“But you’ve been a gent, and you’ve treated me white. I’m going out. I won’t see you again. Tonight at eleven o’clock I’ve got to go up against the most dangerous thing I’ve ever tackled. If you read in the papers about me being found with a lot of lead in me, remember that I was thinkin’ of you when I cashed in.

  “You’ve given me a chance, and you’ve been on the up and up. Want to drive me downtown?”

  He nodded. “You’ll stay here tonight?” “If I come through alive.”

  “Must you run into it?”

  “Yes. I’m meeting a big shot of the Gilvray gang in the Mandarin Cafe. He’s got Room 13 reserved. If I can get what I want I’ll walk in and walk out inside of five minutes. If I ain’t out by then I’ll never come out. But I’ve got to go. That big shot has something I’ve got to have.”

  Paul Pry lit a cigarette.

  “Just you and he alone?” he asked. “That’s the bargain. I wouldn’t deal any other way. It’s a long chance, but I’m taking it. Big Front Gilvray doesn’t waste any love on me. My man was a thorn in his flesh. He’d like to give me the works. But he needs me in his business. He’s pulling a job that they’ve got to have a moll on that knows the ropes. I’m elected. I can deliver the goods. The other molls can’t.

  “I wish to God Harry hadn’t been bumped. Then I wouldn’t worry. If I had a man to cover me, I’d walk in there. If I wasn’t out in five minutes my man could brush in through the curtains with his rod ready, and take me out.

  “The Gilvray gangster’s yellow. He’s Chick Bender. Used to be a mouthpiece until he got disbarred. Now he’s the brains of the gang, but he’s got no guts.”

  Paul Pry nodded.

  “Yes, I’ve heard of Chick Bender.”

  The girl yawned and pulled her cupped hands along the contour of her leg, frankly straightening the seam in her stocking without bothering to turn her back.

  “Yeah,” she remarked. “You ain’t heard anything good about him.”

  Paul Pry switched off the lights. “You have the keys,” he said.

  She kissed him in the dark.

  “Baby, you’re a regular guy. Wish I knew you better. Maybe you’d help me give the Gilvray gang a double-crossing that would make a fortune for us. God, I wish Harry hadn’t got on the spot.”

  Paul Pry patted her shoulder.

  “What time’s the appointment?” “Eleven. Wish me luck.”

  “You’ve got it. It’s early yet. Want to drive around?”

  “No, just dump me—tell you what, big boy, if you want to see more of me, stick around the Mandarin about five after eleven. If I come through O.K. I’ll give you a tumble. If I get bumped you can forget about me.”

  Her blue eyes were wistful.

  “I’d sure like to see more of you,” she added.

  Paul Pry smiled at her.

  “Perhaps, if you find yourself in danger, you may find me sticking around.”

  “You mean it?”

  “Perhaps.”

  Her arms twined around his neck in a fierce embrace.

  Mugs Magoo emptied the glass of whiskey with a single motion of the left arm. His glassy eyes fastened upon Paul Pry in emotionless appraisal.

  “You got no business here,” he said.

  Paul Pry laughed, entered the apartment and closed the steel door.

  “Why so? Isn’t it my apartment?”

  “Yeah. I guess so, but you ain’t got no business being here. You’d oughta be out pushing daisies. You got a date with the undertaker. How’d you break it?”

  Paul Pry took off his top coat and hat, came over and sat down.

  “Meaning?” he said.

  Mugs Magoo poured himself another drink of whiskey.

  “Meaning that the moll was Maude Ambrose. She went by the nickname of Maude the Musher in Chi. That’s because she’s got such a good line of mush. She usually lets a guy rescue her from some danger or other. Then she gets mushy over him and finally puts him on the spot.”

  Paul Pry lit a cigarette. Twin devils were dancing in his eyes.

  “She’s nothing but a kid,” he objected.

  “Kid, hell! She’s a kidder.”

  “You think she’s tied up with Gilvray’s gang?”

  Mugs Magoo sighed, poured himself a drink of whiskey, gazed at the bottle ruefully.

  “Hell,” he said, “it’s a cinch. You never would follow my advice. First you twist Gilvray’s tail into a knot, and then instead of crawlin’ into a hole an’ pullin’ the hole in after you, you start raggin’ hell outa Gilvray.

  “Nobody’s goin’ to stand that. An’ then, on top of it all, you drive around just like you was any ordinary citizen out for a little air. Gilvray’s found out your car is bullet proof. He’s fixed up somethin’ else for you. Maude the Musher!

  “I presume you found her in her undies, just climbin’ from the river where she claimed somebody’d tried to drown her, didn’t you? That’s her best line, getting all roughed up and losin’ most of her clothes, then failin’ on the neck of the guy she’s ropin’ and gettin’ mushy.”

  Paul Pry puffed at the cigarette with every evidence of enjoyment.

  “You have described almost exactly what happened, Mugs.”

  Mugs Magoo blinked his glassy expressionless eyes.

  “Yeah. Her man’s in town, too.”

  “Her man?”

  “Yeah, Charles Simmons. They call him Charley the Checker, because he always works a suitcase checking racket wherever he goes. He’s bought into the checking concession at the Union Depot. That’s where the Jane had her suitcase parked.

  “When you handed the red cap the ticket for that suitcase it was her way of lettin’ her man know that you’d fallen for her line. So they got the spot ready for you.

  “I didn’t ever expect to see you again. So I came back an’ tried to get drunk. But I can’t make the grade. Not yet, I can’t. I ain’t had but about an hour, though.”

  And Mugs Magoo poured the last of the whiskey in the quart bottle into the glass, tossed it off, looked significantly at the empty bottle, then at Paul Pry.

  That individual laughed, took a key from his pocket, tossed it to Mugs.

  “Here’s the key to the whiskey safe. Go as far as you like, Mugs. Pm to be put on the spot tonight at eleven.”

  “Huh, she put it off that long, eh?” “Yes. I’m to be punctured at Room 13 at the Mandarin Cafe at exactly eleven-five.” Mugs Magoo blinked his glassy eyes rapidly.

  “Then you keep off the streets tonight. You stay right here.”

  Paul Pry consulted his thin watch.

  “On the contrary, Mugs, I think I shall be on my way to keep my appointment with the undertaker.”

  He got to his feet.

  “You mean you’re goin’ to fall for Maude the Musher an’ walk on the spot?”

  Paul Pry nodded.

  “Yes. I rather think I have use for this girl you call Maude the Musher. She offers a point of contact with the Gilvray gang. And I have a hunch they’re about ready to do something.”

  Mugs Magoo’s jaw sagged.

  “Do something—Hell, you don’t mean—”

  Paul Pry nodded as he wrapped a scarf about his neck.

  “Exactly, Mugs. I have decided to let the goosie lay another golden egg. ”

  And Paul Pry was gone, the door slamming shut with a clicking of spring locks and bolts.

  “I,” observed Mugs Magoo, “will be damned!”

  He blinked incredulous eyes at the door through which Paul Pry had vanished, and then bestirred himself to go to the safe where the whiskey was kept.

  “I better get plenty while the stuff is here,” he observed to himself, his tongue getting a little thick. “Dealin’ with an administrator is goin’ to be hell! ”

  3

  Embrace of Death

  Charles Simmons, known in Chicago as Charley the Checker, sat in Room 13 at the Mandarin Cafe with a heavy caliber revolver on his lap. His right hand rested within a few inches of the gun butt.

  Back of him, well to the right, sat Chick Bender, the disbarred lawyer, brains of the Gilvray gang. He was a hatchet-faced man with cold eyes, and the habit of constantly blinking and sniffing. His long bony nose twitched and sniffed, sniffed and twitched. Occasionally he sucked his under lip between his teeth and chewed on it nervously. He was ill at ease.

  The girl sat at the table, her chin resting on her cupped hands, her blue eyes twinkling with lazy humor.

  “So he fell? You’re sure he fell?” asked Chick Bender.

  The girl laughed, a throaty laugh of voluptuous abandon.

  “Hell, yes,” she said.

  Charley the Checker glanced at his watch. “He’s supposed to be bad medicine, awful fast with a gun.”

  The girl’s voice drawled out an insult. “Gettin’ yellow?”

  The gangster sneered at her.

  “Don’t get fresh or you’ll get knocked for a loop. You’re getting altogether too certain of what a hell of a swell moll you are lately.” “Yeah?” she asked.

  “Yeah,” he said, and swept his right arm in a backhanded sweep. The knuckles caught her full on the chin and swept her head back, leaving a red spot on her lip where the teeth had bit through the skin. Chick Bender stirred uneasily, frowning. The girl’s eyes flashed, but she choked back the words that came to her lips.

  “Remember,” warned Chick Bender. “Have your gun all ready. Don’t give him a chance to get organized. Shoot as soon as he comes through the door.”

  A clock boomed the hour of eleven. Below the green curtain appeared the silken pajamas of a Chinese waiter. The foot showed the typical shoe of the Chinese.

  “You leady eatum?” asked a singsong voice as the waiter pushed through the curtain, set pots of tea on the table, put down bowls filled with thin rice cakes, each cake containing a printed slip of paper upon which had been printed an optimistic forecast of the future.

  Charley the Checker slowly moved his right hand back.

  “Yeah, but wait about ten minutes before you bring the rest of the stuff. Maybe somebody else comes.”

  “All light,” said the waiter, and shuffled from the room.

  The clock clacked off seconds which became minutes. Chick Bender lit a cigarette with a hand which shook. Charley the Checker looked at his watch and grunted.

  “What the hell. It’s seven after eleven right now. I bet you fell down on the job, Maude.”

  The girl sucked the blood from her lip.

  “I hope to God I did,” she snapped.

  Charley the Checker sneered. “It’ll give you what you’ve been needin’ for a long while when we get done with this guy,” he said. “Now remember the getaway, you guys—”

  He broke off as footsteps sounded along the rough board floor. His hand crept down to his gun.

  “I’m goin’ to let him have it as soon as he steps in,” he said. “Get ready. We ain’t takin’ any chances with. this baby.”

  The footsteps drew nearer, seemed to hesitate for a moment, then the form loomed against the curtain. Charley the Checker raised his right hand, the gun concealed beneath a napkin. The girl leaned forward, lips parted, eyes gleaming. Chick Bender pressed himself back against his chair as though to make himself as inconspicuous as possible.

  The curtains bulged inward as a form pressed against it, pushed it to one side. And Charley sighed, lowered his hand. Chick Bender took a deep breath. The girl’s lips came together.

  For the legs which were visible beneath the green of the curtain were encased in silken pajamas, and the shoes were those of the Chinese, flat, formless shoes topped with black velvet upon which were embroidered red and green dragons.

  The curtain came to one side. A huge tray, piled high with smoking dishes, obscured the upper portion of the waiter.

  It was the girl who first noticed that the hand which held the tray was not yellow, but white. She gasped. Charley the Checker, his own eyes caught by some incongruity of costume, streaked his hand up from under the table.

  At that precise moment Paul Pry lowered one end of the tray and the steaming dishes, the boiling soup, the hot tea, all cascaded down upon the gangster.

  Red-hot chicken noodles caught him on a level with his throat. The soup drained down his collar, the noodles festooned themselves about his collar and down his vest, looping over the vest buttons.

  A pot of hot tea fell squarely on his lap. Egg foo yung ha dropped onto his head and slipped back down his collar. He screamed with pain and leaned forward.

  Paul Pry flipped his right hand over and down.

  There was a rubber slungshot suspended from his wrist. It thunked upon the top of the gangster’s head, and Charley the Checker became as utterly inert as a half-emptied sack of meal.

  Chick Bender was on his feet, his eyes glassy, hands clawing nervously at his hip. Paul Pry scooped up a tea pot from the table and flung it with unerring aim.

  The gangster tried to dodge, failed, and staggered back under the impetus of the blow. Hot tea dashed over him. He tore frantically at his garments as the hot liquid soaked through to the skin.

  Paul Pry’s right wrist arced through the air and Chick Bender stretched his length upon the floor. There were running steps. A yellow face surveyed the wreckage through the green curtain, uttered a wild volley of chattering words and disappeared.

  Paul Pry grinned at the woman.

  It took her a full breath to adjust herself to the suddenly changed situation. For an instant she seemed on the point of flashing her hand to her breast for some weapon. Paul Pry’s voice steadied her.

  “They double-crossed you, kid. I found out there were two of ’em in the room. You had told me your bargain called for meeting Chick Bender alone. Then when you didn’t come out in five minutes like you said you would, I knew there was something wrong, and I came to rescue you.”

  The girl nodded. Slowly, a smile came over her features.

  “My hero!” exclaimed Maude the Musher.

  Paul Pry worked fast.

  “You said one of them had something you wanted?”

  Maude the Musher had not been entirely certain just what it was she had told Paul Pry, but she nodded affirmation. It was time when it was best to agree to anything.

  Paul Pry dropped to his knees in front of Chick Bender. His hands parted the tea-soaked garments, went exploring in to the still hot pockets.

  He pulled out a roll of bills, a wallet which contained papers, a note-book. Then he turned to Charley the Checker. Once more his hands darted through the pockets with uncanny skill and a swift precision which cut minutes to seconds, seconds to split fractions.

  His collection of miscellaneous papers was augmented by another sheaf of currency, more letters and note-books.

  “Let’s go,” said Paul Pry.

  Maude the Musher had fully adjusted herself to the situation by this time. The trap had failed, but the bait was still good. It remained for her to string Paul Pry along until he could once more be lured on a hot spot.

  “Dearest!” she said, and clutched him to her.

  Paul Pry fought loose from the embrace.

  “We’ve no time to lose,” he said.

  There was the sound of running feet in the corridor, the jabbering of many voices. A police whistle shrilled from the pavement. Paul Pry took the rolled currency which had come from Chick Bender, tossed it to one of the yellow men who led the procession.

  “To pay for damage,” he said.

  The beady black eyes fastened upon the denomination of the outer bill in that roll, and suddenly widened with glittering glee. The man’s swift fingers appraised the roll, called out sentences in the singsong Cantonese dialect, and a lane opened through which Paul Pry and the girl traveled.

  There were heavy feet on the stairs.

  “Police no likum,” said Paul Pry.

  The Chinaman who clutched the roll of bills nodded his head.

  “Heavy savvy,” he said. “You come.”

  He guided them through tortuous passages, up and down dark staircases until they finally reached the street at a point some two blocks from the Mandarin Cafe.

  Paul Pry called a cab.

  “Sweetheart!” said Maude the Musher,

  and burrowed into his embrace. “I’ve never known a man like you, never, never, never!”

  Paul Pry patted her shoulder.

  The taxi rumbled through traffic, found its way to the hotel where Paul Pry had engaged the suite of rooms. He and the girl went up in the rickety elevator. Paul Pry unlocked the door, stood back for the girl to enter. She walked into his room, switched on the light, smiled at him.

  “Dearest,” she said, a catch in her voice, her eyes starry, “you’ve made me love you!”

  Paul Pry shook his head.

  “No. It’s just gratitude. Your nerves have been all unstrung. You wait until tomorrow and see how you feel.”

  Her eyes blazed.

  “You don’t want my love, then!” she stormed, and flounced into her own room, slamming the door, bolting it.

  Paul Pry grinned at the opportune display of temper, tiptoed to the communicating door and listened.

  She was telephoning, talking in low, cautious tones to someone on the other end of the line. And that someone seemed in quite a temper, to judge from the cooing explanations, the drooling promise which the girl was making.

  Paul Pry smiled, walked back to his own room, turned out the lights, pulled back the bed covers, took off his shoes, yawned, stretched.

  In the other room Maude the Musher had finished her telephoning, and was listening, her ear to the door, her eyes gleaming with vengeful blood lust that made them almost luminous in the darkness.

  She heard the creak of the bedsprings as a tired man flung himself upon them. A little later there came the sound of rhythmic snores. Maude the Musher smiled, a smile that was utterly inscrutable. Slowly, deliberately she began to remove her clothes. The communicating door was locked only from her side.

  But it was not until nearly three o’clock in the morning that she slowly turned the knob and pushed the door back upon noiseless hinges. Softly she walked into the room.