Ричард Деминг: The Second Richard Deming Mystery MEGAPACK®

When the sedan pulled away again, the taxi was a quarter of a mile ahead. Link dropped his speed to forty, and soon it could not be seen at all. A mile farther on, they turned to one side on a dirt road.

Twenty minutes later they turned into a private lane, drove another five-hundred yards and stopped before a large, one-story log hunting cabin. Everyone got out. As they approached the door, Nan linked her left arm through Mac’s right.

Behind them Cougar said, “Thanks, Nan,” and his gun pressed into Mac’s back. “Now just remove that automatic from under his arm.”

Mac stood very still as Nan, still holding his right arm, reached under his coat with her free hand and slipped the automatic from its clip holster.

As she stepped away from him, he said, “This is getting to be a habit. What’s the pitch this time?”

“Get moving, copper!” Cougar snarled at his back, and emphasized the command by jabbing his spine with the gun muzzle.

At the word “copper” Mac’s hopes sank. He walked forward stiffly, prodded by the Strangler’s gun, and entered the cabin. Inside Mac found a long beam-ceilinged room running the entire width of the front. It was furnished with rustic furniture and had a fireplace at each end. Directly across from the entrance a drape-covered doorway led to another room in back.

When he reached the center of the room, Mac stopped and looked inquiringly over his shoulder. Cougar had paused just inside the door, and Nan stood with the two other men at the side, as though all three were merely interested observers.

“All right, copper,” Cougar said. “Start explaining who you are.”

Mac looked at Nan. “I thought you gave the orders around here. How come Ugly is tossing his weight around now?”

Cougar’s face darkened, but before he could speak, Nan said viciously, “Thomas is the fair-haired boy now. He brought the teacher an apple and got promoted to honor student.” Her answer was to Mac’s question, but she spoke directly to Cougar and the vicious tone was meant for him.

So there actually was someone higher than Nan in the organization, Mac thought. Hoping to create a diversion, he asked, “Got demoted, did you, Nan? What was the apple?”

Nan’s eyes swung at him. “You were. Smarty-pants Thomas phoned Dude Emory again and asked more detailed questions. When he found out Larry MacDowell had a cheek scar, he went running to teacher instead of to me, and got marked A for effort.”

“Is that all the fuss is about?” Mac asked indifferently. “Ever hear of plastic surgery?”

“Sure,” Cougar said. “I thought of that, which is why I asked the color of his eyes. Explain how you changed your eyes from blue to brown, and We’ll let you go.”

“Shoe polish,” Mac said seriously.

Benny Chisholm said, “What we waiting for? Let’s get this over with.”

“The boss wants her to do it personal,” Cougar said, nodding at Nan. “To sort of make up for her boner.”

He slipped a second gun, a vest pocket automatic, from his coat pocket and held it butt first toward Nan.

“Take him in there,” he said, pointing his own gun toward the drape-covered door.

Nan’s eyes brightened, almost as though she were glad of the opportunity to kill. “All right, Mac, darling,” she said. “Forward march.”

Tickles of cold sweat ran down Mac’s sides beneath his shirt, but he managed to keep both his expression and his tone mocking. “Murder gets to be habit forming, doesn’t it, Nan? You’re becoming almost the official executioner for Homicide, Incorporated.”

“What do you mean by that?” she said suspiciously.

“I won’t be the first suspected cop you killed, will I? About the fourth now, isn’t it?”

Cougar emitted a single hoarse guffaw, which was half laugh and half snarl.

Nan’s eyes burned at the Strangler and she spat, “Don’t throw so much weight around that you get in the boss’ hair. You don’t know how close you have come to the river before, when you got over-ambitious.”

His pale features lost what little color they had, and he seemed to shrink within himself. Nan tossed her head in: triumph at having at least temporarily put him in his place, then jabbed her little gun at Mac.

“I said move. Or do you want it right here?”

Abruptly Mac turned toward the doorway and pushed through the drapes, Nan following with the gun almost touching his back. The second room proved to be sleeping quarters and contained nothing but two double bunks, two heavy dressers and what seemed to be a closet, for at one side of the room was a second drape-covered door.

“Turn around,” Nan commanded in a loud voice.

Slowly Mac turned to face her, his body tensed against the expected jolt of a bullet. Nan’s face was dead white and her eyes held a gleam of unnatural excitement.

In a voice so low he could barely hear it, she said, “I haven’t time to explain, but take this gun and go out shooting.”

Mac’s jaw hung wide as she suddenly reversed the pistol and thrust the butt into his palm.

“Now hit me,” she said tensely. “Quick, so I’ll have an out! Make it look like you got the gun by force.

But Mac merely stared at her. “Quick!” she said fiercely. “Hit me! Hard!”

Recovering his mental balance, he clenched his left fist, slowly and almost reluctantly raised it chest high, then suddenly lashed out and caught Nan square on the chin. Her eyes crossed and she dropped flat on her back.

The drapes parted as Cougar pushed through, his revolver half-raised. Centering the little automatic on the Strangler’s vest, Mac squeezed the trigger and stepped back.

There was nothing but a sharp click. Cougar grinned wolfishly, and as Mac stared blankly down at the empty gun, a soft chuckle came from the side of the room. Mac glanced sidewise just as Claire D’Arcy stepped from the closet, a man-sized .45 automatic clenched in her small hand.

“An interesting show, and just what I expected,” Claire said.

Nan sat up and dazedly felt of her chin.

“Thanks for the demonstration, Nan,” Claire said sardonically. “Did you really think we’d trust you with a loaded gun after planting a cop in our midst?”

Nan worked her lower jaw tentatively and remained both seated and silent.

“When Dude Emory told Thomas over the phone that he had informed you of Larry Mac-Dowell’s cheek scar and blue eyes, there were only two explanations possible for your not branding Mac here a cop right then and there, and taking necessary action,” Claire said. “Either you are awfully stupid, or you’re a cop yourself. I rigged up this little act so I could listen in and learn which.” She smiled, and there was an unpleasant glitter in her eyes. “Now we can have a double funeral.”

The whole picture clicked together in Mac’s mind, and at the same time his mind wildly searched for a way out of the situation. Seemingly of its own accord there popped into his remembrance the Strangler’s craven fear of the “boss,” and Nan’s constant needling of him about the “boss” dislike of his over-ambition. With the remembrance a wild idea occurred to him.

“You mean a triple funeral, don’t you, Claire?” Mac asked insinuatingly.

She looked at him suspiciously. “What do you mean by that crack?”

“Just what I said.” Mac made his voice confident. “Three people in this room are going to die.”

Both Claire and Cougar frowned at him intently, and a faint uncertainly appeared in Cougar’s eyes.

“I suppose you told Cougar I didn’t know you were head of Homicide, Incorporated, and had been completely taken in by Nan acting as your front,” Mac continued blandly. “But you see, Cougar knows you deliberately sent Nan out of town yesterday so you could talk to me alone in order to satisfy yourself I was safe. He also knows I spent six hours in your apartment, because he was having me tailed.”