“Don’t make me laugh!” I said. “I’m going to put you away and free Mrs. Estep—both.”
“Go ahead and try it! You’re up against it without the letter; and you don’t think a man with brains enough to plan a job like this one would be foolish enough to leave the note where it could be found, do you?”
I wasn’t especially impressed with the difficulty of convicting this Ledwich and freeing the dead man’s widow. His scheme—that cold-blooded zigzag of treachery for everybody he had dealt with, including his latest accomplice, Edna Estep—wasn’t as airtight as he thought it. A week in which to run out a few lines in the East, and—But a week was just what I didn’t have!
Vance Richmond’s words were running through my head: “But another day of imprisonment—two days, or perhaps even two hours—and she won’t need anybody to clear her. Death will have done it!”
If I was going to do Mrs. Estep any good, I had to move quick. Law or no law, her life was in my fat hands. This man before me—his eyes bright and hopeful now and his mouth anxiously pursed—was thief, blackmailer, double-crosser, and at least twice a murderer. I hated to let him walk out. But there was the woman dying in a hospital. …
XII
Keeping my eye on Ledwich, I went to the telephone, and got Vance Richmond on the wire at his residence.
“How is Mrs. Estep.” I asked.
“Weaker! I talked with the doctor half an hour ago, and he says—”
I cut in on him; I didn’t want to listen to the details.
“Get over to the hospital, and be where I can reach you by phone. I may have news for you before the night is over.”
“What—Is there a chance? Are you—”
I didn’t promise him anything. I hung up the receiver and spoke to Ledwich. “I’ll do this much for you. Slip me the note, and I’ll give you your gun and put you out the back door. There’s a bull on the corner out front, and I can’t take you past him.”
He was on his feet, beaming.
“Your word on it?” he demanded.
“Yes—get going!”
He went past me to the phone, gave a number (which I made a note of), and then spoke hurriedly into the instrument.
“This is Shuler. Put a boy in a taxi with that envelope I gave you to hold for me, and send him out here right away.”
He gave his address, said “Yes” twice and hung up.
There was nothing surprising about his unquestioning acceptance of my word. He couldn’t afford to doubt that I’d play fair with him. And, also, all successful bunko men come in time to believe that the world—except for themselves—is populated by a race of human sheep who may be trusted to conduct themselves with true sheep-like docility.
Ten minutes later the doorbell rang. We answered it together, and Ledwich took a large envelope from a messenger boy, while I memorized the number on the boy’s cap. Then we went back to the front room.
Ledwich slit the envelope and passed its contents to me: a piece of rough-torn newspaper. Across the face of the fake article he had told me about was written a message in a jerky hand.
I wouldn’t have suspected you, Ledwich, of such profound stupidity. My last thought will be—this bullet that ends my life also ends your years of leisure. You’ll have to go to work now.
The doctor had died game!
I took the envelope from the big man, put the death note in it, and put them in my pocket. Then I went to a front window, flattening a cheek against the glass until I could see O’Gar, dimly outlined in the night, patiently standing where I had left him hours before.
“The city dick is still on the corner,” I told Ledwich. “Here’s your gat”—holding out the gun I had shot from his fingers a little while back—“take it, and blow through the back door. Remember, that’s all I’m offering you—the gun and a fair start. If you play square with me, I’ll not do anything to help find you—unless I have to keep myself in the clear.”
“Fair enough!”
He grabbed the gun, broke it to see that it was still loaded, and wheeled toward the rear of the flat. At the door he pulled up, hesitated, and faced me again. I kept him covered with my automatic.
“Will you do me one favor I didn’t put in the bargain?” he asked.
“What is it?”
“That note of the doc’s is in an envelope with my handwriting and maybe my fingerprints on it. Let me put it in a fresh envelope, will you? I don’t want to leave any broader trail behind than I have to.”
With my left hand—my right being busy with the gun—I fumbled for the envelope and tossed it to him. He took a plain envelope from the table, wiped it carefully with his handkerchief, put the note in it, taking care not to touch it with the balls of his fingers, and passed it back to me; and I put it in my pocket.
I had a hard time to keep from grinning in his face.
That fumbling with the handkerchief told me that the envelope in my pocket was empty, that the death-note was in Ledwich’s possession—though I hadn’t seen it pass there. He had worked one of his bunko tricks upon me.
“Beat it!” I snapped, to keep from laughing in his face.
He spun on his heel. His feet pounded against the floor. A door slammed in the rear.
I tore into the envelope he had given me. I needed to be sure he had double-crossed me.
The envelope was empty.
Our agreement was wiped out.
I sprang to the front window, threw it wide open, and leaned out. O’Gar saw me immediately—clearer than I could see him. I swung my arm in a wide gesture toward the rear of the house. O’Gar set out for the alley on the
