Cherry Ames 24 Companion Nurse (17 page)

Cherry glared at Ryder. He laughed in her face, and pulled her along up the stairs.

The stairs were narrow and steep. Cherry counted as they climbed: three fl ights to the top landing. Ryder still held her arm tightly as he knocked on the one door up here.

“I say, Archie! Open up! I’ve brought a guest,” Ryder said.

Archibald Hazard unlocked and opened the door.

He was in shirtsleeves and slippers. A sour smile spread over his face as he saw Cherry, and heard Ryder’s brief account of how she had rashly followed him.

“I made quite a haul, what?” young Ryder said. “Two detectives spotted me.”

“Detectives?” Hazard said. “Then get in here quickly.”

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“Oh, no one’s coming,” Ryder said offhandedly. “We shed one man near the shop. The other chap, in a taxi, got caught in traffi c about ten or fi fteen minutes ago.

Meanwhile, my bus moved on.”

Cherry’s eyes fl ew wide open. She had not seen the detective get stuck in traffi c. “I was too intent on watching for Ryder to notice,” Cherry thought. “So the detective isn’t coming—he can’t, he doesn’t even know where I got off the bus! I’m here alone in this house with Hazard and Ryder—and no one knows where I am!”

“For once you used your brain,” Hazard said to Ryder, “when you let the girl in the house. Bring her in and we’ll tie her up,” Hazard ordered. He did not bother to speak to Cherry. “Now if we could get the Logan woman out of our way, too—” Cherry balked, but Ryder shoved her into the room.

She saw it was hopeless to resist—better to save her strength, in case she could fi nd some way to escape later. Hazard locked the door.

The room smelled of stale coffee. It held a bed, a cot, two wooden kitchen chairs, an old bureau, and a shabby table with food, paper bags, and a revolver on it.

Cherry looked around for a way out, but the only other door, standing open, led into a clothes closet. And the high dormer windows, recessed under the roof, would hardly be seen from the street. She was trapped.

Ryder pushed her onto a chair, fi nally letting go of her arm. Cherry rubbed her bruised arm. Then in one quick movement she tugged at the gag. Hazard

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slapped her hard across the face. For a moment she felt dizzy and blinded. When her vision cleared, she saw Hazard was holding the revolver.

“If you insist on being a nuisance, Miss Ames,” he said in his usual courteous, pompous way, “you will force me to take drastic action. May I suggest that, if you wish to go on living, you stop acting like a fool.

You’ve already been too smart for your own good, haven’t you? Rod, haven’t you found that rope yet?”

“Righto, here it is.” Ryder came out of the closet, carrying a length of rope and a knife.

“Tie her hands behind her back,” Hazard ordered.

“Next, tie her ankles. Then tie her to the chair. Sit still, Miss Ames—or must I slap you again? Get on with it, Rod.”

Cherry felt hot tears sliding down her cheeks. She was nearly as angry at her folly and helplessness as she was terrifi ed. What did Hazard intend to do with her? At least he put the gun back on the table. . . . She cringed with fear as the ropes bit into her. With her eyes she followed Hazard, limping around the room, and silently implored him to let her go.

Hazard addressed her with sarcastic formality. “I hope you will enjoy your stay here, Miss Ames. We have a job to do, and immediately afterward we’re getting out of Scotland. You will remain in this room, tied and gagged, as our guest. I’ve already asked our landlords, the Martins, not to come upstairs here until Saturday, when Mrs. Martin can clean. Our rent is paid in advance to Saturday, so they have no reason to come 156
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up here. I doubt that the Martins will be able to hear any noise you might be able to make, since they occupy the ground-fl oor rooms.”

Mr. Hazard made her a little bow, limped away, and sat down on the bed. Ryder sat beside him, changing his wet shoes for a dry pair.

“Any phone call from Mrs. Kirby’s kid, Amy?” Ryder asked. “I mean to say, after I left off playing blind man?”

“No, the kid hasn’t phoned here since lunchtime,” Hazard said, “asking what to do about Meg Greene’s

‘friend’ who telephoned the shop. That was the last phone call. I—um—don’t expect to hear from Mrs.

Kirby. Not soon, at least. Either she’s lying low, or the police have arrested her.”

Ryder looked up nervously. “Will she talk to the police?” Cherry’s hopes rose, then died again as Hazard said:

“I doubt that she’ll talk. I paid her well enough to buy her silence, if the police question her. And she needn’t talk in order to save her own skin—she’s in no danger, nothing wrong happened at her shop, actually.”

“Well, will her kid talk?” Ryder asked, and answered himself. “No, the poor thing is scared to death of her mother. Even
if
the police would suspect a ten-year-old—”

In the midst of her own terror, Cherry pitied the child who had a criminal for a mother.

“Never mind the Kirbys,” Hazard said impatiently.

“The main point is that the police are suspicious

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about you and me, now. I’ve decided we’d better take the Shakespearean paintings tonight, and clear out of here.”

“But can you do it with your bad ankle?” Ryder asked.

‘‘There’s no longer much choice. I’ll manage. You’re a great worrier, Rod,” Hazard remarked.

Cherry listened numbly, as if she were having a bad dream. Ryder got up and paced around the room, passing Cherry as if she were a piece of furniture. Then he folded his long, thin body into the other wooden chair.

“I
am
worried about my wife,” Ryder said. “I wish I could be sure that she’s safely hidden at her mother’s house. No phone there, or I’d call from Edinburgh as I did before.”

“Shut up,” said Hazard. “You’re talking too much in front of the girl.” He jerked his head toward Cherry.

“Oh, all right, all right,” Ryder said resentfully. He sat brooding. Hazard stretched out on the bed. Cherry’s attention wandered.

She was in such physical discomfort that she almost cried. Her lips under the gag felt dry and stiff. The harsh ropes confi ned her to one rigid, aching posture.

She tried to think. The detectives must have reported the incident of the blind man to police headquarters.

But they had no leads to 26 Weir Street.

Cherry turned her head and saw an alarm clock. It read ten to fi ve. She was to have met Peter at fi ve, at the hotel. Perhaps Martha would keep the appointment 158
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for her, to tell Peter that she, Cherry, was missing. If only Peter’s talk with Inspector Forbes had uncovered some new lead, some way to fi nd Ryder and this address! But the only information Peter had was the restaurant that Ryder and Hazard had entered yesterday, and that she had reported to Inspector Forbes by telephone at lunchtime.

“Surely the police have investigated at the restaurant by now,” Cherry thought. “I guess they didn’t learn anything, or they’d be here.” She lapsed into a dull, blank despair. She could only sit immobilized and wish for a drink of water.

“Rod,” said Hazard, sitting up on the bed, “lay out the things we’ll need tonight. On the cot.”

“Right.” Ryder stood up and stretched, looking fan-tastically tall. Then he brought, from the closet to the cot, a small claw bar, a jimmy, a chisel, two fl ashlights, two small, sharp knives, all small enough to fi t in a man’s pockets, and a roughly sketched fl oor plan marked with X’s. Cherry watched, half sick with helpless rage.

Hazard ordered Ryder, “Next I want you to pack our clothes. Pack tight—”

“I didn’t hire on as your valet, Archie!”

“Just shut up and do as I say. Be sure to pack tight.

Leave room for the rolled-up paintings.” Hazard glanced sharply at Cherry, then ignored her again.

“Let’s eat early tonight.”

The two men discussed getting food in for supper.

Cherry gathered that Ryder had been bringing food in from a local sandwich shop, particularly since Hazard

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had been spotted by the American women at the doctor’s offi ce. It was clear that Hazard was not going to offer any food to their involuntary guest. . . . There was a sharp rap on the door.

Hazard and Ryder stiffened. They exchanged glances, but remained motionless and silent. Cherry thought of scraping or stamping her bound feet on the fl oor, to let the caller know someone was inside. But Hazard reached for the gun, and pointed it at her.

The knocking increased. A man shouted:

“Open up! Police! We know you’re in there—we heard you talking. Open the door, or we’ll break in!” Hazard placed himself slightly behind Cherry in the chair. She realized what he was doing. If a gunfi ght broke out, she would be in the line of cross fi re—and Hazard would use her as a shield.

“Open up!” the police shouted again. “We’ve got the stairs and all exits covered—this building is surrounded. The two of you haven’t a chance!” Ryder was tiptoeing toward the closet, but then—

as the police rained blows on the fl imsy door—Ryder seemed to change his mind. He ran across the room to Hazard. Hazard looked up at Ryder inquiringly, expecting the younger man to speak. Instead, Ryder struck him, threw him off balance, and snatched the gun out of Hazard’s hand.

“All right, I’ll let you in!” Ryder shouted. “I’m not such a fool as to shoot it out!” Hazard lunged for Ryder, but Ryder knocked him down. Then Ryder sprang to the door, unlocked it, and 160
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fl ung it wide open. Six detectives stood at either side of the door, guns drawn. One was the detective who had tried to follow Cherry and Ryder.

As the detectives rushed in, Ryder cried out half-hysterically:

“You can’t hold me on any charge! I was tricked into this! Hazard’s the man you want!”

“You sniveling liar,” Hazard sneered contemptuously.

He picked himself up from the fl oor.

“Be quiet, both of you!” the detective in charge ordered.

“Bally, Jock, untie the girl. Did they harm you, miss?” She mutely shook her head. Two detectives freed her from the ropes, and looked at her carefully to see if she were all right.

Archibald Hazard limped over to the bed and sat down. He looked defi ant. The chief detective, Graham Kerr—who said he was a cousin of the young policewoman, Mary Jean Kerr—told Ryder to sit on the bed beside Hazard. Then Sergeant Kerr came over to Cherry and asked solicitously:

“Sure you’re not hurt? Can we get you anything?”

“A glass of water,” Cherry said. “My—my hands and feet are numb.”

Sergeant Kerr sent one man for a glass of water for her. Bally and Jock helped her to her feet, and rubbed her tingling hands.

“Sergeant,” said one of the detectives, “have a look at what’s on the cot over by the window,” Kerr picked up the diagram with the X’s. “What is this?” he asked. “Answer me, Hazard.”

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Hazard did not deign to answer. Ryder, trembling uncontrollably, shouted:

“I’ll tell you everything you need to know! I’m sick of Archie Hazard’s highhanded treatment and low pay! I’ll tell you what it is. It’s a layout of the exhibit of Shakespearean paintings—the X’s mark the ones we planned to take. . . . Yes! Yes! . . . We were going to do it tonight! Only let me off lightly—”

“Tell them,” said Hazard, “about your wife. Or shall I?”

Ryder’s mouth closed tight. He turned on the bed and lunged at Hazard. Sergeant Kerr stopped him with his fi sts and gave both men a sharp warning.

“You can talk at police headquarters. We’re going there now. Will you be able to walk, Miss Ames? Our man will assist you down the stairs.”

“Thank you,” she said. “I’m feeling better.” She had to go slowly down the stairs. She leaned on the arm of Detective Cox, who had tried to give chase.

“I had a bit of foul luck in that traffi c tie-up,” he said to her in apology. “You did a good job today, Miss Ames.”

“I don’t think I’d do it over again,” said Cherry.

They reached the street. The rain had stopped. In the dusk a small crowd had gathered around the police cars. Detectives kept the onlookers back as Hazard and Ryder, handcuffed, were put into one car. Cherry rode with Sergeant Kerr, Cox, Bally, and Jock in another car.

Kerr told Cherry that another detail remained in the house to collect the thieves’ tools, search their room, and talk with the Martins when the landlords came home.

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The police cars traveled much faster than the bus in which Cherry had reached Weir Street. She asked Sergeant Kerr, “How did you fi nd out about 26 Weir Street?”

“We went to the restaurant on George Street,” Sergeant Kerr said, “about one fi fteen. We were unable to get any clue immediately, because yesterday’s lunch waiters do not come in today until dinner hour. However, the manager remembered that a waiter called John waited on two men answering to Hazard’s and Ryder’s descriptions. The manager gave us John’s home address and we looked him up.

“Unfortunately for us—and for you, Miss Ames—

John was not at home. His wife said he had gone to the country for a hike, she didn’t know exactly where—

but would be home at four o’clock.” At four o’clock, Cherry recalled, she had been entering 26 Weir Street. The detective went on, “So we had to wait around until four, and then John came in.

He remembered hearing Hazard say something about

‘he didn’t think much of Weir Street as a place to stay.’

We came right over to Weir Street, of course on the inspector’s orders. Then it took us a while to investigate several houses until we heard men’s voices and conversation, which we—well, we thought sounded like what we were looking for.”