Miss Shumway Waves A Wand

“I’ll send you a wreath,” Whisky returned. “What else can I do?”

“Never mind about the wreath,” I returned sharply. “You better come in. after me if I’m longer than a half an hour.”

“I’ll think about it,” Whisky returned. “I’m not worked up about the idea.”

“I can understand that,” I said. “You’re sure she’s in the place?”

“She’s upstairs in the room facing the street. I saw her look Out of the window.”

“Swell. It just means getting up there.”

“That’s right. If anyone tries to stop you, just don’t take no for an answer.”

I didn’t feel I was getting all the encouragement I needed, but apparently Whisky wasn’t an encouraging kind of dog.

I left him at the corner of the square and wandered towards Waxey’s dive. The place seemed deserted and when I got inside I found a thin weedy youth half asleep over the counter.

“Where’s Waxey?” I asked.

“Out,” the youth yawned and put his head on his arms again.

I glanced round the dim room. Over to the right was a door which I guessed led upstairs.

“I’ll wait,” I said, sitting on an upturned box near the door.

The youth didn’t say anything. He was nearly asleep. I sat there watching him and after a minute or so he began to snore.

I shifted my box closer to the door, but he didn’t look up. I gave him a few seconds just to be on the safe side and then reached the door. It opened silently and, leaving the youth spread over the counter. I peered into the gloom of a passage that led to a flight of stairs.

I’d have felt a lot more confident if I had a gun with me. All the same, if Myra was up there, I was going to get her out. I went up the stairs quickly.

The first room I entered was obviously Waxey’s bedroom. It was empty except for a rough cot and a lot of dirt. Waxey certainly lived the hard way.

The next door was locked. I hadn’t time for any fancy stuff, I drew back and caught the door a peach of a kick just below the lock. The door flew open and I sprawled in the room on my hands and knees.

Myra twisted over on the bed so that she could see who it was. I sat up and grinned at her.

“So you’ve come at last,” she said, trying to sit up. I could see that her wrists and ankles were bound. “Don’t sit there like a big drip. Hitch up your truss and get me out of here.”

“Kid,” I said, getting to my feet. “It’s grand to hear your voice again.”

“Never mind that stuff,” Myra snapped, bouncing up and down on the bed. “Get me undone. We can have our little cry together later on.”

“I’m right with you,” I said, going over to her. “They haven’t hurt you, have they?”

“Don’t talk so much,” Myra returned. “They haven’t had time, but they’ve promised all kinds of things.”

I examined the cords that bound her. Whoever tied her had made a swell job of it. But when I found my knife, it didn’t take long to free her.

“There you are, sugar,” I said, sitting beside her. “How does it feel?”

“Lousy,” Myra said moving her legs and wincing. “I’ve got a cramp.”

“I’ll fix that,” I said, pushing back my cuffs. “I’ll get some life in them.”

“Hands off!” Myra said sharply. “I like to do my own massaging.”

“That’s a pity,” I returned. “I was looking forward to that.”

While she began restoring her circulation, I glanced round the room. It was empty except for the bed and a table. On the table stood an odd looking contraption. There were two large springs, a handcuff on a long chain and one or two cogwheels. They were all joined up together and they intrigued me.

“Someone’s going to pay for this,” Myra said angrily. “Why should they want to kidnap me?”

“I’ll tell you in a second,” I said, picking up the handcuff, “what’s this thing?”

Myra gave a little scream, “Don’t touch it!” she cried.

“Why not … is it a man-trap?”

There was a sudden sharp click. The springs moved forward, the cogwheels spun and I found the handcuff on my wrist.

“You big sap!” Myra said furiously.

“Why, it is a man-trap!” I said, admiring the thing. “That’s smart. There might be a fortune in it.”

Myra swung her legs off the bed and hobbled over to me. “Didn’t I tell you not to touch it?”

I took hold of the handcuff and jerked at it. “I’ll get it off,” I said calmly. “I was glad to see it work.”

“You won’t get it off,” Myra said, nearly crying. “Oh, I could brain you!”

And she was right. The handcuff had me tight round the wrist and nothing I could do would shift it. The chain to which it was fastened only allowed me a few feet from the wall.

“Hey!” I said in alarm, “get this off, will you?”

“But I can’t,” Myra wailed. “You stupid dope! What am I going to do now?”

I wrestled with the thing silently. After a while, I gave up. “Don’t let’s get into a panic,” I said. “If this chain thinks it can hold me… why it’s crazy!” I put my feet against the wall and holding the chain in both bands, I threw my weight backwards. It ought to have wrenched the staple that held the chain out of the wall. But it didn’t. But it did nearly give me a hemorrhage. I sat on the floor and mopped my brow.

“You’re right, sugar,” I said in disgust. “I’m a sap and a dope!”