Black Mask (Vol. 7, No. 5 — April 1950), British Edition

“You said no one was around but the clerk when you checked in,” he pointed out. “This is only a two-hundred room joint, usually only one bell-hop on duty, as I recall it, and he probably shoots craps in the basement every chance he gets!”

“But the clerk—?”

“He was slugged. Remember?”

We stood waiting. Presently the desk-man returned, shaking his head.

“No call from New York.”

Mace looked at me, turned back to the clerk. “I wanta know one more thing — about the clerk who got slugged. Describe him for Mr. Sprague here.”

The young man stared. “You mean William Baker? I thought you saw him? He’s about fifty-five, real short, five foot three or four, red-headed—”

At the look on my face he stopped.

“That’s not the man,” I declared. “You’re not talking about the clerk at all! The clerk was tall, dark-haired, weighed about one hundred and seventy, had a scarred chin — a peculiar scar, jagged, faintly purple. He wore glasses.”

The clerk flushed. “I guess I know what I’m talking about. We’ve worked alternate shifts for three years!”

“Never mind,” Mace grunted. He grabbed me by the arm, drew me across the lobby out of ear-shot. “Good for you, Sprague. You’ve got an eye for detail.”

I shrugged him away. “What are you talking about? I tell you that man’s lying about the other clerk!”

“No he’s not. He’s talkin’ about the clerk all right. But you’re talkin’ about the man we’re after — or who’s after you — either way you wanta look at it. And there’s a woman in on the deal all right! Or else how could they have faked the operator’s voice?”

Mace was excited. It was the first time I had seen his face lose its immobility. “You see,” he said, “I’ll gamble it’s like this—. The clerk, Baker, was slugged before you checked in. They got him out of the way. This other guy

posed as a clerk. It was a fast switch because he had to familiarize himself with the desk set-up, pick the right key for an unoccupied room, scribble that fake reservation business on a card — all the time keeping one eye out for a bellhop or some guest who might give him away. Probably the woman stood by to help out in any way she could if something like that happened.

I nodded slowly. “If I was being followed on the way down, they saw what hotel I picked when I swung into the parking lot, and then beat me inside the hotel!”

“Sure! Think back... You probably took a few minutes getting your grip out of the car, locking it up—?”

“As a matter of fact, there’s a loose wire under the dash. It caused me some trouble today. I fooled with it a minute or two, but quit because it was getting dark.”

“Sure they had time to knock the clerk out!” He pulled me around a corner of the lobby near a large pillar, almost hidden from the elevator.

The full impact of his reasoning began to sink in. Everything fit. An eerie feeling sent my pulse racing. It was like unseen hands reaching from the dark for my throat — reaching — to what end? Why? The money was under the edge of the swimming pool. If they wanted to snatch me; force me to lead them to the tin box, why all this hocus pocus? Mace had only certain pieces of this jigsaw puzzle to work with. I was afraid to give him more. But I put the question to him anyway. Why?

He looked at me for a long moment, appraisingly. “You seem to have a pretty stiff backbone at that. I’m gonna level with you on this case because we gotta work together. You know what the guy looks like and I don’t.”

“Well?”

“As I see it they’re trying to scare the hell out of you. Maybe wanta smoke you into going to the police here in Miami, telling a crazy story. They may fake an attempt on your life, so you tell the cops here about it. Then it’s on record. See? You’re a long way’s from home. You get knocked off — probably tonight — they might make it look like suicide. Anyway, the point is — the little lady at home is in the clear. See? All the dough you’ve got belongs to her, and the guy workin’ with her — and I imagine you’ve got plenty!”

I stood there, dazed. Then I swung.

He handled me very easily. My uppercut missed a mile. He jerked me behind the large pillar out of view of the desk and the cop by the door. By my second wild blow caught him on the mouth, and a thin, red string ran down over his chin. He slammed me back hard against the pillar, his breath hot on my face. “You fool! She’s played you for a sucker, and that hurts. Sure. Now grow up! It’s your life, Sprague. And they want it!”

Anger blurred my vision. Perhaps what he said stirred an instinctive fear deep within me. “I don’t want any part of you,” I rasped. “Get away from me, Mace, or I’ll kill you!”