeamish countrymen would be outraged, your newspapers vocal. In the end, my government might be faced with demands for my person…'

He laid down the hammer and tugged at the lid with his hand. Wincing, he looked carefully at Toddy. He nodded, satisfied with what he saw, and dropped the gun into his pocket. He grasped the lid with both hands, pulled and swung it open on its hinges.

'Now,' he said, and started to stoop. 'No,' he shook his head. 'She must lie on the bottom. Otherwise…'

Picking up the hammer, he turned to the other box and began unsealing its lid. The gun remained in his pocket, but the fact meant nothing to Toddy. He was breathing more easily, but he still felt paralyzed.

'Evidence…' Alvarado was murmuring. 'But there will be none, not a particle; only ashes scattered to the winds… Strong suspicions, yes, but no evidence. Nothing to act upon…'

The lid swung free. Alvarado lifted out the girl, held her for a moment, then shrugged and tossed her to the bed. 'Still alive, like the dog doubtless. It does not matter. I will prepare another sponge, and it has several hours to work.'

He started to turn. Then, catching Toddy's eye, he nodded solemnly.

'You are right, of course. They weigh little, but the weight already is overmuch. They will have to come off.'

He jerked off her shoes, and dropped them to the floor. Then the stockings. He grasped the dress at its throat, and ripped it off with one furious tug… The brassiere, then. And then…

He glanced down critically at the nude, undulant figure, and grinned spitefully at Toddy. 'Tempting,' he said. 'You are incapacitated, unfortunately, but there is no reason why I… You could enjoy that, Mr. Kent? You would derive pleasure from mine?'

'Y-you,'-Toddy rasped-'bastard…'

'I shall kick you some more,' Alvarado promised. 'As for Dolores, she shall lie with the dog, poor Perrito. He deserved it, eh, Mr. Kent? It is small recompense for the death which expedience forces me to inflict… If he were smaller, if he could not talk, I might have…'

Going down on his knees, he looked regretfully at the dog. He got an arm under it, stroked the head absently with his bleeding hand.

'Pobre Perrito,' he murmured. 'I am sorry.'

A shudder ran through the dog's body. His tongue lolled out, touched Alvarado's hand. It moved against the hand, licking.

'Cruel,' murmured Alvarado. 'You are nearly dead, and I let you revive. I let in the air. I kill you twice…'

He got up abruptly, brushing at his eyes, and turned to the bed. He lifted the girl and lowered her roughly into the box from which he had taken her.

'Now,' he said, bending over the dog again, 'it will soon be over.'

This time he put both arms under the great black body, and grunting stood erect with it. The animal's eyes slitted open. The huge jaws gaped lazily. Alvarado bent his head-his scarlet face.

The dog's jaws snapped shut on it.

The blood scent… Like a dream, a nightmare, a scene at the Los Angeles house came back to Toddy… Shake and Donald, their faces spouting blood. And Alvarado holding the lunging dog.

Alvarado was bent over, staggering. His fists flailed against the dog and his muffled, smothered shrieks emerged as a horrible humming… 'Hmmmm? Mmmmmm! MMMMMM!… '

Toddy yelled. He got to his hands and knees and lurched forward, tried to grasp the dog by a leg. How this had come about didn't matter now. He only knew that it had to be stopped.

There was a roar in the room and Toddy dropped to his stomach. Alvarado had got out his gun, but he couldn't aim it. He was pivoting in a slow, pain-crazed waltz; doubled over, the automatic sweeping the walls. And the dog waltzed with him, eyes closed, jaws clamped, its hind claws rattling and scratching against the floor.

Suddenly, Alvarado's right arm shot straight out from his body. The dog moved-they moved together-and the gun swerved. It steadied, pointing at the girl.

Toddy could never say how he did it; he could never recall doing it. But somehow he was on his feet, his hands gripping a bony scarlet wrist. He threw his weight forward, and there was a long staccato roar-that and the shattering of glass as the windowpane behind a drawn curtain was blown into bits.

Then, somewhere, in the not too distant distance, a motor raced and an automobile horn tooted angrily.

Toddy staggered backward and sat down on the bed. Alvarado and the dog lay on the floor, motionless. One paw rested against Alvarado's shoulder, and Alvarado's left hand lay on the dog's black hide. The dog had released his hold at last. What the jaws had clung to was no longer there.

Toddy bent forward suddenly and retched. His dizziness disappeared and he could think again.

He'd have to get out of here-he gripped the edge of the bedstead and pulled himself upright. Those shots had made a hell of a racket; it sounded like they might have grazed a car. It might take the cops a little while to discover their source, but when they did… Well, they wouldn't find him here. Alvarado had dough on him. Plenty of it. And the keys to the convertible were in the switch. By the time the cops got a line on him, he'd be through Tijuana, heading for one of the fishing villages below Rosarita Beach. From there, for a price, he could get passage to Central America.

Of course, he'd be on the run for the rest of his life. He'd always have Elaine's murder hanging over him. That couldn't be helped. When you couldn't fight you had to run.

He got up. Eyes averted, he was bending over Alvarado's body, starting to search for the money that must be there, when something made him pause. He straightened, shrugged irritatedly, and stooped again. He stood up again, Cursing.

He picked up the girl and laid her on the bed. His tanned face flushed, he pulled one side of the spread over her.

That was all he could do. He wasn't any doctor. Anyway, she'd be all right. She…