Black Mask (Vol. 22, No. 2 — Mary 1939)

Clay looked at her. “I talk like a nut, Awful, and you, too. If I should meet the Major up a dark alley some night I’d forget the high ideal you’ve inspired in me.” He grinned boyishly. “But down to work. There’s Una, the lady in white. Then there’s Muriel Van Eden.”

“The weak girl.”

“Weak, nothing; she’s the Judge’s daughter. I got a hint from Wilburt to protect her. He had a nerve to put the Judge’s daughter into the thing. If the Major ever suspected—”

“Maybe Wilburt didn’t put her in.”

“Good Lord, Awful, her own father wouldn’t do that. It’s incredible. Though the Judge did seem almost fanatic about it. You think Wilburt, through one of his agents, discovered that Muriel Van Eden was a secret agent of her father — so hinted to me to take care of her.”

Awful moved her expressive shoulders, said: “I’ve been busy, Clay. I got Jimmy Hudson, one of the Government boys, and saw a picture of the Woman in White. The lady is Una Duncan. No country has ever pinned anything on her, but they’ve pushed her out many times. She’s supposed to be one of the cleverest international spys in Europe. And the highest paid.”

“International, eh? Works for the best money. It would be like the Major to hire her. He’d know of her, of course. And Muriel Van Eden.” Clay suddenly straightened. “Why, that woman would make a monkey out of the Van Eden girl. I hadn’t thought of that. Of course Muriel Van Eden is simply a dupe.”

“Or a dope.” Agatha came to her feet with Clay. “Don’t you see, Clay? It’s impossible to believe that the Major doesn’t know who’s behind the whole thing and he must suspect Van Eden’s daughter and plays her along.”

“You do all the thinking, Awful.” Clay threw down a bill and led her to the street.

“And you do all the action, Clay,” she said.

“Come on, I’ll do some action now. I’m going to the Walden Grill and see the Major.”

“You’re not going to do anything foolish, Clay?”

“No,” Clay told her, “I’m just going to ask the Major a question. I’m thinking of the plane, of other planes. Of the Judge’s kid trying to be helpful to her country, of her chances in the hands of that experienced woman, in the hands of the Major. Yeah, I’m going to ask the Major one question. I’m going to ask him how he’d like to be blown apart.”

Clay stopped the taxi and left Awful at her apartment. She said: “I want to go with you, Clay.”

Clay shook his head, closed his eyes, leaned down quickly and kissed her. “Some day,” he said, “I’ll go blind and be crazy about you.”

Holt swung into the Walden Grill. Major Ernest Hoff was sitting at a table in the center of the room. A bull-necked man sat beside him. He was talking and the Major was nodding and smiling. At a table close to the wall sat the tall, good looking Mr. Davis with two men and a woman. His eyes were constantly on the Major.

A man suddenly crossed the room from the bar entrance, beat Clay to the Major’s table, slipped a card into the Major’s hand. The Major was reading it when Clay steamed up, snatched the white bit of paste-board from his hand, read quickly: “The lad has been properly taken care of.”

The bull-necked man turned his head and stared at Clay. There was not much expression in his eyes. But the Major’s colorless little eyes snapped, veins darkened on his face. He had difficulty in getting the words out. “Holt!” he said. “This ends my patience. I have only to raise a hand to have you—”

Clay slammed his words in. “If there’s to be melodrama I’m going to provide it. Come on, Major, order this lug away from the table, or this time I’ll pick the table up and fling it on your chest.”

Clay was surprised at the power of the man. He would have smacked a man down any place who made that threat to him. The Major’s anger subsided. The muscles that bulged in his neck receded. He took the hand of the man who stood beside him, said calmly: “It was very kind of you to come and speak to me. I welcome all those who take an interest in my accomplishments in cementing the friendship of two great countries. You’ll excuse me, of course.”

The bull-necked man looked slightly bewildered, bowed stiffly, turned and left the table.

“Now!” The Major tapped the table. “You surprised me, Mr. Holt. Actually you are the first man who ever surprised me.” He paused a long time, letting his little eyes fasten directly on Clay’s angry blue ones. “I thought that you had died in the plane wreck. In studying you, Mr. Holt, I know that it was simply, do you Americans say, dumb luck that you are alive.”

“Major,” Clay said slowly, “you had better turn on your best manner. You will cause me to break a promise to a young lady.”

“And that promise, Mr. Holt?”

“That I would not shoot you to death in cold blood at this table tonight.”

“Really.” The Major’s voice was light, but his eyes were troubled. “Cold blood, eh? You snatched that note from my hand, called my visitor a lug. You wished to excite me to anger, cause a common brawl, then shoot me in hot blood. Was that it, Mr. Holt?”