Eric Russell - Three to Conquer

“Get along right now,” urged Rausch. “I’ll stay with Yensen, just in case.”

Norris nodded, signed to Harper and they hastened to the car. Ordering one of the waiting police to join them, he drove away at top speed.

“You might as well take it easy,” advised Harper, with unconcealed pessimism. “There’ll be nobody at the place; whoever hangs up on a call isn’t going to sit around.”

“That’s what I think,” agreed Norris, maintaining speed. “But if we fail to catch somebody, it won’t be for lack of trying.”

The warehouse proved to be an ancient but solid red-brick building with six heavily barred and shuttered windows, and a cumbersome steel door. Two cars were lined up outside, and three police were standing defeatedly nearby.

“We’ve three men waiting around the back,” one of them told Norris. “The place is locked. Nobody answers the bell; no sounds inside. Looks like it’s empty.”

“Then we’ll break through the door.”

It took some time to do that, but they managed without overmuch damage. Not a soul lurked within. The first floor held a number of flat glass showcases exhibiting costume jewelry arrayed on black velvet. The floor above was littered with light crates and cardboard cartons, some full, some empty. A small office of clapboard and plastiglass stood in a comer.

Entering the office, Norris moved around carefully, and said to one of the police, “Fetch the fingerprint man. Given enough luck, we may be able to discover who was waiting here.” To Harper, he added, “It takes a professional criminal to wipe a place clean of prints—and the characters we’re after don’t fall into that category.”

He went to the desk and slid out its drawers. The contents were not enlightening—mostly billheads, invoices and other business items. A metal filing cabinet proved no more informative.

“Tell you one thing,” remarked Harper, sniffing the air. “The Baums and their associates seem fond of cold-cure.”

“What makes you say that?” asked Norris.

“Ambrose had a faint odor. So did Philip. And I can smell it again here.”

Norris twitched his nostrils a couple of times. “Your sense of smell must be a great deal sharper than mine.”

“People vary that way; so do dogs. I can detect it, all right, and I know what it is.”

“What is it?”

“Eucalyptus."-

“Well, that’s mighty useful,” commented Norris sardonically. “Now all we need do is track down somebody stinking of eucalyptus.”

“You could do worse,” Harper opined. “Three smellers in a row, and in one day, means something. Like tobacco. If I’m in a deep forest and smell burning tobacco, I know a man is somewhere near.”

“So—?”

“Maybe somebody likes eucalyptus.”

Norris frowned at him and reached for the telephone, handling it delicately so as not to spoil any latent prints. He dialled, spoke to someone.

“This is no more than a wild guess, but you’d better note it: check all suspects for an odor of eucalyptus.” He racked the instrument and admitted, “It would sound silly to me if this entire business wasn’t so crazy.

“Not being a full-time Sherlock,” said Harper, “I tend to miss things that are obvious to you, but spot others that you may overlook. For instance, what’s the scientific conclusion to be drawn from a liking for eucalyptus?”

“I don’t know.”

“That elsewhere the natural prey is vegetarian and feeds on aromatic shrubs, its favorite food being something akin to eucalyptus. So here the host feels a need, born of centuries of conditioning. In other words, they’ve found a local drug that reminds them of home.”

“What the devil are you talking about?”

“Sorry; I forgot you’ve been told only part of the story,” said Harper. “You’ve got to know the whole of it to guess the way I’m guessing.”

“Eucalyptus isn’t a drug,” declared Norris, baffled.

“Not to us, it isn’t. God knows what it is to some other guppies.”

“Look, did you sniff the stuff when you shot that girl?”

“No; I didn’t go near enough, or hang around long enough. Her case being the first, I was in a jam, had to get out fast, had no time or inclination to look for what I suspect only now.”

“Humph!” Norris thought a bit, resorted to the phone again, called the Baum house and spoke to Rausch. “We’re out of luck here. The bird had flown.” He listened to some comment from the other end, then continued, “Harper smells eucalyptus, says the Baums smelled of it, too. I didn’t notice it. Did you?”

Rausch said, “Yes. But I thought nothing of it.”

Cutting off, Norris observed, “I should have my nasal passages irrigated.”

“This is important,” Harper pointed out. “Ambrose and Philip carried the odor. Whoever was here reeked of it. Maybe they stumbled across the stuff with the same glee as a bunch of hopheads discovering a field of Mexican hemp. If so, they’ll pass the news on.”

“Well?”

“The habit will hand humanity a small advantage. If you can’t tell what’s going on in a suspect’s mind, you can at least smell his breath.”

Norris lapsed into silence as the fingerprint man arrived and set about his business. The newcomer raised prints all over the place, most of them undoubtedly being those of the Baum brothers. When he had finished, Norris ordered, “Get them checked as quickly as possible and let me know the results.” He turned to Harper. “Momentarily we’re stalled. Let’s get back to your office.”

Morning brought news. Norris poked a head into the office and beckoned Harper away from Moira’s hearing.

“Things are beginning to break, he announced. “There were two calls to the Baum house during the night. The caller hung up immediately when Rausch answered. Both calls emanated from public booths. That means the Baums’ contact man is still in town.”

“Assuming there’s only one of them,” said Harper. “For all we know, there may be a dozen.”

“Perhaps. Anyway, we got identifiable prints out of that warehouse office. They are McDonald’s.”

“Ah! So he was waiting there?”

Norris nodded. “We missed him by minutes. Further, we’ve found that he was with the Baums in a hotel one evening. He left with them in Ambrose’s car and hasn’t been seen since. Two waiters and a bartender have identified his picture.”

“When did he pick them up?”

“Six days ago.”

“Just the time we estimated,” Harper remarked.

“We’re searching the locality for him right now,” Norris continued. “If he’s still here today, we’ll find him.”

“That may prove more difficult than you expect.”

“Why?”

“He doesn’t have to stay at a hotel or rooming house, so you’ll gain little making the rounds of those. He doesn’t have to rent an apartment. He doesn’t have to sleep out in the open.”

“Then what does he do?”

“He lives in a private house, as one of the family—having made himself one of the family.” Harper eyed him skeptically. “How are you .going to search several thousand private homes?”

“We won’t try. There are quicker ways of picking up leads.”

“How?”

“Every street has its gossip, its incurable snoop. We have enough photos of McDonald to check with every busybody for miles around. What’s more, he can’t operate while sitting in a back room, behind drawn curtains; he has to emerge sometime. If it was he who called Rausch, he went outside his hole-up to do it. He took a risk and was mighty lucky not to be recognized.”

“How about sounding the drugstores for abnormal sales of eucalyptus?”