While Sam poured the drinks, I said, “I heard Kruger’s almost washed up, that’s why I’m nervous about going in with them.”
“Hoid what?” Waxey gasped, “yuh crazy? Looks yew, both dese guys are tops, see? Nuttin’s goin’ tuh stop ’em. Dere ain’t any punk tuh touch ’em now.”
But I wasn’t listening any snore. I was staring out of the tavern into the street. “Hang on, Sam,” I said suddenly, “I’ll be right back,” and I left them gaping after me.
From across the street I had caught a glimpse of a dog, moving along the shadows of the wall. That in itself wasn’t anything, but the dog was a wolfhound and you don’t see many wolfhounds in Mulberry Park.
I was certain it was Whisky.
By the time I got into the open he had disappeared, but I knew which way he had gone and I chased across the street, ducked down an evil smelling alley and ran on. Something on the ground made me pause and looking down I found that I was following a trail of bright bloodstains in a disjointed string of small circles.
I increased my pace and began calling. At the end of the alley I could see Whisky dragging himself forward painfully and slowly.
“Whisky!” I shouted and ran forward, just as the dog dropped wearily to the ground.
“What’s the matter, old dog?” I asked, bending over him anxiously.
There was no need to ask. There was a great patch of hardening blood on his shoulder. Across his head was a livid gash as if he had been hit very hard with a stick. Blood ran from his foot where he must have got himself a pretty severe cut. Whisky was in a bad way and from the exhausted look in his eyes I could see he was in need of some quick attention.
“Take it easy,” I said, kneeling beside him, “I’ll get you out of here.”
“Don’t waste time with me,” Whisky growled. “They’ve got her. They kidnapped her when she was going to meet you. That wasn’t Myra who was waiting for you at Manetta’s… that was the other one.”
“The other one?” I repeated stupidly. “Who kidnapped who? What are you talking about, Whisky boy?”
Whisky struggled to speak, then, a look of terrified dismay came into his eyes. His teeth clicked and he half struggled to his feet, only to flop back exhausted.
“Take it easy,” I said, “I’ll get Sam and we’ll fix you up, you poor old devil. But, I’ve got to know what you’re talking about. Why should anyone want to kidnap Myra?”
Whisky still clicked his teeth as if he were struggling to speak and then to my shocked and horrified surprise he began to bark.
Chapter THIRTEEN
BY the time I got back to Waxey’s dive and had collected Bogle the full meaning of what Whisky was trying to tell me had sunk in. It was completely fantastic. But, then again, the whole thing was fantastic.
So the girl hadn’t been Myra and Myra had been kidnapped. The sooner I got back to Ansell and put the screws to the girl the better. Now that Whisky had lost the power of talking, I wasn’t going to get much help from him. I would have to wait until he was well enough to take us to the place where he had been attacked. That might give me a clue.
It was no use telling Bogle that there were two Myras. He would only think I’d gone crazy. Besides, it would be a waste of time trying to convince him.
So I left Whisky in his charge and grabbed a taxi. I had told Sam to get Whisky to a dog hospital as quickly as he could and then get back to our apartment pronto. Sam, when he saw how badly hurt Whisky was, became wildly angry and upset. I managed to convince him how important it was for him to return immediately to the apartment without actually telling him details.
It was about the longest ride I ever had in a taxi and I kept urging the driver to greater speed. I don’t know why but I had the jitters all right.
When I reached our apartment block I tossed the driver his money and ran up the steps.
A moment later I was standing inside our apartment and for some unaccountable reason I felt scared. There was the same eerie atmosphere that I felt when I found Quintl’s body. No sound came to me and I called Ansell in a voice that I hardly recognized as my own.
I walked cautiously into the kitchen and looked round. There was no one there. More assured, I returned to the living room. Maybe Doc and the girl had gone out. I was just going to have a look in the bedrooms when something caught my eye which brought me up with a jolt.
From under the sofa I could see something red. I knelt down and looked. It was Myra’s flame coloured dress. It had been screwed up into a bail and shoved under the sofa. This startled me for a moment. I hooked it out and stood up.
As I unfolded it I touched a wet, sticky patch and looking at my hand I found blood on it. Right down the front of the dress was a large bloodstain, still damp.
Just for a moment I thought that she’d been killed and it gave me a tremendous shock. But when I examined the dress there was no sign of a bullet hole or a slit from a knife. It looked as if the blood had come not from her but from someone else.
Throwing the dress aside I went upstairs and blundered into Ansell’s bedroom.
He lay across the bed. There was blood on the floor and on the walls. I hadn’t realized what a little guy he was until I saw him lying like that. The front of his coat was bloodstained and his face was blue-grey. Until I touched him I thought he was dead.
And when I touched him and felt his cold hand I realized just how fond I had become of him and a wild, destructive rage swept through me. If I could have laid hands on the person who had done this I’d have killed without hesitation.
“Doc,” I said gently, scared to lift him, “what is it, Doc?”
He opened his eyes and blinked up at me, but no look of recognition came from him.
“It’s me… Millan,” I said, kneeling close to him. “What can I do? Are you badly hurt?” I knew the answer to that one before I said it. I didn’t think he’d last another two minutes.
He tried to speak, but couldn’t quite make it. I watched his lips move and I put my ear close to them, but I couldn’t hear what he was trying to say.
But he had to talk. He couldn’t go like that without telling me what had happened and who had done this. So I bolted to the sitting room and poured two Inches of Scotch into a glass and rushed back to him.
“Come on, Doc,” I said, lifting his head. “Get hold of yourself.”
The whisky did the trick, but I could see he was going fast. My only hope now was to keep him alive long enough to hear what had happened.
I could see he wanted to talk and I could see he was making a tremendous effort.
“You were right. She wasn’t Myra,” he whispered at last. “She attacked me soon after you left. I asked for It, I should have waited. Look out for her, Ross, she’s dangerous. Its the way I thought. She’s the bad one.” He closed his eyes and I thought he had gone, but he was only resting for a second or so.
I couldn’t really believe that it was possible and yet I knew the Myra we had worked with and fooled with could never have done this to him.
He began speaking again, “They’ll try and pin this on Myra,” he said falteringly. “You’ve got to cover it up somehow, Ross. I told you this might happen. Where’s Myra? What’s happened to her?”
“Now don’t worry, Doc,” I said. “I’ll fix it. You just relax. I’ll get a doctor for you. You’ll be all right.”
“You’ve got to find her and get her an alibi,” Doc went on. “Don’t call the cops until you’ve been through the place and cleaned up anything that might connect her with this. The other one’s bad. You’ve got to catch her and get rid of her before the end of the month. Don’t let her merge into Myra again. She’ll try and do it after the full moon.”
I couldn’t understand what he was talking about, but there was nothing else to do but to listen. His voice was getting weaker and he died as Sam walked in.
When Sam saw Doc he ran over to him, his eyes scared.
“He’s gone, Sam,” I said, getting off the bed. And then I realized the hopelessness of trying to explain to him
