Эрл Гарднер - The Adventures of Paul Pry

Chick Bender stirred uneasily, frowning.

The girl’s eyes flashed, but she choked back the words that came to her lips.

“Remember,” warned Chick Bender. “Have your gun all ready. Don’t give him a chance to get organized. Shoot as soon as he comes through the door.”

A clock boomed the hour of eleven.

Below the green curtain appeared the silken pyjamas of a Chinese waiter. The foot showed the typical shoe of the Chinese.

“You leady eatum?” asked a sing-song voice as the waiter pushed through the curtain, set pots of tea on the table, put down bowls filled with thin rice cakes, each cake containing a printed slip of paper upon which had been printed an optimistic forecast of the future.

Charley the Checker slowly moved his right hand back.

“Yeah, but wait about ten minutes before you bring the rest of the stuff. Maybe somebody else comes.”

“All light,” said the waiter, and shuffled from the room.

The clock clacked off seconds which became minutes. Chick Bender lit a cigarette with a hand which shook. Charley the Checker looked at his watch and grunted.

“What the hell. It’s seven after eleven right now. I bet you fell down on the job, Maude.”

The girl sucked the blood from her lip.

“I hope to God I did,” she snapped.

Charley the Checker sneered. “I’ll give you what you’ve been needin’ for a long while when we get done with this guy,” he said. “Now remember the getaway, you guys—”

He broke off as footsteps sounded along the rough board floor. His hand crept down to his gun.

“I’m goin’ to let him have it as soon as he steps in,” he said. “Get ready. We ain’t takin’ any chances with this baby.”

The footsteps drew nearer, seemed to hesitate for a moment, then the form loomed against the curtain. Charley the Checker raised his right hand, the gun concealed beneath a napkin. The girl leaned forward, lips parted, eyes gleaming. Chick Bender pressed himself back against his chair as though to make himself as inconspicuous as possible.

The curtains bulged inward as a form pressed against it, pushed it to one side. And Charley sighed, lowered his hand. Chick Bender took a deep breath. The girl’s lips came together.

For the legs which were visible beneath the green of the curtain were encased in silken pyjamas, and the shoes were those of the Chinese, flat, formless shoes topped with black velvet upon which were embroidered red and green dragons.

The curtain came to one side. A huge tray, piled high with smoking dishes, obscured the upper portion of the waiter.

It was the girl who first noticed that the hand which held the tray was not yellow, but white. She gasped. Charley the Checker, his own eyes caught by some incongruity of costume, streaked his hand up from under the table.

At that precise moment Paul Pry lowered one end of the tray and the steaming dishes, the boiling soup, the hot tea, all cascaded down upon the gangster.

Red-hot chicken noodles caught him on a level with his throat. The soup drained down his collar, the noodles festooned themselves about his collar and down his vest, looping over the vest buttons.

A pot of hot tea fell squarely on his lap. Egg foo yung ha dropped onto his head and slipped back down his collar. He screamed with pain and leaned forward.

Paul Pry flipped his right hand over and down.

There was a rubber slungshot suspended from his wrist. It thunked upon the top of the gangster’s head, and Charley the Checker became as utterly inert as a half-emptied sack of meal.

Chick Bender was on his feet, his eyes glassy, hands clawing nervously at his hip. Paul Pry scooped up a teapot from the table and flung it with unerring aim.

The gangster tried to dodge, failed, and staggered back under the impetus of the blow. Hot tea dashed over him. He tore frantically at his garments as the hot liquid soaked through to the skin.

Paul Pry’s right wrist arced through the air and Chick Bender stretched his length upon the floor. There were running steps. A yellow face surveyed the wreckage through the green curtain, uttered a wild volley of chattering words and disappeared.

Paul Pry grinned at the woman.

It took her a full breath to adjust herself to the suddenly changed situation. For an instant she seemed on the point of flashing her hand to her breast for some weapon. Paul Pry’s voice steadied her.

“They double-crossed you, kid. I found out there were two of ’em in the room. You had told me your bargain called for meeting Chick Bender alone. Then when you didn’t come out in five minutes like you said you would, I knew there was something wrong, and I came to rescue you.”

The girl nodded. Slowly, a smile came over her features.

“My hero!” exclaimed Maude the Musher.

Paul Pry worked fast.

“You said one of them had something you wanted?”

Maude the Musher had not been entirely certain just what it was she had told Paul Pry, but she nodded affirmation. It was time when it was best to agree to anything.

Paul Pry dropped to his knees in front of Chick Bender. His hands parted the tea-soaked garments, went exploring into the still hot pockets.

He pulled out a roll of bills, a wallet which contained papers, a notebook. Then he turned to Charley the Checker. Once more his hands darted through the pockets with uncanny skill and a swift precision which cut minutes to seconds, seconds to split fractions.

His collection of miscellaneous papers was augmented by another sheaf of currency, more letters and notebooks.

“Let’s go,” said Paul Pry.

Maude the Musher had fully adjusted herself to the situation by this time. The trap had failed, but the bait was still good. It remained for her to string Paul Pry along until he could once more be lured on a hot spot.

“Dearest!” she said, and clutched him to her.

Paul Pry fought loose from the embrace.

“We’ve no time to lose,” he said.

There was the sound of running feet in the corridor, the jabbering of many voices. A police whistle shrilled from the pavement. Paul Pry took the rolled currency which had come from Chick Bender, tossed it to one of the yellow men who led the procession.

“To pay for damage,” he said.

The beady black eyes fastened upon the denomination of the outer bill in that roll, and suddenly widened with glittering glee. The man’s swift fingers appraised the roll, called out sentences in the sing-song Cantonese dialect, and a lane opened through which Paul Pry and the girl travelled.

There were heavy feet on the stairs.

“Police no likum,” said Paul Pry.

The Chinaman who clutched the roll of bills nodded his head.

“Heavy savvy,” he said. “You come.”

He guided them through tortuous passages, up and down dark staircases until they finally reached the street at a point some two blocks from the Mandarin Cafe.

Paul Pry called a cab.

“Sweetheart!” said Maude the Musher, and burrowed into his embrace. “I’ve never known a man like you, never, never, never!”

Paul Pry patted her shoulder.

The taxi rumbled through traffic, found its way to the hotel where Paul Pry had engaged the suite of rooms. He and the girl went up in the rickety elevator. Paul Pry unlocked the door, stood back for the girl to enter. She walked into his room, switched on the light, smiled at him.

“Dearest,” she said, a catch in her voice, her eyes starry, “you’ve made me love you!”

Paul Pry shook his head.

“No. It’s just gratitude. Your nerves have been all unstrung. You wait until tomorrow and see how you feel.”

Her eyes blazed.

“You don’t want my love, then!” she stormed, and flounced into her own room, slamming the door, bolting it.