a little bit and pretended to catch a fly just in front of my face.
“Lay off, muscle,” I said.
The large, moustached face of the doctor appeared in the entrance to the cubicle. “Everything okay in here?”
I said above the deputies’ smiling assurances: “I want to make a phone call.”
The doctor looked doubtfully from me to the officers. “I don’t know about that.”
“I’m a private detective investigating a crime. I’m not free to talk about it without the permission of my principal. I want to call him.”
“There’s no facilities for that,” the dark deputy said.
“How about it, Doctor? You’re in charge here, and I have a legal right to make a phone call.”
He was a very young man behind his moustache. “I don’t know. There’s a telephone booth down the hall. Do you think you can make it?”
“I never felt better in my life.”
But when I swung my legs down, the floor seemed distant and undulant. The deputies had to help me to the booth and prop me up on the stool inside of it. I pulled the folding doorshut. Their faces floated outside the wired glass like bulbous fishes, a dark one and a fair one, nosing around a bathyscaphe on the deep ocean floor.
Technically Dr. Sponti was my principal, but it was Ralph Hillman’s number I asked Information for. I had a dime in my pocket, fortunately, and Hillman was there. He answered the phone himself on the first ring:
“Yes?”
“This is Archer.”
He groaned.
“Have you heard anything from Tom?” I said.
“No. I followed instructions to the letter, and when I came up from the beach the money was gone. He’s double-crossed me,” he said bitterly.
“Did you see him?”
“No. I made no attempt to.”
“I did.” I told Hillman what had happened, to me and to Mrs. Brown.
His voice came thin and bleak over the wire. “And you think these are the same people?”
“I think Brown’s your man. Brown is probably an alias. Does the name Harold Harley mean anything to you?”
“What was that again?”
“Harold or ‘Har’ Harley. He’s a photographer.”
“I never heard of him.”
I wasn’t surprised. Harley’s yellow card was the kind that businessmen distributed by the hundred, and had no necessary connection with Brown.
“Is that all you wanted?” Hillman said. “I’m trying to keep this line open.”
“I haven’t got to the main thing. The police are on my back. I can’t explain what I was doing at the auto court without dragging in the extortion bit, and your son.”
“Can’t you give them a story?”
“It wouldn’t be wise. This is a capital case, a double one.”
“Are you trying to tell me that Tom is dead?”
“I meant that kidnapping is a capital crime. But you are dealing with a killer. I think at this point you should level with thepolice, and get their help. Sooner or later I’m going to have to level with them.”
“I forbid—” He changed his tone, and started the sentence over: “I beg of you, please hold off. Give him until morning to come home. He’s my only son.”
“All right. Till morning. We can’t bottle it up any longer than that, and we shouldn’t.”
I hung up and stepped out into the corridor. Instead of taking me back to the emergency ward, my escort took me up in an elevator to a special room with heavy screens on the windows. They let me lie down on the bed, and took turns questioning me. It would be tedious to recount the dialogue. It was tedious at the time, and I didn’t listen to all of it.
Some time around midnight a sheriff’s lieutenant named Bastian came into the room and ordered the deputies out into the hall. He was a tall man, with iron-gray hair clipped short. The vertical grooves in his cheeks looked like the scars inflicted by a personal discipline harsher than saber cuts.
He stood over me frowning. “Dr. Murphy says you’re feeling critical of law enforcement in this county.”
“I’ve had reason.”
“It isn’t easy recruiting men at
“Lay off, muscle,” I said.
The large, moustached face of the doctor appeared in the entrance to the cubicle. “Everything okay in here?”
I said above the deputies’ smiling assurances: “I want to make a phone call.”
The doctor looked doubtfully from me to the officers. “I don’t know about that.”
“I’m a private detective investigating a crime. I’m not free to talk about it without the permission of my principal. I want to call him.”
“There’s no facilities for that,” the dark deputy said.
“How about it, Doctor? You’re in charge here, and I have a legal right to make a phone call.”
He was a very young man behind his moustache. “I don’t know. There’s a telephone booth down the hall. Do you think you can make it?”
“I never felt better in my life.”
But when I swung my legs down, the floor seemed distant and undulant. The deputies had to help me to the booth and prop me up on the stool inside of it. I pulled the folding doorshut. Their faces floated outside the wired glass like bulbous fishes, a dark one and a fair one, nosing around a bathyscaphe on the deep ocean floor.
Technically Dr. Sponti was my principal, but it was Ralph Hillman’s number I asked Information for. I had a dime in my pocket, fortunately, and Hillman was there. He answered the phone himself on the first ring:
“Yes?”
“This is Archer.”
He groaned.
“Have you heard anything from Tom?” I said.
“No. I followed instructions to the letter, and when I came up from the beach the money was gone. He’s double-crossed me,” he said bitterly.
“Did you see him?”
“No. I made no attempt to.”
“I did.” I told Hillman what had happened, to me and to Mrs. Brown.
His voice came thin and bleak over the wire. “And you think these are the same people?”
“I think Brown’s your man. Brown is probably an alias. Does the name Harold Harley mean anything to you?”
“What was that again?”
“Harold or ‘Har’ Harley. He’s a photographer.”
“I never heard of him.”
I wasn’t surprised. Harley’s yellow card was the kind that businessmen distributed by the hundred, and had no necessary connection with Brown.
“Is that all you wanted?” Hillman said. “I’m trying to keep this line open.”
“I haven’t got to the main thing. The police are on my back. I can’t explain what I was doing at the auto court without dragging in the extortion bit, and your son.”
“Can’t you give them a story?”
“It wouldn’t be wise. This is a capital case, a double one.”
“Are you trying to tell me that Tom is dead?”
“I meant that kidnapping is a capital crime. But you are dealing with a killer. I think at this point you should level with thepolice, and get their help. Sooner or later I’m going to have to level with them.”
“I forbid—” He changed his tone, and started the sentence over: “I beg of you, please hold off. Give him until morning to come home. He’s my only son.”
“All right. Till morning. We can’t bottle it up any longer than that, and we shouldn’t.”
I hung up and stepped out into the corridor. Instead of taking me back to the emergency ward, my escort took me up in an elevator to a special room with heavy screens on the windows. They let me lie down on the bed, and took turns questioning me. It would be tedious to recount the dialogue. It was tedious at the time, and I didn’t listen to all of it.
Some time around midnight a sheriff’s lieutenant named Bastian came into the room and ordered the deputies out into the hall. He was a tall man, with iron-gray hair clipped short. The vertical grooves in his cheeks looked like the scars inflicted by a personal discipline harsher than saber cuts.
He stood over me frowning. “Dr. Murphy says you’re feeling critical of law enforcement in this county.”
“I’ve had reason.”
“It isn’t easy recruiting men at
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