Rex Stout (22 page)

Men moved, including Hicks, but he did not join the general steam toward the terrace. Having noticed that the card collector, attracted by the commotion, had shuffled morosely in, Hicks went to the dining room and through to the kitchen. However, it was not empty. Mrs. Powell sat on the edge of a chair putting on rubbers. On the table beside her was a flashlight.

“You going out, Mrs. Powell?”

“I am,” she said resolutely. “This is the biggest set of tomfools—”

“What are the rubbers for?”

“They’re for dew.”

“It’s cloudy.” Hicks was directly behind her, and, since she was bent over tugging at a rubber, she was quite unaware that he was acquiring the flashlight. “There isn’t any dew.” Four steps took him to the door, it opened with its creak, and he was outside.

He swung the beam of the light to right and left and picked up no one. Shouted commands from around the corner of the house made it evident that all forces were converging upon the side terrace to be organized into a searching party. Without even bothering to deploy to the rear of the garage, he struck off to the right, made his way through the collection of cars parked on the graveled space, found a gap in the hedge, and a little farther on ran smack into a patch of briars. He got around it without using the light, found himself among white birches which had not been trimmed to head height, and in another two minutes emerged from that into what he took to be an orchard, since round things that he stepped on proved to be apples. The shouts from the direction of the house were now much fainter, barely audible. He bore right, going at a good pace, with a hand guarding his face after he got a twig in the eye, and when he stumbled onto the stone fence which bordered the road he turned left and followed the fence. In a hundred paces suddenly there was no fence, and
his hands found the bars that were the gate to the lane. He slipped through, went cautiously not to bump into the car …

But there was no car.

He stepped down the little incline to the road and back up again. This was a let-down. Could this be the wrong lane? From up the road he could hear voices raised; since they were at the Dundee house, the distance seemed about right. He proceeded to settle the point by switching on the light and flashing it around—yes, there was the curve, there was the bush at the right—and there, perched on the stone fence, was a man—no, a boy, gazing into the light.

“Hello,” Hicks said, turning the light off and approaching the fence. “I didn’t know you were there. What’s your name?”

“My name’s Tim Darby. Are you a dick?”

“I am not,” Hicks said emphatically. He was close enough to the boy to see that he had eyes and a mouth. “My name’s Al Hicks. How long have you been here? I mean sitting here.”

“Oh, I’ve been here for a considerable time. You’re not a cop, because you haven’t got a uniform.”

“No, I’m just a man. The reason I asked, I left my car here and now it’s gone. Somebody must have stolen it, and I thought maybe you saw them. Did you see a car here?”

“Sure I saw a car here. I live right down the road.”

“Did you see it go away?”

“Well, I—” That was as far as Tim got.

“You see,” Hicks explained, “if I knew what time it was taken it might help. I wouldn’t expect you to squeal on anyone. All I want is to get my car back.”

“You’re a liar,” the boy said. “It’s not your car, it’s one of Dundee’s cars. The Cadillac sixty-one. I’ve rode in it with Miss Gladd often and Ross too. And you’re a double liar because your name’s not Hicks!”

“Why isn’t my name Hicks?”

“Because it isn’t! You’re not so smart. Because he couldn’t—” Tim stopped abruptly.

“You’re wrong, Tim,” Hicks asserted. “I’m no more a liar than I am a dick or a cop. When I said it was my car I merely meant I was driving it. That’s a manner of speaking. You know that. I drove that car here from New York this evening. Now about the name. I’m astonished that you call me a double liar when I say my name is Hicks, because you look pretty intelligent.
This evening around eight o’clock you were with a bunch of people around a cop up at the Dundee entrance. Weren’t you?”

“Yes, I was.”

“Sure you were. I saw you. Didn’t a man go up to that cop and say his name was Hicks?”

“Yes, he did.”

“Wasn’t that man me?”

“How can I tell? I can’t see you.”

“I
beg
your pardon.” Hicks turned on the light and aimed it at his own face. “What about it? Am I that man?”

“Yes, you are.”

“Well, do you think I was lying to the cop too, when I told him my name? Why would I do that?”

“I don’t know.” Tim sounded stubborn. “But—”

“But what?”

“I’ve got my reasons.”

“I know you have. I knew you had reasons when you were so positive I was lying about my name. And I’ll bet I know what they are.”

“I’ll bet you don’t!”

“I’ll bet I do. You’re a friend of Miss Gladd, aren’t you? Since you go riding with her?”

“I sure am.”

“Okay, so am I. I’ll bet she took that car, which of course she had a right to do. I’ll bet she stopped at your house and asked you to come and stay here, and gave you a message for a man named Hicks when he showed up, and told you to be mighty careful not to give the message to anybody else. And that was your idea of being mighty careful, telling me I was a liar when I said my name was Hicks. Now you know my name is Hicks, so you can give me the message. Huh?”

“But you
sent
the message!” the boy blurted. “It was signed ABC, but she told Ross it was from Alphabet Hicks!”

On account of the dark, there was no necessity for Hicks to control his gape of surprise. It delayed his reply a second, however.

“You say,” he demanded, “she told Ross that?”

“Sure she did! When she was telling him to get out of the car. She didn’t want him to go with her.”

“Tim, look here.” Hicks put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “I’m not a liar, and I’m a friend of Miss Gladd’s. Get that straight. Okay?”

“Okay. But—”

“No buts. Miss Gladd is in danger. I didn’t send her any message. If she got a message signed ABC it was a fake. It was from someone who wants to hurt her, maybe kill her. How did she get the message? Who brought it to her?”

The boy had slid off the fence. “But gee, I don’t—”

“Who brought it to her?”

“I did.”

“Where did you get it?”

“Mom took it on the phone. He—you telephoned—”

“I did not telephone. It was a fake. What did he say?”

“He said she was to drive to Crescent Road and he was in a car parked half a mile beyond Crescent Farm. License JV 28.”

“JV?”

“Yes. And Ross said—”

“Where was Ross?”

“He was sitting here in the car with her.”

“How did you know she was here?”

“He said on the phone. He said she’d be here in the car and she was, only he didn’t say anything about Ross, only Ross is all right. He said he didn’t think it was from you.”

“He was right. Did Ross go with her?”

“Sure. He wouldn’t get out. He’s nuts about her.”

“How long ago did they leave?”

“Well, I must have sat—”

“About how long?”

“I guess it must have been about ten minutes before you came. Maybe fifteen.”

“Where is Crescent Farm?”

“Over on Crescent Road. If you go straight on past Dundee’s, you take the first right, about a mile and a half, and on through Post’s Corners about two miles. There’s a lot of barns and a big white chicken house, on the right.”

“Is there a car at your house?”

“Yeah, but it’s not there, my dad works nights. Only Aunt Sadie’s car’s there, she came over on account of the excitement. Listen, if this is a plot you don’t need to worry Miss Gladd will get hurt, because Ross is with her and he’ll fight like a tiger. He’s strong. Once—”

“That’s fine, but I’ll go and see. Where’s Aunt Sadie’s car?”

“Over in the yard.”

“Come along and show me.”

“Sure.”

As they went down the road Hicks explained:

“No matter how strong Ross is, Miss Gladd might get hurt. So I want to get there as quick as I can. Would Aunt Sadie let me use her car if I asked her? What’s she like?”

“She’s a pain in the neck. Boy, is she stingy! The only way to do, we’ll just get in the car and go. Gee, it’s an emergency, isn’t it?”

“It sure is. But you can’t go, Tim. I’d love to have you, but it’s against the law. You’re a minor and I could be arrested and put in jail for kidnapping you. It’s a crazy law, but that’s it. We turn in here? Are they on the porch?”

“Naw, they’re inside. Gee, I want to go!”

“I know you do and I want you to, but that’s the law. Anyway, you’ll have to explain who took the car and why, or if they hear it leaving they’ll report it stolen. That’ll take a lot of nerve. Have you got enough nerve to do that?”

“Sure I have. But—”

It took persuasion to get Tim to agree to stay behind, but, being by nature a reasonable man, he finally consented. He would wait until the car was safely out of the yard and on its way, and would then apprise his womenfolk of the situation.

Luckily the key was in the dash. Hicks got the engine started with as little noise as possible, told Tim he was proud of him and Miss Gladd would be too, eased the car softly down the drive to the road, and turned right.

That, the short way to Crescent Road, took him past the Dundee entrance, but he went right on by at a good clip without meeting any attempt at interference. Evidently Aunt Sadie took good care of her property, for the car, a small sedan, without any pretensions to grandeur, nevertheless ran like a dream. In three minutes he came to the first right, which he took, and in another three minutes a cluster of outbuildings, the largest one square and white, told him that he was passing Crescent Farm; so he slowed down.

He crept along, entering a wood, but saw no car. A mile. Two miles. Three miles. The wood was far behind. At a widening of the road he turned around and started back, keeping a sharp eye to either side; but in another five minutes he was back at the cluster of outbuildings and had certainly had no glimpse of a car, neither a JV 28 nor a Dundee Cadillac. In a smaller building, apart from the others, with trees around it, there was a light and
a radio going, and he drove into the lane, got out, and walked across the yard to a door.

“Is this Crescent Farm?” he asked a man in overalls who came and peered through the screen at him.

“This is it, yes, sir. Mr. Humphrey’s place is up the road. I’m Walt Taylor, the farmer. You looking for Mr. Humphrey?”

“No, I’m looking for a friend of mine. I thought maybe he stopped to use your phone. Has anybody asked to use your phone the past hour or so?”

The man shook his head. “Nope.”

“I was expecting to find him parked down the road. Half a mile beyond Crescent Farm, he said. If you—”

“A big black sedan?”

“That’s right. License JV 28.”

“I didn’t notice the license, but a big black sedan was parked there around five o’clock when I went by to get a load of hay, and it was still there an hour later when I came back with the load.”

“It must have been him. What did he look like?”

“Didn’t see him. Neither time. Just the car. I kept an eye out, because I figured maybe he was after pheasant, but I didn’t hear any shot up to dark.”

“Did you hear one after dark?”

“Nope. Not that I was expecting one. It’s kind of hard to shoot pheasant when you can’t see ’em.”

“Have you noticed a car going by in the last half hour? Either direction?”

“No, I’ve been listening to the radio.”

Hicks thanked him and left, went back to Aunt Sadie’s car, and headed east. Arriving at the four corners, he pulled up at the side of the road, and sat scowling at the clock on the dash. His fingers, with no command from higher up, took a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and extracted one. Minutes later he was still sitting motionless, still scowling, and the cigarette had not been lit.

The disposal of forces, at the instant Ross and Heather caught sight of the man aiming the pistol at them, was like this:

The man stood at the front of the car, against the front bumper. Heather stood by the left running board, at the point where it joined the front fender; and Ross was directly behind her. The man with the pistol was saying:

“What do you want?”

Ross didn’t hear him. That is, he didn’t recognize the words as words, because he was in no condition to do so. It is possible, when a man aiming a gun at you is only five feet away and the space is clear, to leap for him; but it is foolhardy to try that when he is barricaded by the fender and hood of a large automobile. Certainly a coward wouldn’t try it, or a prudent man, or one with any experience to speak of in situations of that kind. Therefore Ross proved that he belonged to none of those categories when he did in fact leap.

It was more a vault than a leap, for as he went up and forward his hand on Heather’s shoulder forced her down and back, and he went scooting over the hood with a velocity suggesting a projectile hurled by an explosive rather than a man propelled only by muscle. It was so instantaneous and meteoric that the man with the gun had time for no movement, except the squeezing of the trigger, and that he failed to do. The impact toppled him over. Ross, tumbling by him and on him, grabbing with both hands wildly, got the gun with his right, wrenched it loose, and slammed it against the man’s head. The man’s knees jerked up and straightened out again, and he lay still.

The engagement had lasted perhaps five seconds.

Heather was there, saying something, but Ross was still not recognizing words. He scrambled to his feet, panting, looked at
the gun in his hand, glistening in the glare from the headlights of the other car, started to tremble all over, and said in a loud voice:

“Holy smoke! I hit him with this!”

“He didn’t shoot,” Heather said. “He didn’t, did he?”

“Shoot?” Ross stared at her. “Oh. No, he didn’t shoot.”

“I thought—I thought he was going to shoot.”

“So did I.”

“You certainly—went after him.”