Frank Gruber - The Talking Clock

Partridge muttered an oath and sprang to Sam Cragg’s side. He slashed the ropes that bound Sam, then leaped back. “Hurry, Fletcher, if I’ve got to run out to Westchester, I haven’t got any time…”

“The deal was for us to walk up to the corner with you.”

Partridge howled. “No! I can’t risk that. You’re asking too much. If you don’t talk now — you don’t ever talk. I’ll lose the game, but so’ll you… I’ll compromise. Look, it wouldn’t do me any good to knock you off. You know that. But if I get the dough, my word’s as good as yours. You could squawk to the cops all you wanted, but they couldn’t touch me. I’m not afraid to let you go… after I get the money.”

Johnny weighed Partridge’s words for a moment, then he suddenly nodded: “Okay, Partridge. The clock said: ‘The rainbow stretches from three to four o’clock… Dig, dig, dig for the pot of gold.’ Is that enough?”

Partridge looked bewildered. “That don’t make sense!”

“Haven’t you been out to Twelve O’Clock House? There are twelve walks leading down from the house on the hilltop. The walks are laid out like the dial of a clock…”

“It clicks,” cried Partridge. “Why, the dirty…”

He turned for the stairs, then wheeled back. His hand went to his hip pocket. “Don’t tie them up again, boys. I gave my word about that. But… you can use this!” He tossed a shiny pair of handcuffs to Mickey.

“Hey!…” cried Johnny. “Come back here, you double-crosser.”

At the staircase Partridge stopped. “There’s five hundred apiece in it for you boys, if you hold them here until I telephone it’s all right to turn ’em loose.”

He disappeared down the stairs.

Swinging the handcuffs, Charlie advanced upon Johnny. “Okay, chump, stick out your mitts.”

Johnny backed away. “Wait a minute, now, let’s talk this over. You can’t handcuff two men with one pair of bracelets.”

“Oh,” said Charlie. “I saw a stunt in the movies once. You lock the one monkey’s hand to the other’s ankle. It works swell. Mickey, watch the big guy while I cuff this one…”

“Partridge won’t like it,” protested Johnny. “You heard him say to treat us nice.”

“He said to use the cuffs on you and he didn’t say how.”

“Well, lock our wrists together. That’s just as good and it won’t cramp us. Besides—” Johnny’s desperate eyes saw the playing cards that Charlie had taken from Sam’s pocket and thrown to the floor — “we could cut up a couple of jackpots while we’re waiting. We’ve got some dough and—”

Charlie’s eyes narrowed. “How much dough you got?”

“Nix, Charlie,” cut in Mickey. “We ain’t turned stickup men — yet! We’ll give them a chance for their dough…”

Charlie hesitated and was lost.

“All right, stick out your left hand, Fletcher.”

Johnny obeyed and the cuff was snapped about his wrist. He moved over toward Sam then and coming up from behind Charlie, put the other cuff over Sam’s thick wrist.

“They’re safe, now,” said Mickey. “Pull up a table between two of these beds and we’ll see how good they can play poker.”

Sam was beginning to mutter under his breath, but Johnny poked him in the ribs with his elbow. “Wait’ll I give the signal,” he whispered out of the side of his mouth.

The captors moved the table between two of the bunks, then seated themselves on one, so they faced Johnny and Sam on the other side. “All right, what’ll we play?” Charlie asked. “Some nice five-card stud, about a buck limit?”

“That’s pretty steep for me,” Mickey protested. “I’ve only got about thirty bucks with me.”

“I’ve only got forty,” said Charlie, “but I figured on winning. I don’t mind telling you boys that I cut my teeth on a pack of cards.”

“A buck limit suits us,” said Johnny, nudging Sam’s knee with his own.

He pulled out his entire bankroll, five dollars and forty cents. “I’ll just begin with this small change.”

Sam drew out a dollar and a half. “There’s more where that came from,” he growled.

“There better be. That won’t last more’n a hand.” Charlie slipped out Sam’s newer pack of cards from their box and began shuffling them. His partner cut for him and he quickly dealt out two cards all around, one face down and one up.

“King is high,” he said to Johnny.

Johnny looked at his hole card. “Well, I’ve only got a three in the hole, so I’ll just open with a half dollar.”

Sam exclaimed. “Huh? Tha’ leaves me out. I haven’t got anything.”

Mickey had a jack up and called the opening bet. Charlie tossed in a half dollar and hesitated. “I’ll wait another card.”

He dealt the third card to those who had remained. Johnny got an ace, Mickey a king and Charlie another ten, giving him a pair. “Ha!” he cried. “Poker’s going up now. I bet a dollar.”

“I’m strictly a hunch player,” said Johnny. “I smell a king or an ace coming up. I call your dollar and raise it one.”

“Against my tens?”

“Why not?”

“It’s your funeral.”

Mickey dropped out, which left only Charlie and Johnny. Charlie immediately called Johnny’s dollar and raised him again. Johnny tossed it in.

“Deal.”

He got a seven. Charlie drew a jack. He was still high with his pair of tens, but he frowned at Johnny. Johnny grinned. “You’re high with your tens. I’ve only got a three in the hole, you know.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet. I’ll leave it to you.”

“You don’t believe me? Okay, then, since I bet before, I’ll just bet again. A dollar.”

Charlie pushed it in reluctantly. “So you’ve got kings backed up, eh?”

“I told you I was a hunch player. Deal the last card… Ah, I told you!”

Charlie turned up Johnny’s card and it was a king. He winced, then exclaimed as he dealt himself a third ten.

“Three tens against a pair of kings,” said Johnny, smoothly. “What’re you betting?”

Charlie looked bitterly at Johnny’s pair of kings. “That gives you three, huh?”

“No, just two. But it’ll cost you money to find out. You want to bet?”

Charlie shook his head.

“Well,” said Johnny, “I’ve only got ninety cents left. But I’ll bet it all.”

“So you’ve got them!” snarled Charlie.

“Are you calling?…”

“No, damn you.”

“I thought you were yellow!” Johnny shoved Sam’s knee violently and flipped up his hole card. “See?…”

Then he came up, lifting the table with him. Sam, warned, put his own strength into it and the table was smashed up and over on Mickey and Charlie.

Caught by surprise, the two private detectives yelled and fought under the table. Johnny and Sam, compelled by the handcuffs to work as a team, went over the table together.

Each reached for a man.

“Yow!” roared Sam Cragg. He swooped Mickey into the embrace of his mighty left arm and reached out with his right to claw for Charlie who was giving Johnny a tussle.

They wound up on the floor, amid the wreckage of the table and the bed; four squirming, threshing, fighting men. On the floor Sam was master of the situation. He kept Mickey locked tight in the embrace of his left hand and loaned his cuffed right hand to help subdue Charlie.

After two or three clouts with their spliced hands, Johnny and Sam got the timing right and drove double smashes into Charlie’s face. Suddenly, the detective groaned and went limp. In Sam’s embrace Mickey screamed for mercy.

Sam didn’t give in, not until Mickey lapsed into unconsciousness.

Victorious, the two friends got to their feet. Johnny’s wrist was bleeding from the chafing of the steel caused by the fight. He said, “Now, how the devil can we get this off?”