We turned the comer, pulled up outside a small villa.
“This is Herrick’s place,” Davis said. “Want me to come in?”
I shook my head. “You and me had better not be seen together,” I said.
“Yeah,” he said, reaching over the back of his seat. He found the bottle and patted it lovingly. “I can keep myself amused.”
I left him and walked up the path to the house. No lights showed. I thumbed the bell, waited. Somewhere in the house the bell rang, but no one answered. I rang again, thinking the man, Giles, was asleep. But after five minutes of continuous ringing, I decided no one was home.
Davis stuck his head out of the car window. “Bust down the door,” he said. He sounded a little tight.
I went round to peer in a window. There was enough moonlight to see something of the room. I found myself staring at a large desk. The drawers were open, papers were scattered on the floor. I looked closer and saw an arm-chair had been ripped to pieces.
“Hey,” I called to Davis. “Come here.”
Muttering under his breath, he heaved his bulk out of the car and joined me.
He peered through the window, saw what I had seen, stepped back.
“Looks like someone’s been going over the joint,” he said, producing his little ivory comb. He combed his hair thoughtfully. “That’s good liquor of Tim’s,” he went on. “I think I’ll have another shot. My nerves are kind of unsteady.”
I tapped, broke a small section of glass near the window catch, opened the window.
“Hey,” Davis said, his eyes round. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“I’m going in there to take a look,” I said.
“I’ll stick around and toot on the horn if any buttons show,” Davis said, moving towards the car.
“And leave that bottle alone,” I said.
I had a look round the room. Someone had gone over it carefully. There wasn’t anything in one piece. Even the stuffing in the chairs and settee had been hauled out and sifted through.
I went over the house. Each room had been treated in the same way.
Upstairs in the front bedroom I came upon a man in white pyjamas. He was lying half across the bed, the back of his head had been smashed in. I touched his hand. He was still warm; but he was dead. It looked as if the killer had surprised him in bed, and had bust him before he could raise the alarm.
I went down the stairs, opened the front door, called Davis.
“Come upstairs,” I said.
We went up. Davis looked at the man.
“That’s Giles,” he said, making a little grimace. “Hell! We’d better get out of here.”
“He hasn’t been dead more than a few minutes,” I said, staring down at the dead man. “Think that Plymouth’s anything to do with this?”
“I wouldn’t know,” Davis said, moving to the head of the stairs. “All I know is if Flaggerty finds us here, we’re dead pigeons.”
“I guess you’re right at that.”
We went down the stairs and out of the house.
The night was quiet now. The searchlights had ceased to I grope in the sky. Gunfire no longer sounded. It was hot and still.
We got in the car.
“You’re passing up a good story,” I said, looking at Davis with a grin.
“I’ll wait until they find him,” he said, starting the engine. “I’m not sticking my glass chin out by telling them he’s there. They might tie me to it.”
He let in the clutch and we shot away from the kerb.
4
“Is this where Brodey hangs out?” I asked, as Davis stopped the car in front of a big house on
Macklin Avenue.
“Across the way,” Davis said, pointing. “I’m not parking before any more death houses. Jeese! That was a dumb trick. If a copper had seen us come out—”
“Forget it,” I said, getting out of the car. “Show me the place, and don’t get so excited.”
“Excited? For crying out loud! I don’t like running into corpses that haven’t been turned up by the cops. It’s too dangerous.”
We crossed the road. Somewhere out of sight a car engine roared.
Davis paused in mid-stride.
“Hear that?” he said, clutching my arm.
“Come on,” I said, and started forward.
Brodey’s house was big, and it stood back from the street. . The garden was full of palms and tropical shrubs. It was difficult to see much of the house from where we were.
As we approached the front gates, which stood open, we heard the car coming down the drive. We ducked back into the shadows. The brown Plymouth sedan shot into the street, belted away. It was out of sight before we got over our surprise.
I had caught a glimpse of a man who was driving, but I couldn’t see much of him. The car was fitted with curtains which happened to billow out as the car passed me. That was how I saw the man; Davis didn’t see him at all.
“Looks bad for Brodey,” I said, and began to run up the drive.
Davis panted along behind me. “Think he’s been knocked off ?” he groaned.
“Looks like it, doesn’t it?” I said. “Same car. Same hurry to get away. They’re after something pretty important.”
A turn in the drive brought us to a big Spanish house that was in darkness.
“If they’ve killed Brodey, there’ll be a hell of a stink,” Davis gasped, following me up the steps.
“They’re sitting pretty,” I said, “so long as they can pin it on me; and that’s what they’ll do.”
“Then what the hell am I doing trailing around with you?” Davis demanded. “If you’re the killer, what am I?”
“Ask the judge… he’ll tell you.”
I touched the front door; it swung open.
“Looks bad,” I said.
“I’m not coming in,” Davis said, backing away. “I’m scared, Cain. This is getting too deep for me.”
“Take it easy,” I said. “Stick around. Don’t run out on me now.”
“I’ll stick, but I ain’t coming in.”
“What’s the matter with you? This may turn out to be front page news.”
“I’d sooner find it without you being around,” Davis said, shaking his head. “If they’re going to pin it on you, they’ll book me as a material witness or something.”
I left him arguing with himself, and entered the dark lobby. This time I’d brought a flashlight from the car. I looked into the various rooms that led off the lobby. They were undisturbed, but when I came to the last door at the end of the passage, I found what I expected to find. The room was Brodey’s study. It was big and well-furnished and equipped like an office. Here, a search had been made. Papers were strewn on the floor, desk drawers Herrick’s place. The chairs hadn’t been ripped open, nor had the pictures been taken off the walls.
There was no one in the room, and I stood looking round, wondering what to do next. It was a big house to go over; I didn’t know how many servants were sleeping upstairs: but I had to know if Brodey was dead.
As I turned to the door I heard or sensed something which made me feel I wasn’t alone. I snapped off the flashlight and stood motionless, listening. I heard nothing. The room was as black as tar. I eased the Luger out, and held it down by my side. Still no sound. I crept cautiously to the door, reached it. Nothing happened. I stood listening. No developments. I touched the door, peeped into the passage. It was dark out there and silent. I kept still, listened, and tried to see through the darkness. I stayed there a long minute, listening. There wasn’t a sound in the house, nor in the street outside, yet I was sure I wasn’t alone. I could sense the presence of someone, and that someone wasn’t far off.
I waited, hoping whoever it was out there had weaker nerves than I had. It was a nasty business standing half in and half out of the room in darkness and silence, waiting for someone’s nerve to crack.