Eric Russell - Three to Conquer

“Have it your own way,” said Rausch, shrugging. He mooched into the workshop, amused himself watching micromanipulators being assembled, came back when Moira appeared.

Waiting until she had settled herself behind her typewriter, Harper asked, “What is this about you and Riley?”

She was taken aback. “I don’t understand, Mr. Harper.”

“I’m told the lumbering elephant made a play for you.”

“Oh, no, not really.” She gained a slight flush. “He only joshed me a bit; I knew he meant nothing by it.”

“But he’s never done that before, has he?”

“No, Mr. Harper. I think he was just filling in time, not finding you here.”

Harper leaned forward, gazing at her but not picking her mind. “Did he try to date you?”

She was shocked and a little indignant. “Certainly not. He did offer me a theater ticket someone had given him. He said he wasn’t able to use it and I could have it.”

“Did you accept it?”

“No. It was for last night. I had a date already, and couldn’t go.”

“Was he disappointed when you refused the ticket?”

“Not that I noticed.” Her attention shifted to the listening Rausch, then back to Harper, her features expressing bafflement. “What is all this, anyway?”

“Nothing much, Lanky. I am trying to determine whether Riley was drunk or sober yesterday afternoon. It’s an interesting speculation, because never in my life have I known him to get stinko.”

“A person doesn’t have to be drunk to notice my existence,” she gave back more than pointedly.

“That’s the baby!’ approved Rausch, coming in on her side. “You landed that one right on the button.”

“Keep your beak out of my domestic affairs,” ordered Harper. He picked up a letter, wet his lips. “Forget it, Moira. Let’s get down to business. Take this reply to the Vester Clinic. Replacement titanium-alloy needles for Model Fourteen are immediately available in sets of six. We quote you—”

He had finished dictating and was presiding in the workshop when Norris returned sour-faced and said, “You wouldn’t think so many people could have a superficial but passable resemblance to one wanted man.”

“Meaning they’d grabbed another dud?”

“Yes. A paint salesman sufficiently like McDonald to make the pinch excusable. Moreover, he was in a devil of a hurry, lost his temper, tried to crash a road-block. That was his undoing.”

“Look,” said Harper, “McDonald escaped, loaded with luggage, and had at least an hour’s start. Do you really suppose he’s still in this town?”

“No, I don’t. I reckon the chances are a hundred to one against it. Not only have we found no trace of him, but none of the Reeds—or their car, either. I think they slipped through the cordon and are now way out in the wilds. But we’re passing up no chances.”

“All right. Then I’ll tell you something: if those three have escaped, they’ve left at least one contact here.”

“How do you know that?” Norris demanded.

“Because we whizzed past one yesterday. I tried to get the cavalcade to go after him, but they refused to stop. They had their orders and they stuck to them. It shows how blind obedience can make a hash of initiative.”

Norris did not like that last remark, but let it go by and inquired, “Did you get any clue to his identity?”

“Not a one. If I had, I’d have told you last night and saved your time. He might be anybody, anybody at all. The best I can do is guess.”

“Go ahead and do some guessing. You’ve made a few lucky shots so far.”

“This is a wild one fired entirely at random,” Harper told him, almost apologetically. “I can’t get rid of the idea that about the safest place in the world for a hunted man is a town where every man jack is hunting for some other character. He benefits from the general distraction, see? His safety factor is increased more than somewhat by virtue of the obvious fact that you can concentrate on one thing only by ignoring other things.”

“Go on,” urged Norris, interested.

“So if the presence of my carcass makes this town an area of irresistible attraction to the opposition, and everyone here is chasing around in search of McDonald—”

“Finish it, man, finish it!”

“What a wonderful setup for William Gould.” Harper regarded the other levelly. “Who’s looking for him?”

“The entire country; you know that.”

“I’m not considering the entire country. I’m thinking only of this town. Unlike the rest of the country, it’s obsessed by McDonald to such an extent that Gould could step in and baby-sit for you, and you’d pay him two dollars with thanks.”

Rausch chipped in, “Whether that guess is on or off, the mark makes no difference. Gould is wanted as badly as McDonald. It would do no harm to distribute a local reminder of that fact.”

“It wouldn’t at that,” agreed Norris. “You go out and see to it right now.” Norris watched Rausch hurry out, then returned his attention to Harper. “Where do you dig up these notions?”

“The onlooker sees the most of the game. And as I told you before, I’ve been on the run myself, while you have not. It helps a lot when one tries to put oneself in the other fellow’s shoes. That’s why the first and perhaps one of the best detectives in history was an ex-convict with a long record.”

“Eugene Francoise Vidocq.” He shut up as his mental searchlight made one of its periodic circlings and found something in the surrounding ocean of emanations. He was quiet while his mind listened.

It was coming again.

Gobble-gobble. Harper returned to his office and sat erect in his chair. He felt under one arm to make sure the gun was readily available.

“Moira,” he said quietly, “there’s a packet for Schultz-Masters ready in the shop. It’s urgent. I’d like you to take it to the post office at once. See that it goes by the midday mail. You need not hurry back. It’ll do if you return after lunch.”

“What about this correspondence, Mr. Harper?”

“You’ll have all afternoon to cope with it. Put a move on and get rid of that consignment so that I’ll have an answer ready if Schultz-Masters start bawling over the phone.”

“Very well.” She adjusted her hat, picked up her handbag, went into the workshop and collected the package.

Going to the window, Harper watched her hurrying along the street in the direction opposite to that from which danger was coming. Well, that got her away from the scene of prospective trouble.

A couple of burly characters walked ten yards behind her rapidly clicking heels. They knew where she was going, because the mike planted in the office had informed Norris, or whoever happened to be listening in. But they weren’t going to let her out of their sight and hadn’t from the start of fixing the trap. It was just as well.

He did not open the window, as he had done at the approach of Ambrose Baum.

This time he was not going to make the mistake of transmitting a mental stab and getting the foe to flee with the knowledge so ardently sought. He was going to do no more than listen, and thus leave the other mind blissfully unconscious of its open state.

Leaving the window, he flopped into his chair and stared unseeingly at Moira’s desk while he listened and waited. It was a unique and most curious experience, despite previous brief encounters.

Even though directing his attention elsewhere, Harper was able to do some thinking of his own. What if this were none other than William Gould? How could he hope to walk in on Harper’ and get away with whatever he planned to do?

It was hardly likely that his purpose was to kill, even at cost of his own life, because the foe would gain little enough from that. The prize they wanted, and must secure at all costs, accurate knowledge of the means by which they could be identified. To slay the only one able to reveal this secret would leave them as perilously ignorant as before.