J. Kofoed - The Black Mask Magazine (Vol. 1, No. 6 - September 1920)

"Yes," said the chauffeur desperately. "We'll have to put her out of the way."

"We?"

"Yes, you, too. You don't trust me, and I don't trust you. So far well and good. Everything's even, and no one hurt. But, if we do the job together, one can't hold the other up."

Johnny pretended to consider. That offer, of course, was the one he had been attempting to get out of the chauffeur. The reporter knew something of psychology. He knew the state Hawker's nerves would be in when he came to do this cold-blooded crime, and, with proper coaching, the man would tell enough to place the noose around his neck. Suggs had an inborn hatred of falsehood, but the remorseless requirements of the profession he was temporarily following forced the deception he was practicing. To lie in the line of duty is sometimes a disagreeable necessity — and this was for Mildred.

"Will you do this?" asked Hawker.

"And I'll get the fifteen thousand?"

"Of course."

"All right," said Johnny slowly, "but I can't understand why you didn't do something yourself when you knew she was in town."

Hawker scowled. "I sent Black Allen out to trap her, but someone butted in on the affair, and gave Allen a handy beating. The girl got away, and is hiding somewhere. It will be necessary to find her first."

"I know where she is."

" You do?"

"Of course. What kind of a. reporter do you think I am? I've kept track of everyone in this case, first and last. Here's my plan. Do you know where 2738 Phillips Street is?"

Hawker nodded.

"The house belonged to Guerney's wife, and now, of course, belongs to the daughter. I'll get her there by a fake note, and then — well, it isn't pleasant to talk of those things."

"What time do you want me there?" asked Hawker.

There was a sound of light footsteps in the hall.

"Paper," cried a piping, juvenile voice. "Evenin' Star."

"At twelve; on the dot," said Suggs hurriedly, opening the door. The newsboy thrust in a folded copy of the sheet, which Johnny passed over to Hawker. "At twelve, don't forget." And he disappeared down the stairway.

While he was striding along the street, chuckling to himself, the chauffeur was staring dumbly at the great, black headlines that blazoned forth his financial wreckage:

CATHEDRAL NATIONAL BANK CLOSES ITS

DOORS LOOTED BY OFFICERS IS

REPORT — NOT A DOLLAR WILL

BE REALIZED BY CREDITORS

Suggs called up the Star office, found that his father had gone home, and immediately followed him there. Dinner had been served long ago, arid his mother and sisters had gone to the theatre. The master of the house was in his room, dressing. Johnny went up at once.

"Well," asked the owner of the Star , shaking out his dinner jacket and lying it across a chair. "How did your wonderful scheme work out?"

"Immense. We have him trapped, I think. Regard your son, old war horse. He's a criminal. I engaged in a conspiracy with Hawker — at his own suggestion, mind you — that we put Mildred Guerney out of the way. He is to meet me at 2738 Phillips Street at twelve o'clock tonight. I am supposed to have lured the girl there. Gad! what a cold, calculating devil he is."

"What about that single copy of the Star that I had printed, telling of the failure of the Cathedral National Bank?"

"It was delivered just as I left," laughed Johnny, "and if I know anything of human nature it will be the final, jarring punch that will make Hawker reckless of consequences. He'll talk — and an uncontrolled tongue has been the downfall of more criminals than all the detectives in the world."

The older man finished brushing his hair, and picked up his waistcoat. "It was a clever idea, son, but I would like to get that paper back again. The bank is as solvent as it ever was, but if that fake notice ever came to the attention of the president I would find myself the defendant in a suit for damages. However, it's in a good cause, so I won't worry about that. Have you explained matters to Miss Guerney?"

"Yes."

"And she is willing to carry out her share in the affair?"

"Of course."

"She must trust you implicitly, son. I know that you are no Don Juan, but she is an unsophisticated girl. Be careful."

Johnn's cheeks began to burn, and he gave his father an uncomfortable look. Silence fell, and he sat down, his boyish face resting on his hands. The elder Suggs looked at him curiously, and began to change his collar.

"Do you — ah — love her?" he asked.

"Yes. What do you think this case means to me? I am not a professional detective — the trapping of the man who killed that selfish gourmand, Guerney, and Jones and the Dayak means nothing to me except that it will lift the black shadow from the girl I love."

Mr. Suggs had finished dressing. Johnny looked at his watch, picked up his hat and gloves, and rose.

"It is ten o'clock," he said in a curiously quiet voice. "I am ready if you are."

Together they went downstairs. The Suggs limousine was waiting outside. When they reached the drawing-room a sudden thought struck the reporter.

"I don't think we had better go together, dad. Hawker isn't a servant. Normally he is clever enough and suspicious enough to watch this house to see what I do. You go in the machine, drive around town a bit, then pick up Jamieson and O'Toole and Bierhalter, if they will let him go. He saw the beginning of this affair, and it is only fair that he should see the finish, too. I'll meet Mildred near the Phillips Street address. Have the police slip in the back way, and make sure that Hawker does not see them."

"Right you are, son," said the older man. He took the boy's hand in an affectionate grip. "I'm with you all the way, understand — all the way. And, at a pinch, I don't imagine that I would make such a bad father-in-law."

He laughed; relinquished his grip. The door banged behind his burly figure.

A few minutes later Johnny, too, went out.

He met Mildred a few blocks from the Phillips Street house. In her pretty, soft gown, with a tint of blue ribbon at neck and shoulder, she seemed so very young and lovable that Suggs' heart set up a disturbed double drumming.

"I am glad you are here," she whispered. "I was afraid that something had happened to prevent it."

"Nothing could prevent — that!"

"Oh," she said faintly. Then: "Are we to go in now?"

Yes, they were to go in, it being nearly time for Hawker to appear. Mildred had the key to the place. They entered the dim, old-fashioned back parlor, where they were to keep their vigil. Had either been alone it would have been dreary waiting — a trifle eerie, perhaps — but being together made all the difference in the world. They burned, too, with the gusty thrill of the man-hunter, a sensation that nothing else can counterfeit.

At last the big clock in the corner church boomed twelve solemn, heavy strokes. Their ponderous reverberations had scarcely ceased when the opening and closing of the front door sounded. Johnny peered hastily into the dining-room and received a reassuring hiss from Lieutenant Jamieson.

The stage was set for the entrance of the principal actor.

Suggs rose and opened the parlor door to admit Hawker.

The chauffeur was flushed with drink. Apparently he had sought to stiffen a wavering courage with numerous libations, and had only succeeded in forcing the throbbing color into his cheeks and a heaviness into his tongue.

"When I saw how dark the place was I didn't know but what you had double-crossed me," he snorted.

"You didn't think I would have it lit up like a church, did you?"

Hawker grunted sullenly.

"Well, said the reporter casually, "here is Miss Guerney to talk that matter over with you. I suppose I get that fifteen thousand, don't I?"