THERE were a half a dozen Bobby-soxers sitting up on stools at | the drug-store counter when I came in. They didn’t pay any; attention to me. They were too busy telling each other how much they loved Frank Sinatra. I didn’t pay any attention to them. I had too much on my mind.
I shut myself in a telephone booth, called Killeano’s private residence. They told me he was at the City Hall, and gave roe the number. I dropped in another nickel and put through a call to the City Hall.
A girl wanted to know who was calling.
“He’ll tell you if he wants you to know,” I said. “Put me through and step on it.”
There was a delay, then Killeano’s oily voice came over the wire.
“This is Cain,” I said, speaking rapidly. “Turn that Wonderly girl loose right away, or I’ll start something in this town that’ll go down in its historical records. I’m not bluffing. I’ve taken all I’m going to take from you and your small-time outfit. Now I mean business.”
“You do, eh?” Killeano snarled. “Well, so do I. Wonderly’s confessed to the Herrick killing and she’s signed a statement implicating you. How do you like that? We’ve got an open and shut case, and by God, I’m coming after you. I’ve given orders you’re to be brought in dead or alive…”
“Okay, Killeano,” I said. “From now on, it’s gloves off. I’ll get you for this. Make no mistake about it, and no one’ll stop me.”
I slammed down the receiver, joined Tim Duval, who was waiting outside in the Mercury convertible.
“She’s in jail,” I said, getting in beside him and slamming the door. “He says she’s confessed.”
He gave me an uneasy glance. “What are you going to do?” he asked, engaging gear.
“We’ll go back to your place. We’ve got to make plans,” I said, lighting a cigarette and trying to control my trembling hands. I was cold with rage. “I’ll get her out of there. I don’t care how tough it is. I’ll get her out.”
“You’ll never do it,” Tim said. “They’ll guess that’s what you’ll try to do, and they’ll be ready for you.”
“You don’t think I’m going to leave that kid in their hands, do you?” I said, glaring at him. “I’ve got to get her out.”
He nodded. “I can see that,” he said, “but I don’t figure how you’re going to do it.”
I snapped my fingers. “Know a good lawyer?”
“Jed would know.”
“She’s got to be represented. They can’t keep a lawyer out. I’ll call Jed when we get back. Step on it for God’s sake.”
I put a call through to Davis as soon as I reached Tim’s place. Tim and Hetty hung around waiting.
Davis came on the line.
“They’ve got her,” I told him. “They were tipped off by one of the rats who helped provision the boat. There’s a reward for her and he sold her out. They worked on her, and she’s signed a statement. I want a lawyer to represent her. Can you fix it.”
“Sure,” Davis said. “Coppinger will handle it. He hasn’t any time for Killeano. I’ll get after him. Where is she?”
“In the jail. And listen, money’s no object. Tell this guy to get down there right away. Then when you’ve fixed him come over here fast. I want to talk to you.”
“I’ll be along,” he said, and hung up.
I dropped the receiver on its hook and pushed back my chair.
Tim was eyeing me. “Can he do it?”
I nodded. “He’s coming over as soon as he’s fixed the mouthpiece,” I said, and walked to the window.
I didn’t know what the hell was the matter with me. I’d never felt like this before. I was cold; my muscles flicked the way a horse flicks its muscles to get rid of flies. My mouth was dry and I felt sick. I wanted to go down to the jail and start shooting. I didn’t care what happened to me so long as I could kill some of those rats who’d got that kid in their hands.
“Give me a drink,” I said, without looking round.
Tim gave me a whisky.
I faced him. “You better keep out of this,” I said abruptly. “I’m going to start a massacre in this town if I don’t get her out. It’s Killeano or me, and I’m stopping at nothing.”
“Sit down,” Tim said quietly.
“To hell with that!” I said. “I didn’t realize what she meant to me until they grabbed her. I’m going to take the lid off now, and anyone who gets in my way will get hurt.”
“Take it easy,” Tim said, pushing me into a chair. “I know how you feel, but it won’t get you anywhere to jump off the deep end. There’s only one way to tackle this. You’ve got to use your head. If you get wild and jump in with both feet, you’ll be playing into Killeano’s hands.”
I drew a deep breath, tried to grin. “You’re right, Tim,” I said. “I’m mad right now, but as you say, there’s no sense Bi rushing into trouble. Somehow we’ve got to get her out and quick. But it needs planning. I guess I’ll go look that jail over.”
“You’d better wait for Jed,” Tim advised. “He knows the jail. You can’t afford to be picked up.”
“Right again,” I said. “We’ll wait for Jed.”
We had to wait a couple of hours. They were the longest hours I’ve ever lived through, and I wouldn’t like to live through them again.
Davis came around three o’clock. The afternoon sun sizzingly hot and he was sweating. He stood in the doorway and looked at us.
“I fixed Coppinger,” he said. “He’s gone down to see her, and he’ll be over here when he’s through.”
“Sit down,” I said, waving to a chair. “Is it true she’s signed statement?
He nodded. “They’ve given it to the press. It’ll be in the evening papers.” He took out his comb and fiddled with it.
“They’ve had six hours to work on her before we knew they’d got her,” he went on. “That’s plenty of time to make a girl talk…”
Tim nudged him. “Shut up,” he said.
“That’s all right,” I said, but I knew my face had gone white. “I’m not kidding myself what those heels have done to her. Well, they’ll pay for it.” I lit a cigarette while the other two exchanged glances. “Any ideas how we can get her out?” I asked suddenly, looking at Davis.
He gaped at me. “Get her out?” he repeated. “It can’t be done. There just isn’t any way of getting her out. That jail’s like a fort, and Flaggerty has about twenty guards around the outside. I went down there with Coppinger and they wouldn’t let me in. They’re reckoning you’ll try to get her out. They’ve got a couple of searchlights rigged on the roof, and every guard has a Thompson. They’ve even got dogs patrolling. Not a chance.”
I suddenly felt better. I grinned at him.
“I’m getting her out of that jail,” I said.
“I’d like to know how you’re going to do it,” Davis said, his eyes opening.
“Is this place on the main road?” He nodded. “It stands back a quarter of a mile from State Highway Four. You can see it from the road as you leave town.”
“I’ll go out and look it over,” I said. “When do you reckon Coppinger will be along?”
“About an hour,” Davis said. “I’ll drive you over to the jail and pick up Coppinger on his way out. You can travel the way you travelled last night.”
“Okay,” I said, and took out Bat’s .38 Police Special. It was a good gun, but I wished I had my Luger. I checked it over, then shoved it down the waist-band of my trousers.
Still want to be mixed up in this?” I asked Davis.
He looked surprised. “Why, sure,” he said.
“I’m asking you because from now on there’ll be no backing out. It’ll be a fight to the finish.”
He scratched his head, then shrugged. “I’ll stick.”
I looked across at Tim.
“And you?”
He nodded.
“That’s fine,” I said, and meant it.
I went to the door. Davis followed me.
Coppinger was a little guy, about forty years old, with a leathery face and a black moustache. His eyes were blue, sharp and cold. He looked sleepy, but there was something about him that told me he knew more than most guys awake.
“She’s in a spot,” he said, when he finally got seated. I don’t know what they’ve done to her, but they’ve done plenty.” He shook his head, and took out a bag of Bull Durham smoking tobacco and a packet of brown papers. He rolled himself a cigarette. “She acts like she’s already dead.”
The hair on the back of my neck bristled. “What did she say?”
He lit the limp cigarette, let it dangle out of the side of his mouth.
“She said she killed Herrick,” he told me in a flat voice. “That’s all she did say. Although I was alone with her, although I kept telling her I was working for you, she just wouldn’t bite. ‘I killed him,’ she kept saying. ‘Leave me alone. I killed him and there’s nothing you can do about it.’” He shook his head again. “She’s a goner, Cain. There’s nothing I can do for her. We can plead not guilty, but we can’t make a fight of it.”
“Okay,” I said, “stick around. See her as much as you can, and keep working on her. I wanted to be sure we couldn’t beat the rap. Now, I know what to do.”
He looked at me thoughtfully.
“I’ve heard about you,” he said. “You’ve got a reputation. It won’t get that girl anywhere if you try violence. They’re going to bring her to trial. If she looks like sliding through their fingers, she’ll meet with an accident. I know Killeano and Flaggerty. Those boys won’t stop at anything, and I mean anything. The election’s too close. They’ve got to clean up Herrick’s murder before then. So be careful how you step.”
I nodded. “I’ll be careful.”
“Thinking of getting her out?” he asked, after a pause.
I looked at Jed Davis, who was sitting across the room.
He nodded.
“That’s the idea,” I said. “I went out there this afternoon and had a look. It’ll be tough.”
“You won’t get her out alive,” Coppinger said, “if you get her out at all.”
“But that s our only chance.”
“I know.” He stroked his nose, stared down at his feet. “Even if you got inside help, it’d be impossible.”
I eyed him. “What inside help?”
He lifted his narrow shoulders. “There’s a guard I know…” he began, then shrugged. “What’s the good? It couldn’t be done.”
I slammed my fist on the table. “It’s got to be done!” I exploded. “What about the guard?”
“A fellow named Tom Mitchell. Flaggerty’s fooling around with his wife. Mitchell knows, but he can’t do anything. He’d like to get even if he could. You might talk to him.”
“I have to be careful whom I talk to,” I said.
Coppinger nodded. “Mitchell’s safe. He’s aching to put one over Flaggerty. But I don’t think he could be much use except to give you the lay-out of the jail. I wouldn’t let him know too much.”
I turned to Davis.
“See this guy, and bring him down to the wharf when it’s dark. I’ll talk to him.”
Davis nodded, got up and went out.
I slid two hundred bills over to Coppinger. “There’s more to come,” I said. “Keep with that kid.”
He pushed them back. “I’m doing this for fun,” he said. “I’ve been hoping someone smart and tough enough would blow into town and crack Killeano. I’m not taking payment for having a front row seat. Something tells me you’ll crack him.”
“I think I will,” I said, and shook hands.
After he had gone, I sat down and stared out of the window and watched the Conch fishermen preparing their boats for the night’s fishing. I thought about Miss Wonderly, and the more I nought about her, the worse I felt. I remembered the way she looked sitting on the raft at Dayden Beach. I remembered the way she looked lying in the sand when I was grilling the spareribs. It seemed a long time ago. Then I remembered Bat’s moronic face and Killeano saying, “Do you think you could handle her?” And Bat saying, “I guess I could sort of try.” I felt bad, all right.
The next three hours dragged away, and by the time it was dark I was lower than a snake’s belly.
Tim looked in about eight o’clock, gave me an evening paper. The Herrick killing was smeared over the front page. There was a picture of Miss Wonderly. She looked cute. They called her the Blonde Killer.
They had the confession in full, and I read it. It was cock-eyed enough to sound true. Miss Wonderly said she and I had returned to Palm Beach Hotel, and had had a lot of drinks. I was sore because Herrick wanted me to leave town. I said I’d show him he couldn’t talk that way to me, and Miss Wonderly admitted she goaded me to call him, thinking I was bluffing. I called Herrick and asked him over. He came. I was drunk by then. We were supposed to have quarrelled and Herrick got angry. We fought, and Miss Wonderly hit Herrick on the head with my gun. Herrick fell down and bust his head open on the fire curb. We passed out, and woke the next morning to find Herrick dead.
That was the story, and it was signed. The signature was shaky and indistinct. I felt like hell looking at it.
Tim came back after a while to say Davis was waiting for me at the end of the wharf. He had Mitchell with him.
I went down.
It was dark, and the stars reflected on the still water of the harbour. There was no one around. At the end of the wharf I found Davis with a big, beefy man who had copper written all over him.
“This is Mitchell,” Davis said.
I stepped up to the man, peered at him. I couldn’t see much of him in the dim light, but he didn’t look as if he would give me any trouble. He peered right back at me.
I didn’t beat about the bush. “I’m Cain,” I said. “How do you like that?”
He gulped, looked at Davis, then back at me.
“How am I supposed to like it?” he asked, in a thick voice.
“You love it,” I said.
He raised his hands shoulder high. “Okay,” he said.
“Relax,” I told him. “You don’t have to be scared of me. But if you start something, you won’t have time to be scared. Get it?”
He said he understood. I could see he was looking reproachfully at Davis.
“You don’t have to feel sore,” Davis said irritably. “We’re going to do you a bit of good.”
“How’d you like to get even with Flaggerty and pick up five Cs as well?” I asked.
Mitchell peered at me. “Doing what?” he asked, interest in his voice.
“Answering a few questions.”
“Sure would.”
“Where do you live?”
He told me.
I looked at Davis. “Is it far?”
“About five minutes.”
“We’ll go there, and mind, Mitchell, don’t start anything funny.”
“I won’t.”
We piled into Davis’s car, drove over to Mitchell’s place. He took us into the front room. It was plainly but comfortably furnished.
“You alone?” I asked.
“Yeah,” he said, flinching.
“You mean your wife’s giving Flaggerty a work out?” I said.
He clenched his fists; his face went yellow.
“Skip it,” I said. “We know what’s going on; so do you. The idea is to even things up, isn’t it? Well, that’s why I’m here.”
He turned away, brought out a bottle of Scotch. He set up three glasses. We all sat down round the table.
Mitchell was about forty-five. His big, simple face was fleshy and carried a lot of freckles. He wasn’t a bad-looking guy, but he had that look of gloom husbands get when their wives are twotiming.
“What’s your job in the jail?” I asked, as soon as we’d settled.
“I look after floor D.”
“On what floor is Miss Wonderly?”
He blinked, looked at Davis who didn’t meet his eye, looked back at me.
“Didn’t you say something about five Cs?” he asked cautiously.
“I did,” I said, and shot him a hundred. “That’s to sweeten you. You’ll get the rest when you’ve told me what I wart to know.”
He fingered the hundred, nodded.
“She’s on A floor.”
“Where’s that?”
“Top floor.”
“Get paper and pencil and show me the lay-out of the jail.”
He got paper and pencil and began to draw. We sat around drinking and smoking until he’d finished.
“This is it,” he said. “Here’s where you go in. There’re two sets of gates. Each has a different key and guard. You book your prisoner in here. Women are booked in on the left. You take your prisoner along—”
“Wait,” I said. “I’m only interested in the women’s side. Concentrate on the women.”
He nodded. “Okay,” he said. “Well, the women go in through this door and are booked. They’re taken along this passage—”
“What’s that square there you’ve drawn?”
“That’s the guards’ office. That next to it is the police surgeon’s office. That’s the mortuary behind it and the P.M. room. We keep them all together because Flaggerty likes to make the jail his headquarters.”
“Okay. Where’s A floor?”
“You reach it by this elevator. The women are not allowed] to use the stairs because the stairs give off to the other floors.”
“How many women prisoners have you got in there?”
“Four—no, three. One of ’em died this morning.”
“Where’s Miss Wonderly’s cell?”
He showed me the cell on the map he’d drawn. I made him mark it with a cross.
“How many guards have you up there?”
“There are three women guards. One goes around the cells every hour.”
“How about the men guards?”
“They don’t go to A floor, but they’re around on the other floors every hour. Two to each floor.”
“How many in the building?”
“Ten guards on duty, ten off. Since the girl came, Flaggerty has brought down another twenty from Station Headquarters to guard the outside of the jail. It has plenty of protection right now.”
I studied the map for several minutes, then sat back and stared at Mitchell.
“If you wanted to get someone out of that jail,” I said, “how would you set about it?”
He shook his head. “I wouldn’t,” he said. “It ain’t possible.”
I handed him the four Cs, and after he’d fingered them and put them away in his pocket, I took out a thousand-dollar bill.
“Ever seen one of these?” I asked him.
He gaped at it, his eyes round.
“’I’d give this to the guy who could tell me how to get that girl out,” I said.
He hesitated, then shrugged. “I wish I could, but it just ain’t possible.” He edged his chair forward. “I’ll tell you why. You’ve got to get in. That’s the first step. They’ve got dogs, searchlights and guards. Maybe you’ve seen the place ? There aint a scrap of cover around the jail for five hundred yards… just sand. The searchlights light up the whole of the expanse of
sand, and there ain’t a chance of you getting to the gate without being seen.”
“Okay,” I said. “Let’s suppose we do get up to the gate. What next?”
“But you won’t get to the gate,” he said impatiently.
“Just suppose we do. Go on from there.”
He shrugged. “The guard at the gate checks your credentials. No one except the doctor or a police official is allowed near the place now they’ve got her. They know you’re smart and they’re taking no chances. Coppinger had a hell of a time getting in.”
“Well, okay. Let’s imagine the doctor goes there. He gets in. Then what happens?”
“The guard hands him over to another guard who unlocks the second door, and the doc is escorted to his office. He can’t go anywhere else in the prison, unless someone’s ill. When that dame died this morning, he was escorted to her cell by a guard and the Head Wardress.”
“I thought you said the male guards didn’t go to the Women’s quarters?” I said sharply.
“They don’t unless a male visitor has business in the quarters. Coppinger, for instance, was escorted by two guards.”
I drummed on the table. “So it can’t be done?” I said.
He sighed regretfully. “I’d tell you if it could be,” he said. “I could use that grand, but I know it’s hopeless. Believe me, no one can get into that jail and no one can get out. They could try, but they’d be dead meat before they got properly started. I tell you: Flaggerty is expecting you to try. He’s got everything sewn up tight, and when that rat sews up anything tight, it stays tight.”
I got up. “Okay, Mitchell,” I said. “Keep your trap shut about this. I’ll think it over. You might still be able to earn that grand. When do you go on duty?”
“Tomorrow morning at seven.”
“What’s your first job?”
“Inspect the cells, then I’ve got the job of cleaning up after the P.M.”
“What P.M.?”
“They’re trying to find out why this dame died. The P.M. is for nine-thirty tomorrow morning.”
“Right,” I said. “I’ll be seeing you.”
Out in the hot darkness, Davis said, gloomily, “What the hell are we going to do now?”
“Get that girl out,” I said grimly.
“Talk sense. You heard what the man said.”
“Sure I heard,” I said. “I tell you what I’ll do. I’ll bet you ten bucks I have her out by tomorrow night.”
He stared at me in disgust. “Aw, you’re nuts,” he said, getting into the car, “but I’ll take your money.”
“I’m not nuts,” I said, climbing in beside him. “I have an idea.”
A half an hour later I was in the car again with Davis, driving, and Tim Duval in the back. “This is it,” Tim said, peering out of the window. Davis swung to the kerb and stopped before a sober-looking building. Above the shop-front was a sign: “Maxison’s Funeral Parlour.”
“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Davis said.
“Quit beefing,” Tim said, before I could speak. “I’m having the time of my life. Why should you care what he does so long as he does something and takes you with him?”
“Just because you’re an irresponsible citizen without a job, to lose, don’t think there aren’t people who have to consider their futures,” Davis snorted. “I’m one of them. This guy’s got the bit in his teeth, and I want to know into what kind of hell he’s dragging me.”
“You’ll know,” I said. “I have one chance to get into that jail, and I’m taking it. That’s why
we’ve come here.”
“You’ll come here after you’ve been to the jail,” Davis pointed out. “Maxison will give you a swell funeral.”
“Quiet!” I said, then turned to look at Tim. “Maxison live over the premises?”
“Yep,” Tim said. “He’s lived there for years.”
“Come on,” Davis pleaded. “Don’t be mysterious. Tell me. I want to know.”
“This is a long chance,” I said, fishing out a packet of cigarettes and lighting one. I offered them round. The others lit up. “You heard what Mitchell said. No one can get near the jail unless he’s an official. He also told us a woman prisoner died this morning, and she’s to be posted tomorrow morning. Then she’ll be buried. Tim tells me Maxison is the only mortician in town. He does all the official burials, and that includes prison burials. I’m going to be his assistant. In that way I hope to get into the jail.”
Davis’s mouth fell open.
“For crying out loud!” he gasped. “Now that’s what I call a damn smart idea. How did you think of it?”
“I thought of it,” I said.
He took out his comb, lifted his hat, combed his hair.
“Wait a minute,” he said. “What makes you think Maxison will play, and suppose they recognize you at the jail?”
“Maxison will play,” I said quietly. “Tim tells me he has a daughter. I don’t want to do this, but I have to. We’re going to hold his daughter as hostage. If he tries to double-cross me, we’ll threaten to knock the girl off.”
Davis’s small eyes popped.
“We’re gangsters now, eh?” he said. “Jeeze! I don’t think I like this much.”
“You can duck out whenever you like,” I said, shrugging. “Hetty will look after the girl. It’s just a threat. I must have some hold on him.”
“Don’t be a sissy,” Tim said to Davis. “You’ve always looked like a gangster. It’s time you acted like one.”
Davis grunted. “Well, okay,” he said. “Kidnapping carries the death sentence now. Who cares?”
I opened the car, got out.
“Hey,” he went on, leaning out of the car. “Suppose they recognize you in the jail? What happens then?”
“Let’s wait and see,” I said. “You stay with the heep. Tim and I’ll handle this. If a copper shows, sound your horn and beat it. We don’t want them to get a line on you just yet.”
He wrinkled his fat nose. “We don’t want them ever to get a line on me,” he pointed out. “Well, go ahead, I’ll sit here and pray. I’m good at that.”
Tim and I went to the side door near the display window. I rang the bell. We waited.
There was a short delay, then we heard someone coming along the passage. The door opened and a thin, narrow-shouldered girl stood in the doorway.
I tipped my hat.
“I wanted to see Mr. Maxison,” I said.
She stared at me, then at Tim. “It’s very late,” she said. “Couldn’t you see him tomorrow?”
“Well, no,” I said. “It’s something I would like him to handle and it’s urgent.”
She hesitated, then nodded.
“If you’ll wait,” she said, and turned away. She got half-way down the passage, then came back. “What is the name, I please?”
“He wouldn’t know my name,” I said.
“Oh,” she said, looking at me again, and went away.
“That’s Laura Maxison,” Tim said. “Maxison thinks a lot of her. Odd little thing, ain’t she?”
I shrugged. “I guess if you had a daughter you’d think a lot of her whichever way she looked.”
“I guess you’re right,” he said.
The door opened again, and a lean, elderly man with a stoop peered at us.
“Good evening,” he said. “Was there something?”
“Yeah,” I said, eyeing him over. He was bald, with a great dome of a forehead, and his eyes were small and close set. He looked what he was, and foxy as well. “Can we come in?”
“I suppose so,” he said doubtfully, standing to one side. “It’s very late for business.”
“Better late than never,” Tim said for something to say.
We entered the passage and followed Maxison into the green-carpeted reception-room. The air in there smelt musty. There was also an odour of floor polish and embalming fluid, aromatic, sweet and sickening.
Maxison turned on a few more lights, and took up his stand by a large glass showcase full of miniature coffins.
“Now, gentlemen,” he said, pulling nervously at his faded purple and white tie. “What can I do for you?”
“I’m Chester Cain,” I said.
He took an abrupt step back, his hand jumped to his mouth. Fear made him look old and stupid. His thin, almost skull-like face turned the colour of ripe cheese.
“You don’t have to worry,” I said, watching him closely. “I’m here on profitable business… profitable business to you.”
His teeth began to chatter. “Please,” he stuttered, “you mustn’t stay here. I can’t do business with you…”
I jerked a straight-back chair towards him. “Sit down,” I said.
He seemed glad to.
“You and I are doing business whether you like it or not,” I told him. “I’m going to ask you some questions, and if you know what’s good for you, you’ll answer them. You’re burying a woman prisoner at the jail tomorrow?”
He cracked his finger-joints, his limbs trembled, but he obstinately shook his head. “I can’t talk to you,” he mumbled. “I hold an official position at the jail, and it’d be a breach of faith.”
“You’ll talk,” I said, standing over him, “or I’ll take you for a ride.” Jerking out the .38, I rammed it into his chest. For a moment I thought he was going to faint, but he managed to control himself.
“Don’t…” he began, in a husky whisper.
“You talking?”
He nodded wildly.
I put the .38 away.
“Okay. We’ll try again. This time get your answers out quick.”
He nodded again. His breathing had a rattle in it that added to the spooky atmosphere of the room.
“You’re burying a woman prisoner at the jail tomorrow morning,” I repeated. “Right?”
“Yes,” he said.
“What time?”
“Ten o’clock.”
“What time will you arrive at the prison?”
“Nine-fifty.”
“What’s the procedure ?”
He blinked, hesitated, then blurted out, “I and my assistant will prepare the body after the post-mortem, put it in the coffin and bring it back here for the relatives to claim.”
“You load the body into the coffin in the P.M. room or the woman’s cell?”
“In the P.M. room.”
I grimaced. That was what I had expected, but not what I had hoped to hear. It meant I should have to get Miss Wonderly from her cell down to the P.M. room. That wasn’t going to be easy.
“The coffin ready?”
He nodded.
“Show me.”
As he got to his feet, a bell tinkled faintly somewhere in the house. The sound took me like a flash to the door.
“Watch him,” I said to Tim, and shoved the .38 into his hand. I darted out into the passage.
As I moved towards a door at the far end of the passage, I heard a telephone dial whirring. I ran on tip-toe to the door, jerked it open and went in.
The thin, narrow-shouldered Laura was feverishly dialling the telephone. She looked up with a gasp as I entered. I cross the room, gently took the receiver out of her hand, hung up.
“I’d forgotten about you,” I said, smiling at her. “Call the police?”
She jumped back against the wall, her pale, plain little face terrified. She clasped her hands to her flat chest and shaped mouth for a scream.
“Don’t do that,” I said, “I want to talk to you.”
Her mouth trembled, hesitated, closed. She stayed where she was and stared at me; fear lurked in her eyes.
“You know who I am, don’t you?” I asked.
Her throat tightened, but she managed to nod.
“I wouldn’t hurt you, and I want you to help me. Don’t be scared of me. I’m in trouble and I want help.”
She looked puzzled, blinked her eyes, but she didn’t say anything.
“Look at me,” I said. “I don’t look dangerous, do I?”
She looked. I could see the fear leaving her eyes, and she straightened up.
“No,” she said, in a voice that wouldn’t have scared a mouse.
“I’m not,” I assured her. “You’ve read about me in the newspapers, haven’t you?”
She nodded.
“You know they’ve arrested Miss Wonderly, and they’ve charged her with murder, don’t you?”
She nodded again. Interest had replaced fear.
I took out the newspaper photograph of Miss Wonderly and showed it to her.
“Do you think she looks like a killer?” I asked.
She studied the photograph. There was a wistful look on her face when she handed it back.
“No,” she said.
“She didn’t kill Herrick, nor did I. It was a political killing, and they’ve pinned it on me because I happened to come to this town with a bad reputation.”
She looked down at her hands. There was a faint flush on her face.
I stared moodily at her.
“Have you ever been in love, Laura?” I asked abruptly.
She flinched.
“You have?” I went on, when she didn’t speak. “It didn’t work out?”
“My father …” She stopped.
“All right,” I said. “It’s not my business. But if you have been in love, you’ll know how I feel.
I’m in love with that girl. I’m crazy about her, and I’m going to get her out of that jail if it costs me my life. I want you to help me.”
She began to breathe quickly. “But how can I help?” she said, without looking at me.
“By not making a fuss. I’ll tell you what I have to do. I don’t want to do it, but I have to do it. My girl’s life is at stake, and I’ll do anything to get her out of the mess she’s in. I’m going to take you away from here, and keep you until she’s free. That’s the only way I can make your father work with me. I give you my word you won’t come to any harm, and you’ll be returned here in a day or so.”
She started up.
“Oh no,” she said. “Please don’t take me away.”
I walked over to her and lifted her chin.
“Still scared of me?” I asked.
She looked at me.
“No.”
“Swell,” I said. “Come on, I want to talk to your father. I thought you’d help me.”
We returned to the reception-room. Maxison was sitting glaring at Tim, who was trying to look like a Chicago gangster. He didn’t do it very well.
“Your daughter’s got a lot of guts,” I said to Maxison. “Now show me that coffin.”
He took us into a back room. It was large with bare walls. Coffins stood on the uncarpeted floor.
Maxison pointed to an imitation ebony coffin with ornate silver handles.
“That’s it,” he said.
I went over, lifted the lid. It was well finished inside, complete with a lead shell and a thick mattress.
“That’s an expensive box for a jail-bird,” I said, looking at Maxison. “Who’s paying for it?”
“Her husband,” he said, cracking his finger-joints and looking at Laura in a puzzled way out of the corners of his eyes.
I took out the mattress, fiddled around trying to get out the lead shell. I spotted the screws, and went over to the tool rack and brought back a long screw-driver. I took out the lead shell. Without the mattress and the lead shell there was an additional twelve inches from the bottom of the coffin to the top.
I did a little measuring and stood back, frowning.
“Could you put a false bottom to this?” I asked Maxison.
He gaped at me. “Yes, but what—”
“Skip it,” I said, and turned to Laura, who was watching me with large eyes. “Will you do something for me, kitten?” I said. I patted the coffin. “Get in here.”
“Oh no,” she said, with a shudder. “I—I couldn’t do that.”
“Please,” I said.
Maxison started forward but Tim raised the gun, bringing] the old man to an abrupt stop.
“Stay where you are, Laura,” Maxison grated.
She hesitated, looked at me and then stepped to the coffin. I lifted her up and lowered her in. She sat in the thing, her eyes dark, her mouth working. She looked like something out of the Grand Guignol.
“Lie down,” I said.
Shuddering, she lay down. I took more measurements.
“Fine,” I said, and pulled her up. “Out you come.” When she was out, I turned to Maxison. “I wanted to see if this coffin was big enough to hold two bodies. It is. You and I are putting your dead woman in and Miss Wonderly goes in under her. You’re to fit a false bottom to this box. That’s how I plan to get Miss Wonderly out of jail.”
I arrived at Maxison’s place at nine o’clock the next morning. There was a sedate, oldfashioned motor hearse parked outside.
I gave it a quick glance, then pushed open the glass door of the showroom and walked in.
Maxison was waiting for me. He was dolled up in a long black coat with silk lapels and a high hat. His face looked ghastly in the hard sunlight, his mouth twitched.
“Is she all right?” he asked anxiously, as soon as he saw me.
“Sure,” I said. “So long as you play ball with me, you don’t have to worry about Laura. She isn’t worrying, and she has a woman to look after her.” I tapped him on his bony chest. “But one false move from you, Maxison, she won’t be all right.”
He flinched, looked away. I felt sorry for the old geyser, but there was nothing else I could have done. I knew I couldn’t trust him, and I had to have a hold on him.
“Did you get rid of your assistant like I said?” I asked.
Maxison nodded. “He’s been wanting to do a trip with his wife to Miami for a long time. I told him he could go.”
“Okay,” I said. “We’re almost set?”
“Yes.”
“Let’s go into the back room,” I said, and pushed past him.
The coffin was standing on trestles. I raised the lid, examined the false bottom and the airholes. Maxison had made a swell job. I told him so.
“We’d better have a couple more air-holes by the handles,” I said. “It’s going to be a tight fit, and I don’t want her to have a bad journey. Will you fix that?”
While he was doing this I unpacked a grip I’d brought with me. Neither Davis, Tim, nor I had ceased to work on our plans during the night, and none of us had had any sleep, but I was now satisfied that everything had been covered satisfactorily. We had seen Mitchell again, and I had bought his co-operation for a grand. He was to play an important part in the jail break. He knew it would cost him his job, but he didn’t care. He was sick of Paradise Palms and Flaggerty, and was ready to pull out as soon as he’d done his job for me.
I changed into a prison-guard’s uniform that Mitchell had obtained for me. It wasn’t a bad fit; I studied myself for a moment in the long mirror on the wall.
Maxison watched me furtively, but he didn’t say anything. I took out a long black coat like his and put it on. It was high-necked and successfully hid the guard’s uniform. Then I slipped into my mouth two little rubber pads Tim had borrowed from an actor friend. The effect of the pads was remarkable. They completely changed my appearance, making me look plump and rabbit-toothed. A pair of horn-rimmed glasses completed a simple, but excellent disguise.
“How do you like your new assistant?” I asked, turning so Maxison could see me.
He gaped. “I wouldn’t have known you,” he said, and he sounded as if he meant it.
“I hope not,” I returned. “Flaggerty knows me a little too well. This has got to fool him.”
Maxison had refitted the false bottom to the coffin and was now ready to go.
“Right,” I said, going over to him. “We’re not going to fail. Things may get sticky, but whatever happens, you must keep your head. I’m George Mason, your new assistant. Your other assistant is on vacation. I come from Arizona, and I’m the son of an old friend of yours. I don’t suppose they’ll check up, but if they do, you must give them the answers without batting an eyelid. If I’m caught, it’s going to be just too bad for Laura. Understand?”
He licked his lips, looked sick, said he did.
“Okay,” I said, putting on a stove-pipe hat like his. “Let’s go”
I drove the hearse. Although it looked old-fashioned, there was nothing wrong with its eightcylinder engine. It had a lot of speed, and I let it out on the coast road. A mile or so from the jail I eased up on the accelerator; we drove along at a sedate twenty miles an hour.
As the roof of the jail appeared above the sand-dunes, I saw two policemen standing in the road. They had Thompsons slung over their shoulders; they looked bored, and waved to us to stop.
“You do the talking,” I said to Maxison, out of the corner of my mouth. “This is only a
rehearsal for the real thing. These boys won’t worry us.”
The two cops stood each side of the hearse, peered at us.
“Where are you going?” one of them asked Maxison.
“The jail,” he said curtly, and produced a burial certificate and the court order for the release of the body.
The two cops read the papers and handed them back. I could see by the blank looks on their faces they couldn’t make head nor tail of the legal jargon, but they weren’t suspicious.
“Okay, seems in order,” one of them said importantly. He took a yellow sticker from his pocket and pasted it on the fender of the hearse. “That’ll get you to the gates. No speeding, and stop if you’re signalled.”
“And that means stop,” the other cop said, grinning. “The boys up there are sure itching to use their rods.”
Maxison thanked them, and I released the clutch. We continued up the road.
“They’re certainly taking no chances,” I said.
Maxison gave me a surly look, grunted. “What did you expect?” he said.
On the other side of the sand-hills, I spotted four cops sitting round a machine-gun on a threelegged stand, covering the road. One of the cops was equipped with a portable radio, and he was tuning-in as I crawled by. They eyed the yellow sticker and then waved us on. It began to dawn on me that Mitchell had been right about it being impossible to get into the jail in the ordinary way.
Four hundred yards from the side- road that led through the sand-dunes to the jail was a barricade made out of a big tree-trunk on wheels.
I stopped.
Three cops in their shirt sleeves appeared from behind the barricade, and swarmed round us.
One of them, a big, red-faced guy with sandy hair, nodded to Maxison.
“Hey, Max,” he said, grinning. “Howja like the war conditions? Ain’t it hell? That punk Flaggerty sure has the breeze up. We’ve been camped out here all night, and now we’re being skinned by the sun. You going to the jail?”
“Yes,” Maxison said.
The cop looked me over.
“Ain’t seen him before,” he said to Maxison. “Who’s he?”
“George Mason,” Maxison said calmly enough. “My new assistant. O’Neil’s on vacation.”
“He would be, the lazy rat,” the cop said, spitting in the sand. “He’s always on vacation.” He looked at me. “Glad to know you, Mason. I’m Clancy. Howja like the new job?”
“Pretty good,” I said, shaking his sweaty paw. “The beauty of this job is our customers can’t answer back.”
He bellowed with laughter.
“Say! That’s a funny one,” he exploded, slapping his thigh. “Did you hear what the guy said, fellas?” he went on to the other two cops who stood around, grinning.
“We heard,” they said.
“Pretty funny,” Clancy declared. “I didn’t think guys in your trade had a sense of humour.”
“That’s all we have got,” I said. “What goes on? I’ve never seen a jail guarded as tight as this one.”
Clancy wiped sweat from his fat face with his forearm. “Aw, the hell with it,” he said in disgust. “We got that Wonderly dame locked up, and our Chief thinks Cain’s going to get her out. He’s nuts, but there’s no one with enough guts to tell him. I bet Cain’s out of the State by now. Why the hell should he bother with a dame he picked up for the night?”
“She’s a nice looker,” one of the other cops said. “I’d trade her for my wife.”
“I’d trade her for mine too,” Clancy said, “but I wouldn’t risk my neck for her.”
“This guy Cain must be a tough egg if Flaggerty thinks all you boys are necessary to keep
him out,” I said, grinning.
“I tell you Flaggerty’s nuts,” Clancy snorted. “Mind you, if that dame did escape, he’d lose his job. I heard Ed. Killeano tell him.”
“Pretty soft for him,” I returned. “I bet he’s sitting some place cool, while you boys sweat it out in the sun.”
“You bet he is, the monkey-faced punk,” Clancy said, scowling. “He’s got a swell office with air-conditioning on the top floor so he can keep an eye on hard-working stooges like me.” He kicked sand, shaking his head. “I don’t know what’s come over this jail. A dame died yesterday, and damn me if another ain’t gone cuckoo this morning. Dived off the deep end as I came on duty. Brother, she gave me a turn. You’ll hear her screaming and laughing when you get inside. It gives me the heebies to listen to her.”
“They’ll take her away, won’t they?” I said curiously.
“Yeah, in a day or so, but she’s in the cell next to the Wonderly dame, and Flaggerty reckons it’ll soften the poor little judy to have someone like that peering through the bars at her.”
I gripped the wheel tightly, and I felt my face turn white, but Clancy didn’t notice.
“They didn’t oughta keep a dame like that in the jail,” he went on. “She’s making the other prisoners restless. She’s dangerous too. She was in for sticking a knife into her old man. I’m keeping clear of A floor.”
“Let us through, Clancy,” Maxison said, glancing at me. “We have a job to do at ten.”
“Sure,” he said. “These boys are okay,” he said to the other cops. “Let ’em through.”
As I drove the hearse slowly past the barricade, Clancy bawled after me, “If you see that punk Cain, tell him we’re expecting him, and not to disappoint us.”
“I’ll tell him to pick his box first,” I called back, “and pick it from us.”
They laughed like a bunch of hyenas.
“How are you making out?” I asked Maxison.
He was wiping his face with a handkerchief, and he looked hot and uncomfortable.
“I’m all right,” he said shortly.
“Did you hear what that cop said?” I asked, through tight lips. “About that crazy dame being next to my girl? Did you hear it? Did you think what it means?”
“Yes,” he said sullenly.
“Oh no, you didn’t,” I snarled at him. “But put Laura in my girl’s shoes and then ask yourself how you’d like it.”
I saw his face stiffen; he didn’t say anything.
The drab stone building of the jail reared above us. Sunlight baked the granite walls. It was a lost, forlorn place, and it chilled me to look at it.
I stopped before the two large oak and iron gates. On the right of the gates was a small lodge. Two cops came out carrying automatic rifles.
“Hello, Maxison,” one of them said. “We’ve been expecting you.”
“Can we go in, Franklin?” Maxison said. “These new regulations are confusing me.”
“It’s all hooey,” Franklin said, scowling. “Sure, you can go in I’ll open the gate for you.”
As he moved to the gates he caught sight of me. He turned back.
“Who’s this guy?” he demanded. He had a flat squashed face, and eyes like a Chinaman.
Maxison explained I was his new assistant, and where O’Neil, the other assistant, had got to.
Franklin scratched his head. “Well, I dunno,” he said. “I got instructions to let in only those people I know by sight. I’ve never seen this guy before. I guess I’d better call the sergeant.”
“Skip it,” one of the other cops said. “The sergeant’s at breakfast. You don’t want to make him mad for the rest of the day.”
“Will you hurry?” Maxison asked, trying to stop his teeth from chattering. “I have a job to do. I’m late already.”
Franklin stared at me with a worried frown. I leaned out of the car window, jerked my head at him. He came closer.
“Can’t you rustle up a crap game?” I asked, keeping my
voice low. “The old man can do the work. I got money to lose.”
He grinned suddenly, the frown went away. “To hell with that for an idea,” he said. “Here, get out of the buggy.”
I pulled the .38 from my waist-band as I pretended to fumble at the door. I shoved the gun to Maxison, who sat on it, his face turning a faint green.
I dropped on to the hot sandy road.
“Better make sure you’re not heeled,” Franklin said, but he was grinning all the time. “Then you can go in.”
He ran his hands over my body. If he had told me to undo my overcoat I’d have been sunk, because he’d have seen the guard’s uniform. But he didn’t.
“Okay, hop in, and beat it,” he said, stepping back.
I got into the hearse and slammed the door. My left hand reached under Maxison and retrieved the .38. I slipped it into my pocket. I felt a lot better with that gun within reach.
We drove through the gate into a courtyard. I saw the dogs then. They were massive brutes that strained at their chains when they saw us, snarling and showing their teeth. None of them barked. Their silent snarling made them look like wolves. I was glad to get past them.
We stopped outside a steel grill. Four or five guards paced up and down on the other side of the grill. Each carried a rifle. One of them opened up for us.
“Okay, Maxison,” he said. “Go ahead. The doc’s just finished.”
I released the clutch and drove past the guard. I didn’t look at him.
We were in.
The white-tiled post-mortem room was clean and cool. A strong smell of antiseptics hung in the air. The body of a woman lay on the porcelain table, partially covered by a coarse bleached sheet. Her shaved head rested in the hollow of a small wooden block. She didn’t look human, but like a realistic waxwork in an exhibition of horrors.
The doctor, a small, pudgy man, clear-skinned and tanned, was washing his hands in the deep sink. Steam from the hot water dimmed his glasses.
“She’s all yours,” he said, glancing round. “The poor devil killed herself by swallowing powdered glass. I’d like to know where she got it from.”
Somewhere in the jail a woman began to utter clear, high-pitched peals of mirthless laughter as though she were being tortured by having her feet tickled. The sound set my teeth on edge; it was shrill, like a pencil squeaking on a slate.
The doctor scowled, came towards us drying his hands.
“I’m going to report that woman,” he said, irritably. “She shouldn’t be here.”
Neither Maxison nor I said anything. We stood around, looking at the doctor, then at the dead woman. I felt spooked.
“It’s time Edna Robbins was kicked out of here,” the doctor went on. “She’s a sadist. I’m not saying she drove that woman crazy, but she couldn’t have helped her.”
He was addressing me, so I said, “Who’s Edna Robbins?”
“The Head Wardress,” he said, tossing the towel into a white enamelled receptable. “You’re new here, aren’t you?” He shook his head. “She’s a bad lot. Well, I can’t stay gossiping,” he went on. “I’ll let you have the death certificate. You can pick-it up at my office on your way back.”
Maxison said he’d do that.
The doctor was crossing the room when the door opened and a woman came in. She was small, square-shouldered, and her blonde hair shone like brass. It was swept up to the top of her head, a tiny blue velvet bow holding it in place. She wore a black, smartly tailored dress relieved by white collars and cuffs.
“Finished ?” she said to the doctor. Her voice made me think of shiny steel rods.
He grunted, went away without looking at her.
She stared after him, chewing her thin under-lip, then nodded to Maxison.
“Get that body out as quickly as you can,” she said. “I want Mitchell to clean up here.”
“All right, Miss Robbins,” Maxison said, giving her a scared look.
He hoisted the coffin on to the trestles he had already set up.
The woman sauntered over to the body on the table and stared down at it. There was something about her small, sharp face that gave me goose pimples. Her nose was small, her mouth almost lipless, and her eyes ice-blue. Her straight eyebrows shot up to her high forehead and gave her a devilish look.
She lifted the sheet and examined the doctor’s large stitches
with interest. I couldn’t take my eyes off her, and she looked up abruptly. Her eyes probed me. It was an odd feeling, as if she could see beyond my clothes.
“You’re new here, aren’t you?” she asked abruptly.
I nodded, “Sure,” I said, and went on unpacking Maxison’s bag. I took out his tool kit, took it over to rum.
“What’s the matter with your mouth?” she said suddenly. “It looks swollen.”
My tongue automatically touched the rubber pads, and I had a bad moment.
“A bee kissed me,” I said, turning away from her. “I didn’t think it showed.”
I felt her eyes on me, then she walked across the room to the door.
“Make haste,” she said to Maxison and went out.
I had been watching her as she crossed the room. She had narrow hips, and her legs were good. When the door closed behind her I straightened up, wiped off my face with my handkerchief.
“A nice little thing,” I said, under my breath. “She knows how to use her eyes.”
Maxison was also sweating. “She’s dangerous,” he said.
“I’ll say,” I agreed, and stepped over to the door. I opened it, peered into the passage. There was no one about. “Well, here goes,” I went on, closing the door. I took off the long black overcoat and shoved it in the receptacle under the towel the doctor had used. I took off my spectacles and removed the rubber pads in my mouth. “You know what to do,” I said to Maxison. “Get the false bottom out and hide it under the box. Take your time about preparing the body, but be ready to finish quick when I get back.”
He nodded, his eyes popping.
“Watch your step, Maxison,” I went on. “No funny business.”
The mad woman upstairs began to laugh again, hysterical and unhurried. The sound gave me a chill down my spine.
I went to the door and peered into the passage again.
Mitchell was out there, waiting. He nodded to me.
“Okay?” I said.
“So far,” he returned. His eyes were bright with excitement and fright. “For Gawd’s sake be careful.”
“I’ll be careful,” I said.
“The stairs are around the corner. The morning inspection’s through. You’ve got a clear hour before they go around again. Look out for Robbins. She’s the one to watch.”
I nodded. “I’ll watch her. You know what to do?”
“Yeah; but I hope I don’t have to do it.”
“So do I,” I said, and walked quickly down the passage.
At the corner I paused, looked round. No one was about. Voices came from a room near by, but I kept on, crossed the passage to the stairs, went up them.
The stairs were broad and led directly to the upper floor. I walked on, passed the steel grill that guarded the circular gallery housing the cells, and mounted to the second floor. Halfway up I had to pass a convict who was on hands and knees, scrubbing the stairs. He shifted as he saw me so I could pass. I felt his eyes on me and I guessed he was wondering who I was. I kept on until I reached the top floor.
I knew then that I was only a few yards from Miss Wonderly. The thought gave me a queer feeling of panic and exhilaration. As I reached the top of the stairs, I saw the grill gate facing me. That didn’t worry me. Mitchell had supplied me with a duplicate pass-key.
As I crossed the passage and reached the .grill, the mad woman suddenly gave a high-pitched scream. It rose, swelled, and hung in the air like a shriek of a damned soul. It was so loud, so close, so unexpected, that it froze me. For a moment I was ready to run blindly down the stairs, but I recovered my nerve, started forward again. As I was about to take the pass-key from my pocket, I paused.
I felt someone watching me. I turned.
Edna Robbins was standing in a doorway half-way down the passage. Her hard little face was expressionless, her slim, square-shouldered body without movement.
I felt my heart lurch, but I kept still. We stood there for a long moment looking at each other. She was suspicious, but she wasn’t alarmed. The guard’s uniform reassured her, but I knew I couldn’t give her time to think. I walked slowly towards her.
She waited, her eyes searching my face.
“Any trouble up here?” I asked, when I was within six feet of her.
Her face remained expressionless. “What makes you think there is?” she asked.
“I heard that scream. I was on the next floor, so I came up,” I said, looking her over.
“A real conscientious screw,” she sneered, but I could see my look had registered. “You’ve no business up here. Beat it!”
“Okay,” I said, shrugging. “You don’t have to be mad at me.” I let my eyes drift up and down her body. “I wouldn’t like anything to happen to a cute trick like you.”
“Wouldn’t you?” she said. “Come inside and tell me why.”
I hesitated, then walked past her into a small room fitted as an office. It was as hard and clean and masculine as she was.
She leaned her hips against the edge of the desk and folded her arms.
“Haven’t seen you before,” she said.
“I’m one of the new guards from Station Headquarters,” I explained, and sat on the edge of the desk beside her. We were close; my shoulder touched her shoulder. She had to turn her head to look at me.
“I’ve seen you somewhere before,” she said, a puzzled, curious look in her eyes.
“I saw you yesterday,” I lied glibly, “I was manning the barricade when you passed.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You look like that new mortician in the P.M. room,” she said.
I grinned. “He’s my brother. We’re often mistaken for each other. He’s fatter in the face than I am, and he hasn’t a way with women.”
“You have?” The sneer in her voice was pronounced.
I winked at her. “I go for women in a big way. They go for me, too.”
“Maybe that’s why you came sneaking up to the women’s quarters,” she said.
“The dame’s scream scared me. I thought she’d got hold of you.”
A thin wolfish expression lit her face. “They don’t get hold of me,” she said quietly. “They know better.”
“Tough, eh?” I said, admiring her. I leaned closer to her. “I could go for you in a big way.”
She stood up and walked to the door. “Dust,” she said, “and don’t come up here again. If you hear any more screams forget it. There’s nothing on this floor I can’t handle.”
“I can believe it,” I said, walking to the door. “Well, so long, lady; if there’s anything I can do for you, you’ll find me on the next floor.”
“Scram,” she said impatiently.
She came to the head of the stairs to watch me go. I went down and along the passage of B floor. I waited a moment, listening. I heard her go back to her office. The door clicked shut.
I gave her a moment, then moving quickly, I ran up the stairs again, crossed the landing, whipped out the pass-key and unlocked the grill. I moved with urgent haste. My mouth was dry, my heart pounded. I slid back the grill. It moved easily, without sound.
I stepped through and slid the grill into place, locked it.
Then I walked down the narrow gallery towards Miss Wonderly’s cell.
The first three cells were empty. There was a smell of disinfectant and unwashed bodies in the air. I made no sound on the rubber flooring, but I walked on my toes down the narrow gangway, one side of which was the row of cells, and on the other side the high wire screen guarding the sheer drop into the main hall of the prison below. The mesh of the wire screen was so fine that it was not possible to see through it into the lower galleries.
There was movement in the fourth cell. I paused, peered in. A fat old woman, raddled, decaying, grinned toothlessly at me.
“Hello, pretty boy,” she said, waddling to the bars. She grasped the bars with raw hands. “Ain’t seen a man for ten years. Coming to see me, precious?”
My face was stiff with fright. I shook my head, edged past her, my back scraping along the wire screen.
“After the young ’un, are you?” she leered. “You’ll like her. But watch Bugsey. She’s in the next cell. She hates screws.”
I edged on, staring at the old woman fascinated. As I came to the sixth cell an arm shot through the bars, a thin, sinewy hand gripped my wrist.
I started back, trying to drag myself free. The grip bit into my flesh. The bloodless fingers were terribly strong.
My face was damp with sweat. Butterflies fluttered in my stomach.
I allowed the hand to pull me to the bars so that my face was against the cold steel of the door. I found myself face to face with a young blonde whose mad burning eyes glared ferociously at me. She hissed at me through clenched teeth. Little flecks of foam bubbled on her lips. My hair moved on the back of my neck, my heart skipped a beat. Her other hand whipped through the bars and caught my coat collar.
My heart began to pound again. I was scared.
“Hello, copper,” she said. “I’ve been waiting for you.” She closed one eyelid in a gruesome wink. “I’m going to kill you,” she went on, in a stage whisper.
“No, you’re not,” I said, bracing my feet against the bars. “I’m going to get you out of here.”
She sounded off with her crazy, high-pitched laugh. It sent spiders’ legs up and down my back.
“They won’t let me out,” she said. Her smile was sad and cunning. “They know what I’ll do to them. I’m going to do it to you.” Her face tightened, her eyes narrowed. “I’m going to tear your throat out.”
I got my feet against the bars, and suddenly heaved back-backwards. I broke her hold and I fell against the wire screen, slid to the floor.
She glared at me, beating her hands against the bars. As I struggled to sit up, she flopped down on her knees, grabbed my ankle. I kicked at her with my free foot, but I couldn’t reach her because of the bars. She held my ankle between her two hands and hauled. I choked back a yell of fright as I felt myself sliding across the rubber floor. I grabbed at the wire screen, but she jerked, breaking my hold. She hauled me towards her like a landed fish.
I kicked and twisted, but I couldn’t get my leg free. The raddled old woman was watching, giggling with excitement.
“She’ll cut your heart out,” she whispered to me.
Sweat ran down my face, and I struggled and writhed in blind panic. There was something about the mad woman’s face and the way she laughed and muttered to herself that scared me silly.
I was now against the bars. She released my leg and grabbed my coat again. Our faces were
close. I could smell her sour breath. She turned me sick with horror.
“What’s the matter with you?” I panted. “I’m going to get you out of here. You and the kid next door.”
“You’re not touching her,” she snarled. “They’ve done enough to her. I’ll stop you and I’ll stop them touching her again. Come closer, copper. I want to get my hands on your dirty neck.”
I tried to pull away, but she dragged me closer, her hooked fingers moving in little jerks up to my neck. She was so intent watching my face that she didn’t see that I’d drawn back my leg.
I placed my foot gently on her chest, then kicked out with all my strength.
She shot over backwards, the breath rushing out of her body. Released, I staggered to my feet, reeled against the wire screen. I was trembling, and could scarcely stand.
“That gave you a fright,” Edna Robbins sneered.
I went cold, turned.
Edna was standing just inside the grill. She was watching me. Her small, sharp nose looked pinched, her eyes dangerous.
The raddled old woman had disappeared to the back of her cell. The mad woman lay on the floor, gasping and wheezing for breath.
I straightened my torn jacket, ran my fingers through my hair. I felt like hell.
Edna came down the gallery.
“I told you to scram, didn’t I ?” she said bitingly. “All right, wise guy, you’re going before the Warden.”
I backed away, my eyes darting to the cell next to the mad woman’s. I could see a woman lying on the cot; a woman with honey-coloured hair. My heart lurched. I knew who that was.
“Don’t get mad,” I said in a croaking voice. “I didn’t mean any harm. I wanted to see what this cuckoo looked like.”
Edna smiled spitefully. “Well, you’ve seen her. I’ve a mind to stick you in with her and let her
work on you. Come on, you rat, you’re finished here. The Warden will fire you out.”
I knew then it was Edna or me. I eyed her small body over. She looked capable, but I was sure I could handle her. I had to get my hands on her throat before she could raise the alarm.
I slouched towards her, looking crestfallen, sullen.
“You might give a guy a break,” I muttered, as I reached her.
“You’ll get no break from me …” she began.
I shot out my hands, seeking her throat. Then I got the surprise of my life. Moving like a lizard, she caught my wrists, pulled me towards her, bent. The next second I was flying through the air. I thudded against steel bars, bounced to the floor. I lay there, stunned.
“I told you I could handle anything on this floor,” she said, standing over me. “And that includes you.” She drew back her foot and kicked me in the face. “Get up, and come quietly, or I’ll break your goddamn neck.”
Gritting my teeth, cold with rage, I rolled towards her, grabbed at her legs. I heaved. I heard her quick gasp as she lost her balance, but she was smart enough to throw herself forward, breaking her fall on me.
I clutched at her body, hard as steel under my fingers. I tried to jab her in the face with my head.
She hit me in the eye with bony knuckles, rammed her knee in my chest and caught hold of my wrist with both hands. She was strong and full of jiu-jitsu tricks. She was getting a lock on my arm which threatened to break it. Pain crawled into my brain.
“I’ll teach you to fight me,” she panted, heaving down on my arm.
Somehow I rolled over, taking her with me. She clung to my arm like a bulldog as I threw her about. Each heave I gave sent fresh waves of pain up my arm. My sinews cracked.
I caught a glimpse of her blonde head and I slammed a punch at it. My fist caught her in the neck. She let go of my arm, flopped on the floor.
I got slowly to my knees, my right arm useless. There was| no keeping her off. She raised up, swearing softly, her blonde hair down to her shoulders. She came back at me. I was ready for
her, and socked her in the ribs with a left that travelled about three inches.
She went over, completed a somersault and was on her feet before I could get to mine. She scared me. She was as tough and as dangerous as any man.
This time she didn’t rush me, but spun on her heel and ran towards the grill gate. I was after her in a lurching run. Whatever happened she mustn’t give the alarm.
I grabbed her as her finger was reaching for the red button of the alarm bell. I tried to close with her.
She clutched me to her, fell straight back, her feet in my stomach. I shot over her head, crashed against the grill. By the time I sorted myself out, she was climbing over me to get at the bell. I got my hands around her waist and pulled her down. She bit, punched and scratched. We rolled over. I pounded her body. At first she hit back, but after three or four of my punches she tried to keep them out with her elbows. They were hurting her as I meant them to hurt. She was panting and sobbing with rage. I caught hold of her throat, but she dug her thumbs in my eyes. I let go. I heaved away from her, my eyes streaming. She staggered to her feet, came at me again, wobbly, but out to finish me. I set myself and hit her with a long, raking left in her throat.
Her mouth opened, and she gave a thin wail as she fell against the door of the mad woman’s cell.
There was a moment’s pause. I, on my knees, she, with her shoulders against the bars, her knees buckling; then two greedy, claw-like hands shot between the bars and closed round her throat. She gave a wild scream as she felt the hands touch her. Her scream was throttled back into her throat almost before it sounded.
The mad woman, yammering with excitement, pulled backwards. The bars were a shade too narrow for Edna’s head to pass through. She couldn’t scream, because the mad woman’s hands were squeezing her windpipe. She kicked and twisted. One of her shoes flew off and hit me in the face. Her knees burst through her stockings. I couldn’t move. I stood against the grill, shivering, staring.
The mad woman continued to pull, bracing hard with her feet. Edna tried to reach inside the cell, but her arms weren’t long enough. She looked at me, her eyes starting out of her head, her tongue swelling in her mouth. The mad woman gave a sudden jerk. A horrible muffled sound came from Edna’s throat as her head passed through the bars, leaving skin behind. One side of
her face was a mass of blood.
“I’ve got her,” the mad woman whispered to me. “Thinks she can handle anything up here, does she? We’ll see.”
She sat on the floor, her arms raised, her hands round Edna’s throat.
The raddled old woman tried to see what was going on, but she couldn’t. She hammered on the door with her hands, cursing in a rasping voice.
Edna was arched backwards, her heels digging into the rubber flooring, her head through the bars. Her hands clutched at the bars for support and to relieve her weight from her head. Blood from her face ran down on to the floor, dripped on to her Nylon hose.
The mad woman, grinning at me, not looking at Edna, began to take in and let out slow, long breaths. Her shoulders seemed to grow lumpy, sweat appeared on her face.
I hooked my fingers into the wire mesh of the screen, and watched.
The raddled old woman, her face against the bars, suddenly stood still, listening.
Edna’s face, where it wasn’t blood-stained, was liver-coloured. Her eyes stood out, blind. Her tongue came out blue between bluish lips. Her slender body writhed. One of her hands began to beat on the bars, mechanically, without force.
The mad woman nodded to me, closed her eyes and strained. Edna’s hand stopped beating on the bars. There was a muffled crack, almost immediately, a sharper one. Edna did not writhe now. She sagged, her head still trapped between the bars.
Sick with horror, I stepped past her dragging feet towards the next cell.
The mad woman let go of Edna’s throat, sprang to the bars and reached for me. I pulled my gun and beat down her hands with it.
She jumped back, howling.
Even with that horror so close to me, I could now only think of Miss Wonderly.
She was in there. She lay flat on the cot, her eyes closed, her hair like spilt honey on the coarse pillow.
I unlocked the cell, stepped in.
The mad woman’s fingers grabbed my arm. Half-crazy with fear, revolted, I struck her between the eyes with my gun butt.
Her eyes rolled back and she dropped.
Shuddering, I snatched up Miss Wonderly and blundered from the cell.
The raddled old woman began to scream.
I slid back the door of the elevator, peered into the passage. Mitchell, wide-eyed, hopping with excitement, was standing at the far end. He waved to me.
Up on A floor the old woman continued to scream.
I ducked back into the elevator, scooped up Miss Wonderly’s limp form in my arms and stepped into the passage. As I did so, Mitchell waved me back, then turned and bolted up the stairs.
Warned, I laid Miss Wonderly on the floor, reached for my gun.
A prison guard, automatic rifle wedged into his hip, came running around the corner. I didn’t give him a chance. My .38 cracked once. The guard stumbled, curled up on the floor. His automatic rifle fell out of his hands, exploded. The slug brought plaster down from the ceiling on my head.
I turned, snatched up Miss Wonderly, tossed her over my shoulder. She moved feebly, but I gripped her tight. I ran.
Somewhere in the building an alarm bell began to ring. Its jangling note mingled with the cries of the prisoners, a great rattling of steel doors, and the old woman’s screams upstairs.
Half-way down the passage a door flew open, two guards spilled out. I shot one of them in the leg, the other ducked back into the room, kicked the door shut. I sent a slug through the door, heard the guard yell.
I kept on, moving more slowly, turning to look back at every step. I was fighting mad, not
going to be beaten now I’d got so far.
I heard heavy feet pounding down the stairs, and I broke into a run. The P.M. room was too far away. I knew I couldn’t make it in time. I pushed open the first door I came to, stepped into a small, coldly furnished office. Again I put Miss Wonderly on the floor. She opened her eyes, struggled to sit up, but I pushed her back.
“Stay still, honey,” I said. “I’m going to get you out of here.”
It gave me a hell of a bang to see the expression in her eyes when she recognized me. She caught her breath, but she lay still, watched me.
I jumped to the door, knelt and peered into the passage. Four guards, one with a Thompson, were staring down at the bodies in the passage. I picked off the guy with the Thompson. The others made a frantic dash for the stairs, disappeared.
I grabbed Miss Wonderly, kissed her, and whizzed down the passage with her. I reached the bend as someone opened up with a chopper. One of the slugs nicked the heel of my shoe. I stumbled, made an effort, rounded the bend.
I burst into the P.M. room, closed the door.
Maxison was crouched against the wall, his face livid with fright. He gave a gulping gasp when he saw me, but he didn’t or couldn’t move.
I ran over to the coffin, swung Miss Wonderly off my shoulder and into the box in one movement. She sat up, her face stiff, her eyes bewildered.
“Lie down, and don’t make a sound,” I panted.
She looked at the coffin, and her mouth opened to scream. I put my hand over her mouth, but she struggled, frantic with fear.
I hated doing it, but there was no other way out. I half closed my fist and hit her on the side of her jaw. Her head snapped back, she passed out cold.
Feverishly I straightened her out in the box, whipped in the false bottom and turned the screws. Then I grabbed the long, black overcoat, struggled into it. I put on my glasses, put the pads into my mouth. I stepped across to Maxison and dragged him to the porcelain table.
“Get that body in,” I snarled at him, and grabbed the stiff, cold shoulders.
Somehow he managed to pull himself together, and taking the woman’s feet, he helped me across the room with her, and together we lowered the body into the coffin. It only just fitted, and I knew the lid would have to be forced down. I snatched up the lid, had it on the coffin as the door was flung open.
Flaggerty and three prison guards stood in the doorway.
I acted like I was scared, backing away and throwing up my hands. Maxison didn’t have to act. He thought his last hour had come.
Flaggerty, sweating, white with rage, gave us a quick glance, then looked around the room.
“Anyone been in here?” he grated, glaring at Maxison.
Maxison shook his head. He couldn’t speak he was so scared.
“Come on,” Flaggerty snarled to the guards, and turned, then he turned back, walked to the coffin and threw off the lid. He stared down at the dead woman, his eyes narrowed, his lips grimacing. He made a gesture of rage, stamped out.
The door slammed.
I wiped my face, tried to recover my breath.
“Take it easy,” I said to Maxison. “This is only the half of it.”
I grabbed a screw-driver and screwed down the lid of the coffin. I had just finished when the door opened again and Clancy, the guard, came in. His face was red with suppressed excitement.
“Whatja know, fellas?” he said. “That guy Cain’s gate-crashed the jail. He’s snatched his floozie.”
“You don’t say,” I returned, wiping my face and hands on a towel. “Got him yet?”
Clancy shook his head. “He can’t get away. Flaggerty’s out of his mind. He’s going through the jail with a tooth comb.” He gaped at me. “What the hell’s happened to your face?”
“One of the guards thought I was Cain,” I said. “He pushed me around before Flaggerty stopped him.”
“They’re sure crazy,” Clancy said. “I’ve never seen so many nuts under one roof. Well, they’ll catch Cain. He can’t get out.”
“Sure of that?” I said.
“I guess so. How can he?
“How did he get in?”
“Yeah,” Clancy said, shaking his head. “I hand it to that guy. He’s smart, and he’s got guts.”
“How soon can we move?” I asked. “I don’t want much more of this shooting.”
“You stick around. No one’s allowed to leave until they’ve found him,” Clancy told me.
I shrugged, lit a cigarette. I wondered how long Miss Wonderly would remain out, and if she’d start to scream when she came round. I sweated to think about it.
We sat around for ten minutes or so, then shooting began again.
Clancy went to the door, peered out. “Sounds like they’ve cornered him,” he said. “Trouble on B floor.”
The alarm bell began to ring.
“Now what’s up?” Clancy demanded, frowning. “What do they want to ring the bell for?”
Mitchell appeared suddenly. “Come on, mug!” he bawled to Clancy. “We gotta jail break on our hands. The prisoners are loose.”
Clancy snatched up his rifle.
“Who let ’em loose?” he asked, rushing to the door.
“Cain, I guess,” Mitchell said, pushing Clancy ahead of him. He looked back at me, winked. “Come on, everyone’s to go to B floor. Orders.”
They went running down the passage.
I grinned at Maxison.
“Mitchell let ’em loose. I hope he’ll be all right,” I said. “Come on, we’re going.”
Between as we hoisted the coffin on our shoulders and made for the exit. The coffin weighed a ton, and we were staggering by the time we’d reached the gate of the prison block.
The lone guard stared at us, lifted his rifle.
We stopped.
“It’s okay,” I gasped. “I’ve got a permit to leave. Lemme get this coffin on board and I’ll give it to you.”
He hesitated, and I went on past him into the courtyard, where the hearse was waiting. He followed us.
Maxison and I shoved the coffin into the hearse, slammed the door.
The guard still threatened us with his gun. His round, red face was puzzled.
“Flaggerty said no one was to leave,” he grumbled. “You can’t go, so don’t you think you can.”
“I tell you Flaggerty’s given us a permit,” I said angrily. “Give it to him,” I went on to Maxison. “You got it in your pocket.”
With a dazed expression on his face, Maxison put his hand in his inside pocket. The guard swung the gun away from me, covering Maxison, suspicion in his eyes.
I jumped, hit the guard on the jaw, snatched his rifle from him as he fell. I belted him over the head with the butt.
“Come on,” I said to Maxison, and bundled him into the hearse. I drove across the courtyard, through the first gate which was open, and stopped outside the outer gate which was closed.
Franklin came out of the lodge. He eyed us over.
“Getting out while the going’s good?” he asked, grinning.
“Sure,” I said. “We gave the permit to the guard at the main block. They’ve got a prison break on their hands now.”
He shrugged. “I’m keeping out of it. I’m a man of peace.” He walked to the gate and opened it. “So long, fellas.”
I nodded and drove on
There was only one more obstacle, the barricade. I kept my gun by my side, drove steadily down the sandy track. I could see no guards. The barricade blocked my exit, but no one was there to guard it.
The sounds of shooting and yells came to us from the jail. I guess everyone was too busy to bother about guarding a tree.
Maxison and I got down, rolled the barricade aside; then we got back into the hearse.
We’d done it.