Walking Dead Man (12 page)

A door at the end of the hall opened. A man came out and closed the door behind him. Like me, he was wearing a raincoat and a soft hat with the brim pulled down. I prayed he would turn out to be my contact. When he was only a few feet from me, I knew he was. He was wearing a pale, brown stocking mask. He looked like something out of a 1930’s horror movie, faceless with two little peepholes for eyes. He came straight up to me and held out his left hand, gesturing toward the bag.

“Where is Mr. Chambrun?” I asked him.

He repeated the gesture toward the bag, this time with impatience. Jerry had told me not to ask him anything, not to argue with him just to give him the money. But, somehow, I had to try.

“Please tell me where he is,” I said.

He took a step closer to me, raised his right hand, and brought it down in a chopping movement to the side of my neck. I don’t remember falling.

When I opened my eyes, I found myself looking up into Jerry Dodd’s anxious face. It flashed through my mind that I must have been lying there a good twenty minutes. He couldn’t have gotten here any sooner than that. I tried to turn my head and I thought my neck was broken.

“Easy,” Jerry said. He put his arm under my shoulders and helped me to sit up. “Looks like you met up with a karate expert.”

“The money?” I asked. I found I had the voice of a severe laryngitis victim.

“He got it. Did you see him?”

“Stocking mask,” I said.

Jerry made a whistling sound between his teeth. “Let me help you stand up,” he said.

I managed, somehow, with the dark hallway spinning around me for a few seconds. I ached all over. I must have hit the floor hard when I was struck. But the dizziness began to subside.

“Can you describe him?” Jerry asked.

“Raincoat, hat, and that damned stocking mask. He looked like Vincent Price in
The Invisible Man.
”

“Tall like that?”

“Nearer my height,” I said.

“Was he waiting here for you?”

I shook my head and wished I hadn’t. “He came out of that room there at the end of the hall. The minute I hit this landing here, he came out. I—I made a mistake. I asked him where the boss was, and he chopped me down.”

A little muscle rippled along the line of Jerry’s jaw. He felt in the pocket of his raincoat and produced a small handgun. “Let’s have a look,” he said.

We walked down the hall to the door of the room. Jerry hesitated, and then, with his left hand, he tried turning the doorknob, his gun at the ready. The door made a faint squeaking sound as it opened, and Jerry stepped quickly into the room.

It was a dismal, dirty little place. There was a bed, a bureau, and a straight-backed chair. Sitting in the chair was a man with a piece of wide adhesive taped over his mouth, his arms locked behind the chair.

It was Chambrun.

Chambrun’s eyes were two bright, glittering slits in their deep pouches. Jerry stood in front of him.

“This is going to hurt,” he said.

He got his fingernails under one edge of the adhesive tape and gave it a quick, sharp tug. Chambrun swore softly under his breath. He moved his mouth to try to get some feeling back into it. I had gone around behind the chair and saw that his wrists were handcuffed together.

“We’re going to need some kind of a steel saw to get these things off,” I said.

“The keys are on the bureau,” Chambrun said.

We had him free in a matter of seconds. He stood up and stretched painfully. “Remind me,” he said, “to consider permanent retirement. I let that sonofabitch take me like Grant took Richmond. Walked right into it. What’s happened at the hotel?”

“You happened,” Jerry said. “We’ve been searching the place all night for you.”

“How did you happen to find me here—for which I’m grateful?”

“Mark was ordered to bring the money here.”

“Money?”

“Ransom money, boss. A hundred G’s he got away with.”

“Where in God’s name did you get that kind of money? Wait. Don’t tell me. George Battle put it up?”

“Right,” Jerry said. “Listen, boss, did you ever get a look at this man?”

Chambrun was flexing his fingers and then rubbing his bruised wrists. “I walked out of my office thinking I’d had a call from Kranepool to come up to the penthouse. Ruysdale took the call. She didn’t know Kranepool’s voice, of course, and had no reason to doubt it was him. This creep in the stocking mask was waiting right outside the office and stuck a gun at my throat. I was to get us out of the hotel without being seen if I wanted to keep my head on. I wanted to keep my head on, so I showed him a way out through the basement. We walked here, would you believe it, gun in my back. Three blocks. Would you believe we never saw a cop, never passed close enough to anyone for me to try anything? I was brought up here, handcuffed to that chair, my mouth taped. I never saw him again until about an hour ago. I was able to make some banging noises with my feet on the floor. No one ever responded. God, I need a shave and a hot shower and some clean clothes. We can talk on the way.”

“You and Mark go,” Jerry said. “I’m going to find the superintendent or the landlady of this joint and do a little arm twisting. Tell Art Stein at the hotel that the ball game is over and we won.”

“You’re dreaming,” Chambrun said. “We’ve lost every step of the way so far. Let’s go, Mark.” I turned my head and I guess he saw me wince. “What happened to you?”

“Your friend gave him a very expert karate chop,” Jerry said.

“So we have two scores to settle,” Chambrun said.

We went down and out onto the street. I looked around for a cab, but Chambrun wanted to walk. “Got to get my circulation going again—if you can stand it, Mark.”

So we walked. The rain had let up and was not much more than a gentle drizzle. I offered Chambrun my raincoat, but he said at least one of us might as well be dry when we got home. On the way I brought him up to date; chiefly Hardy’s theory that Stocking Mask was one of Battle’s people.

“But that’s blown sky high, unless there are a lot of people running around in masks.” I said. “The man who came out of your room and slugged me couldn’t have been any of Mr. Battle’s crew. They’re all back in the penthouse, being watched over by Hardy.” Then I remembered something. “How well do you know Dr. Cobb?”

“Known him casually for twenty years—about the time he’s worked for George. Why?”

“Maybe he was kidding,” I said, “but he told me he knows how the masked man got into the penthouse. Afterwards he urged me not to tell anyone what he’d said. I couldn’t push him about it because just then the phone call came from the guy who had you with instructions on how to deliver the money. I suspect Cobb likes a joke, but somehow this didn’t sound like a joke.”

“There’s very little that’s a joke in George Battle’s world,” Chambrun said. “Does Ruysdale know—about me, I mean?”

“She was there almost the minute it happened. Naturally, she’s worried sick. But you better look out. She knows as much about running the Beaumont as you do.”

He seemed to suppress a smile. “All the people I train know their jobs,” he said. He turned west a block too soon. “I want to take you in the cellar way—the way I was taken out. I don’t want to be seen until I’m cleaned up.”

I’ve been working at the Beaumont for some years, but there’s always something new about it. I guess I knew, without having seen them, that there were ways to get trash up from the basement to the street level where it could be picked up by the Sanitation Department. There were two big iron doors, level with the sidewalk. Chambrun pressed a button and stood back, and presently the doors were lifted by an elevator which came right up onto the street. We stepped on the elevator and went down, the iron doors closing over our heads. Chambrun found a light switch in the dark and we walked along a narrow passage to where the regular banks of elevators were located.

“My friend and I came down from the second floor, and I showed him how to get out because I didn’t feel I wanted to risk his getting nervous.”

Chambrun rang for an elevator and it came down, manned by an operator.

“Gee, Mr. Chambrun,” the man said, “they been looking all over hell for you.”

“I took a night off,” Chambrun said. “Second floor, please, Paul.” He knows everybody’s names, first and last, in a staff of over seven hundred people.

We got off at two and walked down the hall to his office. Miss Ruysdale was in the outer room. She got up from her desk more quickly than I’d ever seen her move.

“Good morning, Ruysdale,” Chambrun said, completely casual. He kept right on walking toward his office.

“Good morning, Mr. Chambrun,” she said. She looked as if someone had turned on a light inside her. “May I let the staff know that you’re back?”

He turned at the door and smiled for the first time since we’d found him. “If you think it will spread joy,” he said. “Thanks, Ruysdale, for holding the fort.”

“Thanks for getting back,” she said.

Chambrun has a dressing room with a couch in it for occasional catnaps, also shaving equipment and changes of clothes. While he disappeared to freshen up, Ruysdale began reporting to an anxious staff and I called Lieutenant Hardy in the penthouse.

“Not hurt?” Hardy asked, when I’d reported.

“Maybe his feelings,” I said. “The important thing, Lieutenant, is that the man who held him and who slugged me was wearing a stocking mask. It couldn’t have been one of your four suspects unless one of them got away from you both last night and this morning.”

“Damn!” Hardy said. I heard a long sigh. “Sounds like we have to start over.”

“Where?”

“Who knows?” Hardy said. “I’d still stake my job on the fact that no one could have gotten in here from the outside to take a shot at Battle.” He sighed again. “Tell your boss I’m glad he’s back. Maybe he knows something I don’t know.”

I stopped Ruysdale long enough to ask her where Shelda had gone.

“Up to the penthouse,” she told me. “She
is
Mr. Battle’s secretary, you know.”

“It’ll take the boss fifteen minutes to get cleaned up,” I said. “Any reason I shouldn’t run up there to see her? She’s naturally worried about me. And the boss, too, of course.”

“I’ll tell him where you are,” Ruysdale said. There was no way on earth I could have known that my decision to go up to the penthouse at that moment was actually going to save Shelda’s life.

Things seemed to be at a low level of action in the penthouse when I was finally taken up there with Hardy’s permission acquired. Hardy and Kranepool were in the living room, but there was no sign of Battle or any of the others with the exception of Allerton. This impeccable manservant had set up a coffee percolator on a corner table along with a platter of cold meats and hard rolls. He appeared when I was admitted and, without asking, brought me a cup of coffee and a plate of food. I was grateful. The coffee at least was a lifesaver.

“Miss Mason is here, isn’t she, Allerton?” I asked.

“Yes, sir. She’s in Mr. George’s quarters. Would you like to see her?”

“Very much,” I said.

“I’ll see if she can be spared, sir,” Allerton said. He went over to the bedroom door and knocked softly. The door was opened by Butler, and Allerton was allowed to go in.

Kranepool and Hardy wanted details of my trip with the money, and I had to tell it all over again. Naturally they had endless questions about the man in the stocking mask—his height, his weight, anything I’d noticed about his raincoat and hat that might be distinctive. Hardy wondered if, perhaps, there had been a missing button, or a tear in the material. The sound of his voice?

“He never spoke,” I told them. “He just came toward me, holding out his left hand, and when I asked him where Mr. Chambrun was, he chopped me down. I should think Mr. Chambrun could tell you a lot more than I can. I don’t suppose the thing with me lasted more than thirty seconds.”

“I’ll go down to see Chambrun,” Kranepool said, and started for the door.

“Give him a few minutes,” I said. He had a tough night. My guess is he’ll be up here in a few minutes when he’s cleaned up.”

And then Shelda came out of the Great Man’s bedroom and I wasn’t very interested in Kranepool’s problems any more. One look at her and I knew she’d worried about me and that she was glad to see me still in one piece. The hell with Kranepool and Hardy, I thought, and I went over to her and kissed her, and then led her over to a far corner of the room. She was hanging onto my arm and I could feel that she was trembling.

“You’re all right?” she asked.

“Best I’ve felt since a year ago when you went away.”

Her eyes were such a warm, deep blue. All of her was so inviting, so precious.

“Mr. Chambrun?”

“Not hurt,” I said, “except maybe his feelings. What’s with G. Battle?”

“Anxious to see Mr. Chambrun. Mr. Chambrun is the only person he really trusts.”

“I love you,” I said.

“Mark—darling!”

I kissed her again. I could hear Kranepool on the phone to Miss Ruysdale, asking her to get Chambrun up here as fast as she could.

“When this is cleaned up, we’ll go somewhere,” I said to Shelda. “Way to-hell-and-gone somewhere.”

“Yes,” she said.

The front doorbell rang, an irregular ring that was obviously some kind of signal. Hardy answered it. It was his man stationed on the elevator. He had half a dozen letters in his hand.

“Mail for Mr. Battle,” he said.

Hardy took it and the man went out again to his post. Hardy shuffled through the letters, disinterested. “I suppose you better take these in to him,” he said to Shelda.

She sighed and went toward him. At the same moment Allerton came out of the bedroom and saw what was happening. He gave me the tiniest little smile.

“I’ll take them in,” he said.

“Thanks ever so much,” Shelda said.

Allerton took the letters and went back into the bedroom.

It’s funny, but I can’t remember what Shelda and I talked about for the next short piece of time. It was about us; it was probably foolish and loving.

And then the whole damned place seemed to blow up. I remember being knocked off my feet and wound up sitting on the floor, clinging to Shelda. The bedroom door burst open and Butler staggered out. Blood was streaming from a wound in his head, and he seemed to be dragging one leg behind him. He opened his mouth to say something and then fell flat on his face.