Fear is the Key

"They had him tailed this morning when he went into Marble Springs. It seems he went into a hardware store, why, they don't know." I could have filled that part in: he'd gone to buy a rope, have duplicate keys cut and do quite a bit of telephoning. "It seems he was there half an hour without coming out, then the tail went in after him. Jablonsky came out, but his shadower didn't. He'd disappeared." She smiled faintly. "It seems that Jablonsky must have attended to him."

I didn't smile. I said quietly: "How do they know this? The tail hasn't turned up, has he?"

"They had three tails on Jablonsky. He didn't catch on to the other two."

I nodded wearily. "And then?"

"Jablonsky went to the post office. I saw him going in myself when we — Daddy and I — were on our way to tell the police the story Daddy insisted I tell, about how you'd dumped me and I'd thumbed a lift home. Well, it seems Jablonsky picked up a pad of telegraph forms, went into the booth, wrote out and sent off a message. One of Vyland's men waited till he'd left then got the pad and took off the top message sheet — the one under the sheet Jablonsky had written on — and brought it back here. From what I could hear Vyland seemed to be working on this with some powder and lamps."

So even Jablonsky could slip up. But in his place I would have done the same. Exactly the same. I would have assumed that if I'd disposed of a shadower that would be the lot. Vyland was clever, maybe he was going to be too clever for me. I said to the girl: "Hear anything more?"

"A little, not much. I gather they made out most of what was written on the form, but they couldn't understand it, I think it must have been in code." She broke off, wet her lips then went on gravely: "But the address was in plain language, of course."

"Of course." I crossed the room and stared down at her. I knew the answer to my next question, but I had to ask her. "And the address?"

"A Mr. J. C. Curtin, Federal Bureau of Investigation. That — that was really why I came. I knew I had to warn Mr. Jablonsky. I didn't hear any more, somebody came along the passage and I slipped out a side door, but I think he's in danger. I think he's in great danger, Mr. Talbot."

For the past fifteen minutes I'd been looking for a way to break the news to her, but now I gave up.

"You're too late." I hadn't meant my voice to sound harsh and cold but that's the way it sounded. "Jablonsky's dead. Murdered."

They came for me at eight o'clock next morning, Royale and Valentino.

I was fully dressed except for my coat and I was fastened to the bed-head by a single set of handcuffs — I'd thrown the key away together with Jablonsky's three duplicate keys after I'd locked all the doors.

There was no reason why they should search me and I hoped as I never hoped before that they wouldn't. After Mary had left, tear-stained, forlorn and having unwillingly promised me that no word of what had passed should be repeated to anyone, not even her father, I'd sat down and thought. All my thinking so far had been in a never-ending circle and I'd got so deep in the rut that I could hardly see daylight any more and just when my mental processes had been about to vanish completely into the darkness I'd had the first illuminating flash, in the dark gloom of my thinking a blindingly bright Sash of intuition or common sense, that I'd had since I'd come to that house. I'd thought about it for another half-hour, then I'd got a sheet of thin paper and written a long message on one side, folded it twice until it was only a couple of inches wide, sealed it with tape and addressed it to Judge Mollison at his home address. Then I'd folded it in half lengthwise, slid it over the neck-band of my tie and turned my collar down over it until it was completely hidden. When they came for me I'd had less than an hour in bed and I hadn't slept at all.

But I pretended to be sound asleep when they came in. Somebody shook me roughly by the shoulder. I ignored it. He shook me again. I stirred. He gave up the shaking as unprofitable and used 'the back of 'his hand across my face, not lightly. Enough was enough. I groaned, blinked my eyes painfully and propped myself up in bed, rubbing my forehead with my free hand.

"On your feet, Talbot" Apart from the upper left-hand side of his face, a miniature sunset viewed through an indigo haze, Royale looked calm and smooth as ever, and fully rested: another dead man on his conscience wasn't going to rob him of much sleep. Valentino's arm, I was glad to see, was still in a sling: that was going to make my task of turning him into an ex-bodyguard all the easier.

"On your feet," Royale repeated. "How come only one handcuff?"

"Eh?" I shook my head from side to side and made a great play of being dazed and half-doped. "What in hell's name did I have for dinner last night?"

"Dinner?" Royale smiled his pale quiet smile. "You and your gaoler emptied that bottle between you. That's what you had for dinner."