Brett Halliday - Last Seen Hitchhiking

There was a knock at the door. Tree’s eyes jumped to the fragments, then to Shayne. Shayne picked up one of the pieces and put it in his shirt pocket.

“To keep the game honest. See who it is.”

“Probably not room service.”

“Probably not,” Shayne agreed.

He replaced the pieces in the foam-rubber-lined box. Tree was examining the ash at the end of his cigar.

“If it’s the police, I know nothing about any Toltec mask. You brought these fragments to me to ask my opinion. Where you got them is your business. That means you do the talking.”

“Nobody wants to bring in the cops just yet. We’re still feeling each other out.”

“Holloway, perhaps?” Tree suggested. “Or Mrs. Holloway. With Spanish-speaking friends. With guns.”

Tree blew a thin plume of cigar smoke and stood up when the knock was repeated. “You know more about this than I do, and somehow I get the feeling that you have other things on your mind than the professional survival of Eliot Tree.”

At the door, he said, “Who is it?”

A woman’s voice answered cheerfully, “Delivery for Tree.”

When Tree opened the door, it was knocked out of his hand. Professor Holloway came charging in. He had a girl with him, and Tree had been right about one thing: she had a pistol.

She waved it and told them excitedly, “Face the wall with hands over your head. Everybody!”

Shayne laughed. “My God, Holloway. Where’d you recruit this one?”

She was a full college generation younger than Meri Gillespie. She was wearing extremely short shorts, from the cuffs of which came a pair of long honey-colored legs. Holloway’s eyebrows might be graying and his manner might be getting a little anxious around the edges, but he hadn’t lost his power to fascinate. She was floating. Her eyes crackled, and her breasts seemed to give off a steady flow of static electricity.

She darted the gun forward and repeated her command. If this girl wanted him to stand against the wall, Shayne was ready to comply, and he advised the museum director to do the same.

Holloway had a reddish bruise over one eye, an equally large sense of grievance.

“Elly, I don’t know what’s happened to you. You used to be reasonably honest. Did you stop to consider that I might have been seriously hurt, or killed?”

“I’m sorry about that, Sam.”

“You’re sorry. He hit me with brass knuckles. He could have done permanent brain damage. I’m not some TV repairman, I need my brain to operate.”

“It wasn’t my doing.”

“I doubt that intensely, but it isn’t such a distinction, is it? They knew you’d buy what they stole, without any qualms. How is it that you happen to be in town at this particular moment, may I ask?”

“Pure chance.”

The girl had been following this with birdlike movements of her head. The gun was also in motion, and she was clearly itching to use it.

Shayne said, “Isn’t it time for everybody to disarm? I’m wondering if your friend really understands the situation.”

“How can she when I don’t understand it myself?” Holloway said. He put his hand on the girl’s arm. “It’s all right now. I’ve got my property back. I’ll hold the revolver.”

“No, I’d like to,” she said brightly. “I thought I’d shoot the redheaded one first. He looks more dangerous.”

“Thanks,” Shayne said, “but I’m not interested in old Mexican jigsaw puzzles. It’s pure chance that I’m here.”

“Pure chance,” Tree repeated.

Holloway tugged gently at the gun. “You’ve been splendid, Diane. I couldn’t have managed without you. But now if you shoot somebody we’ll be sitting around in a police station the rest of the night. Let go.”

She relinquished the weapon finally. Shayne turned, lowering his hands.

“How do you do it? You must hypnotize them.”

“She was mildly hypnotized when I picked her up,” Holloway said dryly. “I knew she’d scare you.”

“Jesus,” Tree said fervently.

“And how do I interpret this little scene?” Holloway said. “What were you doing, Shayne, negotiating a price for selling me out?”

“I don’t know who really owns the goddamn thing. Tree was about to show me papers proving that he bought it from a Swiss dealer.”

Holloway gave the museum director an unfriendly look. “Boëckli, I suppose? Your usual stooge. If you manufactured the provenance before you left New York, that proves intent.”

“But all the pieces aren’t here,” Shayne said, “as you have reason to know, Professor. We were discussing strategy when you walked in. I think I’d talked him into putting up a cash reward.”

“How much?” Holloway said suspiciously.

“Two hundred thousand bucks.”

The girl squealed. Looking at Tree, Holloway said slowly, “You really must want this, Ellie. I wish your finances were in better shape, so you could bid for it out in the open.”

“Unhappily—”

Tree had gone back to the sofa and his cigar. His manner was probably the one he habitually used in New York — cold, a little withdrawn. None of the people in the room could have concerned him greatly. But Shayne had been watching him closely, and when Holloway pocketed his gun and Tree’s hand slipped between the sofa cushions, Shayne swooped and caught his wrist. He brought Tree’s hand out and shook the gun loose. When the girl grabbed at it on the floor, Shayne stamped at her hand.

“College professors. Museum directors. Graduate students. I’m going to have to change some of my ideas.”

Holloway’s hand had gone to the gun in his pocket.

Shayne told him, “If it really matters that much, take your guns out in the alley, both of you, and shoot it out. I just don’t want to be there. I get shot at too often by people who have a reason for shooting at me. Here.” He tossed the pistol into Tree’s lap. “Duel him for it.”

The girl shimmered with excitement. She looked from one antagonist to the other, as though watching tennis. Tree took the cigar out of his mouth slowly, his eyes on Holloway, who, equally slowly, brought his hand out empty.

“As gunfighters,” Tree said, “it’s true we’re miscast. Of course it wouldn’t be a maiden effort for you, Sam, having killed a man in Yucatan last winter.”

“A Mexican sneak-thief,” Holloway said.

“Absolutely. Now don’t you think we ought to get back to the big question? Which I take to be, who is going to do exactly what?”

“We had an agreement, Shayne,” Holloway said. “We didn’t sign anything, but morally I’m your client. The mask is mine. That’s never been questioned. I’m going to collect my property now and get out of here. See that there’s no shooting and I’ll gladly pay your regular fee.”

“I said I’d take ten percent if I recovered the fragment and you could complete the Terre Haute deal. I don’t see any chance of that happening unless we spend some money. Tree’s offer is two hundred thousand. Can you match it?”

“Of course not. That thirty-eight thousand they swindled out of me tonight cleaned me out. That doesn’t alter the fact that the mask belongs to me.”

Shayne made a brusque gesture. “We have two claims, and to me they look equally good. It’s time to go to arbitration, and I’m appointing myself arbitrator. First I’ll ask for ideas. Stick to the narrow question of the missing fragment. How are we going to find out who has it and get it back?”

Nobody answered until Tree said, “Be fair, Shayne. Nobody’s told me the full circumstances.”

“The full circumstances are highly peculiar,” Shayne said. “The girl who stole it may be sitting somewhere laughing at us. She may have thrown it away. Or she may have been killed, and the killer has thrown it away. But I wasn’t really talking to you. What do you have to suggest, Holloway?”