The Mike Hammer Collection

York said, “My sister, Martha Ghent, her husband, Richard.” Richard went to stick out his hand but the old biddie shot him a hasty frown and he drew back, then she tried to freeze me out. Failing in this she turned to York. “Really, Rudolph, I hardly think we should meet this . . . this person.”

York turned an appealing look my way, in apology. “I’m sorry, Martha, but Mr. Hammer considers it necessary.”

“Nevertheless, I don’t see why the police can’t handle this.”

I sneered at her in my finest manner. “I can’t see why you don’t keep your mouth shut, Mrs. Ghent.”

The way her husband tried to keep the smile back, I thought he’d split a gut. Martha stammered, turned blue and stalked off. York looked at me critically, though approvingly.

A young kid in his early twenties came walking up as though the carpet was made of eggs. He had Ghent in his features, but strictly on his mother’s side. A pipe stuck out of his pocket and he sported a set of thick-lensed glasses. The girl at his side didn’t resemble anyone, but seeing the way she put her arm around Richard I took it that she was the daughter.

She was. Her name was Rhoda, she was friendly and smiled. The boy was Richard, Junior. He raised his eyebrows until they drew his eyes over the rims of his glasses and peered at me disapprovingly. He perched his hands on his hips and “Humphed” at me. One push and he would be over the line that divides a man and a pansy.

The introductions over, I cornered York out of earshot of the others. “Under the circumstances, it might be best if you kept this gang here until things settle down a bit. Think you can put them up?”

“I imagine so. I’ve been doing it at one time or another for the last ten years. I’ll see Harvey and have the rooms made up.”

“When you get them placed, have Harvey bring me a diagram showing where their rooms are. And tell him to keep it under his hat. I want to be able to reach anyone anytime. Now, is there anyone closely connected with the household we’ve missed?”

He thought a moment. “Oh, Miss Grange. She went home this afternoon.”

“Where was she during the kidnapping?”

“Why . . . at home, I suppose. She leaves here between five and six every evening. She is a very reserved woman. Apparently has very little social activity. Generally she furthers her studies in the library rather than go out anywhere.”

“Okay, I’ll get to her. How about the others? Have they alibis?”

“Alibis?”

“Just checking, York. Do you know where they were the night before last?”

“Well . . . I can’t speak for all of them, but Arthur and William were here. Alice Nichols came in about nine o’clock then left about an hour later.”

This part I jotted down on a pad. “How did you collect the family . . . or did they all just drift in?”

“No, I called them. They helped me search, although it did no good. Mr. Hammer, what are we going to do? Please . . .”

Very slowly, York was starting to go to pieces. He’d stood up under this too calmly too long. His face was pale and withered-looking, drawn into a mask of tragedy.

“First of all, you’re going to bed. It won’t do any good for you to be knocking yourself out. That’s what I’m here for.” I reached over his shoulder and pulled a velvet cord. The flunky came in immediately and hurried over to us. “Take him upstairs,” I said.

York gave the butler instructions about putting the family up and Harvey seemed a little surprised and pleased that he’d be allowed in on the conspiracy of the room diagram.

I walked to the middle of the floor and let the funeral buzz down before speaking. I wasn’t nice about it. “You’re all staying here tonight. If it interferes with other plans you’ve made it’s too bad. Anyone that tries to duck out will answer to me. Harvey will give you your rooms and be sure you stay in them. That’s all.”

Lady sex appeal waited until I finished then edged up to me with a grin. “See if you can grab the end bedroom in the north wing,” she said, “and I’ll get the one connected to it.”

I said in mock surprise, “Alice, you can get hurt doing things like that.”

She laughed. “Oh, I bruise easily, but I heal fast as hell.”

Swell girl. I hadn’t been seduced in a long time.

I wormed out through a cross fire of nasty looks to the foyer and winked at Richard Ghent on the way. He winked back; his wife wasn’t looking.

I slung on my coat and hat and went out to the car. When I rolled it through the gate I turned toward town and stepped on the gas. When I picked up to seventy I held it there until I hit the main drag. Just before the city line I pulled up to a gas station and swung in front of a pump. An attendant in his early twenties came out of the miniature Swiss Alpine cottage that served as a service station and automatically began unscrewing the gas cap. “Put in five,” I told him.

He snaked out the hose and shoved the nose in the tank, watching the gauge. “Open all night?” I quizzed.

“Yeah.”

“On duty yourself?”

“Yup. ’Cept on Sundays.”

“Don’t suppose you get much to do at night around here.”

“Not very much.”