Paul Cain - The Paul Cain Omnibus

I said I’d like to see him for a few minutes if it wasn’t too much trouble.

He said: “Certainly! Come right on over.”

The Wisters lived in a big apartment house on East Sixty-third. Mrs Wister opened the door; she was one of those sleek, shiny-eyed, unmistakably London gals with a mouthful of broad a’s. She asked me to sit down and disappeared.

Wister came in in a minute, shook hands. He said: “Well, Mister Keenan — any news?”

I nodded. “Uh-huh. Quite a lot. Have you heard about Lina Ornitz?”

He hesitated a split second too long, wrinkled his forehead and stared at me thoughtfully.

“Ornitz? I don’t believe I remember the name.”

I said: “That’s funny. They found your telephone number in her flat.”

He did a beautiful job of trying to remember, blurted suddenly: “Oh, yes — that’s the woman who rang me up this afternoon, wanted some additional information about the reward.” He smiled easily. “Had never heard of her before.”

It was half hunch, half wild guess; I took a long jump in the dark.

I said: “I’m afraid you’ll hear a lot more of her. The police are on their way to arrest you for her murder.”

It was entirely still for about ten seconds; neither of us moved nor spoke. Then Mrs Wister came in through the doorway that led to the rear of the apartment. She was holding a small blue automatic very steadily, waist high in front of her. Wister stood up.

I figured I might as well go the limit, went on: “And they picked Dekker up a little while ago. He squawked bloody murder — he’s still talking.”

Wister yelped suddenly: “Dekker killed the Ornitz woman. She was going to bring the stones in and then backed out at the last minute! Dekker was afraid she’d squeal!”

Mrs Wister was staring at me expressionlessly. She snapped, “Shut up, John,” out of the side of her mouth and then went on as if she were talking to herself: “I think this bastard is lying...”

I grinned. I said: “You said it, sister — I was guessing. The Law doesn’t know anything about it yet, but they’ll have to before long. I don’t think you had anything to do with Lina’s murder. I came here to give you a head start. There’s nothing in my contract that says anything about pinching anybody. All I want are the emeralds and the hundred grand Burke-Reynolds will pay for them.”

Wister was a very pale green. He stammered: “You mean — you mean you won’t turn us in?”

I said: “No, I don’t mean that. I’ll turn in everything I know as soon as I get the stones but I don’t want a lot of coppers in my hair until I do get them. That’s a break for you.”

Mrs Wister was smiling unpleasantly. She said: “What’s to prevent my shooting you, now — and saying you forced your way in here and threatened us?”

She meant it.

I had to press my luck. “The principal thing,” I said, “to prevent you is that my boss is waiting downstairs and he knows the whole setup.”

They looked at each other and I thought it was a good time for me to get up and mosey to the door. Then I turned and said to Wister:

“If there’s anything you want to tell me that’ll help prove Dekker murdered Lina Ornitz, now would be a good time.”

I think he wanted to talk, but he looked at the lady and then looked down at the floor. I opened the door.

“One last thing,” I said, “you two won’t get very far. If you want to do the smart thing you’ll show up at our office in the morning and we’ll talk it all over and see what we can do.”

Then I went out and closed the door and took a deep breath. The sweat was thick on my forehead; Mrs Wister had a cold eye.

It was ten minutes of eleven. I called the Old Man because I wanted him to cover me when I met Dekker but his line was busy. I waited a minute and tried again but no go, so I jumped into a cab and told the driver if he could get me to Eighth Street and Eleventh in nine minutes flat I’d buy him a new hat.

He made swell time; I got out at a saloon about a block and a half above where I was supposed to meet Dekker and gave the driver his hat money and called the Old Man again. The line was still busy. I walked on down to Eighth Street.

Dekker rolled up in a cab in about five minutes. He got out and paid the driver and crossed the street to me, yipped heartily: “Well, well — we are both on time.”

I nodded. We started down Eleventh Avenue. It was deserted except for a couple of passing trucks. Dekker glanced behind us several times, seemed satisfied that we weren’t being followed.

I had taken my gun out of the shoulder holster, tucked it into a thin hip holster under the waistband of my trousers, against my stomach. My coat covered it fairly well.

I said: “They just arrested Wister for the murder of Lina Ornitz.”

Dekker stopped as if he’d suddenly run into a stone wall, turned, croaked: “What do you know about Wister?”

I stopped and faced him. “Not much. That’s what I want to check — with you. I want to know all about Wister.”

He came very close and put one hand on my arm. “Listen,” he said. “I will tell you about this thing. It will not change our agreement — our deal?”

I told him it wouldn’t change our deal as long as we got the emeralds. I wondered what he’d do with fifty thousand dollars when he was sitting in the electric chair for the murder of Lina Ornitz but I didn’t mention it.

He said: “Wister and his brother David who works in the London office of Burke-Reynolds were behind it. David was the brains — he has been doing it for two years with other branches of the company, all over the world.”

I turned and he turned with me; we walked on, slowly.

“There were five of us in it this time,” he went on, “David and John Wister; Jolas, the man who actually stole the stones — we will meet him in a little while; and Lina Ornitz and myself. David Wister could make it very easy for Jolas to get things that were heavily insured by the company. He knew where they were kept and all about the burglar alarm and other measures that were taken to safeguard them — that was his job with the company.”

Dekker paused a moment, went on:

“It was all a very fine scheme. Jolas would turn the stones over to Lina Ornitz and she would bring them to New York. She’s slick at this game and has had several girls working for her, smuggling smaller stuff, for several years. Then, she would bring them to me to re-cut and I would call the police. She would ostensibly escape just before the police arrived and I would give them a wrong description of her and turn the stones over to the insurance company and collect the reward.”

I said: “And it’d split five ways — twenty thousand dollars apiece — yourself and Lina, Jolas and the Wisters?”

He nodded. “But Lina was scared at the last minute — there was too much fuss in the papers, and she would not go through with it, so Jolas brought them.”

We turned down a dark alleyway leading to one of the disused North River wharves; Dekker was a little in front of me, on my left.

“That is where we are going now,” he finished. “Jolas came in tonight on a Dutch tramp that is anchored out in the stream.”

I said: “What the hell makes you think he’ll turn the stuff over to us? And why didn’t you go out by yourself?”

Then I guess whoever decides such things figured I’d had enough luck for one night. Dekker was laughing suddenly. I did not hear him but I could see his round pink face in the faint glow of a distant arc-light, and that is the last I remember for a little while. Something hit the back of my head very hard and I fell forward into darkness.

I opened my eyes and looked up into yellow fog. I was lying on my back in the bottom of a small motor launch and the muffled engine was beating a few inches from my head. I guess I slid back into the dark for a little while because the next I remember I was being carried up a short gangway and dumped on a slippery steel deck. My hands and feet were tied and my head felt lopsided.