Like all firsthand reports, it was confused. The facts of the kidnapping were more or less there, but the story was all garbled. They had no description of me, nothing beside the fact that I was “fairly tall and of medium build.” They didn’t know what kind of car I’d used.
Both the matron and the chauffeur were being questioned. All available police, including those off-duty, had been ordered to the area. The entire neighborhood had been blocked off, a search of every estate in the vicinity was underway, all servants—particularly uniformed-chauffeurs—were being “intensively grilled.”
The boy’s parents were “prostrated.” The mayor had demanded “all-out action,” the police commissioner was “pressing for an immediate solution of the case,” and the chief of police had promised that “no stone would be left unturned.”
The news had just broken, but everyone that was anyone was all ready with a statement. They were so ready with their predictions and promises and demands, you might have thought they’d been expecting something like this. But I don’t guess they had, or if they had it hadn’t bothered ’em much.
I went back to the car and around to the other door. I spoke to the boy, and then I lifted him out gently and started up the wall. He was sound asleep, exhausted with the excitement and strain. I was practically knocked out myself, but naturally everything had hit him a bit harder.
Fay and Uncle Bud moved out of the doorway; I’d have knocked them out of it if they hadn’t moved. I brushed past them, carried the boy into the spare bedroom, and laid him down on the bed. I slipped off his shoes, partly unbuttoned his shirt. Then, I went back into the living room, pulling the door shut behind me.
Fay and Uncle Bud had snapped out of it a little. Enough, at least, to wobble back into the living room and fix themselves a drink. I fixed myself one, and sat down. Fay looked at me out of the corner of her eyes. She gave me a straighter look, her lips trembling as she tried to smile. I stared back at her, and she dropped her eyes and the smile went away.
Then it was Uncle Bud’s turn. I went through the same thing with him. Staring through him, forcing the smile back into his face, making him look away. They both sat looking at the floor—almost holding their breaths, sort of poised on the edge of their chairs. They looked like they’d jump if I said boo, and I left them that way. It was the way I wanted them to feel.
I leaned back and sipped at my drink, listening to the radio. There was nothing new. Just the same hot air without anything behind it. I got up and fixed another drink. I switched the radio off, and sat back down.
“Well, what’s the matter? I didn’t surprise you, did I?”
Fay’s head came up. Her breath went out in a deep, quavery sigh. “Surprise us!” she said. “Surprise us! Oh, Collie, how—why in the world did you do it?”
“Why not? It was what we planned on. It was what I was supposed to do.”
“B-but—but not that way! Not after you’d made a mistake, and it was so late you were almost sure to-to—to—” Her voice broke, and she covered her face with her hands.
She rocked back and forth, kind of sobbing and laughing, smiling and frowning, all at the same time.
That seemed to bring Uncle Bud back to life. He let out a laugh, slapping his hand on his knee.
“Surprise?” He beamed at me. “And what a surprise, Kid! I got to hand it to you, boy. I bet there ain’t another man in the country that could have pulled a stunt like that and got away with it!”
“There’s plenty that could do it. All you’d have to do is get them sore. Pick yourself a guy that’s a little bit off and then try to throw a curve under him, and he’d do it.”
“Yeah?” He weaved around that one. “Well, I know what you mean, Kid. You hold the short end of the stick just so long, and then you start swinging it. You’ve had enough, see? People just don’t want to get along with you, no matter how willing you are, so finally—”
“Shut up!”
“Huh? Now, look, Kid—”
“I said to shut up!”
“But—” He brushed the back of his hand against his mouth. “W-well, sure. Anything you say, Kid.”
“You gave me a card when I first came here,” I said. “You wrote your name and your address and telephone number on it in case I had to get in touch with you. It’s in your own handwriting, remember. Not just a printed business card that I might have come by accidentally.”
I paused, letting it sink in on him. He wet his lips uneasily.
“You wouldn’t have found that card on me today,” I went on. “You couldn’t have got it back. I won’t tell you where it is, but I’ll tell you this: I’ve got a good friend or two around the country. Even a guy like me will pick up a few friends. And if anything should happen to me, the cops will get that card mighty fast and they’ll be told where it came from.”
I was lying, of course. Probably Uncle Bud had a good hunch that I was. But he wasn’t very bright, and he didn’t have much in the way of guts. And if his hunch was wrong, if I wasn’t lying…
His eyes flickered as he tried to make up his mind. He brushed at his coat nervously, his fingers lingering at the ominous bulge under his handkerchief pocket. He wanted to do it; he wanted to so bad that he could taste it. But he couldn’t quite talk himself into the job. It was a pretty screwy thing I’d told him; like something out of a cheap movie. But—well, I was a pretty screwy guy, wasn’t I? I’d already outsmarted him once today, and with a stunt that made less than no sense at all. So if I’d done it once, why wouldn’t I do it again? How the hell did he know what I might do?
“Collie,” said Fay, breaking the silence. “What—what is this? What are you getting at?”
I didn’t answer her, or even look at her. I sat watching Uncle Bud a moment longer, grinning at him. Then, I got up and walked over in front of him.
“Well, how about it? You’ve got a gun. You were all set to use it an hour or so ago. Why don’t you do it, now?”
His mouth opened. His lips moved silently, helplessly. I caught him by the shirt front, and yanked him to his feet.
“Can’t make up your mind, huh? You’re scared, stupid and scared. Well, I’ll give you a little help. Maybe if you get good and sore…”
I gave him a little jolt under the heart. Just a little tap with my fist. Uncle Bud grunted, his face went white, and I tapped him again. Around the heart, down in the kidneys, and up on the wishbone. I held him with one hand and fed him those little jolts with the other. And his face seem to turn from white to green, and his tongue slid out from his teeth.
I reached under his coat, grabbed his gun, and shoved it into my belt. Then, I dropped him down into his chair, and went back to the sofa.
Uncle Bud sat bent over, hugging himself. He wasn’t really hurt bad, just temporarily paralyzed with pain. But I guess he thought he’d been about half-killed.
Fay frowned at me. Scared, but more puzzled it seemed than anything else. “Collie!” she said sharply. “I want to know what this is all about!”
“You know, Fay. I told you right from the beginning. I told you I wasn’t stupid, and I didn’t like for people to treat me like I was.”
“But, but what’s that got to do with it?” She paused and went on in a lower voice. “Is it—does it have something to do with yesterday? I’m terribly sorry about that, darling. It just came as such a shock to me that I couldn’t think; I didn’t know what I was doing for a while. Then I ran off and started drinking and made such a mess of myself that I was ashamed to face you.”
“Forget it. I know how you felt and what you felt. So don’t bother to tell me.”
“But…” She hesitated again. “Is it—I’m sorry I let you down today, Collie. But I just didn’t see how I could go through with it. I wouldn’t have been any good to you. The way I felt, I’d have been almost sure to spoil things.”
“But you pulled yourself together. You felt well enough to leave right behind me. To be Johnny-on-the-spot after I’d pulled the job.”
>
“Well.” She nodded slowly. “Yes. Uncle Bud thought we ought to do that much to help, at least. If something went wrong—if there was trouble, we might be able to pull you out of it. I was still sick, but I was worried about leaving you to do everything. And Uncle Bud thought I—we—”
“That’s right, Kid.” It was Uncle Bud getting back to normal. “That’s just the way it was. We were concerned for you, having to do everything yourself, and we figured we’d better kind of keep an eye on things.”
I laughed. I didn’t say anything, just laughed the one time and chopped it off short.
Fay’s eyes flashed. “And it’s a good thing we were there! If we hadn’t been, you’d have taken the wrong boy.”
“Yeah? It hasn’t maybe occurred to you that I picked that boy up deliberately?”
“Deliberately! But, but why would you do that? What—now, look!” she said. “I’m getting fed up! What’s he talking about, Uncle Bud?”
He looked at me uneasily. He cleared his throat, tried to work up a smile, and it looked like something on a corpse. Fay frowned. She asked him again what I was talking about.
It was a pretty good act. You’d have almost thought she didn’t know.
“Answer me!” she said. “I swear, if this keeps up much longer, I’ll, I’ll—!”
“Now, now.” He squirmed. “There ain’t nothing to get excited about. The Kid’s just kinda got the wrong slant on things, an’—and I don’t blame him, y’understand. I don’t hold the slightest grudge whatsoever. He’s been under a big strain today.”
“Will you stop stalling and tell me!” said Fay loudly.
“Well, uh, you remember what we were talking about the other night? About maybe not actually going through with the snatch—just faking it kind of, and then having me step in and collect a fat reward?”
Fay nodded. “But we couldn’t do it. There was just no way we could. So what about that?”
“Well, uh, yeah, there was a way all right. Just one way to make it look good. And I guess that’s kind of what the Kid’s thinking about. Then maybe he thought I was jealous of you two or something. Of course, he’s all wrong, but—but you see how it might look to him. You act like you’re completely washed up with him. The Kid figures we’re both plenty leery of having him around. So when he had to go by himself today, and then we show up, why—”
Fay’s glass slid out of her hands. It bounced against the carpet, and then toppled onto its side; rocked back and forth, the ice tinkling.
She stooped and picked it up. She reached out and set the glass on the table. She wasn’t looking at what she was doing—she was staring at me—and it fell to the floor again. Fay didn’t seem to notice. There was an expression on her face I’d never seen before. A kind of waking-up expression. It was the way a blind person might look if he was suddenly able to see. If he really saw himself for the first time in his life.
“So that’s what you think,” she said. “That’s what you think of me.”
“Why not?” I said.
“Yes. Why not? If a person won’t stop at kidnapping, why would he stop at murder? I don’t think it makes much difference about yesterday, Collie. About what happened or didn’t happen. It may have brought about this situation a little sooner, but with people like us—people who’ve become what we have—we were bound to arrive at it.” She rubbed her eyes tiredly, and shook her head. “You were wrong about not being stupid, Collie. You are. I am. Uncle Bud also, to cite a self-evident fact.”
“Now, now,” said Uncle Bud. “What’s the sense in all this glooming around? We had a little misunderstanding, but it’s all over now. We’re all square with the world again. We got what we wanted, and now we’re all set to collect.”
Fay laughed. “Collect. Yes, gentlemen and lady, now we can collect.”
“I said so, didn’t I?” Uncle Bud turned to me. “Now, I’ve been thinking, Kid. There’s nothing in the news about the station wagon, but isn’t there a chance that that first boy might peep? I know it don’t look like he would. He wouldn’t want to admit he’d sneaked off and gone for a ride with a stranger. And probably if he did admit it, that matron would swear he was lying. But the cops won’t be passing up any bets on this one, so…”
Fay got up suddenly and went into her bedroom. I started to get up, too, just instinctively without thinking. Wanting to go after her, to ask her if something was wrong. And then I caught myself, and I settled back down again.
“I can ditch it over at my place, Kid. What do you think?”
“What? Oh, well, yeah. Maybe you’d better do that. I’m pretty sure the boy won’t say anything, but someone else might have spotted it.”
“Right. I’ll take it with me then when I go and leave you my car. I can pick up another heap to get around in until we pull down our jackpot. Now—” He reached for the bottle, and poured his glass half-full. He was trying to be friendly and casual, but his hand shook. Underneath his big, easy smile, he was scared stiff. “Now, I figured I’d mail the ransom note tonight, if that’s okay with you. They’ll get it the first thing in the morning.”
“Look,” I said. “We’ve been all through this. You know what you have to do, and there’s no point in asking me about it.”
“Yeah, but…” He hesitated. “Well, I don’t want you to get any more wrong ideas, Kid. I don’t want to do anything that maybe you, uh—”
“I won’t get any ideas without a damned good reason. Just don’t give me any reason, and I won’t get any ideas.”
His smile warmed up, began to look a little more natural. “Now, you’re talking, Kid. Hell, there’s no use getting all up in the air and acting unfriendly, is there? We had a little misunderstanding—and I don’t blame you a bit, see?—but now that we got it cleared up—”
“All right. Let’s just cut it off there. I’m tired of kicking it around, and I’m tired period.”
“Sure. Sure, Kid,” he said hastily. “Now, what do you think about—?” He broke off, started another sentence. “I think I’d better have something of the boy’s, Kid. A label out of his clothes, or maybe his handkerchief. Something to send with the ransom note, so they’ll know it’s just not some crank writing. A case like this, you know, there’ll—”
I got up, cutting him off, and went into the bedroom. I eased the boy’s handkerchief out of his pocket, saw that it was initialed, and took it back into the living room. Uncle Bud said it would do fine; it was just what he needed. And maybe he’d better be running along now.
I walked out to his car with him. He gave me the keys to it and got into the station wagon. But he still didn’t leave. He kept rambling on, thinking of things to say.
“That uniform and stuff, Kid. Better get rid of it right away. Take it out and—”
“And bury it. I know. I’m going to.”
“Better get to work on that hair right away, too. Scrub it out until there ain’t a trace of the dye left in it.”
I said I would. I knew everything I had to do, and I’d do it. But he still didn’t leave. He still sat there, fidgeting with the car keys, making conversation. So, finally, I did the only thing I could do. He’d made a half a dozen starts at doing it, but he was afraid to carry through. So I took the lead. I shook hands with him.
And a minute or so later he drove off.
12
I buried the uniform and the things that went with it. I came back up from the trees, returned the spade to the garage and went up to the apartment. I washed my hair out, flopping down on the bed for a while afterwards. But tired as I was I couldn’t rest. I kept tossing around, trying to straighten my mind out. And I sure didn’t feel much like laughing, but somehow I wanted to laugh.
Because I’d played one hell of a joke on myself.
Doc Goldman had called the turn on me, all right. My judgment was anything but good. Guys with my background—and maybe a lot of guys without it—can’t think very far ahead. They knock themselves out getting something. They just have to ha
ve it, it seems like. And then it turns out to be something they don’t want, and they don’t know how to get rid of it:
I’d looked forward to making Fay and Uncle Bud squirm. Crowding them onto the ragged edge and keeping them there. But now I could see it wasn’t going to work. They might crack up and be unable to do what they had to. They might feel I was just waiting for a chance to pay them off, that they had to get me before I got them.
I’d had to shake hands with Uncle Bud. I’d had to pull him off the spot I’d put him on, make him think that things were at least reasonably okay. And Fay, I’d have to do the same thing with her—if I could. Because the other wouldn’t work. The other took more out of me than I had.
I couldn’t beat them over the head without beating myself.
It was night, dark, when I finally thought things out. As good, I mean, as I could think them out. I got up and went downstairs, and I stood there in the yard a while, looking in through the back door of the house.
Fay and the boy were at the kitchen table. She was holding him on her lap, not eating anything herself. But it looked like he was eating quite a bit.
He finished after a few minutes. They left the kitchen, the boy holding on to her hand, and watching through the windows I saw her take him into the bedroom.
I went on inside. There was a lot of stuff left on the table—canned beans and boiled ham and half of a pie. So I warmed up the coffee, and started eating.
Fay came in, pulling the door shut behind her. I looked up and nodded.
“How’s the boy doing? Did he eat his dinner all right?”
“Did he?” She shrugged. “Don’t tell me you don’t know.”
I supposed she must have noticed me out in the yard. I said I’d just waited out there until the boy was through because I was afraid I might upset him.
“Uh-huh. Well, if that’s all you were just doing, I’ll just tell you that young Charles, heir apparent to the Vanderventer fortune, had a light repast consisting of one-half of a pie and approximately one pound of beans. Not to mention ham, bread, and perhaps another pound of beans by way of dessert.”