I'll Get You For This

  "Right," I said, going over to him. "We're not going to fail. Things may get sticky, but whatever happens, you must keep your head. I'm George Mason, your new assistant. Your other assistant is on vacation. I come from Arizona, and I'm the son of an old friend of yours. I don't suppose they'll check up, but if they do, you must give them the answers without batting an eyelid. If I'm caught, it's going to be just too bad for Laura. Understand?"

  He licked his lips, looked sick, said he did.

  "Okay," I said, putting on a stove-pipe hat like his. "Let's go"

  I drove the hearse. Although it looked old-fashioned, there was nothing wrong with its eightcylinder engine. It had a lot of speed, and I let it out on the coast road. A mile or so from the jail I eased up on the accelerator; we drove along at a sedate twenty miles an hour.

  As the roof of the jail appeared above the sand-dunes, I saw two policemen standing in the road. They had Thompsons slung over their shoulders; they looked bored, and waved to us to stop.

  "You do the talking," I said to Maxison, out of the corner of my mouth. "This is only a

rehearsal for the real thing. These boys won't worry us."

The two cops stood each side of the hearse, peered at us.

"Where are you going?" one of them asked Maxison.

  "The jail," he said curtly, and produced a burial certificate and the court order for the release of the body.

  The two cops read the papers and handed them back. I could see by the blank looks on their faces they couldn't make head nor tail of the legal jargon, but they weren't suspicious.

  "Okay, seems in order," one of them said importantly. He took a yellow sticker from his pocket and pasted it on the fender of the hearse. "That'll get you to the gates. No speeding, and stop if you're signalled."

  "And that means stop," the other cop said, grinning. "The boys up there are sure itching to use their rods."

  Maxison thanked them, and I released the clutch. We continued up the road.

  "They're certainly taking no chances," I said.

  Maxison gave me a surly look, grunted. "What did you expect?" he said.

  On the other side of the sand-hills, I spotted four cops sitting round a machine-gun on a threelegged stand, covering the road. One of the cops was equipped with a portable radio, and he was tuning-in as I crawled by. They eyed the yellow sticker and then waved us on. It began to dawn on me that Mitchell had been right about it being impossible to get into the jail in the ordinary way.

  Four hundred yards from the side- road that led through the sand-dunes to the jail was a barricade made out of a big tree-trunk on wheels.

  I stopped.

  Three cops in their shirt sleeves appeared from behind the barricade, and swarmed round us.

  One of them, a big, red-faced guy with sandy hair, nodded to Maxison.

  "Hey, Max," he said, grinning. "Howja like the war conditions? Ain't it hell? That punk Flaggerty sure has the breeze up. We've been camped out here all night, and now we're being skinned by the sun. You going to the jail?"

  "Yes," Maxison said.

  The cop looked me over.

  "Ain't seen him before," he said to Maxison. "Who's he?"

  "George Mason," Maxison said calmly enough. "My new assistant. O'Neil's on vacation."

  "He would be, the lazy rat," the cop said, spitting in the sand. "He's always on vacation." He looked at me. "Glad to know you, Mason. I'm Clancy. Howja like the new job?"

  "Pretty good," I said, shaking his sweaty paw. "The beauty of this job is our customers can't answer back."

  He bellowed with laughter.

  "Say! That's a funny one," he exploded, slapping his thigh. "Did you hear what the guy said, fellas?" he went on to the other two cops who stood around, grinning.

  "We heard," they said.

  "Pretty funny," Clancy declared. "I didn't think guys in your trade had a sense of humour."

  "That's all we have got," I said. "What goes on? I've never seen a jail guarded as tight as this one."

  Clancy wiped sweat from his fat face with his forearm. "Aw, the hell with it," he said in disgust. "We got that Wonderly dame locked up, and our Chief thinks Cain's going to get her out. He's nuts, but there's no one with enough guts to tell him. I bet Cain's out of the State by now. Why the hell should he bother with a dame he picked up for the night?"

  "She's a nice looker," one of the other cops said. "I'd trade her for my wife."

  "I'd trade her for mine too," Clancy said, "but I wouldn't risk my neck for her."

  "This guy Cain must be a tough egg if Flaggerty thinks all you boys are necessary to keep

him out," I said, grinning.

  "I tell you Flaggerty's nuts," Clancy snorted. "Mind you, if that dame did escape, he'd lose his job. I heard Ed. Killeano tell him."

  "Pretty soft for him," I returned. "I bet he's sitting some place cool, while you boys sweat it out in the sun."