Man on a Rope (22 page)

“Un-unh,” he said. “It can't be done.”

“But, darling,” she protested in growing consternation. “You have to do something. You can't keep the diamonds. If you should be found with them—well, you said yourself you didn't dare turn them over to the police…. Please,” she said. “You have to get rid of them while you can. Don't you see?” She paused, brow furrowing as some new thought came to her. “What did you mean when you said I beat you to it?”

“I've already made a deal.”

The statement shocked her and it showed in her eyes. She could not understand what he meant. She said so.

“You mean you're going to give them to someone else?”

“I have to.”

“Who?”

“Muriel Ransom,” he said and then, to forestall the protest he saw coming, he went on quickly to explain the threat that had been made that afternoon. He gave her no chance to interrupt; there was only the small, horrified gasp when she understood his position and considered the lie Muriel was ready to tell to achieve her purpose.

“Do you really think the police would believe her?” she said when he finished.

He said he did not know. He said it would be Muriel's word against his.

Her chin came up when she replied, and she was suddenly indignant.

“How could she?” she cried. “It's—it's unspeakable!”

“But it happens to be true.”

“And if they believed her, if they believed that Mr. Lambert actually did tell her that you did it—”

He cut her off. He told her not to worry about it. “She's not going to tell Kerby anything,” he said, “because I'm going to give her the pouch.” He glanced at his watch again. “And it's about time I got started.”

Lynn did not protest, but her expression spoke of her disapproval. That she had intended to get rid of the pouch in her own fashion did not seem to bother her now. She did not want Muriel Ransom to have the diamonds after what she had done, but the remark she now made was both regretful and philosophical.

“Well”—she sighed—”at least you'll be rid of them. You're to deliver them to Boyd McBride's place? Then I'm going with you.”

He peered at her, wondering if she were kidding. When he decided she was not, he was instantly shocked by the idea.

“Oh, no, you're not.”

“Oh, but I am,” she said sweetly and picked up the straw bag.

He knew she meant it. He also knew there was no way of stopping her if she persisted. He tried to argue. He said it was a bad idea, that there was no point in it. When she remained adamant, he said:

“And anyway, I'm not just going to drop that pouch and run. I learned some things today. I'm going to do some talking and maybe, with a bit of luck, I might get clear of this whole business.”

Her mouth made a small round circle. “You mean you think you know who did it?”

“I've got an idea about it now, yes.”

“Then shouldn't you—go to the police?”

He laughed sardonically. “Not while I'm still carrying those diamonds. I want to see McBride. I think I know enough now to apply a little pressure and I want to see what happens. That's why you can't go with me. You'd only spoil things. Because I'm in a spot and McBride knows it, I think he might just do a bit of talking himself. But not in front of you or anybody else.”

“All right,” she said, convinced but still reluctant. “But I'm going to ride over with you.”

Again he started to protest, checking himself when he realized that this would do no harm and that by giving in this much he would insure her co-operation.

“Only if you promise to stay in the car.”

“All right.”

“And no arguing When we get there.”

“No arguing.”

“Okay,” he said, and now his quick grin was genuine because he was so proud of her. “I'll get Eddie Glynn's car if I can. If I tell Eddie to keep an eye on you he'll do it.”

She picked up the straw bag that still held the diamond pouch. “I'll carry this,” she announced and started for the door.

The familiar Zephyr was not outside when they came down the stairs, but the boy there said Glynn had just driven to the Tower. This meant a two-block walk, but because Barry particularly wanted Eddie tonight he made the effort and he saw the little sedan as they approached the hotel.

The bungalow where McBride lived was some distance from the center of town and stood in the middle of a block. It had been built a long time ago by someone who wanted more privacy than some, and as a result it stood fifty feet or more back from the street, its veranda partly hidden by trees. Lights showed from the front windows as the taxi approached, and Barry told Eddie Glynn to drive to the corner and turn around. As they came slowly back he asked him to park diagonally across from the bungalow and turn off his lights.

“You can see the front of the place from here,” he said. “Just remember that you're going to stay here. I may need you.”

“You mean you think there's going to be trouble?” Lynn said.

“I don't know what to think, but I don't know how else to do it…. Just don't get impatient,” he said. “This may take quite a while. I doubt if there'll be any trouble, but if you see McBride and me come out together and start off somewhere in his car, maybe you'd better follow us until you can get to a telephone and call the police…. Okay, Eddie?”

“Whatever you say, Mr. Dawson.”

He reached into the bag and found the oilskin pouch, and as he did so Lynn said: “I don't like it.”

“Neither do I, much. But it's getting late and I don't know how else to play the cards I've got.”

“Then take this with you.”

He watched her fumbling in the bottom of the bag, and because it was dark here he did not know what she was after until he felt the cool steel of the little automatic.

“Hey,” he said softly. “How come you've got this?”

“Because I was scared,” she said. “I still am.

For another moment Barry balanced the gun in his palm. He had not thought far enough ahead to wonder if he would need a gun, but now that he had it, it seemed like a good idea and he tucked it down inside the waistband of his trousers as he stepped from the car.

CHAPTER TWENTY

B
ARRY SAW THAT THE FRONT DOOR WAS CLOSED
as he came up the driveway, but light glowed from a doorway on the right side of the veranda and he turned that way, noticing now the two cars parked near the side steps. He climbed them without hesitation or any attempt at secrecy, buttoning his cord jacket so the gun butt would be hidden.

They were waiting for him, McBride rising from his canvas chair and Muriel sitting on the couch between two windows. She still wore the same dress he had seen that afternoon; her handsome face was grave, the dark eyes quickly alert, the dark hair showing auburn tints in the lamplight.

“You're late,” McBride said, but his manner was casual and he did not sound as if it mattered.

“A little.”

“Muriel said you'd come.”

“Muriel was right.”

McBride was watching the pouch Barry carried and now he said: “Put it there on the table, Barry.” He was wearing slacks and a blazer now in contrast to the usual bush jacket, and without making any attempt to hide his movement he reached back under the jacket and pulled a foreign-looking automatic pistol from his pocket.

“Move back,” he said. “Over there in the chair next to the sofa. Don't worry too much about this”—he gestured with the gun—“it's just that I don't want to take chances until we've done a bit of business.”

Barry looked the room over, his dark-blue eyes somber and well-muscled body poised and at ease. It was when he turned that he noticed something that had escaped him when he entered—the four traveling bags which stood near the door. One was a battered flight bag and one a scuffed leather suitcase; the other two were lighter weight and more feminine-looking.

“So you're going to run for it?” he said dryly.

“We figured we'd better,” McBride said. “You might decide to spill things to the police and that might make it a bit awkward for Muriel and me.”

He waited until Barry reached the chair and then he stepped over to the woman and handed her the gun.

“Watch him. Don't use it unless he tries to get rough…. Relax,” he said to Barry. “All you have to do is sit this one out.”

Barry eased into the chair. The little automatic cut into the flesh just forward of the left hip, but it was a reassuring feeling and he stretched his legs out to relieve the pressure. He looked at Muriel and she looked back at him and now McBride stepped to the telephone and gave the number of the Windsor Hotel.

“I'd like to speak to Mr. Hudson,” he said. “Yeah, I'll wait.” He leaned his big body against the edge of the door and crossed his ankles. He grinned at Barry and began to hum some nameless melody. He kept at it, the picture of a man completely pleased with himself and utterly confident. Once he glanced at his watch and frowned slightly and then a minute or so later he spoke again.

“Hello, Hudson? This is McBride. That's right. Do you remember that proposition you made this morning? Well, do you still want to trade?” He paused, listening; the grin began to spread. “Now … Sure. Right here in front of me on the table…. What? No I haven't looked them over; I haven't even broken the seals.”

He hesitated again and winked at Muriel, and Barry saw that she was not taking the situation with McBride's assurance. “What's the matter?” she asked in a hoarse whisper. “Doesn't he want to—”

“Look,” McBride said, still talking to Hudson, “it's got to be that way. You trust me. I trust you. You bring the cash and you walk out of here with the stones. What you do with them is your business because I'm damned sure you're not going to spread the word…. You know where I live?” he asked and then gave his address. “Any cab-driver'll know,” he said, “but don't park in front of the house…. Right.”

He put down the instrument and glanced at Barry. “It shouldn't take but a few minutes. Do you want a drink while you're waiting?”

“Thanks,” Barry said. “I could use a short one.”

McBride disappeared down a hall and Barry looked at Muriel. In the beginning the gun had been pointed right at the center of his body and it had made him jumpy to see her finger touching the trigger. She had lowered it slightly by now, but never once did her dark gaze leave him. It remained intent, unwavering, and watchful as McBride returned with a bottle of Scotch under one arm, a pitcher of water and two glasses in his hands.

He put the pitcher on the table, splashed whisky into one glass and added a little water. He gave the drink to Barry and turned to Muriel.

“How about you, honey?”

“No,” Muriel said. “And you'd better not either if you expect to do any flying tonight.”

McBride ignored the warning and made a small drink. He said it would be a while before he had to worry about flying, and Barry began to wonder just what the plans were. Atkinson Field was still a military reservation. A small part of the British Regiment—a company or so—was stationed there and the main entrance was always guarded by a sentry with a rifle.

“
You
might get into the field,” he said. “They know you. But how about Muriel?”

McBride's left brow cocked in characteristic fashion. “No Atkinson,” he said. “That meat plane doesn't belong to me anyway.” He gave an amused chuckle. “And you know me, Barry. I wouldn't take anything that didn't belong to me…. No,” he said, “the duck will have to do. With full tanks I can make Port of Spain easy enough. From there to Caracas. From there—who knows? My passport's still good.”

He swallowed his drink with obvious relish and put the glass aside. “I'm giving you a lift, too. For part of the way. We wouldn't want you to go yelling for the cops the minute we let you walk out of here.”

His tone was still casual, but Barry could tell he meant what he said. There would have to be some precaution taken to give them time to make sure they were well away, but he had not allowed himself to speculate too much about the problem. Faced with it now, he tried to put down his mounting uneasiness and speak without betraying his concern.

“How far had you figured?”

“Did you ever have to hit silk?” McBride asked.

“No.”

“It's not bad. It's kind of fun. Down here we have to carry chutes and I've got one for you. You're a pretty good guy and I wouldn't want anything bad to happen to you. I'll make you up a little kit—you know, a knife, matches, some cans of this and that. You know the country and you're used to living in it. I'll pick a spot that'll put you a day or so from a village. Maybe in three or four days you'll be able to get word to the police.”

He waited to see what kind of reaction he was going to get, but Barry just looked back at him, a tight mirthless grin warping his mouth but nothing showing in his face. He tried not to worry too much about it because he did not think such a flight would happen, but he admitted the plan was reasonably sound. With the amphibian in the river close by the ramp, it would not be too difficult to take off some time later tonight—

He sat up abruptly as he heard steps on the porch and then the sudden rush of movement. There was a muffled, half-heard cry, the warning rumble of a man's voice.

McBride heard it too and in a physical way his reactions. were excellent. One step took him past the sitting Muriel and now, the gun in his hand, he turned to face the doorway just as Arthur Hudson came in, one arm circling Lynn's waist and lifting her from the floor, the other hand over her mouth. He still wore the dark glasses which obscured his eyes, but his boxlike face was twisted and tight.

“What the hell goes on here?” he demanded.