I'll Get You For This

  "You and I are doing business whether you like it or not," I told him. "I'm going to ask you some questions, and if you know what's good for you, you'll answer them. You're burying a woman prisoner at the jail tomorrow?"

  He cracked his finger-joints, his limbs trembled, but he obstinately shook his head. "I can't talk to you," he mumbled. "I hold an official position at the jail, and it'd be a breach of faith."

  "You'll talk," I said, standing over him, "or I'll take you for a ride." Jerking out the .38, I rammed it into his chest. For a moment I thought he was going to faint, but he managed to control himself.

  "Don't . . ." he began, in a husky whisper.

  "You talking?"

  He nodded wildly.

  I put the .38 away.

  "Okay. We'll try again. This time get your answers out quick."

  He nodded again. His breathing had a rattle in it that added to the spooky atmosphere of the room.

  "You're burying a woman prisoner at the jail tomorrow morning," I repeated. "Right?"

  "Yes," he said.

  "What time?"

  "Ten o'clock."

  "What time will you arrive at the prison?"

  "Nine-fifty."

  "What's the procedure ?"

  He blinked, hesitated, then blurted out, "I and my assistant will prepare the body after the post-mortem, put it in the coffin and bring it back here for the relatives to claim."

"You load the body into the coffin in the P.M. room or the woman's cell?"

"In the P.M. room."

  I grimaced. That was what I had expected, but not what I had hoped to hear. It meant I should have to get Miss Wonderly from her cell down to the P.M. room. That wasn't going to be easy.

  "The coffin ready?"

  He nodded.

  "Show me."

  As he got to his feet, a bell tinkled faintly somewhere in the house. The sound took me like a flash to the door.

  "Watch him," I said to Tim, and shoved the .38 into his hand. I darted out into the passage.

  As I moved towards a door at the far end of the passage, I heard a telephone dial whirring. I ran on tip-toe to the door, jerked it open and went in.

  The thin, narrow-shouldered Laura was feverishly dialling the telephone. She looked up with a gasp as I entered. I cross the room, gently took the receiver out of her hand, hung up.

  "I'd forgotten about you," I said, smiling at her. "Call the police?"

  She jumped back against the wall, her pale, plain little face terrified. She clasped her hands to her flat chest and shaped mouth for a scream.

  "Don't do that," I said, "I want to talk to you."

  Her mouth trembled, hesitated, closed. She stayed where she was and stared at me; fear lurked in her eyes.

  "You know who I am, don't you?" I asked.

  Her throat tightened, but she managed to nod.

  "I wouldn't hurt you, and I want you to help me. Don't be scared of me. I'm in trouble and I want help."

She looked puzzled, blinked her eyes, but she didn't say anything.

"Look at me," I said. "I don't look dangerous, do I?"

She looked. I could see the fear leaving her eyes, and she straightened up.

"No," she said, in a voice that wouldn't have scared a mouse.

"I'm not," I assured her. "You've read about me in the newspapers, haven't you?"

She nodded.

  "You know they've arrested Miss Wonderly, and they've charged her with murder, don't you?"

  She nodded again. Interest had replaced fear.

  I took out the newspaper photograph of Miss Wonderly and showed it to her.

  "Do you think she looks like a killer?" I asked.

  She studied the photograph. There was a wistful look on her face when she handed it back.

  "No," she said.

  "She didn't kill Herrick, nor did I. It was a political killing, and they've pinned it on me because I happened to come to this town with a bad reputation."

  She looked down at her hands. There was a faint flush on her face.

  I stared moodily at her.

  "Have you ever been in love, Laura?" I asked abruptly.

  She flinched.

  "You have?" I went on, when she didn't speak. "It didn't work out?"

  "My father ..." She stopped.

  "All right," I said. "It's not my business. But if you have been in love, you'll know how I feel.

I'm in love with that girl. I'm crazy about her, and I'm going to get her out of that jail if it costs me my life. I want you to help me."

  She began to breathe quickly. "But how can I help?" she said, without looking at me.

  "By not making a fuss. I'll tell you what I have to do. I don't want to do it, but I have to do it. My girl's life is at stake, and I'll do anything to get her out of the mess she's in. I'm going to take you away from here, and keep you until she's free. That's the only way I can make your father work with me. I give you my word you won't come to any harm, and you'll be returned here in a day or so."

  She started up.

  "Oh no," she said. "Please don't take me away."

  I walked over to her and lifted her chin.

  "Still scared of me?" I asked.

  She looked at me.

  "No."

  "Swell," I said. "Come on, I want to talk to your father. I thought you'd help me."

  We returned to the reception-room. Maxison was sitting glaring at Tim, who was trying to look like a Chicago gangster. He didn't do it very well.

  "Your daughter's got a lot of guts," I said to Maxison. "Now show me that coffin."