Джеймс Чейз - The Flesh of the Orchid

‘You wouldn’t have thought a smart fella like Magarth would have fallen for this bolony about the Sullivans,’ Staum thought to himself, stretching out his short legs and shaking his head. It just showed that even a smart guy slipped up every now and then.

Staum wouldn’t have sat in the sunshine so calmly if he had known the Sullivans were lying in the long grass not more than two hundred yards from him, and had been there for the past half hour, their white faces intent, their eyes watching everything that went on around the big house.

‘I guess he must be in there,’ Max said, his thin lips scarcely moving. ‘If not, why the guard?’

‘What are you going to do?’ Frank asked uneasily. The sun was burning down on his back and he was thirsty.

‘We’ll stick around,’ Max returned. ‘I want to see just how many guards there are.’

Inside the big cool house Magarth was lolling on a settee, a highball in his hand. Veda, who had just come in from the packing shed, smiled her welcome.

‘Well, there you are,’ she said, coming over to him. ‘I didn’t expect to see you this morning. Have you got all you want?’

‘You might freshen this up for me,’ Magarth said, handing over his glass. ‘I thought I’d look in and see how the patient is. Nurse Davies says he had a good night.’

‘He is better,’ Veda returned, adding more whisky to Magarth’s drink and passing it back. ‘No news of the Blandish girl vet?’

‘No, nor of the Sullivans.’

‘George Staum doesn’t believe in the Sullivans,’ Veda said, sitting down beside Magarth.

‘He doesn’t believe in anything. But he will if they ever turn up here — which I hope they won’t.’

The telephone rang in the hall and a moment later the receiver near Magarth buzzed as the maid switched the call through.

‘It’s for you, precious,’ Veda said, handing the receiver to Magarth.

It was Sheriff Kamp on the line.

Magarth listened to the deep growling voice, nodded his head.

‘O.K., I’ll be right down. Thanks, Sheriff,’ he said, hung up.

‘Now what’s happened?’ Veda asked. ‘You’re always running away just when I think I have you to myself.’

‘There’s another nut loose,’ Magarth said in disgust. ‘She was being shipped from Kinston to Glenview last night, but somehow she got loose and murdered the attendant and now they’re looking for her. They thought I might like to cover it. I don’t want to, but I suppose I’ll have to earn my living.’ He stood up. ‘I’ll be out here tonight if I’m not too busy,’ he went on. ‘Think you’d like to have me?’

‘I think so,’ Veda said, slipped her arm through his and walked with him on to the terrace.

‘Enjoying yourself?’ Magarth asked Staum.

Staum opened one eye, nodded.

‘You bet,’ he said. ‘It’s fine out here.’

‘Well, don’t go to sleep. Your job is to watch for the Sullivans.’

‘Sure,’ Staum said, and laughed. ‘I’ll watch for them.’

‘You don’t really think they’ll come?’ Veda asked as Magarth climbed into his car.

‘I don’t, but we may as well be on the safe side,’ he returned. ‘I think they’re out of the district by now. So long, sugar. See you tonight.’

The Sullivans watched him go.

‘That’s a nice-looking frail,’ Frank said, staring through a pair of field-glasses at Veda as she made her way along the terrace. ‘I bet you wouldn’t have to be a piano-mover to push her over.’

Max fished out a bottle of lemonade, snapped off the cap and drank from the bottle.

‘Get your mind off her,’ he said, passing the bottle to Frank. ‘You think too much about women.’

‘Got to think about something,’ Frank said sullenly. ‘You intend to kill this guy?’

‘If he’s there,’ Max said quietly. ‘We’ve got to kill him unless you want to sit in a cell and hear them knock up a scaffold for you.’

Frank’s face twisted.

‘After this we’d better quit,’ he said in a low voice. ‘We’ve had the breaks up to now, and we’ve got dough. We’d best quit.’

Max smiled thinly to himself.

He had been waiting for Frank to say this for some time.

‘We’re not ready to quit yet,’ he said.

‘Well, I am,’ Frank said.

There was a long pause.

‘I organized this racket. I said when we’d start, and I’ll say when we quit,’ Max said softly.

Frank said nothing. He stared down at the sleeping Deputy Sheriff as he sat slumped in the deck-chair and his face twitched again.

‘And we’re not quitting yet,’ Max added.

Magarth whistled softly under his breath as he drove rapidly along the hill-road leading into Point Breese. It had suddenly occurred to him that if he appointed himself manager of Veda’s orange plantation he could live in the house, be near Veda all the time, and yet still have his freedom. It didn’t bother him that he knew nothing about the production of oranges. Veda was an expert, and she could look after that end of it. He could ride round on a big white horse and urge the workers to greater effort. Such a job would suit him. He wondered if Veda would react favourably; decided that she would.

If he found the Blandish girl and got her settled, he’d put the idea up to Veda. But the Blandish girl would have to be found first. She had been at liberty now nine days and only five more days remained before she could claim her freedom and her money. Magarth grinned to himself, thinking of Hartman: he would be gnashing his teeth by now.

Then suddenly he slammed on his brakes, skidding the car right across the road, and came to a stop perilously near a ditch.

He sat there staring, not believing his eyes. Then with a suppressed exclamation he threw open the car door, ran to meet Carol as she staggered towards him, her dress in tatters, her hair dishevelled, her face drawn with exhaustion.

Magarth grabbed her as she swayed into his arms.

‘All right, kid,’ he said, lifting her. ‘Don’t try to talk. You’re safe now. Just take it easy.’

‘Steve... Steve...’ she murmured. ‘Where is he? Is he all right? Please tell me...’

‘He’s all right,’ Magarth said, settling her into the car. ‘He’s ill of course, but he’s out of danger. I’ll take you to him right away.’

Carol began to cry weakly.

‘I never thought I’d get to him,’ she said, her head falling against the cushioned back of the seat. ‘It’s been dreadful... I never thought I’d get to him...’

Magarth reversed the car, drove furiously back to Grass Hill.

At one o’clock the same afternoon they caught Hatty Summers as she came out of a saloon bar on the outskirts of Point Breese.

She had always had a liking for neat rum, and with the money she had found on the dead body of Sam Garland she had been indulging her weakness.

She was in an amiable and conciliatory mood when they surrounded her, and she displayed to the horrified crowd the big bloodstained flint with which she had battered Garland’s head to pulp, delighted to be the centre of attraction.

Dr. Travers and two white-coated attendants took charge of her and hurried her into the waiting ambulance, and there, behind closed doors, expertly put a strait-jacket on her.

Sheriff Kamp, who had been present at the capture, looked around in vain for Magarth.

‘That fellow’s never where he’s wanted,’ he complained to one of his deputies. ‘I wanted my picture taken arresting that female. Now where the blazes has the pesky fellow got to?’

Dr. Travers climbed out of the ambulance, hurried over to Kamp, his eyes alight with excitement.

‘My patient tells me that Garland picked up Carol Blandish a few miles from Point Breese, and it was to help Carol escape that she murdered poor Garland,’ he said.