Complete works of peter.., p.63
Complete Works of Peter Cheyney. Illustrated, page 63
"I wish you were my husband," she says, "just for one week. If you were my husband, I'd give you rat poison!"
"Swell," I tell her, "an' if I was your husband I'd take it an' be glad. Take her away boys. Lock her up, an' if she wants to she can start a civil war in the can."
The cops who are waitin' outside grab her an' take her off. Metts brings out a bottle of bourbon an' we have a stiff one each. I am feelin' like I could go to bed an' sleep for twenty-four years without even turnin' over.
Metts tells me that he has sent a wagon out to the Hacienda Altmira with a casket an' a coupla cops with spades to dig up what is left of Sagers an' fix him properly. I figure that these boys will be waitin' for me to go out an' show 'em where Fernandez buried the kid, so I scram downstairs an' get in the car an' drive out to the Hacienda.
The dawn is breakin'. The desert country looks pretty swell at this time.
I would like to stick around here at this place just doin' nothin' an' doin' it all the time, instead of rushin' about the country pullin' in cheap crooks an' counterfeiters an' jumpin' around duckin' shots from dames like Paulette.
I leave the car at the front of the Hacienda, an' walk around the back. Two State cops with a police wagon an' shovels are hangin' around. They have got a casket in the wagon. I show 'em where Sagers is buried an' they start diggin'.
Then I remember somethin'. I light a cigarette an' go back to the car an' drive out towards Henrietta's little rancho. When I get there I see Maloney just gettin' inta his car.
"Say, am I the big mug, or am I?" I tell him. "With all this depression that's been flying around, I forgot the only bitta good news I got for Henrietta. An' anyway where was you goin'?"
"I'm scrammin'," he says. "You see, now that Henrietta's in the clear I guess I don't haveta stick around any more. I sorta wanted to give her a hand that's all, an' I guess I sorta used the situation inta rushin' her inta a marriage with me. But she ain't that way about it. She says she'd like to think of me as a brother you know the stuff."
He grins.
"Anyhow," he says, "I got a girl in Florida. I guess I'll go along an' say how are you to her."
"Atta boy," I tell him.
I watch his dust as he goes down the road. Then I walk up to the door an' I bang on it. After a bit Henrietta comes along. She has changed her outfit an' she is wearin' a white crepe-de-chine dress an' white shoes. That dame sure can look a honey.
"Say, Henrietta," I tell her. "I gotta bit of news for you an' I was a mug not to have thoughta it before.
"Granworth was insured for two hundred thousand, wasn't he? Well the policy covered everything except suicide, an' he never committed suicide. He was shot resistin' arrest yesterday by Rurales.
"O.K. Well the Corporation will pay. That means that you get plenty dough so I reckon you needn't worry your head about anything. I'll have a word with Metts on my way back so's if you want any dough quick the bank'll let you have some. I'll wire the New York Police to send the policy along, so's the bank can hold it against any dough you want."
She looks at me an' her eyes are sorta starry.
"That's fine, Lemmy," she says. "But won't you come in. There's one or two things I want to say to you. Besides there's breakfast coming."
I look at her.
"Listen lady," I tell her. "Maybe you ain't heard about me. I am one tough guy. I am not the sorta guy who you can trust around the place havin' breakfast with a swell dame like you. Especially if you are good at makin' waffles. When I eat waffles I just get goin' an' they tell me that then I get to be the sorta guy that dames oughta be warned against."
She leans up against the door post.
"I was goin' to give you fried chicken," she says, "but after that I think I won't. I've got a better idea."
"Such as?" I ask her.
"Such as waffles," she says.
I look at her again an' I start thinkin' of my old mother. Ma Caution usta tell me when I was a kid that I always put food before everything.
An' for once Ma Caution was wrong.
Can Ladies Kill?
PROLOGUE
The Villa Rosal Burlingame, California, 1st January, 1937.
To The Director, Bureau of Investigation, U.S. Department of Justice, Washington.
Dear Sir, After a great deal of thought I have finally decided to write to you. This letter probably sounds mysterious, but at the moment, mystery is necessary.
During the last two or three months I have, by accident, obtained knowledge of certain matters which, I believe, should properly be dealt with by your department. These matters are criminal matters of a federal nature. I do not wish to say anything more at this moment, because I hope that further disclosure by me may be unnecessary.
I have every hope that I may be able to write you more fully during the next ten days, or it may be that during the period 1st to 9th of this month events will justify my calling you on the long distance and clearing up this matter.
But should you not hear from me by the 9th of this month I think it is imperative that you send a reliable operative from your department to contact me here on the afternoon of the 10th instant. If this becomes necessary I will make a full statement to him.
Faithfully yours,
Marella Thorensen
I. FREEZE-OUT FOR A DAME
I AM standin' lookin' at this house and I think that if ever I get any dough I will settle down an' get myself a dump like this.
Because it has got what they call atmosphere. It is standin' back off the roadway on the side of a little green slope. There is a white thicket fence separatin' it from the road an' there are flower beds and ornamental bits edged out with white stones all over the place. Through the gate there is a flight of wide steps linkin' a sorta terrace path that runs up to the front door.
Me I reckon I would like a rest. Travellin' by airplane is all very well but it sorta gets you tired. But then I've found that anythin' gets me tired. Even "G" men get tired, but maybe they told you about that.
Walkin' up the path to the porch I get wonderin' what this Marella Thorensen is goin' to be like. I'm sorry that we never got any picture of this dame because if I see a picture of a dame I sorta get ideas about her. But as I'll be seein' her in a minute maybe the picture don't matter.
This is a funny sorta job. You've seen the letter that this dame wrote to the Director at Washington. She says it's mysterious. I looked this word up in the dictionary, an' it says that mysterious means enigmatical, so I look up enigmatical an' it says that means beyond human comprehension. Well, it ain't beyond my comprehension.
Work it out for yourself. If this dame writes a letter to the Director of the Federal Bureau and suggests in it that there's some sorta funny business goin' on that he oughta know about, well it looks like there is some sorta hey-hey breakin' around these parts. O.K. Well if that's so it looks a bit screwy to me that she don't go an' tell her husband about it. After all if you've been married to a guy for ten years he's the guy you go to. So what?
But then ladies do funny things. But who am I to tell you that? I reckon you knew that for yourself. Dames are a lot more definite than people think. It's guys who are the romantic cusses. I've known plenty dames who was very practical, like one in Cincinatti. She was a religious dame this baby, an' she stabbed her second husband with a screwdriver just because he wouldn't go to church of a Sunday, which shows you that women can get tough too.
These ruminations have brought me to the front porch. There is a pretty ornamental bell-push, and when I work it I hear a musical bell ring somewhere in the house. I stand there waitin'.
It's four o'clock an' there is a bit of a breeze blowin' up. I think maybe there is goin' to be some rain. Nobody don't take any notice of the bell so I push it again. Five or six minutes go by. I take a stroll around the side of the house. It's a swell place, not too big or too small. A path goes around to the right an' behind the house I can see a well-kept lawn with a little Chinese pagoda stuck in the far corner.
In the centre of the back of the house are two French windows givin' out on to the lawn, an' I can see that one of 'em is open. I walk up. When I get to the French window I can see that whoever was comin' in or goin' out last time they was in such a hurry that they had to bust the handle off, which is a funny thing to do to a glass window.
I stick my head inside an' look inta a long low room. It's full of nice furniture, an' all sorts of pretty knick-knacks. There ain't nobody there. I go in an' do a spot of coughin' just to let anybody know that I'm around. Nothin' happens.
On the right of the room in a corner is a door, I walk over to this, open it an' go out inta a passage. I cough some more but I might be a consumptive for all anybody cares. I walk along the passage an' come to the hallway behind the front porch. There is a table on the right with a brass tray on it with some mail.
Under the table up against the wall where it has slipped down off the tray I see a telegraph form. I pick it up an' read it. It is a telegram from the Director to Mrs. Marella Thorensen tellin' her that Special Agent L. H. Caution will be contactin' her between four an' five to-night.
Well, where is she? I turn around an' I call out Mrs. Thorensen. All I get is the air. I walk back along the passage an' up to a wide flight of stairs away down on the left. I go up. On the first floor I turn around into another passage with the banister rail on the right where it turns and two or three white door rooms on the left.
Facing me at the end of the passage is a door an' it is open, an' lyin' on the floor is a woman's silk scarf. I walk along and stick my head in the door. It is a woman's bedroom an' it looks very nice to me. It also looks as if some one has been havin' a spot of hey-hey around here because all the things on the dressin' table between the two windows that look out towards the front of the house are on the floor. A big lounge chair has been overturned an' there is a towel lyin' curled up like a snake right in the middle of the blue carpet. I think that maybe Mrs. Thorensen has been in a bad temper about somethin'.
I go downstairs again, walk along the passage an' start doin' a little investigatin'. I go all over the place but I can't find anybody. When I get into the kitchen I see a note stuck up against a tea canister on the table. This note is addressed to "Nellie" an' it says:
"Don't worry about dinner. I shall not be back until nine to-night."
It looks to me like Nellie has taken time out too.
I go out of the place the way I came in an' shut the French window. I go back to where I have parked the hired car, get into it an' light a cigarette. I reckon that if this dame is not goin' to be back till nine o'clock to-night I might as well go over to San Francisco an' have a word with O'Halloran. Maybe he can wise me up to something.
I am just goin' to start the engine when I see a car come around the corner way down the road an' pull up outside the Villa Rosalito. A dame gets out. She is a slim sorta baby with a nice walk, an' she is wearin' a funny little hat an' has got black hair. I reckon she is goin' to pay a call on Mrs. Thorensen.
I start the engine an' drive off, but because I am a curious cuss, as I go past the car outside the villa, I take the number. Way up at the end of the pathway I can see this dame pushin' the bell-push. I reckon she'll be disappointed.
I make San Francisco by five-thirty. I put the car in a garage an' go along to the Sir Francis Drake Hotel which is a dump where I have stayed before. I check in, take a drink an' a shower an' do a little quiet thinkin'.
Maybe you are thinkin' along the same lines as I am, an' anyhow you gotta agree that it looks durn silly for this dame Marella Thorensen to write letters askin' for "G" men to be sent along an' then, when she gets a wire to say that I am comin', to scram outa the house an' leave a note for the cook sayin' that she won't be back till nine o'clock. At the back of my head there is a big idea that there is somethin' screwy goin' on around here.
I get a hunch. I call through to the Hall of Justice, an' ask if O'Halloran is there. I get right through to him. "Hey, Terry," I tell him, "listen. Are you doin' some heavy sleuthin' or have you got enough time on your hands to come around to the Sir Francis Drake an' talk to Lemmy Caution?"
He says sure an' he will come around.
Terence O'Halloran, who is a Police Lieutenant in 'Frisco, has been a buddy of mine since I got him a beat poundin' job in this man's city a long whiles ago. This guy can also drink more whisky than any cop I ever knew, an' in spite of the fact that his face is as homely as a mountain gorge he sometimes has brains. Pretty soon he comes around an' I order up a bottle of Irish whisky, an' start workin' the pump handle on him.
"Looky, Terry," I tell him, "this is sorta unofficial, see, because right now this business is not a police department job, but maybe you know something about Mrs. Marella Thorensen, an' if so you can spill it."
I tell him about the letter this dame has wrote to the Bureau of Investigation, an' how I came out to contact her.
"I'm goin' back there to the Rosalito dump at nine o'clock," I say, "an' I thought that maybe I could fill in the time gettin' the low down on this babe an' her husband."
"There ain't much to tell, Lemmy," he says. "I don't think I've seen the dame in years. She's easy to look at an' she only comes into 'Frisco once in a blue moon. But her husband is a fly baby. I reckon this guy Aylmar Thorensen knows his groceries all right, an' I'll tell you why.
"Six years ago this palooka is just another attorney. He gets an industrial case here an' there but he don't amount to anything much, an' then all of a sudden he gets himself appointed as attorney for a guy called Lee Sam. Ho Lee Sam is in the money. He's got a silk business in California an' four factories on the other side of the slot. But like all Chinks he hasta go on makin' some more, so he starts musclin' around in the number rackets, and pin table takes in Chinatown an' gets himself tied up with a guy called Jack Rocca who come here outa Chicago an' who has got a record as long as the Golden Gate bridge.
"One way an' another it looks like these two are goin' to get themselves in bad with the Hall of Justice, but this guy Thorensen is always there with bells on just when things are lookin' not so hot. If it wasn't for him keepin' Lee Sam's nose clean I reckon that Chink woulda been in plenty trouble money or no money."
I nod. "An' I suppose Lee Sam pays plenty to keep a legal eye on the proceedin's?" I ask him.
"Right," he says. "An' has Thorensen done himself good. That guy has got himself two cars an' a swell house out at Burlingame an' an apartment on Nob Hill. He's a clever guy that Thorensen, but maybe some of these guys are so clever that in the long run they double-cross themselves."
He lights himself a cigarette.
"Say, Lemmy," he says, "what's this dame Marella Thorensen tryin' to do to you Federal guys?"
"Search me," I tell him, "I wouldn't know, but I reckon I'm goin' to find out. This dame leaves a note for the cook sayin' she'll be back by nine o'clock so I'm bustin' outa here at about a quarter to nine. When I've seen this dame maybe I'll know what I'm talkin' about. In the meantime," I go on, "supposin' we eat."
I ring down to the desk an' I order a dinner, an' we sit an' eat an' talk about old times before prohibition when men was men, an' women was glad of it.
At half-past eight Terry scrams. He has got to go back to the Hall of Justice on some job, an' at a quarter to nine I start thinkin' about gettin' the car an' goin' back to have my little talk with Marella Thorensen.
I am just walkin' outa the room when the telephone bell rings. It is O'Halloran.
"Hey, Lemmy," he says, "what do you know about this? You remember I was telling you about this guy Lee Sam. Well, he's just been through here on the telephone. He says he's worried. I'll tell you why. This guy's daughter has been over in Shanghai, see, on a holiday or something. O.K. Well this afternoon she rings him up. She's just got in at Alameda across the Bay on the China Clipper1 from Shanghai. Well Lee Sam is plenty surprised at this because he didn't know anything about this dame coming back, and he says so what? She tells him that she's had a letter from Marella Thorensen saying that she's got to see her and fixing that she'll be in at the Villa Rosalito this afternoon.
"Lee Sam's daughter says that she is taking a car right away and going out to the Villa Rosalito at Burlingame, that she reckons to be there in about half an hour and that she ought to be home at the Lee Sam place on Nob Hill at six o'clock.
"O.K. Well, she ain't appeared and the old boy is getting scared. He is wonderin' what's happened to her. He's gettin' all the more scared because he's been ringing the Villa Rosalito on the telephone and he can't get any reply. It looks like there ain't anybody there. I thought I'd let you know and if you're goin' out like you said maybe you can tell me what's goin' on around there. Then I'll let the Chink know."
I do a spot of thinkin'.
"O.K. Terry," I tell him. "But you do somethin' for me, will you? There ain't any need to get excited about this Lee Sam girl yet. Maybe I've gotta idea about that. Stick around. I reckon I'll be back here somewhere about eleven o'clock to-night. You blow in. Maybe I'll have somethin' to tell you."
"Right," he says, "I'll ring this old palooka an' tell him we'll get in touch with him later." He hangs up.
It looks like this business is gettin' a bit more mysterious, because it looks to me now that the dame who got outa the car that I saw outside the Villa Rosalito musta been the Lee Sam girl, an' I wonder where she has got to, because she musta found out pretty good an' quick that there wasn't anybody in the place.
I go down an' around to the garage where I have left the car, an' I drive good an' quick out to Burlingame. There is a mist comin' down one of them blanket mists that blow down over the San Francisco district from the Sacramento River, an' I aim to get out there whilst I can see.
I pull up outside the Villa Rosalito, walk up the long terraced path to the front door an' start playin' tunes on the bell. Nothing happens. I had an idea it wouldn't. I walk around the side, round to the back an' get through the French window like I did before. I notice it is open an' when I came out I closed it, so maybe the Chinese girl went in this way.
