Dan and the Death-Cell Bluff

When Sergeant Bull looked up at his visitor, his eyes hardened. Rising, he cut the television switch and said to the blonde in a flat voice, “Scram.”

The woman’s mouth turned sullen and her eyes flicked sidewise once more at Dan, but she turned obediently and left the room, slamming the door behind her.

“Well?” Bull asked.

“Just remembered where I saw your picture,” Dan said easily. “Armed robbery and murder in St. Louis about nineteen forty-six. Can’t remember the name, but it wasn’t Bull.”

Chapter Three Hide-and-Seek with Death

Sergeant Larry Bull’s flat face turned the color of paper, but his eyes remained expressionless and hard. For a long time his gaze remained unwaveringly fixed on the big man’s grin.

“What do you want?” he asked finally.

“Nothing,” Dan said. “Absolutely nothing. I’m not going to turn you in. Just wanted you to know I recognized you.”

“Why?” Bull asked flatly, but the big man only grinned at him.

Puzzlement and wariness mixed with the fear in the sergeant’s face. “You know you’re giving me a damn good reason to knock you off. You’re not that dumb, Fancy. What’s the angle?”

“No angle. Does Big Jim know you’re wanted for murder in Missouri?”

Bull licked his lips. “No.”

“Want him to?”

“No.” The man watched Dan’s face, a waiting expression on his own.

“Might give him a toe hold on you, eh?” Dan asked. “You don’t mind working for Jim Calhoun, but you wouldn’t want to be in a spot where you couldn’t quit, would you?”

“What do you want?” Bull demanded.

The big man simulated surprise. “Nothing, I told you. Nothing at all. I’m not going to inform the Missouri cops, and I’m not going to tell Big Jim. You can depend on it.”

“You must want something,” the sergeant insisted worriedly. “If you’re working up a deal where you expect me to cross Big Jim, forget it. I’d rather face Missouri.”

Dan shook his head and grinned hugely. “You’re an untrusting soul, Sergeant.” Opening the door by reaching behind himself and turning the knob, he backed out of the room.

He was still grinning when he pushed the door shut again.

Back at the hotel the big man put in a long-distance call to Martin Robinson.

“Fancy!” the old man said sharply. “I’ve been going crazy waiting to hear from you. Have you seen Gene?”

“Yes,” Dan said shortly. “He’s bearing up. Think I have a lead.”

“Yes?” The old man’s voice was eager.

“For five thousand bucks and a guarantee of immunity one of the arresting officers will repudiate his original story and sign a full confession to the whole frame.”

“Five thousand?” Martin Robinson’s tone made it sound like five cents. “Well, for goodness sakes, Fancy, promise it to him. I’ll wire it imniediately.”

“Good. I’m in room five-twelve of the Lake view Hotel.”

He hung up before the old man could ask any questions.

The short, burly man with the bald head rapped quietly on the bar at the Downtown Athletic Club, bringing the bartender from his dreams of a chicken farm.

“Hello, Stub,” the barman said.

“Big Jim in?” The burly man’s voice was as soft as his manner. Everything about him was soft, except his eyes, which could have chipped sparks from a piece of flint.

“Yeah. He’s expecting you. Go on up.”

Stub approached a door at the side of the bar and waited. The bartender’s foot touched a concealed button, a low buzz sounded, and Stub pushed open the door. He followed a narrow hallway to the open door of a self-service elevator, pushed the button marked 2 and rose silently to the second floor. When the elevator door slid back, another steel-grilled door barred his exit from the car.

Facing him from behind a desk across the room sat Big Jim Calhoun.

“It’s Stub, Mr. Calhoun,” the baldheaded man called.

Another buzz sounded. Stub pushed open the steel door and let it swing shut behind him. His eyes flicked briefly at Lieutenant Morgan Hart, who sat with his back against one wall, then returned to Big Jim.

“I kept Fancy in sight all day,” Stub reported in his soft voice. “Gyp Fleming relieved me at five.”

“You didn’t make a special trip over here, just for that?” the blond giant asked.

“No.” The burly man glanced at Lieutenant Hart. “He rented a car and drove up to the prison to visit Gene Robinson. He took Adele Hudson along with him. Following your orders to take advantage of any situation where it would look like an... ah... accident, I cut him off on the mountain road so short it should have pushed him over a hundred-foot bank. He was expecting it and he crossed me up.”

“You still haven’t said anything that couldn’t have waited till tomorrow,” Big Jim said irritably.

“No,” Stub agreed. “It’s coming now. I left word for Gyp to phone me if anything special developed, and he just phoned me at home.” His eyes again flicked at Lieutenant Hart, then moved back to Big Jim. “I want to report this privately.”

A frown disturbed the cherubic blandness of Big Jim’s expression. “You can talk in front of Morg. You know that.”

“Yes, sir. Generally. I’d prefer to report this privately.”