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“Maybe you’re right,” I said.
At nine o’clock Parker brought the car around to the front door. He was distant and calm and seemed to have got over his little spell.
Gorman came down the steps to see us off.
“Good luck, Mr. Jackson. Parker will give you last-minute instructions. I’ll have your money for you when you return.”
I was looking up at the dark windows hoping to see her and I didn’t pay much attention to what he was saying. She wasn’t there.
“We should be back in a couple of hours,” Parker said to Gorman. I could tell his nerves were jangling by the shake in his voice. “If we’re not, you know what to do.”
“You’ll be back,” Gorman returned. His nerves were in better shape. “Mr. Jackson won’t make a mistake.”
I hoped I wouldn’t. As we drove away into the darkness, I leaned out of the window and looked back at the house. I still couldn’t see her.
CHAPTER FOUR
WE SAT IN THE CAR close to the twelve-foot wall that skirted the back of Brett’s house. It was cold and quiet up there on the mountain, and dark. We couldn’t see the wall or the car or each other. It was as if we were suspended in black space.
“All right,” Parker said softly. “You know what to do. Take your time. Give me a whistle when you’re coming back. I’ll flash a light so you’ll find the rope again.”
I breathed gently into the darkness. Even now I hadn’t decided what to do. I didn’t want to go in there. I knew once I was over the wall, I would have put myself out on a limb, and if I slipped up, the least I could hope for was a stretch in jail. Redfern would fall over himself to put me away. He was only waiting for me to step out of line.
Parker turned on the shaded dashboard lamp. I could see his hands and the shadowy outline of his head and shoulders.
“Here’s the combination of the safe,” he said. “It’s easy to remember. I’ve put it on a card. One full turn to the right, half a turn back, another full turn to the right, and a half turn to the right again. Stop between each turn to give the tumblers a chance to drop into place. Don’t rush it. The only way to open the safe is to wait between each turn.”
He gave me the card.
“How about my dough?” I asked.
“That’s all you think about,” he said with a snarl in his voice. He was wrong there, but it wasn’t the time or the place to tell him about Veda Rux. “Here, take it, and keep your mind on what you’re to do.”
He handed over two one-hundred-dollar bills. I folded them small and put them in my cigarette case. I should have clipped him on the jaw then, shoved him out of the car and driven away, but I wanted to see Veda again. I could still feel her mouth against mine.
“When you’ve opened the safe, you’ll find the compact on the second shelf. You can’t miss it. It’s a small gold case, about half an inch thick. You know the kind—hundreds of women have them. Put the dagger in its place.”
“It would have saved a lot of trouble if that babe had slept with a chain on her ankle,” I said. “You might pass the idea on.”
He opened the car door and slid out into the darkness. I followed. Out in the open I could just make out the top of the wall. We stood listening for a moment or so. There wasn’t a sound. I wondered if the dog was loose on the grounds—just thinking about that dog gave me the shakes.
“Ready?” Parker said impatiently. “We want to get this over before the moon is up.”
“Yeah,” I said and swung the leaded cane. I wished now I carried a gun.
He uncoiled the length of rope, and I took the hook in my hand. At the third throw the hook caught on the wire and held.
“Well, so long,” I said. “Keep your ears open. I may be coming out a damn sight faster than I go in.”
“Don’t make any mistakes, Jackson,” he said. I couldn’t see his face but by the way his voice sounded he was talking through locked teeth. “You won’t get any more money out of us if you don’t bring out that compact.”
“As if I didn’t know,” I said and took hold of the rope. “Got the dagger?”
“I’ll hand it up to you. Be careful with it. Don’t knock it against anything. There mustn’t be a mark on it.”
I climbed up the rope until I reached the wire. My feet gripped one of the knots in the rope and I went to work on the wire with the cutters. The wire was strung tight and I had to watch out it didn’t snap back and slash me. I got it cut after a while.
“Okay,” I said into the darkness and drew myself up until I was sitting astride the wall. I looked toward the house, but it was like looking into a pit a mile deep.
“Here’s the case,” Parker whispered. “Handle it carefully.”
I leaned down, fumbled about until my fingers closed around it.
“I have it,” I said and took it from him. While I was shoving it into my coat pocket, I went on. “It’s as black as a hat down there. It’ll take me some time to locate the way in.”
“No, it won’t,” Parker said impatiently. “There’s a path a few yards from the wall. It’ll take you to the back door. Keep to your right. You can’t go wrong.”
“You’ve really made a study of this thing, haven’t you?” I said, pulling up the rope, and sliding down the other side of the wall into the garden.
I stood in the darkness, my hand against the wall, my feet on the grass verge, and listened. All I could hear was my own breathing and the thump of my heart against my ribs. I had left it late to make up my mind what I was going to do. I had to make a decision now. I could either stay right where I was for a while and then climb back over the wall and tell Parker I couldn’t open the safe or it was too well guarded or something, or I could go ahead and do the job and take a chance of running into the dog and the guards.
Once I had the compact, and if the guards caught me, nothing could save me from Redfern. But I was curious. I was sure the whole setup was phoney. A guy as smart as Gorman wouldn’t be gambling away fifteen hundred bucks to help a woman out of a mess. He wasn’t the type. The compact or whatever it was he wanted out of Brett’s safe was worth a pile of jack. There could be no other explanation. If it was worth money to him, it might be worth money to me. I was sick of San Luis Beach, sick of being pushed around, sick of having no money. If I used my head I might make a killing with this job. I might collect enough dough to take it easy for years. It was worth the gamble. I decided to go ahead.
All this took about five seconds to go through my mind; a second later I was on the path and heading toward the house. I had on rubber-soled shoes and I made less noise than a ghost, and I was listening all the time. I didn’t hurry and I crouched as I moved, the flashlight in one hand and the leaded cane ready for business in the other. After a while I came out of the trees. Away to my left I could make out the shape of the house: a vast black bulk of stone against the sky. No lights showed.
I kept moving, following the path that circled the lawn, and I kept thinking about the wolfhound. It was nervy work walking into that thick darkness—a police dog doesn’t bark. It moves along almost on its belly, very fast and quiet, and the first and last time you know it’s there is when its fangs are tearing your throat out. My shirt stuck to my back, and my nerves were poking out of my skin by the time I reached the end of the path. I was close to the house now. The path led to the terrace steps. I knew from the plan that to reach the back entrance you had to walk along the terrace, up some more steps, along another terrace, pass a row of French windows, around the corner and there you were. Once on the terrace you had as much cover to duck behind as a bubble dancer has when her bubble bursts.
I stood near the last tree of the path and probed the terrace and the steps until my eyes hurt. At first I couldn’t see a thing, then I began to make out the broad white steps and the balustrade of the terrace. I kept on looking and listening and straining into the darkness because I knew once I moved out into the open there was no turning back. I had to be sure no one was there. I had to be doubly sure the dog wasn’t up there waiting for me.
Now that I was close to the house, I could see chinks of light from one of the downstairs curtained windows. I could hear the whisper of dance music. The sound of that music made me feel lonely.
I still couldn’t make up my mind to leave the shelter of the tree. I had a hunch it wasn’t as safe up there as it looked. I kept staring and waiting, and then I saw the guard. By now my eyes had become used to the dark—and besides, the moon was coming up behind the house. He had been standing close to what looked like a big stone bird on a pedestal at the top of the steps. He had been merged into the design of the bird and I hadn’t seen him, although he had been there all the time. Now that he had moved away from the bird I could see the outline of his cap against the white background of the terrace. I sucked in a lungful of air. He stood looking into the garden for a while, and then walked leisurely along the terrace, away from the back entrance.
I had to take a chance. He might turn and come back, but I didn’t think he would. I sprinted for the steps. I ran on tiptoe and I gained the terrace without him having the slightest idea he wasn’t up there alone anymore. I could still see him as I crouched by the balustrade. He had reached the far end of the terrace and was standing with his back turned to me, looking into the garden like a ship’s captain on his bridge. I didn’t wait; keeping low, I ran up more steps and reached the terrace above him.
I could hear the radio distinctly now. Ernie Caceres was tearing a hole in “Persian Rug” on an alto sax. But I had other things to do than to listen to Ernie, and I went past the French windows, round the corner of the house the way I had seen it on the blueprint.
I was a few yards from the back entrance when I heard footsteps. My heart flopped around inside my hat and I stood against the wall. I heard more footsteps—coming toward me.
“You down there, Harry?” a voice called out of the darkness. I thought I recognized it. It belonged to the guard we had run into outside the gates. He couldn’t have been ten yards from me.
“Yeah,” a voice called back.
I could see the guard now. He was leaning over the balustrade, looking down at the other guard on the lower terrace. The other guard had turned on a flashlight.
“All quiet?”
“Quiet enough. Dark as pitch down here.”
“Keep your ears open, Harry. I don’t want trouble tonight.”
“What’s biting you, Ned?” The other guard’s voice sounded impatient. “Got the shakes or something?”
“You keep your damned eyes open like I say. Those two guys are on my mind.”
“Aw, forget them. They lost their way, didn’t they? Every time a guy loses his way and gets up here you have to act nervy. Take it easy, can’t you?”
“I didn’t like the look of them,” Ned said. “While the blockhead was sounding off, the other guy was using his eyes. He looked tough to me.”
“Okay, okay. I’m on my way around the grounds now. If I run into your tough guy I’ll fertilize the soil with him.”
“Take the dog,” Ned said. “Where is he, anyway?”
“Chained up, but I’ll take him. See you here in half an hour.”
“Right.”
I listened to all this as I stood like a statue in the dark. Ned stayed where he was, his back to me, his hands on his hips, looking out across the vast stretch of lawn.
Slowly I began to edge along the wall, away from him. I kept going, making no sound, until I lost sight of him in the darkness. After a few more steps I came to a door. I fumbled about until I found the iron ring that lifted the latch, turned it and pushed, but the door was locked. I transferred the leaded cane from one hand to the other, felt in my pocket and drew out the key Parker had given me. I daren’t show a light. I began to feel up and down the door for the keyhole, and all the time I kept my ears cocked in case Ned took it into his head to come back. I found the keyhole, slid in the key, turned it gently. The lock eased back with a faint click. To me it sounded like a gun going off. I waited, listened, heard nothing, turned the ring again and pushed. The door opened. I edged my way into more darkness. Then I removed the key, shut the door, locked it from the inside and pocketed the key.
Now that I was inside the house, I was suddenly as cool and as calm as a tray of ice cubes. I was out of reach of that dog and that took a weight off my mind.
I knew exactly where to go. I had facing me, although I couldn’t see them, five steps and a long passage. At the end of the passage there were more steps, and then a sharp right would bring me to Brett’s study and the safe.
I listened for a moment or so. Ernie Caceres was showing his versatility by playing the clarinet solo in the “Anvil Chorus.” I reckoned any noise I might make would be cancelled out by his high notes. I turned on the flash, got my bearings, went up the stairs and along the passage as fast as I could lick. There was a light at the head of the second flight of stairs. I shot up them, turned a sharp right into a little lobby that was glassed in on the garden side. A door faced me. It led to Brett’s study. On my right was a broad flight of stairs to the upper rooms.
There was a sudden giggle at the head of the stairs. I didn’t jump more than a foot.
A girl said, “Don’t you dare! Oh!”
Fun and games among the staff, I thought, and wiped the sweat out of my eyes. The girl yelped again. Feet pounded overhead. There was another yelp and then a door slammed.
I waited some more but it got quiet then: no screams, no yelps. I thought it was time Brett got back. His staff was having too good a time. I didn’t wait any longer, beetled over to the study door, turned the handle and peered in. No one yelled for help—no one was there. I went in and closed the door. The beam of the flashlight took me to the safe. It was right where the plan had said it was; so was the wire running down its side. If I hadn’t been looking for the wire I wouldn’t have seen it. It was what they call artfully concealed.
I cut the wire, expecting a peal of bells to start up all over the house, but nothing happened. It looked as if Parker had either cased the joint with expert thoroughness or else the alarm was still unset. I didn’t know and didn’t care.
I took the card from my pocket, checked the combination and then started on the dial. I held the flashlight on the dial and turned carefully: one full turn to the right, a two-second wait, one half turn back, another wait, a full turn to the right, another wait and a half turn to the right again. Just the way Parker had said. Then I took hold of the knob and pulled gently. I didn’t expect anything to happen, but it did. The safe opened.
I whistled through my teeth, shone the beam of the flashlight into the steel-lined cabinet. On the second shelf in the corner was a small gold box, about three inches square—very neat and modern and expensive looking. I picked it up, balanced it in my hand. It was weighty for its size. There was no button or catch to open it. I fiddled with it for a second or so then dropped it into my pocket. There was no time to waste. I could examine it when I was out of the house.
I took the dagger case from my pocket. Up to now I had been too busy avoiding the guards and thinking about the dog to give the case any attention, but now I had it in my hand my brain began to function.
The dagger was the only thing about Gorman’s story that didn’t click. I was as sure as Parker was loony that the girl hadn’t taken the dagger from Brett’s safe, and that the compact wasn’t her property. I had seen the dagger. It looked genuine enough. I didn’t know anything about antiques, but I did know gold when I saw it, and the dagger was gold—that made it expensive. Then why was Gorman getting me to put a valuable antique in Brett’s safe—an antique that I was certain didn’t belong to Brett? Why? A thing like that could be easily traced. Why hire me to steal the compact and leave something in its place of equal value and which would give the police a clue that might take them to Gorman? There was something wrong here, something out of tune.
I looked at the case in the light of the flash. Maybe they had fooled me and the dagger wasn’t in it. I tried to open the case, but it wouldn’t budge. It was too heavy for an empty case. I continued to examine it, and suddenly it occurred to me that it was thicker and a shade longer than the case Gorman had shown me. I wasn’t sure, but it looked that way to me. Then I heard something that brought me out in a rush of cold sweat. There was a faint but distant ticking coming from the case. I nearly dropped it.
No wonder those two smart punks had told me to handle it carefully. I knew what it was now. It was a bomb! They had made up the bomb to look like the dagger case, figuring I would be in such a hurry to get rid of it I wouldn’t spot the exchange. I put it in the safe as fast as you’d have got rid of a tarantula dropped in your lap.
I had no idea, of course, when the bomb was timed to explode, but when it did, I knew it would blow everything in the safe to atoms. That’s the way they had it figured. Brett wouldn’t know whether or not the compact had been stolen. For all he could tell, an attempt had been made to blow open the safe, but too much T.N.T. had been used and the contents of the safe had been liquidated. It was a bright idea—an idea worthy of Gorman. But when I thought of climbing that wall, coming up here, wasting time dodging the guards with a bomb ticking in my pocket, I came out in another rush of cold sweat. I shut the safe and spun the dial. My one thought was to get as far away from the safe as I could before the bomb went off. Maybe I was a little panicky. You would have felt the same. Bombs are tricky things, and a homemade bomb is the trickiest of them all. I didn’t doubt that Parker—if Parker was responsible for the thing—had timed it to go off sometime after we were well clear of the house; but I wouldn’t trust anyone to be accurate when it comes to bomb mechanism. So far as I was concerned that bomb was likely to go off right now.
I shot to the door, jerked it open and walked out just as Ned, the guard, walked in.
I have a reputation for fast action when it comes to a fight. I don’t have to think what to do when I step into that kind of trouble. My reflexes take care of the work long before my brain goes into action. I had Ned by his thick throat, throttling his yell, before I had gotten over the shock of running into him.
His reflexes were a mile behind mine. He just stood there for a split second, unable to move, letting me throttle him. I’ll say this for him: he made a remarkable recovery. As soon as he realized what was happening, he caught hold of my wrists and I knew by his grip I wouldn’t be able to hold him. He was as strong as a bear.
Only one thing mattered to me. I had to stop this guy from yelling. He tore one of my hands off his throat and swung a fist that felt like a lump of pig iron into the side of my neck. It hurt and got me mad. I socked him twice about the body. His ribs weren’t made of concrete but they felt like it. He grunted, drew in a breath and I socked him again before he could yell. He sagged a bit at the knees, ducked under another smack I let fly at him and grabbed me around the body. We went to the floor, in slow motion, and settled on the carpet with scarcely a bump. We fought like a couple of animals then. He was as tough and as dirty as an all-in wrestler, and as savage. But I kept socking them into his body and I knew he wasn’t built to take much of that stuff. I grabbed hold of his head and slammed it on the floor. He twisted away, gave me a kick in the chest that flattened me and let out a yell like a foghorn.
I jumped him and we sent a table crashing to the floor. I was rattled now. If the other guard came in with the dog, it wouldn’t be so good. I hit Ned in the face with two punches that nearly bust my fists. He flopped to his side, groaning. I didn’t blame him. Those smacks even hurt me.
Then the light went on and the other guard came in and that seemed to be that.
I kicked Ned away, half rose on my knee, paused. The .45 pointing at me looked a lot larger than a 240 millimeter howitzer and twice as deadly.
“Hold it!” Harry said, his voice squeaky with fright.
I held it while Ned got unsteadily to his feet.
“What the hell is going on?” Harry demanded. He was a fat-faced, dumb-looking hick, but built like a bullock.
All I could think of was the bomb.
“Watch him, Harry,” Ned croaked. “Just let me get my breath. I told you, didn’t I? It’s the same guy.”
Harry gaped at me. His finger tightened on the trigger.
“We’d better call the cops,” he said. “You all right, Ned?”
Ned cursed him and cursed me. Then he kicked me in my ribs before I could block his boot. I went sprawling across the room and I guess that saved me.
The bomb went off.
I was vaguely aware of a lot of noise, a flash of blinding light and a rush of air that flung me up against the wall. Then plaster crashed down on me, windows fell out, the room swayed and shook.
I found I was clutching the flashlight I’d dropped when I had grabbed Ned. I knew I had to get out of there fast, but I had to see what had happened to the guards. I needn’t have worried. They had been in a direct line of the safe door as it was blown off its hinges. I recognized Ned by his boots, but I didn’t recognize Harry at all.
I stumbled through the broken French windows out onto the terrace. I was punch-drunk, slaphappy and scared witless, but my brain still functioned.
I was going to double-cross Gorman before he double-crossed me. The exploding bomb had made it easy for me.
I staggered over to the stone bird that guarded the top of the terrace steps. I don’t know how I managed to climb up to the place where its wings joined its body, but I did. I put the compact in the little hollow between the wings, scrambled down, and began to run toward where I hoped I’d find Parker.
My legs felt as if the bones had been taken out of them and my ears sang. It looked a long way across that lawn to the wall and I wasn’t sure if I could make it.
The moon had climbed above the house now and the garden was full of silvery light. You could see every blade of grass, every flower, every stone in the gravel paths. There was nothing you couldn’t see. But I saw only one thing: the wolfhound coming straight at me like an express train.
I let out a yell you could have heard in San Francisco, turned to run, changed my mind, spun around to face the brute. He came over the lawn, low to the ground, his eyes like red-hot embers, his teeth as white as orange pith in the moonlight. I still dream about that dog, and I still wake up, sweating, thinking he’s coming at me, feeling his teeth in my throat. He stopped dead within ten yards of me, dropped flat, turned to stone. I stood there, sweat dripping off me, my knees buckling, too scared even to breathe. I knew one flicker out of me and he’d come.
