Chapter 7
Floyd Knapp determined to remain at the Thomas house, now that he had had his session with Cleo. He wasn't as nervous as he might have been, considering everything that was at stake. He might even be replaced as the family lawyer.
He heard Flint Stryker call out and tell them all to come into the murder room, and he turned to go in with the others.
Stryker and Bill Cooley were waiting for them. Fred entered, followed by Janet and Floyd. Stryker spoke to Floyd first. With apparent cordiality he said:
"Mr. Knapp, I'd like to have a little chat with you if you don't object. Do you mind going up to the billiard-room? I'll join you there immediately."
The lawyer bowed and went toward the door. "By all means, I'll go right up."
"Yes-go up. I'm coming."
The lawyer went out, and Stryker, making a movement as if he intended following him, partially closed the door behind him. But, unseen either by Fred or Janet, he suddenly retraced his steps and, concealing himself behind a screen, stood listening.
Utterly unconscious of the fact that they were overheard, Janet went quickly to the young man. Her arms outstretched, she cried in distress:
"Oh, Fred, I've wanted to speak to you ever since-"
The young man looked at her in surprise.
"Why, what is it, Janet?"
Her bosom heaving, almost breathless from fear and anxiety, the young girl faltered: "The detective made me tell-"
Fred stared at her in amazement
"Made you tell-made you tell what?"
For a moment she said nothing, but looked at him in silence, hardly daring to give expression to the dreadful thoughts that were on her mind. Suddenly she burst out
"Oh, Fred! Can't you prove that you didn't come back here that night! Can't you establish an alibi?"
He still stared at her, not understanding.
"Janet, I don't know what you mean."
Almost hysterical, she went on:
"I was awake-I heard your father go to the door. Oh! I never meant to tell anyone; but he made me-I don't know how! Can't you prove that it wasn't you?"
The blood rushed to the young man's face, then receded, leaving him deathly pale. Ah! Now he understood. Seizing hold of her arm almost roughly, his voice tense and broken, he exclaimed:
"Janet, what are you saying? That you heard father let me in?"
"Oh, Fred, I thought I heard your voice-I thought I heard you quarreling."
He looked at her in silence for a few moments. His lips worked spasmodically, as if he were trying to control himself, before speaking. Finally he said, bitterly:
"What have you been thinking? That I came back here and quarreled with my father and-and-How could you think such a thing?"
She extended her arms appealingly.
"Oh, I didn't think it was on purpose, Fred! Indeed I didn't!"
"What did you think?" he demanded.
"He was always so-so violent when he got angry at you-I thought he did something-made an attack on you, and you had to defend yourself. Of course, I knew it was an accident, Fred-don't look like that, Fred!"
His face grew whiter, his mouth quivered with the emotion he could not control. The sense of wrong done him was overwhelming, and aroused within him such intensity of indignation that he could not trust himself to speak. At last, with an effort, he demanded, hoarsely:
"Have you believed all this time that I killed my fattier?"
"I tell you, Fred, I thought it was an accident I didn't blame you."
"An accident! Why, if such a thing had happened, wouldn't I have called you-roused the house-got help? How could you think such a thing? Janet, do you think so now?"
She held out her arms to him.
"No-no-not you, Fred! You couldn't have done mat!"
Stryker had heard enough. Emerging from behind the screen and slamming the door as if he had re-entered the room, he came toward them. Fred motioned to him to approach. Bitterly he said:
"Just in time! At last we've got hold of something worth while giving to the papers. Janet heard me come back.. . That ought to satisfy the yellow press. That ought to clear her! I did not come back, but give it out just the same-I can stand it! Give it out!"
He made for the door. Janet tried to stop him, but before she could reach him, he rushed out of the room.
"Fred, Fred!" she cried after him, in great distress.
She looked toward Stryker.
"Help us, help us!" she cried, imploringly. "Don't you say he came back here! I was wrong-I'm sure I was. He says he didn't come-please don't tell anyone! What have I done? Oh, what have I done?"
The detective placed his hands firmly on the young girl's shoulders. Quietly but kindly he said:
"You've done just the right thing. All will be well. I begin to see daylight. I want you to pull yourself together. I'm going to need you. I'm counting on you. We need you. Will you help me?"
"Oh-I can't-I can't-"
"Yes, you can! You want to clear him, don't you? As much as he wants to clear you."
"Yes-oh yes-I-"
He patted her on the back reassuringly.
"Well, then, it's all right. You go to your room and pull yourself together, and I'll let you know when I need you."
He turned from her as if the matter were closed. She drew a half-sobbing breath, looked at him from under her drooping, swollen eyelids, then turned and went slowly in the direction for a moment, then he called after her: "Miss Boyington!"
She stopped and slowly turned round. He approached her, and for a few moments they looked into each other's eyes in silence. Finally, he broke the spell. Kindly, he said:
"Just a moment. I want to have your promise that you won't worry any more. I can't say yet who's responsible for all this, but I do know that neither you nor Fred had anything to do with it."
Her face flushed with pleasure. Quickly she exclaimed:
"You do! Oh-thank you!"
"Yes, I am convinced of it. I want you to believe that. Do you think you can trust me?"
She looked at him earnestly. Frankness and sincerity were reflected in every line of her pale, earnest-looking face.
"I know I can trust you," she said. And she suddenly kissed him and rushed from the room.
Stryker stood there, staring at the closed door, surprised, and lost in thought.
Of one thing he was certain: both Janet and Fred were innocent. And he was convinced that no one living in the house had committed the murder, that the assassin was not a burglar or any ordinary criminal. Yet it had to be some one with whom the victim had been well acquainted, some one he knew well enough to invite to his house at one o'clock in the morning.. .
All at once another idea flashed across Stryker's mind.
Was the brand new one-hundred-do liar bill a clue? He took the bill from his pocket and examined it closely. Was it genuine, or--? No, it couldn't be counterfeit! Still.. .
"Bill!" he said, turning quickly. "Give Flynn a call, and tell him I'd like to speak with him."
"What's up, boss?" Bill asked, sensing that he had missed something.
Stryker held up the hundred dollar bill. "I'm playing a hunch, that's all. I think there's something strange about this money."
Flynn sent one of his agents to see Flint Stryker. His name was Colt. He was a big, thick-set man with a breezy manner, and he had worked with Stryker before. The two men got along well together, primarily because they respected one another as professionals. Stryker looked up eagerly as Colt entered his office.
"Well, is it phony?"
The Secret Service officer drew the bill from his pocket and nodded.
"Yep, and it's a dandy! Difficult to tell from the real article. Whoever did this knew his business."
"Have any others turned up?" Stryker asked.
"No, but the country may soon be crawling with them," Colt answered laconically. "And you mean to tell me you found that bill in a millionaire's desk?"
"It seems impossible, I know, but that's where I found it," Stryker said.
Colt shook his head. "It seems incredible that man in Thomas's position should mix himself up with criminals who'd be set-up to blackmail him for the rest of his life."
"Couldn't any of your experts give a wild guess whose work this is," Stryker asked, waving the bill.
Colt shook his head thoughtfully.
"No. There isn't a counterfeiter on the books could do it. The man who got that up has been quietly experimenting for years."
Stryker picked up a list of names and glanced over it. Laying the list down, he said:
"I got a hunch it's one of that 'Frisco gang that was rounded up about fifteen years ago."
Colt stared at him in surprise. "What do you mean?"
Stryker picked up a telegram and said: "There's a 'Frisco woman connected with the Thomas case. She was supposed to be dead. I wired for information and found she'd been sent to prison with a gang of counterfeiters." Holding up the telegram, he read: "Thelma Hillyer sentenced to penitentiary about time of reported death. Implicated with Baxter gang counterfeiters. " Holding up a second telegram, he again read: "Thelma Hillyer left state, expiration of sentence. No further record here. "
Looking up, Stryker went on: "Now you remember, Colt, that the man who made the plate for that Baxter gang was Bruker-Karl Bruker. He did some pretty crafty work, and he hasn't been heard from since."
Colt started bolt upright in his chair.
"That's so!" he exclaimed. "Well, old fellow, I'll be seeing you. Gotta report this to the office.. . "
Colt passed Bill Cooley coming in the door.
"Hi, Bill. Been gettin' any lately?"
"Only your sister," Bill said, laughing and ducking. He crossed to Stryker and said: "Janet Boyington's here, boss."
"All right," Stryker answered, closing his desk drawer. "Now see that I'm not disturbed while she is in here, you understand?"
"Sure do," Bill said, grinning.
Hurrying to the door, Stryker opened it and called out:
"Come in, Miss Boyington. I'm delighted seeing you. How are you today.. . ? "
"Very well, thank you," she answered in a low voice. She smiled wearily. "The reporters were in front of the house again," she went on, "so I used the servants' entrance." Changing her tone abruptly, she added quickly: "Mr. Stryker, didn't you promise me that you wouldn't make what I told you about Fred coming back that night known to the public?"
He smiled. "No, I didn't promise you, but I didn't make it public."
"Oh!" she exclaimed. "I'm glad-because I trusted you! Then it must have been Fred."
She sank into the chair close to the desk and looked up at him with measuring eyes. He looked at her in silent admiration, feeling his cock swell in his trousers.
"You're a very desirable woman, Janet," he said.
"Then why don't you ask me out?" she said, and smiled her willingness. "I think you're desirable, too."
He stood up and took her hands and drew her up from the chair, hugging her close. He could feel his bulging cock pressing into the softness of her crotch, and he cupped her buttocks with his hands. She clung to him, like liquid wax, while their tongues fought a little duel, first in her mouth and then in his.
"Could we make it tonight?" he asked, his voice hoarse with passion. "I've wanted to make love to you since the first minute.. . "
One hand slid round her thigh and came to rest on her pubis. He felt her shiver a little as his fingers probed the softness of her outer slit She squirmed and sighed as he continued rubbing her cunt through her clothing.
"You will make me have an orgasm standing right here in your office," she told him, breathing hard.
She sank slowly to her knees and loosed the zipper on his fly. He stood and watched as she extracted his cock and skinned it back, rubbing the crown gently with the tips of her fingers. Then she kissed it, teased it with her lips, and, finally, covered it with the deep, warm wetness of her mouth. Stryker reached a climax almost immediately, shooting his fluid into her lovely mouth and down her lovely throat. She sucked him dry and then put his limp shaft back inside his trousers.
Looking at him with a new interest, she said:
"Oh, I shall never forget you!"
Again he leaned forward. In a low tone he murmured: "I wish-" But what he was about to say remained unfinished, for at that moment his phone rang. He picked up the receiver in an agitated state.
"Well?" he snapped.
"That woman from Frick & Tyler is here," Bill Cooley told him.
Stryker started. His manner underwent a quick change. Once more he was the detective, eager to seize and follow every possible clue in pursuit of his quarry. This new caller was too important to be allowed to get away. Hastily, he whispered:
"Just a minute, Bill. Take Miss Boyington into Helen's office and have her wait there while I see the woman." Turning to the young girl, he added: "Miss Boyington, this may be very important. Please don't go until I see you again."
She rose docilely and, following the assistant, passed out into the office at the back. Stryker watched her until she disappeared, and then with a sigh he closed the door and went back to his desk. He wondered vaguely why he was so reluctant to have her leave the office, if only for a few minutes. He felt singularly happy when talking to her and looking into her eyes. He was asking himself why he had never married, and if such a girl, had he met her sooner, might have tempted him. Then suddenly he pulled himself up with a jerk. When there was serious business to be done he never allowed his mind to dwell on sentiment. Quickly he plunged again into the midst of the work on hand, and when Bill reentered he found his employer busy preparing the state-setting for the little comedy he was about to enact with the lately from Frick & Tyler's.
"Where are the prepared blotters?" he whispered.
"Second drawer, I think."
Stryker opened the drawer and found some.
"Here we are!" he chuckled. Placing them on the desk, he added:
"All ready, Bill!"
The young man started to leave the room. Stryker halted him.
"See that we're not disturbed. Don't let anyone come in until I buzz. Then answer yourself."
Seating himself at the desk, Stryker assumed the appearance of being very preoccupied signing letters. A moment later Bill re-entered ushering in a visitor.
"This way, please."
A woman of about forty entered and, after one quick, searching glance at the detective, stood still, looking curiously about her. She was plainly, even shabbily dressed, but she had a grand air, and her dignified bearing and the sad, melancholy expression on her wan face suggested that she had known better days.
Seeing that the detective did not look up or pay any attention to her, she advanced timidly toward the desk. Bill pointed to a chair.
"Take a seat, madam. Mr. Stryker will be with you in just a moment"
"Thank you."
She sat down, and Bill went out, closing the door.
For a few moments there was deep silence, broken only by the ticking of the office clock and the scratching of the detective's pen as he went on with the signing of his letters. The visitor moved about uneasily on her chair. Presently, without looking up Stryker said:
"You've been referred to me by-" He paused a moment to again sign his name and added: "Frick & Tyler?"
The visitor turned slightly toward him. Quietly she said:
"Yes-I answered their advertisement."
Still pretending to be busy, the detective went on: "You have some information concerning the person advertised for."
"Yes."
He looked up for the first time since she entered, and for a moment he was startled: her likeness to Janet was extraordinary. Fixing her with a steady gaze, he said, quickly:
"Then you must know the name those initials, T. H., stand for. We took that means of avoiding publicity. You're not a newspaper woman?"
She shook her head as she answered quietly:
"No-I am Thelma Hillyer."
He bowed politely.
"Oh!" he exclaimed. Then, resuming work on his correspondence as if not greatly surprised or impressed, he went on: "I suppose you have some proof of your identity besides your mere knowledge of the name?"
She took out a card and, rising, went over to the desk and handed it to him.
"My present name is Martin-Mrs. Martin."
Stryker took the bit of pasteboard and read it Dubiously he asked:
"North Spring Street? Not a very desirable neighborhood. Is that your present address?"
She nodded.
"Yes, I rent furnished rooms. It is very quiet there and cheap."
Again he looked at her keenly. "Furnished rooms."
"Yes."
"Well, Mrs. Martin," he said, carelessly, "Mr. Thomas has left a considerable sum of money to Thelma
Hillyer for reasons that you doubtless know; so we have taken this rather unusual way of getting in touch with you. Did you expect to be a beneficiary under the will?"
She hesitated a moment before replying. Then quietly she said:
"The legacy has been left to me because of an obligation of Mr. Thomas's part to my dead husband, who assisted him at a time when he greatly needed money. There are personal reasons why I don't care to make myself known to the family, and I hope I can receive this money without any inconvenient curiosity, and publicity."
He nodded.
"That can be arranged. All we need is proof of identity. Have you received money from Mr. Thomas before."
"Yes-for a good many years."
"Did you sign receipts."
"No.. . "
"Did you ever write to Mr. Thomas?" Again she hesitated before answering: "Not recently."
"I ask because it may save a great deal of red tape if we could establish the identity by signature. Otherwise, I suppose you will have to obtain a copy of your birth certificate, make affidavits, and procure witnesses to satisfy the executors and the Probate Court"
The visitor shifted uneasily about on her chair.
"Wouldn't that involve a good deal of expense?" she asked.
He shrugged his shoulders.
"I suppose it would-yes. Do you think your signature might be found among his papers?"
"Why, yes; my endorsement of checks-if he kept them."
In a manner quite cool and unconcerned, Stryker rose from his seat and politely invited her to come behind the desk and take his place. With assumed carelessness, he said:
"Well, then, if you'll leave your signature with me I'll turn it over to the lawyers."
"Thank you," she smiled.
Not suspecting the trap, the visitor removed her glove and going behind the desk, took the detective's seat, while Stryker stood by, apparently with great politeness, and placed a piece of paper for her to write on. He gave her a pen, previously prepared with ink overflowing. She took the pen without looking, and, finding it was wet and had inked her hand, dropped it with a little exclamation of dismay, holding up her blackened hand with consternation. Instantly Stryker bent over her shoulder, and carefully dried her hand on the specially prepared blotter, securing a good impression.
"Oh, I beg your pardon!" he exclaimed. "Don't get it on your glove. Let me. Try this pen."
Handing her another pen, he passed behind her and threw the inked paper into the waste-paper basket, after which he resumed his first position near her. She wrote out her name. Again he bowed politely.
"Thank you. That'll be all."
Rising from the chair, the visitor turned to go.
"You have my address. I'll hear from you?"
Meantime Stryker had picked up the caller's visiting card and stood reading it.
"Yes," he replied. Then, as if an idea had suddenly struck him, he added: "Just a moment, Mrs. Martin." She stopped short and he went on: "I'm in a very peculiar position, and it has just occurred to me here you might help me."
"I?"
"I suppose you've followed the newspaper reports of Mr. Thomas's death and our investigation."
"Yes-closely."
It did not escape his well-trained eye that she gave an almost imperceptible start at the mention of the murder. Not letting her see that he noticed it, he continued.
"Then you have seen that suspicion has been directed against his adopted daughter?"
Moving farther toward the door, her head averted so he could not see her face, she replied:
"Yes-it seemed to me very cruel."
He nodded as he went on emphatically:
"Exactly. Miss Boyington must be protected from the daily annoyance of reporters and photographers. The poor girl's on the point of breaking down. You know, an innocent woman will do and say things to implicate herself if she's tried beyond the limit of her strength."
The visitor gave a little gasp and staggered to a seat
"Yes-yes-of course," she said, sympathetically. Watching her closely, Stryker continued: "She is so watched that it is impossible for us to get her away anywhere without its being known, and yet it is necessary for our purposes to make the real criminal confident that we are off the trail. To be frank with you, we suspect a former member of the household."
"Indeed?" she said, guardedly, but in a tone that suggested she was anxious to learn more.
Stryker was silent for a moment. Then he went on: "We want Miss Boyington to disappear, and to disappear so completely that not even a member of her own household will suspect that we have anything to do with it. Any flight by train or plane would be instantly found out. It must be secret and sensational. Her closest friends must be in a state of the greatest alarm. Do you follow me?"
"Yes-yes-but"
Without waiting to hear her objections, he went on:
"Well, then you must see yourself, Mrs. Martin, that you are in just the right position to help us. Your relations with the family are absolutely unknown. I am sure I could trust to your discretion. No one connected with her would ever connect her with you, and you can receive her without explanation to anyone as a total stranger into one of your furnished rooms."
She shook her head as, with averted face, she replied:
"Mr. Stryker, that's something I wouldn't like to undertake. You want secrecy, you say. The responsibility would be so-besides, as I told you, I am not known to any members of the family, and I don't wish to be.. . "
"That doesn't matter," he assured her, pressing on. "I will simply introduce you to Miss Boyington as someone connected with this office whom I have chosen for this purpose."
"But Mr. Stryker," she protested.
He interrupted her. "Even if you hadn't this sense of gratitude to Mr. Thomas, which I'm sure you must feel, I know I can rely on your sympathy as a woman for a poor girl in very desperate trouble."
A silence followed, during which Stryker and his visitor looked fixedly at each other, each trying to read the other's thoughts. Growing impatient at the delay, Stryker asked, coldly:
"Well, what is your decision?"
All at once, as if she had made up her mind that it would be unwise to refuse, she asked, suddenly:
"When do you want her to come?"
"Now," he replied firmly.
"Now-right away?" she echoed in dismay.
Stryker rose from his desk and pressed the intercom buzzer.
"She is here, waiting to see me."
"Here-she's here?" exclaimed Mrs. Martin, with emotion. Rising quickly, she asked: "I am to see her?"
He pretended not to notice her agitation, and his face was turned from her as he answered carelessly:
"Yes, I would like her to go home with you now. I'll see her first and explain everything."
Bill appeared in answer to the buzzer, having recognized the signal. Stryker pointed to his visitor.
"Bill, give Mrs. Martin a chair in the inner office, make her very comfortable, and see that she is not disturbed."
Mrs. Martin followed Bill out, and the door closed behind them. Stryker immediately opened a drawer in his desk and took out the photographic print of the finger-impressions on the Thomas table. Then, picking from the waste basket, where he had thrown it, the blotter marked with the impressions of Mrs. Martin, he hastily compared the two. He was thus engaged when Bill Cooley returned. Advancing to the desk, Bill inquired: "Did you get her prints?"
"Did I?" laughed Stryker, studying the prints with a magnifying glass. Suddenly he gave a joyful cry. "Good God! Look!"
BUI gave one look, and then uttered a stifled whoop of triumph. "Hey!"
Stryker, much amused, handed Bill Mrs. Martin's card. "Take this, and tell Nash to start his men on the house on North Spring right away. Get a room next door. Have them shadow the place and report to me.. . Tell them to go slow and keep under cover." He flicked the intercom, at the same time sending Bill on his way with a wave of his hand. "Get Miss Boyington in here," he said.
In the next two or three minutes Janet slowly advanced into the office. Stryker, seated at his desk, beckoned to Janet.
"I have news," he said. "Good news. I have found the woman who was in the room when Mr. Thomas was killed."
Janet started and turned pale.
"A woman!" she exclaimed.
Stryker nodded. "I have absolute proof of it here in her fingerprints."
She turned quickly, as if about to leave the office. "Does Fred know?"
"I haven't told anyone-except you, that is. I hardly think the woman committed murder. She may be innocent But she knows who did it, and we can find it out through her."
"How?"
"The people who are responsible for the murder are all, as we say, under cover-they're keeping away from each other. We must take them off guard. We must do something at once to confirm all the suspicions against you. We must make it seem that you have practically admitted your guilt"
"How?" she asked, eyes wide open.
"I want you to disappear-to move in with a Mrs. Martin. You'll have nothing to fear. You'll be protected every moment You'll have two-way communication in your room.. . "
"What-I mean-"
He saw that she hesitated, and he hastened to reassure her.
"I would never let you do this unless I were absolutely sure that you will be safe, and that I can clear you later."
"Don't think about that," she said. "I'll do anything you say."
As he pressed the buzzer again, he said:
"You understand that if you do the slightest thing to betray yourself, everything fads."
"I won't fad you," she replied firmly.
As she spoke, Helen entered. Stryker looked up.
"Bring in Mrs. Martin.. . "
Helen went out, and the detective turned to Janet
"I must ask you to show no feeling of repulsion for this woman."
"I won't," she gasped.
The door opened again, and Mrs. Martin came in. She stopped and stood stock still, her eyes fixed on Janet Stryker, at his desk, pretended to notice nothing. In a businesslike manner, he said:
"Mrs. Martin, this is Miss Boyington."
Mrs. Martin came forward and offered her hand. Janet accepted it
"I am going to let you live at my house for a while," Mrs. Martin said. "Will you come with me now, please?"
In the 2200 hundred block of North Spring Street stood the house, always locked. Its residents were seldom if ever seen out. Mrs. Martin glanced anxiously at the battered timepiece which ticked noiselessly on the mantle. Seven o'clock. It was time Karl returned. Could anything have happened? Was it possible that the police had discovered their hiding place and arrested him before he had finished the new ten-dollar counterfeit which was to make them rich enough to give up this dangerous game for good and go away to some distant country where they might both enjoy the few years still left to them?
Again she glanced at the clock. Half past seven! Now she was really alarmed. Something must have happened. Suddenly a noise made her sit up with a start. An electric buzzer, carefully concealed over the transom of the door, was emitting a loud crackling sound, giving warning of someone's approach. Who was it? Her heart in her mouth, she ran out on the landing and, looking over the shaky banisters, gave an exclamation of joy. It was Karl. A moment later the counterfeiter entered the room.
A man in his early fifties, tall, thin, and rather gaunt, Karl Bruker would have attracted immediate attention anywhere. A leonine head was crowned by a mass of iron-gray hair, not long, but picturesquely disheveled. His eyes were intense, and flashed like living coals under heavy dark brows. Distinguished in appearance, with a smooth, intellectual-looking face, few could have guessed that the great part of this man's life had been spent in prison, and that he was one of the most expert and slippery counterfeiters that ever gave trouble to the United States government.
He smiled wearily as he came in and saw who was there to greet him. His face was pale, his features drawn.
He stooped slightly, and had a harassing cough.
"I was so anxious, dear," she faltered. "I was afraid they'd gotten you."
Again he smiled. He kissed her in silence and stroked her hair tenderly.
"You are very tired," he murmured.
She looked beseechingly up into his face.
"Karl, I want you to give it all up. Let's go away!"
Drawing slightly away, he looked down at her with surprise. Almost reproachfully he said:
"Where is your courage, my dear? Where is your courage?"
She averted her face so he should not see her tears, and sank down in a chair near the table.
"I don't know, Karl, but I'm terribly afraid. I'm panic-stricken. There's been too much-too much-Matthew's death-"
He held up his hand warningly.
"Ssh!"
Tearfully she went on:
"And yesterday with that detective! Oh, I shouldn't have gone there!"
Hanging up his coat and changing it for a lighter one, Karl made an exclamation of impatience.
"That was Knapp's advice! Always greedy for money!"
She shook her head.
"No. I risked it myself-for the money-honest money. I wanted to be able to say to you: 'Here, now we have enough. Let us cut loose from this life-from all these people.' Karl, I want to be safe!"
He laughed carelessly as he unlocked a secret drawer in the table and lifted out a tin box which he. also leisurely unlocked.
"Foolish fear," he said. "We are safe enough here. Think of all the years that I've spent to make us safe." Raising the lid of the box and taking out a new ten-dollar bill, he held it up exultingly:
"Look at it-isn't it perfect! I could pass that even to the experts of the Treasury. It will be the first time in the history of the world, and it is I who shall do it! In a few weeks the whole country will be flooded with them -Chicago, Denver, San Francisco, Detroit, New Orleans, Boston, Los Angeles, and New York-all on the same day! Then we can go out with the whole world for our playground."
She shook her head as she replied bitterly:
"Yes! Yes! But we shall always be hunted-hunted wherever we go. We can never get away from it. It's too big, Karl-it's too big. They'd never let a man who could make a bill like that escape. You know that if one of these men were caught he'd betray you to save himself. The government would pardon him-would pardon them all-to get you. Safe! Every prison in the world would be yawning for you."
He listened in silence while he put the counterfeit note away again and carefully relocked the box. When she mentioned the word "prison" the lines about his mouth tightened. Calmly yet determinedly he said:
"I shall never go to prison again! If I'm caught I'll kill myself."
She shook her head. Sadly she said:
"I'm growing too old to play the game any longer."
He smiled kindly at her, and his hand caressed her hair as he answered:
"That will never be. It is not we who grow old. It is the little fat life that gathers gray mold like a cheese. You and I, mein herr, we keep young with living-loving! Fear, trouble, disgrace, prison, separation, poverty, love, happiness, hope, wealth-that is to live."
She rose and, going over to the window, stood looking out into the street.
"How shall a man change himself? It's the adventure in me you love," he went on.
"No, no, it isn't that. I would go through anything with you or for you, but this means that I'm risking you! I know you would kill yourself without a thought that you would be leaving me."
He rose and approached her. Earnestly he said:
"I tell you I can never go to prison again. I came out after those ten years of torture, all the color gone out of my skin, all the life gone out of my legs! I came out after those ten years to get even with the world, and they shall never put their dirty hands on me again while I am alive!"
She make an exclamation of terror and staggered a step toward him, unable to speak, holding out her hand in silent protest. Already regretting the selfish brutality of his speech, he made a quick step forward and seized her in his arms. Soothingly he exclaimed:
"Mein Liebschen, what difference would it make? If they catch me now they would never let me free to be with you again. I would the then by inches."
She threw her arms around his neck.
"Oh, if you'd only listen to me, if you'd only come away.. . ! "
Karl locked his arms around her back and slowly fell forward on top of her, making her fall backwards on the bed. His legs pushed their way between Thelma's thighs, forcing them open.
His hands roughly sought the panties that covered her bottom, and pushed the narrow part aside, uncovering her cunt.
"No, no.. . " Thelma moaned. "Oh, darling.. .someone will come."
"Yes-me, I think," he said, grappling his cock free of its prison and shoving it quickly onto the lips of her slit
She knew it was useless to protest now. The crown of his thick cock was already sinking between her cunt-lips-driving thickly into her sex and making the hole stretch elastically open. Thelma could feel the massive arrowhead starting to pulse.. .its foreskin drawn sharply back as Karl fucked his prick urgently into her heating pussy.
Thelma clutched at his strong shoulders, her finger-nails pressing painfully into the muscular flesh. Karl grew even more passionate as her nails scored his skin and raked frenziedly down his back, cutting through his shirt. Violently he pushed the rest of prick into her cunt -cramming her, thrusting his fiery weapon into her rapidly moistening softness, until his pelvis rubbed against hers; their pubic hairs mingled together.
Karl slipped his hands up the sides of Thelma's body, glorying in the soft fleshiness of her skin. His elbows helped him to prop his chest away from her breasts, and he stared down into her twisting face and glazing eyes as he rammed her furiously, again and again.
He was screwing her viciously now; his prick coursing in and out of her juicy cunt with hard, manic strokes.
"Oh darting, my darling," she cried, the words muffled by her constant gasping for breath and he drove her up the roller coaster. "You have always been able to make me crazy with desire.. .Oh, darling, fuck me.. .fuck.. .me.. . Ooooooh.. . . "
"I'll fuck you," he said, ramming faster and harder into her fiery hole. "Let me know when you're coming, and I'll fill you full of cream.. . "
"Do it, darling.. .I'm ready.. .Let yourself go, darling.. . Hoooo! Aaaah! Oh, I'm coming, darling, I'm.. .I'm.. . Yee-eessss, now!"
Thelma suddenly became a frothy animal, contorting, twisting, churning her ass and sobbing with bodily delight as she raced down the roller coaster at tremendous speed, her orgasm shaking her body to pieces. With one long, powerful lunge he ejaculated, spurting his hot globs of creamy fluid deep into her womb.. .
"You are still a young, beautiful fuck, Thelma," he panted, as he crumpled upon her in exhaustion.
As he spoke the electric buzzer gave out its warning again. Someone had entered the house and was coming up the stairs.. . Quickly Karl got to his feet, zipped his trousers, put the box inside the table and slipped a revolver in his pocket.. .
Thelma stood up, feeling bruised and wobbly, and hastily straightened her clothes.. .
Flint Stryker was satisfied with the way things were going. At last he had hit the right trail. Karl Bruker and his associates were as good as behind bars. So much for that part of the Thomas case.. .
There still remained the murder, the most important phase of the problem. The question as to who actually killed Matthew Thomas was still as deep a mystery as on the morning the body was discovered, but the scent was getting hotter every hour, and the detective was convinced that the capture of the counterfeiters would lead right to the murderer. He was confident that the dead banker was in some way mixed up with the gang, and that they knew more about his death than they cared to admit.
Nothing must be left to chance. Miss Boyington was already installed as a board at 2222 North Spring Street, and through her enough had already been gleaned to know that the house was the headquarters of a desperate gang of crooks.
Under pretense of calling on the young girl, and not sorry for the opportunity thus afforded of seeing her again, Stryker himself had been able to see and get the lay of the premises, and during these visits he contrived, with Bill's assistance, to make elaborate preparations preliminary to a raid. The greatest secrecy had to be observed. Constantly on the watch, guarded by their lookouts, Karl and his associates considered themselves immune. They suspected nothing and continued working with a sense of full security.
The preparations took time, but they were imperative. It would have been simple enough to surround the house and make arrests wholesale, but Stryker would not then have learned what he wanted to know. He had conceived the idea, and it was one that grew stronger each minute, that if he could only listen and overhear the members of the gang talking he would have something that would lead right to the man who killed Thomas. Feeling quite secure and secluded in their attic, so far from prying ears, the counterfeiters talked freely. This conversation they must listen to, and there was only one way to do it. They must install a microphone, and once the idea was conceived, he quickly carried it out. By its use his operator at the receiving end was able to tape record every audible sound made in the room where the transmitter was concealed. Conversation carried on in under-Keeping themselves well hidden, Stryker and his men had for days watched the coming and going of the gang. With the faces of several of them Stryker was already familiar. Karl Bruker, the leader of the gang, he had never seen before, but directly he caught sight of that square, determined jaw, those coarse features-which included a stern face and intense deep-set eyes-he realized that he had to deal with a desperate customer.
It was a tedious task, watching and listening, and the kind of work that got on the nerves. Bill urged an immediate raid, but Stryker's prudence and longer experience prompted him to wait. The moment had not yet come.
One day their watching was rewarded beyond all expectation. Stryker was at the tape recorder, listening to scraps of conversation, when suddenly someone laughed. Instantly he pricked up his ears. He knew only one man who could laugh like that-a boisterous, coarse laugh which reminded one of a horse neighing. There could be no mistake. It was Floyd Knapp, the murdered man's attorney!
Stryker strained every nerve to listen, in the hope that he would hear something that would confirm his suspicions, but the conversation was general and punctuated from time to time with Knapp's laugh.. . The only definite thing he could overhear was that they were all to meet again the following evening. That was enough. The moment for the raid had arrived.
"It's tomorrow night, Bill," he whispered to his assistant. "Get the men ready to move."