It led steeply uphill toward the somber, smoke-grimed structures of the copper mines.
Formidable slag mounds loomed above him like giant earthworks. The heavy clank of machinery clattered through the darkness like tremendous tank battalions. The richest hill on earth, they’d called it back in Washington. What he’d seen of Stope City hadn’t looked very rich. But he knew that, a mile beneath his feet, sweating miners were gnawing away at the hill’s vitals to add more copper to the half billion dollars worth that had already been ripped from the earth’s bowels.
Yet if the word that had so ominously come to Washington were right, there was something else at work down there. Something sinister, threatening to cut down the output of war-precious metal. Something deadly too, if the tragedy of the past half-hour were any indication.
A guard stopped him at the board fence. “Whatcha want?”
“Looking for a guy named Darcy.”
“Shift won’t be up for an hour yet.” The guard squinted narrowly. “He on the twelve-to-eight?”
“Don’t know what shift he’s on.”
“Better find out at the office. And get a pass. Nobody’s permitted in the hoist house without a pass.”
Garret climbed up past the compression plant to a smoke-encrusted building whose lights glared through uncurtained windows. Brass lettering over the door stated:
None of the half-dozen elderly men in shirtsleeves and eyeshades bothered to glance up from their stacks of time cards. A girl stopped clattering on a typewriter, swivelled around on her chair, and came toward the rail partition.
She seemed oddly out of place in these gritty surroundings. Her linen blouse was cool and crisp in contrast to the wilted collars of the men.
Garret’s stare must have expressed some of his astonishment; she colored a little.
“Can you tell me where I can locate a man by the name of J. G. Darcy?”
There seemed to be the faintest tinge of apprehension in her eyes, but it was hard to tell.
“Jig Darcy?” Her tone was coolly business-like, but her grip tightened on the railing. “What did you want to see him about?”
“Personal matter.” One of the clerks raised his head, listening curiously. “Thought you might be able to tell me where I could get in touch with him. He works at Ajax, doesn’t he?”
She nodded. “He’s my brother’s head timber boss. But—”
“I’ll wait for him, if he’s on the shift coming off.”
She moved to a file cabinet. Her frown might merely mean preoccupation. “I don’t think he is. But anyway—”
“Or I can drop around to his house, if you’ll give me his home address.”
“We’re not allowed to give out information of that sort.” She took out a card. “Jig works on the early morning shift. Four to noon. If you care to leave your name or telephone number, I’ll see that he gets it.”
“That won’t help. It’s important that I get hold of him tonight.”
“Get hold of who, Shirley?” The voice behind Garret was gruff and curt. The man who had come in so noiselessly was like the voice. There was a certain resemblance between him and the girl, but his close-shaven jowls looked as if they had been hammered out of blue-black ore. His steely eyes were forbiddingly cold.
The girl said, “I’m glad you’re back, Ken. This gentleman has some personal business with Jig Darcy.” There could have been a subtle warning in her tone, Garret thought. “He says he has to see Jim tonight.”
The man came up beside Garret, clamped one hand on the railing, and leaned forward until his face was only six inches from Garret’s. “Darcy’s doing some special work for me tonight. Very special work. Afraid you won’t be able to see him for a while.”
Garret eyed him frostily. The man’s antagonism was very plain. There must be some reason for it. Ordinarily visitors to Ajax surely didn’t receive this sort of bristling welcome.
Garret accepted the challenge, his eyes cold, his tone brusque. “You’re Darcy’s boss, then?”
“Right. Ken Brann, super of this mine. What about it?”
“You’re the man I want to see.”
“You see me.”
Garret waved toward the other clerks, all watching. “It’ll have to be a bit more private.”
The superintendent shook his head. “Maybe you haven’t heard. We’re working on war tonnage here. The Army needs copper. I’ve no time to waste fooling around with every Tom, Dick and—”
“Skip the brush-off, Brann. You’ve time for me.” He clicked the catch and swung the gate wide. “You’ll have to make time.”
Ken Brann’s jaw jutted. His hand shot out and gripped Garret’s arm as he stepped through the rail-gate. “So you’re looking for trouble?”
Garret kept his hands at his side. “Got some you don’t know what to do with?”
The superintendent’s fist drew back. But Shirley seized his sleeve.
“Ken! Don’t!” She glanced quickly toward the other clerks. “Not here.”
Brann hesitated a fraction of a second. Garret wrenched free and stalked toward an inner office. Brann crowded angrily at the detective’s heels, but made no further attempt to stop him.
The office was barren of everything except a huge yellow, flat-top desk, a couple of straight-backed chairs and a long row of technical books on a plain pine shelf. Garret beat Brann to the punch again.
“Close the door. Wouldn’t want your men to hear what I’m going to tell you.”
Brann’s neck reddened. “First thing you’ll have to tell me is why I shouldn’t run you right out of this town fast.”
“One reason. The last guy who tried it is dead. He was Darcy. If that was the special job you sent him on, it didn’t pan out.”
The super’s face was a frozen mask. “If I had to kill anybody,” he said slowly, “I wouldn’t send another man to do it for me. I didn’t sic Darcy onto you. I never heard of you. I don’t know who you are or what you’re after and I don’t give a damn. But” — Brann reached for the phone on his desk — “nobody can knock off one of our men while he’s on duty and get away with it.” He jiggled the hook impatiently.
“You people have a queer idea of duty, if that’s what Darcy was on,” Garret said quietly.
“Operator! Connect me with the police!”
Garret’s fingers slid into his vest pocket and came out with a bit of bronze. He tossed it on the desk. Brann glared at it for an instant. Then he muttered into the phone, “Never mind,” and hung up. “Why didn’t you say you were from the Sphinx? Your outfit is supposed to be guarding Ajax property. You didn’t have to bull your way into my office like that!”
Garret picked up his private operative shield. “I’m not working for Sphinx any longer. I’m still supposed to be guarding the Bender Corporation, though. But for our Uncle Samuel. The Office of Production Management sent me out here.”
Brann sat down heavily. “Is it your idea of protecting our interests to knock off one of my key men?”
“I didn’t say I killed him. I said he was dead. He started to tail me within a quarter hour of the time I got off the train. When I let him know I was onto him, he tried to ambush me with a knife. While we were mixing it up, someone drove past in a car and cut loose with a gun. Couldn’t tell whether the slug was meant for me or Darcy. He got it.”
Garret held up a palm as the super started to interrupt. “I came West on the q.t., so as not to tip off the government’s hand. But somebody’s already tipped it off. Darcy knew I was on the way. The man in the car might have known I was here. That means somebody in Stope City was expecting an investigation. Evidently the information Washington received had plenty behind it.”