“Why Mr. Preston, you really do drop off at inconvenient times. If you had stayed awake you might have prevented those characters from taking off.”
I didn’t like Hamilton, and I liked his jokes even less. Groggily, I sat upright. It wasn’t a very good idea, because the room seemed to be having difficulty in keeping still.
“They got away huh?”
“Thanks to you, yes. But they won’t get far,” he said off-handedly.
“Don’t be too sure,” I told him. “They have a roll. There isn’t just the money McCann got from Brookman. There’s also a stake he got from a little blackmail on the side.”
Hamilton’s eyes glittered.
“Blackmail too, eh? My my, they are a busy pair. But they won’t get out of town. Jake’s boys have been watching ever since yesterday, and this morning I brought the police in too.”
“Police? You think Jake will like that?”
“I don’t know. Probably not. He’d like it a lot less if these two young lovers got clean away. Anyway, it’s my responsibility.”
I was thankful it wasn’t mine. The Jake Martellos of this world do not normally welcome police involvement in their little activities. But maybe Hamilton had not been around long enough to be blamed. And, as he reasoned, the main idea was to prevent McCann and the girl leaving town.
“Well,” I said resignedly, “What do we do now?”
“We wait,” replied Hamilton. “Or rather, I wait. Jake wouldn’t hold it against you if you ducked out now. You’ve done well. You smoked out the people he wanted, and he can’t ask much more than that. In fact, you almost got yourself killed, and I’ll tell him so. Jake can be a very grateful man. You won’t lose by it.”
I hadn’t heard Hamilton so friendly before. Maybe that was something he reserved for special occasions.
“Thanks, but I’ll see it through. I’ve been this far, and nobody could say I don’t have an interest in what happens. No point in waiting around here, I imagine?”
“Nope,” he confirmed briskly, “Jake’s office is the nerve center. Everybody has that number, and if there’s anything to hear, that’s where we hear it. So, if we’re going?”
He looked at me pointedly. The look meant, if you’re in this thing you’re in it, and if not, say so. Because those who are in it have things to do.
“You go ahead,” I told him. “I’ll just rest up a few minutes and I’ll be behind you.”
“Right. You know where I’ll be.”
After he’d gone, I sat around feeling sorry for myself for a time. Then, when I was able, I scrabbled clumsily to my feet and looked around for the bathroom. All the old powers of detection came into play that time. There were three doors leading out of the room. One led to the kitchen, one to the bedroom. Even in my fuddled condition, I was able to deduce instantly that the third door would be the bathroom. That’s the kind of reasoning you only get from a professional, even after he’s been pushed around by an expert. The bathroom had a basin which supplied hot and cold water. I filled it with cold, loosened my tie, and dunked my head into the cool. It was a refreshing experience, so much so that each time I took my head out, I waited just long enough to recharge my lungs with fresh air, then down I went again.
A few minutes of that and I was feeling more or less normal. I was patting at my face with a rough towel when the phone blatted. At first I wasn’t going to answer, then my nose got the better of me.
“Well?”
There was a man at the other end. I thought I knew the voice but I couldn’t recall where from.
“McCann?” came the anxious query.
I’m no good at imitations, but you can’t go wrong on one word.
“Well?” I repeated.
“This is Art. Art Green. You remember, Shiralee’s agent.”
That was it. I did my big McCann act again.
“Well?”
This time I was more curt than before.
“Thought you ought to know. There’s been some guys here. Police type guys.”
Now I had to make a more serious attempt at impersonation.
“What’d you say, Art?”
“Listen, I didn’t tell ‘em nothing. What do I know? Nothing. They seemed to think you knocked ofT those people. But I didn’t tell ‘em nothing.”
“So?”
His voice took on a whine.
“Gee Mr. McCann, a guy has to make a living. Listen, I been sick lately. I didn’t even mention the boat.”
Boat. My mind leaped. It was an even bet Martello’s people would not be watching boats. Nor the police, for that matter. Watching a railway station, an airport, is one kind of proposition. There are just so many ways in and out. But boats. Beaches stretch for miles, and we have a lot of beaches within a short ride of Monkton. Suddenly I needed very badly to talk to Art Green.
“Stay right there. I mean it.”
That was all I said before I put down the phone. As an imitation of Leg’s McCann’s voice, I didn’t know how it would stand up. But I wasn’t in the market for auditions. I needed to catch up with a couple of killers before they left town. A few hours in a seaworthy craft could put them in Baja California, and with the kind of stake money they were carrying, none of us would ever see them again. Of all the things they’d done, it was Flower’s murder that more determined me than anything else. At once, I dialled Jake Martello’s office. A strange voice said:
“Race Investments Limited.”
“Is Clyde Hamilton there yet?”
“No. Who is this?”
“Now listen, I don’t know who you are, but you’re going to take a message. You are going to get it right the first time, because there isn’t any room for mistakes. You understand?”
“Say what is this? Who are you, anyway?”
“The name is Preston. Got that? I’m after the people who shot Jake. Understand? Right. Now tell Hamilton this. We need
