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

He took several deep breaths to quiet the pounding of his heart, and took stock of the situation. The train was a northbound local, and there was another station, seven blocks away. He would have to get off there, because that would be the only place where he could hope to evade the police cars which would be dispatched after him. Luckily, the detective would have to take the time to run downstairs and find a phone, and that might be the margin of time between freedom and arrest.

Freedom? What sort of freedom would it be? He was now wanted for murder. The Easy-Way crew manager would give the police all the information they would need. He dared not even go to his furnished room to pick up his belongings. He was one against society, without even a nickel in his pocket.

He could still not bring himself to believe that he had killed that man. Perhaps Mrs. Groh was mistaken. Perhaps Mike Groh was not dead. In that case, Paul Tyler would still be wanted for assault and battery. He could never convince a jury that he had struck in self-defense. The facts, as well as public opinion, would be against him.

There had recently been several cases where house-to-house salesmen had been arrested for attacks upon householders. The case of the People vs. Paul Tyler would climax them. He’d be convicted and sent to jail for a number of years. And if Groh was dead? The electric chair. Or maybe only life imprisonment.

That was as far as he got by the time the train reached the next station. He slipped out, went hurriedly down the stairs, peering over the railing to see if there were any police cars downstairs. There were none, but he thought he heard a siren in the distance. He sped down to the street level and walked quickly east.

His thoughts were jumbled, and he hadn’t the faintest notion of what to do next. His indecision however, was settled for him almost at once. A small coupe drew abreast of him along the curb at his right, and its horn sounded three times, insistently.

A girl was at the wheel. Paul got a swift glimpse of reddish hair under one of those modish pancake hats, hanging on at a precarious angle over a small, pink ear. He saw a pert little face with an uptilted nose and a few freckles; a pair of very blue eyes and a nicely shaped mouth. The general impression of all these features might have been very pleasant indeed, except for the fact that at this moment the blue eyes were very cold and very hard, and the mouth was compressed into a thin, determined line. And the girl’s cold glance was directed very definitely at him.

“Get in here!” she said. And to make it clear that she wasn’t fooling, she showed him the muzzle of a small pistol just over the edge of the window.

Paul stared at her, uncomprehending. The police car siren was screeching very loudly now, around the corner on Ninth Avenue. The girl kept the gun pointed at Paul.

“I followed the train,” she said swiftly. “I’m only about three minutes ahead of the police. Maybe you’d like me to turn you over to them!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Paul began.

Her mouth tightened a bit. The gun moved suggestively forward. “Maybe I ought just to kill you,” she said reflectively. “I’d be within my rights. I saw you come out of Groh’s house. I was on the street, coming to see him. I swung into Ninth Avenue, guessing that you’d get out at the next station. Don’t try to deny that you’re the man who killed Groh. I could shoot you dead and the police would thank me.”

Paul’s eyes narrowed. He remembered now that Groh had asked his wife if it was “the girl” at the door. And he began to be angry. Angry and reckless. It didn’t matter anyway. This was a mess he could never get out of.

“All right,” he snapped at her. “Shoot me!”

The girl’s lips parted in surprise. But only for a moment.

“I’ll do better than that!” she said savagely. “I’ll give you to the police!” She kept the gun pointing at him, and with her free hand she pressed down on the horn button. The raucous blast of her horn sounded in maddening crescendo above the swiftly approaching screech of the police car siren.

Paul glanced about desperately. Maybe the girl didn’t have the nerve to shoot him in cold blood. But she certainly wouldn’t hesitate to fire if he started to run. And anyway, where could he run to? That police car would be around the corner in a minute, and guided by the girl they would overtake him at once. There was only one thing to do.

“O.K.,” he gasped. “I’ll come along.”

The girl smiled triumphantly. She opened the door, and slid over in the seat. “Get behind the wheel. Can you drive?”

He nodded. In the rear vision mirror he saw the police car swinging around the corner. One of the cops was leaning out and talking to the newsdealer at the corner, and the newsdealer was pointing toward the girl’s car and shouting back to the cop.

The girl alongside Paul had the gun in her lap, pointing at him, but covered by her handbag. “Better get started,” she told him.