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

“It would have been murder, I suppose.” Clay’s hand was trembling when he put down his glass. “I never understood it before. He talked about seeing things in my eyes.” He gripped Awful’s hand. “It isn’t just rot, kid, for I saw things in his eyes. I saw his dirty, rotten soul. I could have killed him like that.”

“That would have been some floor show,” Agatha said lightly.

“Damn it, kid, I’m mad like he is.” Clay tossed off the rest of his drink and told Agatha what had happened. “He’s holding Muriel Van Eden prisoner. I can’t let him go through with it. And I can’t—”

“You can’t stop him,” she finished. “She’s cute and she’s young, but she’s weak. He’ll use her to trap you. Let us go to your apartment and wait there for word from the Major.”

“But he might keep us waiting while—”

Clay stopped talking. He and Agatha both looked up together. The Woman in White was now in black. She said, “I don’t admire your taste in women tonight, Mr. Holt. May I sit down? And will you dismiss your country cousin?”

Clay made a motion with his thumb. Agatha came to her feet. She was about to speak, but Clay spoke first. “On your way,” he said. “Sit down, Lady Una.”

Una turned, watched the girl leave the restaurant, ordered a liquor, then said to Clay: “Lady Una — are you facetious or have you been looking up my pedigree?”

“Twelve people were killed today,” Clay said bluntly.

“I was in the Walden.” The woman raised her eyes. “I was surprised it was not thirteen.”

“You saw?”

“No — heard. You are quite a young man, Mr. Holt. I have known the Major on and off for five years. It was his first fright.”

“You think nothing of those deaths?”

“You should have said, Mr. Holt, that I show nothing of what I think. Soldiers and doctors and nurses see worse every day. The ordinary person reads them without emotion in the papers. You know my profession, you must know I shut my mind to certain things. You forget that I asked you to see me safely from the dining room, that I might leave without hindrance from the Major. Does that tell you anything?”

“Plenty,” Clay nodded. “It tells me first that the Major wanted you to worm your way into my confidence. Why not begin?”

“You disappoint me, Mr. Holt. I saw in you the honest, fearless he-man, who fights only with the most feared weapon to all criminals and spies alike — physical force, violence, and sudden death. Surely you are not suddenly going to produce brains. All the others have that, but so few have a reckless physical courage. If you had wished to practice the fine arts you should have pretended to believe me, lead me on. You have that something women fall for to a remarkable degree. It’s the boyish honesty in your face.”

“You’re an eyeful yourself,” Clay admitted. “But it’s the filthiest piece of business I have ever been in, and I’ve been mixed up in some pretty dirty work. Tonight I nearly murdered a man. I don’t wish to invite a beautiful woman to my apartment and knock her around in the hope of gaining information.”

“There are countries,” she said, “where men and governments are not so considerate. I have been knocked around.” She came to her feet. “I have brought you a message. You are to wait in your apartment for a call — about Muriel Van Eden.”

“A trap of course.”

“Of course.”

“And you think I’ll fall for that?”

“I don’t know if you’ll fall, but I think you’ll come. You’re built that way.”

“I’ll come,” Clay told her.

“How interesting,” she smiled at him. “Gun play, and all that.”

“And all that,” he said.

The woman looked at his hard, cold, determined face. The sparkle went out of her eyes. Very carefully she removed her glove and extended her hand. “If you’ll forget the filth,” she said, “I’d like to shake hands with you.”

Clay extended his hand. The woman gripped it once tightly, then drew her fingers slowly away.

“Good-by,” Clay said.

“Good night,” said the woman. “I hope, just good night.”

Clay went straight to his apartment, slammed the door, and stood rigid in the hall. The hair bristled on the back of his neck like an animal’s. His gun was in his hand as a voice called: “Don’t mess up your own apartment with loose gunplay, Clay. I’m waiting for you.”

Clay stalked in and looked at Awful. She was reclining on his couch, just replacing her glasses. He told her of his conversation with the woman, Una, then finally said: “I should have killed Hoff. If you had rushed in as the Princess, pointed him out as the man who ruined your young life, we would have had a case.” He stared at her. “Come on, Awful, turn on the brains.”

“There are no brains to turn on. You are simply to wait for a call.”

“Funny about this Una. She came right out and told me it would be a trap.”

“Naturally.” Agatha moved her shoulders. “You wouldn’t expect the Major to ask you for tea — that is, without poisoning the tea.”

“Wait until when? I put fear into the Major. I should follow it up at once. I mustn’t let him think I give a damn about the girl, Muriel Van Eden.”