The man nodded.
“You been actin’ funny, and we read about what happened to the broad. You ducked out of the store today, and didn’t leave word where you was goin’, or when you was comin’ back, and that’s not so hot. There’s talk going around.”
“Yeah?” said Zoom.
“Yeah!” snarled his visitor. “Now did you get those stones or not?”
Zoom’s right hand dropped to the side pocket of his coat. The hand of his well tailored visitor darted to the lapel of his own coat.
“Bring that hand out clean!” he said.
Zoom brought out his hand. In the cupped palm were stones of a quality and fire to arouse the greed of either a crook or a collector.
“These,” he said.
A gun snapped out of his visitor’s shoulder holster. He advanced menacingly, “Okay. I’ll take those.”
“You will like hell,” snarled Zoom, adopting the manner which his visitor would evidently have anticipated had Zoom actually been Carver. “Those are mine. I’ll make a division — with the proper parties. That’s all.”
“Bah!” sneered the other. “You, with a murder rap hanging over you, start to tell us what you will and what you won’t do!”
He pushed the gun toward Sidney Zoom.
“Fork ’em over!”
Zoom smiled.
“All right, Rip,” he said.
The gangster whirled to face the tawny streak which charged out from the adjoining apartment. He had expected some man, either an accomplice of the tenant of the apartment, or, perhaps, an officer. His eyes were raised about the height of a man’s chest, and he was swinging the gun, holding it at about that level.
Not until too late was he able to get his eyes down sufficiently to see the charging dog. He tried to lower the gun and fire, but he was far too late.
The dog’s jaws clamped about the wrist. The gangster gave a low cry of pain, tried to brace himself, and was swept to his knees.
“That’s all, Rip,” said Zoom, speaking in a low, conversational voice.
The dog let go his hold, backed away, eyes watchful and hard, lips curled back from fangs.
Chapter VIII
The Sleeping Powder
Zoom was apologetic.
“Trust you haven’t been inconvenienced,” he said. “The dog is really dangerous, you know. He’s been trained for exactly that sort of thing. If you do exactly as I say, you won’t have any more trouble.”
“Go in to that adjoining room, lie down on the bed, stretching out flat on your stomach.”
The gangster took a deep breath, let his eyes sweep the room appraisingly. Zoom motioned to Rip. The dog took a swift step forward, eyes glaring, lips curled back, hot breath coming on the gangster’s nostrils. The gangster moved at once, obediently, toward the door of the adjoining apartment, stretched himself on the bed, and let his wrists be bound with the strips of cloth. His ankles were also fastened.
Zoom gloated over him.
“Hang a murder rap on me, will you? I’ll show you a trick worth two of that. You can’t pull that stuff on me and get away with it!”
Then he strode from the room, leaving the dog on guard behind him.
He walked to the telephone and took down the receiver, holding his right forefinger, however, over the catch so that the hook did not rise up and complete the connection. He called a number, and that number was the number of Charles Stanhope, the well known criminal attorney.
After an interval, Sidney Zoom carried on a one-sided conversation, speaking into the transmitter of the dead telephone.
“Hello. Let me speak with Mr. Stanhope at once. He’s expecting me to call... Yes, the name’s Carver...
“Hello, Mr. Stanhope. This is Carver talking. Say, listen, that idea of yours worked like a charm. The dog was a wonder. I tied the man up just like you told me to. Yes, I’ve got the gems... Now what do I do next?”
And Sidney Zoom waited a minute as though receiving telephoned instructions.
“Not until tomorrow, eh?” he said, at length, injecting a note of disappointment into his voice. “Gee, that’s sort of long to wait, ain’t it? I know the district attorney don’t come into his office until ten o’clock. But we should be able to get a deputy... I see... Can’t grant immunity, eh? Only the D. A. himself. Okay.
“Now, listen. I can tie this bird up so he’ll stay, and I’ll gag him. I can keep him here. What the hell do I care if he does choke on the gag? Yeah!
“Well, I’m going down to a guy’s yacht tonight. A man named Zoom. He’s got a yacht, the Alberta F., moored down near the commercial docks. Yeah, it’s easy to find. Just remember the name, Alberta F. I’ll be there a little after midnight. Then I’ll duck out some place and hide until nine o’clock. Then I’ll come direct to your office.
“I won’t come back to this place. It’s too hot. And if you want me you can send a messenger to that yacht. Yeah, the Alberta F. But if you send a messenger see to it that he’s got that secret password I gave you. Otherwise I won’t pay no attention to the message.
“Yeah, that’s right. Okay. I’ll be there until midnight. Yeah, sure I got the stones. That’s tight, you get half of them as your fee. Yeah, sure. First thing tomorrow morning. Okay. G’bye.”
He slammed the receiver back on the hook, making considerable racket with the instrument in doing so. Then he walked into the adjoining apartment, stared down at the bound gangster.
“I don’t think you’re the kind to let out a bellow,” he said, “but my lawyer says I gotta slip a rag in your mouth. You got a long wait, buddy. You’ll have to stick around until tomorrow morning. So take it easy. You’re getting the bum breaks. When you leave here it’ll be to take a nice ride in a black wagon. After that you’ll have some more bad luck. I don’t even dare to tell you what it is. G’bye.”
“I won’t talk,” mumbled the gangster, speaking through the gag Zoom was thrusting into his mouth.
“You’re right about that,” grinned Zoom, and pushed the gag deeper into the mouth, tied it in place.
Then Sidney Zoom called to his dog, left the apartment occupied by the tied and gagged gangster, paused long enough in the Carver apartment to adjust his collar and tie, and then left the house.
He had seen, to it that there was a loose knot in the strip of cloth which tied the gangster’s wrists. He estimated that less than fifteen minutes would suffice to bring about the man’s release.
Sidney Zoom went to a pay station, called police headquarters.
“Detective Sergeant Staples, please,” he said when the connection had been completed.
Sergeant Staples was a man who had one code. “Never compromise with crooks,” was his slogan. He had waged a bitter war against gangsters, and the gangs hated and respected him. Sergeant Staples was about due either to find a bomb fastened to the starter of his car some morning, or to learn that he had been demoted and transferred to some quiet spot where he could do no harm.
In the meantime, he had become friendly with Zoom, was interested in the savage philosophy of the yacht owner, and came to dinner once in a while.
“Hello,” said Detective Sergeant Staples, speaking with that gruff accent which creeps into the voices of those who have the courage of their own convictions, yet know that the world is against them.
“Sidney Zoom talking, Sergeant. Can you come down to the yacht for a midnight supper tonight? Yeah, come around eleven o’clock. I’ve got something to show you, and I’ve got some rye bread and cheese, some mighty fine claret, and...”
There was no need to say more.
“At eleven on the dot,” growled the sergeant’s voice.