Hostage For A Hood (22 page)

"You found the dog?" The lieutenant's voice was excited.

"No—no, that is to say he was found and then he got lost again before I got here. But I ran into something else. Something that seems a little queer. It probably doesn't mean anything, but I think I should tell you about it."

For the next several minutes he talked to the lieutenant, explaining about Harding's call. He told about his trouble in getting to Cameron Corners and his delay. Then he told the officer about meeting Miss Abernathy and going out to the Bleeks house to see the Browns.

"But when a girl answered the door, she denied that they owned a poodle, or a dog of any kind. She seemed odd, almost frightened. That's when the man came to the door."

"What man?"

"I guess it must have been her father," Sherwood said. "This Miss Abernathy said her father was visiting her. Anyway, he was a one-armed man and he ... "

"A one-armed man?" The lieutenant almost yelled the words. "You say a one-armed man?"

"That's right. A middle-aged man with one arm, and he ordered her ... "

Once more the lieutenant cut in. He made an effort to control his voice, to be very sure that Sherwood understood him.

"Quick, where are you now?"

"Why at the drugstore in town ... "

"Stay right there. Don't go anywhere, don't say anything to anyone. Stay there. We'll be up in less than an hour. Just don't move."

He was half out of his chair while the receiver was still crackling as Bart yelled into the mouthpiece some forty or fifty miles away....

The lieutenant knew something. There was no doubt about it. He had some piece of vital information. He hadn't told Bart; had cut the connection while he was trying to question him. But he'd been excited and he'd been very definite about Bart's staying there and waiting for him.

It had to be something to do with that house. Something to do with the sulky, uncommunicative girl who had answered the door and denied knowing anything about a French poodle. Something to do with that ill-tempered man with one arm who had ordered her away from the door and then crossed the room to slam it in his face.

Those two knew something. The French poodle had been Flick. And Flick had been in that old colonial mansion.

Joyce had been in that house. Suddenly he knew it. Knew that she had been there and that perhaps she was still there.

He paled as he turned and left the drugstore. If Joyce was there, she would be in terrible danger, because right now they would be growing suspicious.

Lieutenant Parks could not possibly arrive before another hour, not even with the help of sirens and a motorcycle escort. Bart Sherwood ran for the car he'd left sitting in front of the drugstore.

He didn't make the turn which would have put him on the street which passed the house. Instead he went an extra block and then circled, so that he came upon the place from the rear.

This block was lined on both sides by woods, and the woods separated the street from the rear of the old white house. He pulled the car into the curb and parked. As he stepped to the ground he noticed the rag lying in the gutter. He only saw it for a fraction of a second out of the corner of his eye, but that fraction was enough. At once he recognized the tiny square of yellow and blue silk. Reaching down, he picked up the torn scarf.

There was no question about it, no question at all. It was Joyce's scarf, the scarf he had given her. His face blanched and for a moment he just stood there, torn by conflicting emotions.

Joyce had been here. There was no doubt of it. He could almost feel the closeness of her. But then, as his fingers caressed the torn and ragged piece of silk, he felt a cold chill come over him. He had to get into that house, at once.

It wasn't difficult to find cover as he crept toward the place. He was crouching, not thirty feet from the back door, when the car turned into the drive and stopped at the side of the house under the carriage porch. Two men, a thin, bitter-mouthed little man in a sharkskin suit, and a bulky, wide-shouldered man with the broken face of a prizefighter, got out of the car and entered by the side door.

He waited only a minute or two and then he crept forward again, staying half concealed by a high hedge. Gradually he made his way to the place where he had noticed the small window which apparently opened into a cellar.

Cribbins waited only until Mitty and Santino were in the house and had closed the door.

"We're leaving," he said. "At once. We can't wait for Goldman."

"What's up? Hell, I just got here." Mitty looked baffled as he tugged at his cap.

"No time to talk," Cribbins said. "But that damned dog disappeared, and a few minutes ago some guy was around asking about a French poodle. He knew the dog had been here. I don't know who he was or what he wanted but it doesn't matter. We've got to blow. We can't take any chances; can't hang around here any longer."

"I thought you said we had to wait for Goldman," Santino said, his voice sarcastic. "Thought it was important to ... "

"Do anything you want," Cribbins said. "I'm blowing now. We can get in touch with Goldman later on, but I'm getting out now."

Luder, standing at one side of the room, spoke up. "I'll go with you," he said.

Cribbins hesitated a moment. "I'm going alone," he said at last, speaking softly. "We got plenty of transportation; you and Mitty and Santino can take one car ... "

Santino interrupted. "You're all worrying about nothing," he said. "As far as I'm concerned, I stay here and wait for Goldman. He'll be here in another hour or so. You guys want to get out, go ahead." He looked over at Cribbins. "And I suppose the girl's going to be my problem, once you take off?"

Cribbins stared at him for a moment and then spoke slowly. "Either way," he said. "Either way. I'll do it, or you handle it."

Santino laughed. "Forget it," he said. "I just wanted to know how you felt about it. But the pleasure's mine. That way, I'll be sure."

"I know that," Cribbins said. "You like this sort of thing. So go on upstairs and handle it. I'll get the money." He reached down to the suitcase which he'd brought from the upstairs closet and unlocked it, lifting up the top. "Your cut will be here when you get back."

The four of them—Cribbins, Luder, Mitty and Paula—watched silently as Santino slowly walked toward the door, passed through and carefully closed it after himself. They could hear his footsteps as he mounted the stairs....

The small, bitter-faced man passed within less than three feet of him as Bart crouched behind the door leading from the cellar into the hallway.

He'd been there for less than a minute, but the voice had reached him through the crack in the door. He'd fought desperately to kick his shoes off and now, as the man passed and started up the stairs, he slipped noiselessly through the doorway and followed.

He didn't know who else might be in the house, up on one of those floors, waiting, but it was a chance he had to take. Following, crouching down and creeping up the carpeted steps, Bart Sherwood silently thanked God for the hard months of basic training he'd taken as a Marine while he was learning jungle fighting.

They reached the second floor, first the little man and then Bart, a moment later. They continued on up to the third floor.

His ears told him what his eyes were unable to see, as he waited at the edge of the staircase. The man had passed down the hallway a short distance. He could hear the key as it was inserted into the lock of the door.

Bart stretched the twisted sock he held, one end in each hand. He straightened up and moved swiftly.

Joyce Sherwood heard the key in the door and she struggled and turned on her side so that she was able to see, in the dim light of the shaded room, the door as it slowly opened. Her eyes widened and she tried to scream through the gag which bound the lower part of her face. The light coming through the crack between the drawn blinds and the window caught the right edge of the knife blade.

Again she tried to scream and her body writhed on the bed and then her eyes closed tightly and she waited in paralyzed horror. A split second later she opened them wide as she became aware of a sudden commotion, the grunting and then the tortured sound of quick, sharp-drawn breaths.

She saw him then, in the dim light—saw Bart and saw the little man struggling against the twisted cloth tightening around his thin, stringy neck.

She thought her eyes were lying to her, and she fainted.

* * * *

"He's been gone for more than ten minutes," Cribbins said, his voice tight. "What's keeping him, anyway." Paula looked over at him and her voice was bitter when she spoke. "Can't you guess? Why don't you go up and see?"

Cribbins glared at her. "Go up and get him, Luder," Cribbins cried.

"Let Mitty go. It's out of my line." Luder turned away and crossed over to the window. "Let's get out of here. Right now. I got a funny feeling ... "

Mitty humped his huge shoulders and stood up. "Where's this room?" he asked.

"Third floor, second to the left when you get to the top of the stairs."

"It will be all right with me if you take care of Santino too," Paula said.

Mitty left the room without a word.

Bart stood just within the door, one hand holding Joyce as she stood behind him. He held Santino's knife in his other hand. His words were a whisper when he spoke.

"Someone's coming," he said. "Get back. Get behind the bed and stay there."

"Oh God, Bart!" Joyce said. "Oh God, they've got guns and ... "

"Do what I say. Give me room."

She crept back then, walking half blindly.

Mitty took his hand from the knob and stepped back, a look of dumb surprise on his face. Then suddenly he laughed.

"All right, Santino," he called. "All right. You had your fun, now come on. The boss says we're leaving."

He waited a moment then and the smile on his face changed into a frown. He lifted a huge fist and rapped on the oak panel of the door.

"I said come on!"

Twice more he banged on the door, and then he cursed and turned and went back to the head of the staircase. His voice was an outraged bellow as he called down.

"He won't lemme in. He's in there with the girl an' he won't open up or even answer me."

Inside the room, Bart quickly turned to Joyce. "They're coming up the stairs, all of them," he said in a whisper. "We've got to get out of here!"

Joyce looked at him with a helpless expression as he moved to the window. He jerked the cord of the shade and it flew up. When the window failed to open, he lifted his foot and kicked out the glass. Looking down, he saw the flagged courtyard three stories below.

Then there was a pounding at the door and Cribbins's voice called out. "Come on, Santino, open up!"

The command was followed by sudden silence. Bart's eyes went to his watch. It was exactly twenty minutes since he'd made his call to Parks. He felt the sense of utter helplessness come over him. The detective couldn't possibly arrive before another half hour.

He leaned down with his ear to the crack of the door, hearing the whispering outside.

"I say leave," Luder said. "Now. The hell with him. Leave him in there with her if he wants to stay." Cribbins spoke in a hurried whisper.

"No! There's something wrong. Something has happened. The girl is still inside. We have to be sure. We can't go without being sure. Mitty, break down the door."