Hughson shrugged. “Yeah, I suppose he is. He’s smart and he makes dough. Don’t you worry your brains about Spencer.”
We went downstairs together and I drove him part-way home. I left him at a convenient subway and drove on towards Wensdy Wharf.
So Spencer was married. I told myself that I’d got to meet this guy soon. I must find Mardi first and hear her story. Then I could go along and talk to Spencer. It seemed I was getting involved in this business, whether I wanted to or not.
Wensdy Wharf was at the far end of the east side of the town. There were some pretty tough quarters to go through to get there. I had to drive carefully, as the roads were narrow and people walked carelessly.
I parked the car at a small garage when I got close to the wharf.
The morgue attendant was right. This place was mighty tough. The streets were narrow and the dark houses seemed to lean forward so that the roofs blotted out the sky above. The pavements were wet and slippery, covered with all sorts of smelly refuse.
The garage hand had told me where I should find Wensdy Wharf. He looked at me as if he thought I was crazy. Maybe I was, but that wasn’t going to stop me.
I walked fast. The river mist was coming up slowly, and I could hear the deep note of a distant siren. Soon I left the shops behind and I seemed to be quite close to the river. Turning a corner, I came on Wensdy Wharf. At the far end, I could see the oily water reflecting the light of a solitary street lamp.
On each side of the wharf tall, straggling houses loomed out of the darkness. Yellow chinks of light gleamed from the windows, coming round the ill-fitting blinds. I suddenly felt cold. The mist was damp, and there was a chilly wind coming off the river.
’Well,’ I thought, ‘here I am.’ Wensdy Wharf didn’t appeal to me a lot.
I wandered to the edge of the water and looked out across the dark river. But for an occasional tug, with its storm lantern, I could see nothing. I glanced at my watch. It was just after eight-forty-five.
She had said Wensdy Wharf, but that was all. The place was built in a three-sided square with the river for the fourth side. It was easy to watch. I selected a pile of old rope in a dark corner and sat down.
From this point I could keep an eye on the whole of the wharf, and at the same time I was out of sight and in comparative shelter from the wind.
This was not altogether a grand way of spending the evening, but if I was going to find Mardi I wasn’t complaining. I was afraid to smoke, and I wanted a drink bad. After ten minutes of this I began to get sore. I thought up a few fancy names to call that dame on the telephone. I’d just like to meet her once. It would only have to be once.
When my watch had told me I’d been there for over thirty minutes, I began to get restless. I got up and paced up and down in the deepest shadows, getting the stiffness out of my bones. Nine-fifteen and nothing had happened. Maybe this dame was taking me for a ride.
Then suddenly things started. I saw the flickering light from a car coming slowly round the corner. Quickly I ducked back behind the coil of rope and knelt down, peering, like they do in the movies, over the top. A big, closed car was nosing itself into the square. The headlights lit up the darkness and blinded me. I kept down until the light swung away from me, then when my corner was once more in darkness I quietly stood up.
The car came to a halt outside one of the houses. This house was in complete darkness. Unlike the others, it showed no lighted windows whatsoever.
I moved cautiously towards it. As I did so two of its doors swung open. A short, thickset man, well muffled up, got out from under the steering-wheel and went to the other door. He leant forward, his head and shoulders disappearing into the car. Then he withdrew himself.
I stiffened. He was holding something. His back was turned, and for the moment I couldn’t see what was going on. Then he stepped back and someone else clambered out. They lurched across the pavement. They were carrying someone wrapped up in a coat. Instinctively I knew it was a woman, and it didn’t take me a second to surmise that it was Mardi. I was just going to jump forward when two other guys bundled out of the car. This pulled me up quick. It was no use me running into trouble I couldn’t handle. Maybe I’d get tossed into the river, and that wasn’t going to help Mardi.
They all disappeared into the house, and I heard the door slam to. I stood there waiting. After a few minutes the thickset guy came out, got into the car, and drove away as silently as he had come. Well, anyway, I told myself, that only left three.
I walked softly to the house and glanced up. A light was now shining from a window on the second floor. Even as I saw it a blind was hastily drawn down, blotting the light out.
I knew which room they had put her in, which was something. I suddenly wished I’d got a gun. The almost eerie feeling from the wharf and the nearness of the river were giving me the heebies. I put out my hand and gently tried the front door. It was locked all right.
I decided to go round the back and see what that looked like. There was a narrow passage running by the side of the house and I went down there cautiously. I had brought a pencil torch with me, and I switched it on as soon as I was hidden from the street. The bright little spot-light lit up the evil-smelling passage. At the end was a rotten wooden fence. I stretched up and looked over. It gave me quite a shock.
It didn’t take long for a guy with my brains to figure that one out. If they wanted to get rid of Mardi, all they had to do was to slit her throat and toss her out of the window.
What I had to do was to get into that house quick. If it did mean a little trouble and maybe a little damage, right at this moment Mardi was in a worse fix than anything that could happen to me.
I found a window on the ground floor, and by shining my torch through the glass I could just make out a small, unfurnished room. This would do to get into the house. With the aid of my knife, I jacked up the window. It was stiff, but it went up without any noise. I swung my leg over the sill and stepped into the room. Then I shut the window. You try busting into a dark house with three toughs upstairs, in a vicinity like this, and see how you like it. I didn’t. My nerves were jumpy, and my throat was dry as hell.
I gumshoed over to the door and turned the handle. The door came to me as I pulled on it gently. It creaked a little, but not badly. Outside was dark, and I stood listening. I couldn’t hear a thing. Cautiously I edged out into a passage, flicked on my torch to get my bearings, and shut the door behind me. On my right was a narrow staircase.
I started up, testing each step before putting my whole weight on it. It was as well I did. Some of those stairs were mighty rotten and they creaked like hell.
I was half-way up when I heard a door open on the next landing, and a sudden flood of light lit up the staircase. Someone came out and shut the door. Once more the staircase went black. Footsteps began to shuffle to the head of the stairs. I stood against the wall. If this guy put on a light, I was sunk. Down he came. I could hear his hand sliding on the banister rail. I squeezed myself farther into the wall. He went past me. I felt the tail of his coat brush past my knees. I let him get one stair down, then I swivelled round quick and kicked out hard with my right foot.
It was a nice kick. At that range it would have staggered an elephant. I felt my toecap sink into something hard, heard a strangled gasp and then a fearful crash. I didn’t wait a second, but flashing on my torch I tore up the stairs, three at a time.
As soon as I reached the next landing I turned off the lamp and stood against the wall. Before I did so I caught a glimpse of a door near the head of the staircase. Just as I got away from it, the door jerked open. A thin guy with a black hat crushed on his head stepped on to the landing.
“Hey, Joe,” he called, peering down over the banisters. “What the hell you playin’ at?”
When a guy leans over a rail like that, there is only one thing to do. I did it. Moving fast, I hooked my fingers under his trouser legs and heaved. Although he was thin he was heavy, but I’d put enough steam into my heave to launch him okay. Away he went with a startled howl.
After that I didn’t get anywhere. A hoarse voice said behind me, “Hold the pose… exactly like that.”
I had visions of a gun covering my back, but for all that I turned my head. The gun was there all right. The guy who was holding it looked mean. He was short and fat with close-cropped white hair. By the way he held the gun, I could see he knew how to use it.
“Okay,” I said quickly, “I’ll be good.”
