“Those rails you and Darcy picked up tonight. They were going to be exchanged for copper. How?”
Scat stood still. “Exchanged! Well, for the love—” He resumed his upward climb. “I never figured it might be the old two-for-one. Give you odds that’s what it was, though.”
“What the hell is two-for-one?” Garret was exasperated. “Speak English!”
They showed their passes at the fence, and hurried toward the hoist house.
“I don’t know just how the two-for-one stunt does work.” The ex-con called his number to the timekeeper at the hoist-house door. “But it works, all right. You put the iron in the water—” He broke off, began to swear vehemently at a stocky, bull-necked man in a guard uniform. “Lay off me now, Narriver! I’m giving you warning!”
“Why don’t you try running away now?” The captain swaggered up with one hand on his pistol holster. “Either run or stand still!”
Garret cut in. “You’re a little late, Cap.”
Narriver pivoted, glaring. “I thought you’d be in the jug by now.”
“No. Not going to be. The only jail I’m going to be in is the one I deliver my prisoner to.”
“Your prisoner!” Bill Narriver goggled.
“Sure. Sam Proctor’s my prisoner.”
“Nuts!”
“Yeah? Federal arrests take precedence over local authorities, to say nothing of unofficial company finks like you. Ever hear about that?”
“No.” The captain was rattled, but he wasn’t going to be bluffed out of the capture. “Proctor’s on Ajax ground and he’s accused of stealing Ajax property. I’m taking him in, and that’s that.” He took out the gun for emphasis.
“You’ll run yourself into a federal pen first thing you know,” Garret retorted. “They hand out stiff sentences these days to guys who impede war production.”
The ex-con spat out, “What are you supposed to be arresting me for, anyhow? The company’s got the rails. Darcy’s a cold turkey. I ain’t done nothing except show you up for a dumb, bulldozing—”
“That’ll be all from you.” Veins stood out on the captain’s forehead. “You’re coming up to the office. If Mr. Brann wants to turn you over to this Washington wisey, that’s his business. Until I find out what he wants done with you, you mosey along and be quick about it, or I’ll beat you down to your socks.”
Scat licked his lips. “If you try it, it’ll be the last beating you’ll give! I promise you that!”
Garret saw a group beginning to gather around, men who had come up on the last cage, others waiting to go down into the mine. He wasn’t ready for a showdown yet, and this wasn’t the place to have it. So he said, “We can’t afford to horse around all night, Narriver. Let’s get up to Brann’s; he’ll tell you where to get off.”
The captain sneered. “That’s crawling, mister! Wouldn’t surprise me if you yelped some more when the Stope City police turn the cell key on you.” He herded the Ajax man out of the hoist house, but waited until Garret walked ahead of him before he marshalled them up toward the office.
There were only two clerks busy at the time cards when the three of them filed in. Shirley wasn’t in sight.
Narriver called across the railing, “Ken Brann in?”
“Went out about half an hour ago, Cap,” one of the elderly men answered. “Said he might not be back for quite a while. Had a suitcase with him. And his briefcase.”
Narriver scratched his head so the visored cap tilted forward over his eyes. “He didn’t say anything to me about going on a trip.”
Scat mumbled, “Ain’t that too bad! The super can’t make a move without asking your advice, huh?”
“Pipe down!” Narriver prodded the peter-man in the back. “Get on in his office. He probably was just taking some papers home to work on. I’ll call him up.”
He opened the super’s door. Garret stared at the desk drawers, open and empty; at the bookshelf with gaping holes where volumes had been hastily removed.
Narriver planted fists on his hips, gawked incredulously. “That’s damn funny! Looks as if Ken’s flown the coop.”
The captain muscled Scat along to the desk, picked up the phone. “See if you can get Mr. Brann at his home, babe.”
Garret could hear the phone ring, but there was no answer. He didn’t think there would be, not with all the personal do-dads missing from the top of the super’s desk. Everything had been taken away except a brass-mounted memo pad. Why had that been left?
Garret went close, looked at it. A couple of phone numbers had been scribbled on it, and a group of cabalistic figures which the investigator recognized as engineering formulae. Also, across the bottom of the pad, a series of dots and dashes had been penciled in blue:
-.||.-|..|...|..||-|--||..-.|.|.-|.-.||...|-|||
Narriver hung up the phone. “Them hen tracks mean anything?”
“They might,” Garret replied, “to anyone who knew Morse code.” Obviously the message hadn’t been intended for Narriver’s eye. It read: G wise to Fear Street! Now Ken Brann’s sudden departure was understandable!
The guard rubbed his chin, dubiously. “I’m no boy scout. Don’t expect me to dope it out. But don’t think Mr. Brann’s taking French leave is going to set you loose either, Proctor.” He shoved the ex-con roughly against the wall. Scat bit his lips as if in pain.
“If you keep that up, Narriver, you ain’t gonna last the night,” he said roughly.
Garret picked up the phone. “Operator?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Get hold of your nearest United States Marshal.”
“Marshal?”
“That’s right. Ask him to call Bruce Garret at the Ajax Number Six office.”
“Yes, sir!”
“And tell him he’d better get hold of a deputy. I want him to take a guy in custody. Man named William Narriver.” He slapped the receiver on the hook.
Narriver began to bluster. “Damn you, Garret! Ain’t anybody in Stope City would dare lay a finger on me! You’ll see.”
Garret stepped to him swiftly. One hand caught the captain’s necktie, jerked him forward too close for the man to use his fists. Garret’s other hand closed on the butt of Narriver’s pistol.
“Slight error, Narriver,” He wrenched the gun out of the holster. “I’m laying a finger on you. If you don’t cool off and keep quiet, I’ll lay more than that on you. I’ve got serious business on hand; I can’t take time to roughhouse with you every few minutes.”
Scat laughed scornfully; his laugh was echoed by a chuckle from the doorway behind Garret.
Charlie Ryder stood there, surveying his dumbfounded guard-captain. The general manager’s thumbs were in his vest armholes; he teetered back and forth on his heels, judicially. “I’m much obliged to you, Garret. If I’d known Bill could be bluffed like that, I’d have fired him long ago.”
“Listen, Mr. Ryder!” Narriver stormed. “This lousy snooper calls up a U.S. Marshal to arrest me. If Mr. Brann’d been here to back me up, I’d have—”
“Shut up, Bill! You’ve had your chance to speak your piece. You didn’t do so well. Where’s Brann?” Ryder’s eyes went to the barren desk-top; the half-empty bookshelves. “What goes on here?”
Garret waved a hand. “Man done gone away. Took his belongings with him. Seems as if he didn’t intend to come back.”
“Lord!” Ryder moved slowly around the desk, slumped heavily in the chair. There was a hurt look in his eyes; his voice suddenly sounded tired. “Didn’t he say anything to anybody?”
“No. Just beat it, without a word.” Garret put Narriver’s gun in his own pocket. “Somehow he must have found out I was getting the lowdown on this copper stealing.”