Miss Callaghan Comes To Grief

Raven glanced through the paper and then chucked it on one side. He found a pile of letters on the tray and began to glance through them. Most of them were for bills. They were all addressed to J. J. Cruise, the name he had adopted when he moved into the St. Louis Hotel. The last envelope was bulky and it contained a catalogue of trains. He was reading this carefully when Sadie came back.

She poured out some coffee and sat watching him indifferently. A great change had taken place since she had gone away with O'Hara. She knew it herself. She could no longer struggle against this man. He had proved himself so utterly ruthless and hateful that her resistance had been completely shattered. She no longer lived. She sat about waiting to obey his commands. Her terror for him had long burnt itself out. It was just a matter of automatically complying with his wishes. She found that if she did what she was told he was bearable. They went out together, lived together and slept together. She had no animation, but he seemed satisfied with being seen about with her. She didn't care what people thought or who saw her. Her will had ceased to exist.

The catalogue revived his interest in the trains. He looked up. “Get that train outfit,” he said. “Put it up in the other room. I'll amuse myself with it, I think.”

She put down her cup and went out of the room immediately. Raven scowled and stared after her.

Sometimes her obedience bored him. He wished she'd refuse so that he could vent his spite on her. He shrugged and, still frowning, continued to turn the pages of the catalogue.

The house phone buzzed and he shouted for her to answer it. She came out of the other room and, after listening at the receiver, said, “A Mr. Grantham wants to see you.”

Raven nodded. “Send him up,” he said.

She spoke again to the clerk and then went back into the other room. Raven could hear her setting out the tracks.

A knock sounded on the door and Grantham walked in.

Raven nodded. “Come on in,” he said. “Nice little place this, hey?”

Grantham hadn't been up before. He glanced around. “Very,” he said shortly, taking off his light dust−coat.

He selected a chair and sat down.

Raven watched him narrowly. “Well, what's wrong?”

Grantham came to the point at once. “Ellinger's in town,” he said.

Raven shook his head. “I don't know him.”

“Ellinger is a reporter on the St. Louis Banner. He covers the crime angle. We've had trouble with him before. Now it looks as if he means to stick his neck out. He's left the Banner and has been makin' a lot of enquiries about me. I don't like it.”

Raven sneered. “You guys are helpless,” he said. “Scare him. Turn some of the boys on to him. He'll quit.”

“He's not that type of guy,” he said. “The harder we try an' scare him, the harder he'll stick.”

“Then arrange a little accident. Don't bother me with these trifles.” Raven finished his coffee. “How's the business goin'?”

Grantham nodded. “It's goin' all right.” He sounded doubtful.

“Well, what is it? Ain't you satisfied?”

“Of course I am, but don't you think we're takin' a hell of a risk? Some of these girls will squeal. They're bound to. I think we ought to stick to the professional. Seventy−five per cent of the girls you send me are kidnapped into the game. It's getting tough keeping them in order. There's a big yap coming from Denver and Cleveland about the number of girls that are missing.”

Raven laughed. “You're just a small−time hick,” he said. “Guys don't want the professional type of hustler.

They want fresh innocent stuff, and you know it. The guys that pay big dough don't give a damn where they come from or what song they sing as long as they have them. So you can't keep them in order. I've got a little jane who was traded. I'll show you how I've made her toe the line.”

He called, “Come here.”

Sadie came in. “Yes?” she said.

Grantham stared at her and then went pale. He recognized her at once. He'd been wondering where the hell she had got to. Carrie had been sent to Kansas City, and he had lost track of her. He had made efforts to trace her as he knew Sadie would be with her, and he'd failed.

Sadie looked at him, recognized him as the man who got her into this trouble, and flinched away from him.

Raven noticed the changes in their expressions.

He said to her roughly, “Get out!” And when she had gone he turned on Grantham. “You know her?”

Grantham wondered if this was a trap. He eased his collar with a limp finger. “Yeah,” he said, “she was one of the first girls I shanghaied.”

Raven nodded. “That's right,” he said; “I found her at the nigger's house. She's got reason to hate you, hasn't she?” and he laughed.

Grantham was very uneasy. He wasn't sure how much Raven knew. If Raven had an inkling that Sadie could name him as Mendetta's killer, surely he wouldn't have her around? He was so bewildered that he wanted to get away and think about it. He moved to the door. “So you think Ellinger can be taken care of?” he said.