I'll Get You For This

  He nodded. "Okay," he said. "Well, the women go in through this door and are booked. They're taken along this passage—–"

  "What's that square there you've drawn?"

  "That's the guards' office. That next to it is the police surgeon's office. That's the mortuary behind it and the P.M. room. We keep them all together because Flaggerty likes to make the jail his headquarters."

  "Okay. Where's A floor?"

  "You reach it by this elevator. The women are not allowed] to use the stairs because the stairs give off to the other floors."

  "How many women prisoners have you got in there?"

"Four—no, three. One of 'em died this morning."

"Where's Miss Wonderly's cell?"

He showed me the cell on the map he'd drawn. I made him mark it with a cross.

"How many guards have you up there?"

"There are three women guards. One goes around the cells every hour."

"How about the men guards?"

  "They don't go to A floor, but they're around on the other floors every hour. Two to each floor."

  "How many in the building?"

  "Ten guards on duty, ten off. Since the girl came, Flaggerty has brought down another twenty from Station Headquarters to guard the outside of the jail. It has plenty of protection right now."

  I studied the map for several minutes, then sat back and stared at Mitchell.

  "If you wanted to get someone out of that jail," I said, "how would you set about it?"

  He shook his head. "I wouldn't," he said. "It ain't possible."

  I handed him the four Cs, and after he'd fingered them and put them away in his pocket, I took out a thousand-dollar bill.

  "Ever seen one of these?" I asked him.

  He gaped at it, his eyes round.

  "'I'd give this to the guy who could tell me how to get that girl out," I said.

  He hesitated, then shrugged. "I wish I could, but it just ain't possible." He edged his chair forward. "I'll tell you why. You've got to get in. That's the first step. They've got dogs, searchlights and guards. Maybe you've seen the place ? There aint a scrap of cover around the jail for five hundred yards . . . just sand. The searchlights light up the whole of the expanse of

sand, and there ain't a chance of you getting to the gate without being seen."

"Okay," I said. "Let's suppose we do get up to the gate. What next?"

"But you won't get to the gate," he said impatiently.

"Just suppose we do. Go on from there."

  He shrugged. "The guard at the gate checks your credentials. No one except the doctor or a police official is allowed near the place now they've got her. They know you're smart and they're taking no chances. Coppinger had a hell of a time getting in."

  "Well, okay. Let's imagine the doctor goes there. He gets in. Then what happens?"

  "The guard hands him over to another guard who unlocks the second door, and the doc is escorted to his office. He can't go anywhere else in the prison, unless someone's ill. When that dame died this morning, he was escorted to her cell by a guard and the Head Wardress."

  "I thought you said the male guards didn't go to the Women's quarters?" I said sharply.

  "They don't unless a male visitor has business in the quarters. Coppinger, for instance, was escorted by two guards."

  I drummed on the table. "So it can't be done?" I said.

  He sighed regretfully. "I'd tell you if it could be," he said. "I could use that grand, but I know it's hopeless. Believe me, no one can get into that jail and no one can get out. They could try, but they'd be dead meat before they got properly started. I tell you: Flaggerty is expecting you to try. He's got everything sewn up tight, and when that rat sews up anything tight, it stays tight."

  I got up. "Okay, Mitchell," I said. "Keep your trap shut about this. I'll think it over. You might still be able to earn that grand. When do you go on duty?"

  "Tomorrow morning at seven."

  "What's your first job?"

  "Inspect the cells, then I've got the job of cleaning up after the P.M."

"What P.M.?"

  "They're trying to find out why this dame died. The P.M. is for nine-thirty tomorrow morning."

  "Right," I said. "I'll be seeing you."

  Out in the hot darkness, Davis said, gloomily, "What the hell are we going to do now?"

  "Get that girl out," I said grimly.

  "Talk sense. You heard what the man said."

  "Sure I heard," I said. "I tell you what I'll do. I'll bet you ten bucks I have her out by tomorrow night."

  He stared at me in disgust. "Aw, you're nuts," he said, getting into the car, "but I'll take your money."

  "I'm not nuts," I said, climbing in beside him. "I have an idea."

3 

A half an hour later I was in the car again with Davis, driving, and Tim Duval in the back. "This is it," Tim said, peering out of the window. Davis swung to the kerb and stopped before a sober-looking building. Above the shop-front was a sign: "Maxison's Funeral Parlour."

"I hope you know what you're doing," Davis said.

  "Quit beefing," Tim said, before I could speak. "I'm having the time of my life. Why should you care what he does so long as he does something and takes you with him?"