The bellman did as he was told. On the way down in the elevator, Tony fished another fifty out of the long alligator billfold.
“You pay off, chum. Keep the rest for bubble-gum.”
It was crude, but he wanted to remain in character right up to the point of departure and he had no doubt it would all be reported to that dead-pan house officer.
He made his getaway seem as hurried as possible, having the bellman merely toss his suitcase in on the seat beside him, revving up her motor until it sounded ready for a racing start.
Once across the river and out of the city, he settled the convertible to a steady forty-five. He didn’t want to get too far ahead of schedule. He had no idea when the “contact” would be made though he was now fairly sure it would be.
The overall picture was beginning to emerge. Prosser and Verchamps had probably stopped at the Koppner House on their way West. Silk hadn’t been able to identify that fact because, in all likelihood, both men had registered under an alias, as certainly Myron Attar had. As Tony himself had, he added with an inward smile.
It was a natural stopping place, the lush old-fashioned luxury hotel which would have meant respectability in the eyes of the unrespectable. The three “vanished” criminals would have attracted the attention of that house dick by their manner, their free-tipping — again as he had, with malice aforethought. Quite possibly Attar had fallen for the not-too-subtle suggestions of that greedy little bellman and had been put in touch with some call girl who would account for Attar’s having been a sleep out.
After going through the luggage of the three criminals — while they were out of the rooms, naturally — that house officer would have been able to tip off someone in the Vulcan City area as to their probable time of arrival.
All three of the men thus far officially reported missing had been individuals who were on the run from legal pursuit. All had had large sums of money, either with them or obtainable, given sufficient time and torture to make arrangements for transfer of funds. None had been the sort to hold out under such pressure. Tony Quinn hoped that his overnight impersonation of Freddy Ommlee had put him in the same class with those others. He thought it probably had.
But as to how his capture would be effected, and whether it would lead him to Ravenwood Lodge, the fat woman and the whispering man — this he couldn’t conjecture.
He tried to keep from thinking about Carol. It made it too difficult to reason logically. It had been more than twelve hours since she’d been in the hands of the bastards who’d already dumped two macerated corpses into the shallow streams within his jurisdiction.
Chapter IX
Fifteen miles east of Vulcan City, Quinn had to revise his accounting. The twelve o’clock radio news included a brief mention that various disjointed portions of a third body had been discovered in an abandoned quarry four miles south of town. The newscaster mentioned such unsavory parallels as the St. Valentines Day massacre in Chicago, the exploits of Murder Incorporated in Brooklyn. A citizens committee had demanded instant and drastic action to keep Vulcan City from being known as Slaughterville, USA. A blue ribbon grand jury would be impaneled.
Quinn thought he might not be able to make the presentment to that group of twenty-three specially selected citizens, but if he could do something about getting one blonde girl out of the hands of the killers, he would be satisfied, no matter what the cost.
He slowed the convertible on a long upgrade. There, a hundred yards this side of the crest, was a Chewy in the ditch. Beside it, holding her right arm tightly and leaning weakly against the back of the half-tipped-over car — a teen-ager.
He pulled up behind her, called, “You all right?”
She hobbled toward him, the chartreuse scarf about her head slanting rakishly down over her right side of her face. She was young, all right, but not quite as much of a kid as he’d thought at first. Those budding breasts beneath the tight yellow-green jersey were evidence of sexual maturity, if nothing else.
“He ran me right off the road!” she wailed. “The big bum.”
Tony noticed the mascaraed tear streaks on her cheeks. “Hurt you.”
“Pete’s sake. I should say it did! It was one of those damn trailer trucks. It held smack in the middle coming over the hill there.”
She rested her weight on her left leg, plucked at her skirt nervously, pulled it up to show him her raw and blood-splotched thigh. She held the skirt tightly, high enough so the lavender panties could be seen clear to the crotch.
“I don’t think I broke anything” — she moved her arm painfully, rubbing it — “except the car.”
“Smash a wheel?” He got out to survey the Chewy.
“The motor won’t start, and there’s gasoline leaking all over it, so T guess it’s just as well. I might have blown up. Gee” — she made a face — “I wish I could get somewhere I could lie down for a minute.”
“You want me to run you in to town?”
“Oh, would you?”
She’s overdoing it a little, he told himself, but he’d certainly never have suspected any frameup if he hadn’t been looking for one. “Sure thing. Hop in.”
“Gee — thanks.” She climbed in, half-hobbling. In the car she leaned against his shoulder weakly, for just an instant, before getting control of herself once more.
“You live in Vulan City?” He got the convertible rolling.
“Uh... uh.” She pulled the skirt up again to dab at the spots of blood with her handkerchief. “I live in Niles. I’m Lulie Jessop.”
“You ought to have some attention for that leg. It’s badly bruised.” How had she managed that, he wondered. It looked like the McCoy.
She sniffled. “Generally my legs get too much attention.” She stifled a giggle. “But I know you didn’t mean it that way.”
“Not at all.” It was quite a come-on, he concluded.
“You don’t mind my riding with my skirt up this way? Because it hurts when the cloth touches my skin. But if it makes you nervous or anything to have me do it—”
“I’ve seen bare legs before.” He saw he would have to play up to her. “Not many as good-looking. I may add.”
She threw her head back, put a hand to her throat, swayed against him. “Gee, I feel all dizzy. Maybe you better stop and let me lie down somewhere a minute.”
“There’s a motel just ahead a bit.” He tried to sound as wolflike as possible “Wouldn’t it be better if I took you in there?”
“Oh, gee!” She squeezed his arm gently. “If you wouldn’t mind — getting a place for me to lie down for a while, if you don’t think it would look wrong for you to be bringing me here.”
“I’d feel like a heel if I didn’t.” He wondered if the others who had vanished had fallen for the sex lure. “Suppose I just take a cottage, then I can take care of that leg properly.”
She closed her eyes as if about to faint. “I’m awful lucky to have a nice fellow like you come along and pick me up.”
“I’m kind of lucky, too.”
He swung off into the circular drive which ran behind Ravenwood Lodge and in front of the dozen neat, green and white cottages.
It was too early Saturday afternoon for more than three or four of the cottages to have autos parked in front of their neat railed-in porches, but there were seven cars ranged in the parking crescent near the Lodge. There’d be more week-end merrymakers dropping in on their way to football games, so Maggie-O and company wouldn’t want any rumpus raised publicly. But then, neither did he, on Carol’s account — if it wasn’t too late to take her into account.
He had no intention of underestimating the risk he was running. Those mutilated bodies were proof enough of the ruthlessness of the spider into whose parlor he was walking so openly.