Bruce Garret bent down to tie a shoelace that didn�t need tying. The street seemed to be deserted. But he glimpsed a shadowy movement half a block behind him as a stealthy figure melted into the darkness of a convenient doorway. Garret straightened up and continued his apparently aimless stroll along the back street. There was no longer any room for doubt. He was being followed.
He�d spent too many years trailing other men to miss the significance of this skulker at his rear. This was no prowling lush-roller, hopeful of separating a late-hour drunk from his cash. The man had cautiously kept his distance, since Garret left the Rocky Mountain House.
Strange. Garret didn�t know a living soul in this mining town. He�d never been in Stope City before. It was extremely unlikely anyone could have learned he�d drop off the Transcontinental Express here at six-forty tonight. At the hotel he hadn�t registered from Washington, D. C., but merely scrawled B. Garret, New York City.
Even if someone had managed to inspect his luggage, after he�d checked into the Rocky Mountain House, all that could have been found would be catalogues and data sheets of the pump manufacturer Garret was supposed to represent as salesman. Nothing to indicate his actual status as emergency investigator for the government.
One possibility occurred to Garret. Could he by chance have run across someone in this hard-rock Montana town who had good reason to remember Bruce Garret from the days when he�d been the Sphinx Agency�s most feared nemesis of bank robbers? That was something that could be cleared up quickly enough.
He sauntered past a cafe with a gaudy cerise Neon sign reading:
The glow of the sign spilled out over the sidewalk like claret; it might also throw a little light on the identity of the person following him.
Abruptly he turned, stepped in toward a store window and looked back over his shoulder. The man behind him couldn�t conceal himself this time by ducking into the cafe door. He swung across the curb toward the opposite side of the street. He bent his head and turned his face away, so Garret had only a brief glimpse of his features. But that was enough. The follower wasn�t anyone the investigator had ever assisted to an enforced vacation at the public�s expense. That stocky-shouldered frame, the heavy, square-cut jaw and grim slash of a mouth weren�t characteristics a detective would be likely to forget.
Garret didn�t believe in playing a waiting game. Meet trouble more than half-way was a fixed principle with him. He cut across the street after the man.
The man began to run back in the direction from which he�d come. His heavy mining boots prevented his making speed, but he managed to turn the corner of the block while Garret was still fifty feet away.
The detective didn�t make the mistake of rounding the corner close to the buildings. He kept out in the middle of the sidewalk until he was well past the edge of the wall on the side street. As he expected, the other was crouching up against the bricks, waiting. The man�s right hand was up close to his shoulder where metal glinted.
Garret slipped the pistol from his arm-pit holster and walked in on him.
�What�s the idea of the puss-in-the-corner stuff, mister?�
The man lowered the hand gripping the knife. �I thought you was chasing
�Nuts to that!� Garret eyed the knife. It was a long hunting blade with a wooden handle. The sort of weapon that has to be kept in a scabbard because the blade doesn�t fold up. Not the kind of thing a person would be likely to carry around � unless he was pretty sure he�d have some use for it. �You�ve been trailing me ever since I left the hotel.�
�Hell I have! Keep away from me or��
Garret seized the man�s wrist that gripped the knife, threw his weight against him and pinned him to the wall. The other brought up a knee, viciously; wrenched fiercely to free the blade. Garret clubbed him across the side of the head with the barrel of his pistol.
The man�s head sagged under the blow, but only to sink his teeth into the back of the hand holding his wrist. The suddenness of the pain made Garret relax his grip for a split-second; long enough for the blade to come ripping up toward his belly!
There wasn�t time for anything more than reflex action. He turned sidewise and smashed downward with his left fist. Hot wire touched his forearm as the razor slashed the skin. Then he smashed the gun barrel down on top of the man�s skull.
The knife clattered on the sidewalk. The stocky figure slumped heavily against the wall.
Garret went through the unconscious man�s pockets. A little silver, a mashed-up pack of cigarettes, a soiled handkerchief, some matches.
It was the knife that told him. Along its handle, a name had been charred into the wood. J. G. Darcy. The worn place on the man�s belt under the leather scabbard indicated the knife belonged there.
Garret slipped the reddened blade back into the scabbard. There was nothing to do now but take this fellow in to the police station, where he could be put through the hoops. Garret didn�t care about getting mixed up with the cops. There�d be questions it might be awkward to answer without giving away his hand. But he couldn�t let J. G. Darcy loose to knife him in the back some other time.
A sedan swerved around the corner. Momentarily, its lights fixed Garret and the slumped figure in a blinding glare. A goggled face was a white blur at the window. There was a sudden, barking cough as if the motor had back-fired. Splinters of brick stung Garret�s cheek.
He flattened himself on the sidewalk; jerked out his gun and pumped bullets at the vanishing tail light. The car was swallowed up in a pall of dust that hid the license plate.
So nobody knew he was in town? Apparently Darcy wasn�t the only one. There wouldn�t be any chance of overtaking the car. But maybe at the police station, Darcy could be induced to tell who was working with him.
As soon as he slipped his fingers inside the stocky man�s collar, Garret knew better. The shot from the speeding car had settled that.
The flattened chunk of lead, rebounding from the wall, had gashed an inch-wide hole in the back of Darcy�s skull. Short of an autopsy, there�d be no way of estimating the calibre of the bullet now. Probably the rifling marks made by the murderer�s pistol-barrel had been obliterated too. For all anyone except a ballistics expert could tell, the shot might just as well have come from Garret�s gun. And the chance of there being a firearms expert in Stope City was zero.
It added up entirely too well. Darcy was dead. There were bullets missing from Garret�s gun � the shots he�d pumped after the fleeing car. The blue-coats would be crazy if they didn�t detain him. He couldn�t afford time out for that. Not if the strange accusation Washington had received from Stope City were true.
Garret looked around. Amid the rumbling overtones of the mining town, nobody seemed to have paid any attention to the sound of the shooting. The only people in sight were a couple of maudlin drunks squabbling in front of The Big Red Rooster.
Garret moved swiftly up the side street. Twenty feet from the corner was a vacant store. A
He went back and hoisted Darcy�s limp figure over his shoulder and dumped him through the window. Then he climbed inside the store and tugged the body under a counter where it couldn�t be seen from the street. Two minutes later � with the pane replaced � Garret was striding up the side street.
It led steeply uphill toward the somber, smoke-grimed structures of the copper mines.
Formidable slag mounds loomed above him like giant earthworks. The heavy clank of machinery clattered through the darkness like tremendous tank battalions. The richest hill on earth, they�d called it back in Washington. What he�d seen of Stope City hadn�t looked very rich. But he knew that, a mile beneath his feet, sweating miners were gnawing away at the hill�s vitals to add more copper to the half billion dollars worth that had already been ripped from the earth�s bowels.
Yet if the word that had so ominously come to Washington were right, there was something else at work down there. Something sinister, threatening to cut down the output of war-precious metal. Something deadly too, if the tragedy of the past half-hour were any indication.
A guard stopped him at the board fence. �Whatcha want?�
�Looking for a guy named Darcy.�
�Shift won�t be up for an hour yet.� The guard squinted narrowly. �He on the twelve-to-eight?�
�Don�t know what shift he�s on.�
�Better find out at the office. And get a pass. Nobody�s permitted in the hoist house without a pass.�
Garret climbed up past the compression plant to a smoke-encrusted building whose lights glared through uncurtained windows. Brass lettering over the door stated:
None of the half-dozen elderly men in shirtsleeves and eyeshades bothered to glance up from their stacks of time cards. A girl stopped clattering on a typewriter, swivelled around on her chair, and came toward the rail partition.
She seemed oddly out of place in these gritty surroundings. Her linen blouse was cool and crisp in contrast to the wilted collars of the men.
Garret�s stare must have expressed some of his astonishment; she colored a little.
�Can you tell me where I can locate a man by the name of J. G. Darcy?�
There seemed to be the faintest tinge of apprehension in her eyes, but it was hard to tell.
�Jig Darcy?� Her tone was coolly business-like, but her grip tightened on the railing. �What did you want to see him about?�
�Personal matter.� One of the clerks raised his head, listening curiously. �Thought you might be able to tell me where I could get in touch with him. He works at Ajax, doesn�t he?�
She nodded. �He�s my brother�s head timber boss. But��
�I�ll wait for him, if he�s on the shift coming off.�
She moved to a file cabinet. Her frown might merely mean preoccupation. �I don�t think he is. But anyway��
�Or I can drop around to his house, if you�ll give me his home address.�
�We�re not allowed to give out information of that sort.� She took out a card. �Jig works on the early morning shift. Four to noon. If you care to leave your name or telephone number, I�ll see that he gets it.�
�That won�t help. It�s important that I get hold of him tonight.�
�Get hold of who, Shirley?� The voice behind Garret was gruff and curt. The man who had come in so noiselessly was like the voice. There was a certain resemblance between him and the girl, but his close-shaven jowls looked as if they had been hammered out of blue-black ore. His steely eyes were forbiddingly cold.
The girl said, �I�m glad you�re back, Ken. This gentleman has some personal business with Jig Darcy.� There could have been a subtle warning in her tone, Garret thought. �He says he has to see Jim tonight.�
The man came up beside Garret, clamped one hand on the railing, and leaned forward until his face was only six inches from Garret�s. �Darcy�s doing some special work for me tonight. Very special work. Afraid you won�t be able to see him for a while.�
Garret eyed him frostily. The man�s antagonism was very plain. There must be some reason for it. Ordinarily visitors to Ajax surely didn�t receive this sort of bristling welcome.
Garret accepted the challenge, his eyes cold, his tone brusque. �You�re Darcy�s boss, then?�
�Right. Ken Brann, super of this mine. What about it?�
�You�re the man I want to see.�
�You see me.�
Garret waved toward the other clerks, all watching. �It�ll have to be a bit more private.�
The superintendent shook his head. �Maybe you haven�t heard. We�re working on war tonnage here. The Army needs copper. I�ve no time to waste fooling around with every Tom, Dick and��
�Skip the brush-off, Brann. You�ve time for me.� He clicked the catch and swung the gate wide. �You�ll have to make time.�
Ken Brann�s jaw jutted. His hand shot out and gripped Garret�s arm as he stepped through the rail-gate. �So you�re looking for trouble?�
Garret kept his hands at his side. �Got some you don�t know what to do with?�
The superintendent�s fist drew back. But Shirley seized his sleeve.
�Ken! Don�t!� She glanced quickly toward the other clerks. �Not here.�
Brann hesitated a fraction of a second. Garret wrenched free and stalked toward an inner office. Brann crowded angrily at the detective�s heels, but made no further attempt to stop him.
The office was barren of everything except a huge yellow, flat-top desk, a couple of straight-backed chairs and a long row of technical books on a plain pine shelf. Garret beat Brann to the punch again.
�Close the door. Wouldn�t want your men to hear what I�m going to tell you.�
Brann�s neck reddened. �First thing you�ll have to tell me is why I shouldn�t run you right out of this town fast.�
�One reason. The last guy who tried it is dead. He was Darcy. If that was the special job you sent him on, it didn�t pan out.�
The super�s face was a frozen mask. �If I had to kill anybody,� he said slowly, �I wouldn�t send another man to do it for me. I didn�t sic Darcy onto you. I never heard of you. I don�t know who you are or what you�re after and I don�t give a damn. But� � Brann reached for the phone on his desk � �nobody can knock off one of our men while he�s on duty and get away with it.� He jiggled the hook impatiently.
�You people have a queer idea of duty, if that�s what Darcy was on,� Garret said quietly.
�Operator! Connect me with the police!�
Garret�s fingers slid into his vest pocket and came out with a bit of bronze. He tossed it on the desk. Brann glared at it for an instant. Then he muttered into the phone, �Never mind,� and hung up. �Why didn�t you say you were from the Sphinx? Your outfit is supposed to be guarding Ajax property. You didn�t have to bull your way into my office like that!�
Garret picked up his private operative shield. �I�m not working for Sphinx any longer. I�m still supposed to be guarding the Bender Corporation, though. But for our Uncle Samuel. The Office of Production Management sent me out here.�
Brann sat down heavily. �Is it your idea of protecting our interests to knock off one of my key men?�
�I didn�t say I killed him. I said he was dead. He started to tail me within a quarter hour of the time I got off the train. When I let him know I was onto him, he tried to ambush me with a knife. While we were mixing it up, someone drove past in a car and cut loose with a gun. Couldn�t tell whether the slug was meant for me or Darcy. He got it.�
Garret held up a palm as the super started to interrupt. �I came West on the q.t., so as not to tip off the government�s hand. But somebody�s already tipped it off. Darcy knew I was on the way. The man in the car might have known I was here. That means somebody in Stope City was expecting an investigation. Evidently the information Washington received had plenty behind it.�
�What information?� Brann asked as if he knew the answer.
Garret took a cellophane envelope out of his pocket, held it up so the super could see the brown piece of paper it contained. It was half a torn pay-envelope. The message was crudely printed in thick red letters.
Whos stealing the Stope City copper that ought to make another million cartridges a week for our soldier boys?
�There�s a couple of hundred people who know the ore output of this hill right down to the ton.� Brann scowled. �How could anybody steal that much copper?�
�I thought maybe you�d know.�
�I don�t. Only plants working on army and navy contracts are getting Ajax metal. Where�d you get that?�
�The Big Guy in Washington got it. Postmarked Stope City four days ago. It was turned over for investigation as a matter of routine.�
The super chewed irritably on his pipe stem. �You people don�t generally take stock in the drivel anonymous half-wits send in, do you?�
�Didn�t take stock in this, until we checked and found something queer.�
�Who sent it in?�
Garret turned the cellophane over. �There�s no name. Just a number.� The figure 4227 was stamped in blue ink on what had been the outside of the pay envelope. �I phoned your paymaster from Washington.�
Brann shifted uneasily. �Who�s 4227?�
�He was a driller in Ajax Number Six. Harvey Yault.�
The pipe came out of the super�s mouth; the stem tapped against his teeth. �Let�s see. Wasn�t Yault the one��
�Yeah. He was caught in a cave-in a week ago. Died in the hospital two days before this thing was mailed. Kind of queer, wouldn�t you say?�
�If you knew anything about miners and their families, that wouldn�t surprise you so much,� the super said. �Everytime there�s a fatal accident here on the hill, some of the victim�s friends send scurrilous letters to the directors or to Mr. Ryder, our GM � even to the papers. Stuff about the criminal carelessness of the greedy mine-owners who don�t care anything about the men�s safety so long as the profits roll in. It�s bunk, of course. Accidents are bad business for us as well as tough luck for the men. But this is probably the work of someone who felt bad about Yault�s death and figured that stirring up trouble might pay back the company in kind.�
Garret shook his head. �Yault didn�t have any family. The hospital says nobody came to see him there, so he couldn�t have had any very close friends. That leaves only one conclusion. The girl who sent this half of his pay envelope to Washington must have done it because she wanted us to know Yault�s death was connected with the copper stealing. Maybe she didn�t think it
Brann stood up. �What the devil makes you think it was a girl?�
Garret tapped the cellophane. �Written with lipstick. And it sounds like a girl�s way of putting it. A man doesn�t usually refer to our soldier boys.�
The door from the outer office opened. Shirley put her head in, apologetically. �Captain Narriver�s here, Ken.�
�Tell him to keep his shirt on, Shirley. I�ll see him in a few minutes.�
She hesitated. �I thought you�d want to know right away. There were another half-dozen rails missing from that spur track again, tonight. But this time he found them!�
Brann exclaimed, �Where?�
�In one of our own trucks, Ken. Captain Narriver just happened to notice it because it was parked with the motor running.�
The super swore. �Parked where?�
Shirley glanced at Garret, hesitated.
�Never mind him.� Brann jerked his head sideways toward the detective. �He hasn�t anything to do with this. Where was the truck?�
�Right in front of Jig Darcy�s house,� she said reluctantly.
Brann closed his eyes, bowed his head and brushed one hand wearily over his face. �You�ll have to excuse me, Garret. I�ll get together with you first thing in the morning about that other matter.�
�I can�t wait that long. I�ll stick with you now.�
The super looked up sullenly. �This theft of company property doesn�t have anything to do with what we were talking about.�
�No? I�m trying to find who�s stealing copper. You�ve found someone who�s been pinching iron. Darcy was tied up in both. Worth checking, seems to me.�
But Brann was on the phone. �Rush me through to Mr. Ryder.�
The operator�s voice came hollowly over the instrument. �I�ve been trying to reach him at his home for Captain Narriver. Long distance says the general manager�s been burning up the telephone wires to Chicago for the last hour.�
�Keep after him. It�s important.� Brann racked the receiver. �Look Garret. Shirley�ll show you our tonnage records, and any other dope you want. You�ll see there�s nothing to this stolen copper rumor. Even supposing there was, Darcy couldn�t have had anything to do with it.�
�Why not?�
�The nearest he ever got to red metal was the ore he saw in the mine when he was shoring up timbers. He never went near the smelter. Those iron rails, from the slag spur, are a different matter. For some time I�ve suspected Jig Darcy of getting away with scrap iron that belonged to Ajax. That�s why I sent him out to the spur tonight, to pick up some of the timber we�d originally meant to use for railroad ties. I figured maybe the temptation to take along a few rails on his own account would be too strong and we�d catch him. I fixed it so Narriver�d be on the lookout. Apparently Cap got the goods on him.�
He spread his palms. �Darcy might have got suspicious. Maybe he thought you�d been imported to trace down the scrap that�s been disappearing lately. That would account for his going after you.�
Garret scowled. �That leaves a few little items out of account.�
�For instance?�
�How�d Darcy know I was in town?�
�Maybe he just happened to spot you as a stranger and jumped to the conclusion you were after him.�
�Left his truck motor running? Rushed to the Rocky Mountain house to trail a guy he�d never seen in his life? That�s a screwy conclusion!�
Brann shrugged morosely.
�And what about your timber boss�s helper, Brann. Darcy must have had a helper to handle those rails. Where�s he fit into this far-fetched picture of yours?�
The super was ready for that one. �Sam Proctor was in the timber truck with him.�
�Yeah? I suppose this helper hopped right off the truck into that shoot-and-run car and followed Darcy and me. Do you think Proctor killed Darcy?�
�I wouldn�t go so far as to say that. Anyway, Cap Narriver probably has Sam safe in the bag. I�ll see.� He stalked to the outer office.
Garret waited until the superintendent was out of earshot. Then he touched the girl lightly on the shoulder. �You�re Brann�s sister?�
She nodded. �The office was terribly short-handed. I took this job to replace one of our Ajax boys who joined the Air Corps.�
�You don�t look as if you�d been working in a mine office long.�
�Long enough to know my way around. Up here on the surface, at any rate.�
�What I want to find out might take a little digging, Miss Brann. I need to see the records of that cave-in when Yault was supposed to have been fatally injured.�
Shirley Brann tried not to appear concerned. �Ken mentioned tonnage records. He didn�t say anything about giving out accident reports. That�s against company policy.�
�Too bad.� Garret�s mouth twisted wryly. �The United States Marshal�ll have to impound your files then.�
Her chin tilted up. �Who are you to threaten the Bender Corporation like this?�
�Name�s Bruce Garret. I was sent here by the O.P.M. to find if there�s anything rotten at the mine. It�s taken me less than an hour to learn there is. Plenty. How long it�ll take to clean it up depends on whether your brother is holding out on me, or whether you�re covering up for him.�
She reddened. �I�m not hiding anything. Neither is Ken. If you realized how hard he�s been fighting to keep Ajax over its quota output, you�d be more considerate.�
�Sorry I left my kid gloves back East,� he said drily. �From the reception I�ve had in Stope City so far, they wouldn�t be of much use here. As far as your brother goes, I don�t know anything about him, except he has a nice sister.�
Shirley tried a small smile.
�But he hasn�t been playing ball,� Garret went on. �I came to his office to find out about Darcy, so he tried to sidetrack me. He didn�t bother to ask what made me suspicious of your timber boss, and yet all the time he knew Darcy was up to some sort of crookedness. Even had your company guard captain watching him. Yet now, when evidence turns up against Darcy, your brother does his best to shunt me away from it. Suggests it�s really a trivial matter. I don�t like it. I don�t understand it.�
Her eyes were troubled. �I don�t understand what Ken�s been doing about Darcy, either. But I�m certain whatever Ken does is best for Ajax, in his judgment. You might at least give him credit for knowing more about the mine, after ten years running it, than you do after being in town only a couple of hours.� She turned on her heel, marched with head high into the outer office.
Garret was right behind her, in time to hear the super say to the operator, �Ask C. J. to meet us in five minutes at Darcy�s place, will you?�
The uniformed man who stood at Brann�s side scrutinized Garret with insolent blue eyes. Captain Bill Narriver had no need of the tightly fitted tunic, the flaring olive-drab breeches, polished puttees and jaunty Sam Browne belt to stamp him as a company guard.
He swung around and headed for the street as Ken Brann hung up. Garret kept step beside the super. On the threshold, the captain pivoted, his eyes narrowed.
�Where you think
�To Darcy�s,� Garret said mildly. �Know anyone that wants to stop me?�
Narriver�s gaze shifted quickly to the super. But Brann merely gestured impatiently �It�s a free country, Bill. Darcy�s shack isn�t on company property. You can�t stop him from coming.�
They walked the quarter-mile to Darcy�s place, Brann and the captain ahead, Garret in the rear.
Garret watched the dump piles which rose on either side of the street like ramparts. It would be hard to find a better spot for a lurking assassin to hide. Garret had no illusions about the dangers of his assignment. One man already had died in connection with this business � two, if Yault�s decease should turn out to have been more than a mere accident. But it wasn�t the snuffing out of these lives that keyed the government man up to fighting pitch. There were many men who might die, for want of cartridges or shells that couldn�t be produced because copper was lacking.
�You find Sam Proctor with the truck, Bill?� Brann asked.
�Sure. He was asleep, full of hootch.�
�What�d you do with him?�
�Scared hell out of him. I left him to watch the truck. Sam claims he was acting under Darcy�s orders when he helped load the rails on the truck.�
�Probably,� Brann growled. �He wouldn�t have any way of knowing Darcy was intending to steal the stuff.�
Garret wasn�t so sure about that. For when the grey-haired man they called Sam Proctor climbed down from the cab of the truck, Garret had to catch himself to keep from saying:
�Well, well! Scat Prodger! When did they turn
Liquor was strong on the man�s breath and his eyes were bloodshot, but there was nothing wrong with his vision. He recognized Garret instantly, and signaled a mute appeal for silence.
Garret walked past without appearing to give him a glance.
There had been a time when the name Scat Prodger was as familiar on police flyers as that of any �Wanted� man in the country. But the safe blower must have come down considerably in the criminal scale if he was reduced to stealing old iron. In his prime, Scat would have disdained anything less than gold or greenbacks. Moreover, though Garret was familiar with his record, he failed to recall that Scat had ever been involved in any killings. So, unless the leopard had changed his spots considerably, this wasn�t the man who had blasted at Garret from that speeding car.
In that case � until Garret could actually connect Scat Prodger with the business in hand � there was no point in disclosing the old crook�s identity.
They stood at the rear of the big timber truck. A score of rust-reddened rail sections were piled on the floor. The steel derrick and block-and-tackle which had been used to hoist the heavy metal up on the truck were still rigged for use.
Brann snapped, �Sam?�
�Yes sir?�
�Darcy must have told you where to unload the stuff.�
�No, sir! He didn�t say. I s�pose he was going to dump it up by the hoist house.�
Narriver caught him by the back of the neck. �Don�t lie, you rat!� He shook the ex-con until his teeth chattered.
�That�s the truth,� Prodger muttered sullenly. �Jig parks the truck and goes in the house a minute. When he comes out, he says he has a hurry-up job to do, and I should stick around till he gets back. So I grab forty winks. When I snap outa it, I find I�ve been pounding my ear for an hour, and you�re here.�
Narriver released him, spun him around and slugged him in the mouth. Blood trickled down Prodger�s chin. His red-rimmed eyes glared fiercely, �Lay offa me, or some night I�ll cut you proper!�
The guard smashed at him again. Garret stepped in swiftly. �Take it easy, tough guy. Stick him in jail if you want to. But that uniform doesn�t give you any license to put him in the hospital.�
Prodger wiped his lips with the back of his sleeve. �He�s got no call to book me, neither.�
Brann put a restraining hand on the captain�s arm. �You�re involved in a theft of company property, Sam.�
�I ain�t stole nothing! I ain�t done a thing except obey orders my boss give me. If Jig was pulling anything, I wasn�t in on it.�
Narriver shook off Brann�s grasp, lunged for Prodger. �I caught you, mugg. Right with the rails you stole!� He jerked the smaller man�s wrist up back of his shoulder-blade.
Garret cut in sharply. �You�ll have one hell of a time establishing criminal intent, Captain. The iron is still on company property, as long as it�s in that truck.�
Narriver snarled, �I�ll worry about that after I take him in. And I can do without any more lip from you, mister.�
�Used to shutting people up whenever you don�t like what they have to say, aren�t you?� Garret put a palm, suddenly, on the guard�s chest and pushed him back. �Here�s once you don�t get away with it.�
The captain made an ugly sound deep in his throat. He let go of Prodger and swung a punch at Garret. Garret seized the flailing arm, yanked on it, and stuck out his foot. Pulled off balance, Narriver tripped and sprawled on all fours.
�You�re under arrest!� he roared. �Interfering with an officer in the performance�� He broke off, snatched at the leather holster buckled to his belt. Scat Prodger was scuttling off in the darkness, over the mounds of slag.
Brann cried, �Wait, Bill!�
But Narriver tugged out his automatic, levelled it, pulled the trigger. Scat�s scurrying figure would have been a hard target to hit in the half-gloom under any circumstances; Garret�s boot in the seat of the captain�s breeches didn�t make it any easier.
�Bill!� the super shouted. �You don�t want to kill him. Cut it!�
Narriver stumbled to his feet. His mouth worked, his eyes bulged. �I�m going to get him if it�s the last thing I ever do.� He waggled the pistol at Garret. �Then I�m coming back and take care of you.� He turned and made off at surprising speed after Scat.
Brann eyed Garret with distaste. �I don�t blame Bill. You�re certainly a big help!�
�Never can tell,� Garret retorted. �Wouldn�t have been any good to have Proctor in your morgue alongside Darcy. That old crack about dead men is on the up and up. They don�t testify.�
The super rubbed his chin resentfully. �Did you say Darcy was in the morgue?�
�No. He�s under the counter in an empty store down the street. Maybe he�ll keep long enough for me to get a line on that stolen ore. I didn�t want to bring the cops in this.�
�You�d certainly have a hard time making our local force believe Jig Darcy could have been involved in any big-scale theft of copper. There wouldn�t have been any way for him to get his hands on any poundage,� Brann said.
�He got his hands on these.� Garret touched the rails. �What I can�t figure out is why he bothered. Say he got four or five tons there. The most he could make out of it, second hand, would be forty or fifty bucks. That�s a hell of a lot of work and risk to run for that dough.�
Brann gazed at his shoe-tips for a second. �Might be some more scrap in the shack.� He strode across the sidewalk and up onto a tiny porch.
Garret followed. The super put his hand on the knob, was surprised to find the front door open.
The house was small and narrow. There were only two rooms downstairs; above there was a bedroom, reached by a wooden ladder. An unmade bed, clothing strewn carelessly on chairs, dirty dishes in the sink, said Darcy had been a careless and untidy bachelor.
There was no basement; no place in which scrap metal could have been concealed. Nor was there any evidence of affluence to indicate that Darcy had been stealing anything of great value.
Brann peered into closets and under the bed. Garret watched him. He saw him pick up a piece of paper from the kitchen table, read it hastily and attempt to stuff it in his pocket before Garret could notice him.
�Got something, Brann?� Garret asked.
�Just an old memo.�
�Let�s have a peek.�
Brann was about to refuse, but Garret�s insistent palm told the super it wouldn�t be wise. He laid the crumpled paper on the table again.
Garret saw that it was a letterhead which read:
In the upper left-hand corner was smaller type:
T. Allen Loomis, President
Typewritten in the middle of the sheet were curious abbreviations:
Ar. U.P. w.b. 6:40
med. ht. blk. hr. dk.
sut. Gr. ht. Tn sh.
Garret laughed, shortly. �So this is how he knew I was coming!�
Brann made no effort to conceal his astonishment. �You know what that gibberish means?�
�Ought to. Part of our job�s to know brass-pounder�s shorthand. That�s the telegrapher�s way of saying somebody was due to arrive on the Union Pacific west-bound at six-forty tonight. Meant me. Description was pretty fair, too. Medium height, black hair, dark suit, grey hat, tan shoes. All clear and correct � except who wrote it out for Jig Darcy and gave him orders to get me.�
Brann cleared his throat. �The letterhead�s plain enough.�
�Yeah. Who�s T. Allen Loomis?�
�One of the crookedest shysters,� the super said savagely, �who ever got into the copper business.�
�Now, now, Ken!� The voice startled them. It belonged to a big, florid-cheeked, white-haired man who stood in the kitchen doorway. A fawn-colored ten-gallon hat was tilted rakishly over one eye � a long, thin cigar angled up with equal jauntiness from the corner of a wide and humorous mouth. �You don�t want to talk about our competitors that way, Ken.�
Brann�s lips thinned. �What�s the use of kidding, C.J.? You know you hate Loomis� guts as much as I do. And Mr. Garret here ought to, because it looks as if Loomis tried to have him killed tonight!�
The dapper man held out his hand. �Charlie Ryder, Mr. Garret. You a reporter?�
�Federal man,� the detective said.
�How�d you happen to tangle with Loomis?�
�I don�t know that I did. I tangled with someone. Brann thought it was Loomis. I never heard of him until a minute ago.�
Ryder�s eyebrows went up quizzically. �Lord�s sake, Ken! Haven�t we enough dirty linen of our own to wash, without looking for more on our neighbor�s line?� The super held out the letterhead. �Seems to be the same batch of linen, C.J. Darcy, on our payroll, must have been working for Loomis too.�
�I can�t believe that!�
�You�ll have to, C.J. Somebody sent a screwy rumor to Washington that a lot of copper�s being stolen out of Stope City. Garret got in town tonight to investigate. Soon�s he hopped off the train, Jig Darcy began to trail him.�
�This notation,� Garret held out the letterhead, �was apparently written to tell Darcy where to pick me up, and what I look like, so the investigation could be stopped before it started.�
Ryder tilted his head back and squinted at the message. �What�s that? Double talk?�
Garret translated, stuck the paper in his pocket.
�Where�s Darcy now?� Ryder asked.
�Gone. When I cornered him, he wanted to play for keeps, so I had to tap him hard. While he was out, somebody drove past and let go with a gun. When I picked him up, he was dead.�
Ryder whistled. �Did you give the murderer�s description to the police?�
�Too dark to get a look at him.�
Ryder threw a leg over the corner of the kitchen table, pushed the broad-brimmed hat back off his high forehead.
�How�d Loomis know when you were arriving?�
�Not sure Loomis did know,� Garret said. �Somebody knew. The only way it makes sense is to suppose this somebody is involved with the matter I came here to investigate.�
The super picked up a stack of dirty beer glass mats from the sink drain-board and began to shuffle them like a hand of cards. �Bill Narriver got the goods on Darcy, C.J. Four or five tons of those rails from that abandoned slag spur. Not much Darcy could get out of scrap iron, unless�� He turned on the sink faucet and rinsed the fiber disks under the water. Garret noticed the red rooster stamped on the mats and wondered what was behind Brann�s none too subtle dumb-show.
Ryder took the long cigar out of his mouth and inspected the ash carefully. �Better lay our cards on the table, Ken. Maybe our friend from Washington can tell us how to play them.�
Garret murmured, �I was wondering when you�d get around to that.�
�It�s not the kind of situation� � Brann tossed the dripping disks back on the drainboard � �we want to do much talking about.�
�If Washington is interested, it�s time to talk. To put it in a nutshell, Consolidated Reclaimers has us by the short hair. We�ve either got to pay tribute to Loomis on a sizeable chunk of our output or buy him out.�
�I�m not interested in your intercorporation finagling. What I�m interested in is who�s stealing copper that should go to munitions plants?�
Ryder made a placating gesture. �Maybe we can help you find out. It�s this way. Under mining law, the owner of a vein of ore at the surface owns it all the way underground � wherever it goes. Get that! Wherever the geological strata may lead. Now, in operations as big as the Bender Corporation�s, we�ve naturally worked
�Most of them do, anyway,� Brann put in. �But this buzzard Loomis went around buying up ever foot of ground he could get title to. Now he�s suing us for enough money to start a mint, on the grounds that we�ve been mining ore from veins originating on his property. When I first saw you in my office tonight, I thought you were one of Loomis�s men.�
Garret made a mental reservation to the effect that Brann�s explanation of his attitude didn�t cover all the ground at all.
Ryder went on. �We�re going right ahead, turning out tonnage at top speed, because the country needs it. But the more we send to the surface, the worse off we are � in certain parts of the workings. On top of that, Loomis has bought up a lot of abandoned workings and is smelting down a lot of low-grade ore we never found profitable to work. What�s more, Ken thinks of Consolidated�s abandoned shafts open off our own stopes.�
�If I�m right,� the super growled, �they�re taking out a lot of high-grade Ajax ore, along with their own.�
Garret�s mind was racing. This angle might be the source of the stolen copper story. Suppose Loomis didn�t want to let the O.P.M. know how much copper his outfit was smelting for fear it would mean disclosure of where the ore actually came from?
Still, that left a few points to be cleared up. If Loomis had been bribing Darcy to help Consolidated with his knowledge of the Ajax shafts and tunnels, why had the timber boss fooled around with stealing a few bucks� worth of old railroad iron? What had Brann meant by that peculiar gesture of washing off the beer glass mats? Maybe Garret could get those questions answered one at a time. He�d have a look at Consolidated Reclaimers first.
�This Allen Loomis � would he likely be at his office this time of night?�
�Every mine executive is putting in a sixty-hour week these days. I�ll go down there with you and find out,� Brann answered, moving toward the street door.
�Oh, no! No you don�t!� Ryder clapped a hand on his superintendent�s shoulder, swung him around. �You�d read the riot act to Loomis and undo all the negotiations with Consolidated backers that I�ve been working on over long distance tonight. Mr. Garret, I�ll run you down to their smelter. But I�d better not try to talk to Loomis with you, not unless you want us both to get bounced out.�
�Guess you�re right, C.J. Somebody�d get hurt if I went down there. I�ll stay here and wait for Bill Narriver.�
Ryder�s limousine was parked behind the timber truck. �Copper mining�s always been a dog-eat-dog sort of business, Garret. Loomis is only doing what others have done in the past. You don�t want to think too badly of him,� he said as they started.
�I don�t think anything about him, one way or the other,� Garret said brusquely, �until I�ve seen him.�
Five minutes later, under the towering stack of the Reclaimer�s smelter, he knew he�d been justified in not making a pre-judgment. For Allen Loomis sat on the other side of a chaste, mahogany desk in a handsome, paneled office and pointed the snout of an automatic at Bruce Garret�s middle.
�I know who you are.� The president kept an amiable smile on his pudgy, wax-skinned face. �I know all about you. You�re from Washington, all right. But you�re a stooge for Bender. Under the pretext of getting more copper out of Stope City, you�re going to try and help the big corporation take over the little orphan company I�ve worked all my life to build up. But you won�t get away with it, my friend! Ryder won�t get away with it, either. I�m giving you fair warning. I�ll turn my plant over to the government any time it needs it. But before I�ll let that chiseling bunch of Bender bandits force me to sell out, I�ll pin a few lead buttons on somebody�s vest!�
Garret made a gesture with his palm. �Put the gun away. You�ve been seeing too many melodramas.�
�No.� The pistol remained steady in Loomis� hand. �In the old days the two-gun boys never tried to shoot you in the back at night � the way I was shot at, twice, the last week. Next time it happens, I�m aiming to do a little target work of my own.�
�Put it away,� Garret repeated. �The government hasn�t been gunning for you. For the time being, you can consider me as representing the government.�
Loomis� smile broadened unpleasantly. �That�s what I�m afraid of. You wouldn�t be the first official to be � shall we say �impressed� by the hundred-million-dollar capital of the Bender Corporation.�
Garret�s lips flattened against his teeth. �If you�re saying I�ve been bought off, I�ll slap the words down your throat! If I�d wanted to fill my pockets with that kind of dough, I wouldn�t have needed to come West.�
Loomis laid the gun down softly. �It won�t do you any good to come to me, at any rate. I can�t match Charlie Ryder at the game of palm-greasing.�
Garret held out his hand. �See any grease on that? What I get, I get from the O.P.M. Right now I�m supposed to be earning it by putting a stop to the theft of copper.�
�I wouldn�t know anything about that,� Loomis said shortly. �If you want to subpoena our records or swear out a search warrant to go through our reduction plant, that�s okay with us. Everything we do is according to Hoyle.�
Garret tried a shot in the dark. �If you don�t know anything about stolen copper, maybe you can steer me right on stolen iron.�
�Iron!� The pudgy man opened his eyes wide.
�You know, old scrap. Rails and stuff.�
Loomis pressed the switch of the interoffice communicating set on the corner of his desk. �Nels! Nels?�
A rumbling bass answered. �Want me, Mr. Loomis?�
�Step into the office a second, will you?� The president clicked the switch off, leaned back in his chair, clasping fat fingers over his paunch. �What makes you think anybody�s stealing old iron?�
�Just saw some that�s been stolen from Ajax, by a guy named Darcy. Know him?�
�I seem to recall the name. Maybe Nels Jarnstrom � he�s chief in our reduction plant � will remember him. Here�s Nels now.�
The man who came in was so gaunt his face seemed to be little more than sun-burned skin stretched tautly over jutting bones.
�Nels, this is Mr. Garret.�
�Howda do.� Jarnstrom made no movement to offer his hand.
�Mr. Garret�s with the Production Management Office. Out here to locate some missing copper.�
�Yuh? Who�s missing it?�
Garret said, �The men behind the automatic rifles and machine-guns.�
�Oh! I see.�
Loomis rocked gently in his swivel chair. �If he can�t find the copper, Nels, Mr. Garret might be willing to settle for some old scrap iron.�
Jarnstrom blinked stupidly. �Not much scrap around, the way the dealers have been buying it up.�
�I saw a little tonight.� Garret wondered at the smelterman�s apathy. �Old rails. Pinched from an Ajax spur track by a fellow named Darcy.�
The president stopped rocking. �Didn�t you tell me you were trying to hire a timber boss by that name, Nels?�
�That�s right,� Jarnstrom agreed impassively. �He�s starting to work for us next week.�
Garret said, �Not unless you drill a deeper shaft than any you have now.�
�No?� The smelterman blinked again.
�He�s dead. So I can�t find out from him whether he was grabbing off those steel rails for your company, or not.�
Jarnstrom scratched his thin nose with a bony forefinger. �For us? Why? What would we do with them? We�ve got a pile of scrap out in the crusher room now � bits the electro-magnet picks out of ore on the conveyor belt. What would we want of more junk like that?�
Well, I�ve got you started talking, anyway, Garret thought. This question of old iron seems to be a sensitive spot. Maybe if I prod a little�
�You�re using a lot of scrap here now, aren�t you?�
�Not that I know of.� Nels� voice was pitched a little higher.
Loomis began to swivel his chair from left to right in short, squeaky arcs. �I said you�d have to get a search warrant before you went through our plant, Mr. Garret, but I�ve changed my mind. Nels will show you around now, if you care to go along. Then you can see everything we�re doing.� He seemed pleased with his own suggestion.
Jarnstrom remonstrated with his superior. �I�m pretty busy with those repairs on the roasting furnace, Mr. Loomis.�
�Won�t take you long,� Loomis said smoothly, �to show Mr. Garret all he wants to see.�
�I don�t guarantee that,� Garret said. �But I�ll give it a quick once-over for a starter.�
Jarnstrom waited until they were out of the office building before he asked, �Any place special you wanted to inspect?�
�Want to see it all,� Garret answered.
They climbed steadily up the slope of the great hill, past the roaring converters, the ladle-cars teeming with molten metal, the reverberating furnaces with their spouting incandescence, the roasting shells tended by a Frankenstein monster in asbestos armor.
Garret managed to keep a few steps behind Jarnstrom, and to gauge the gaunt man�s movements the way a child plays the game of Hot and Cold. It was the same idea, Garret decided. Only it would be very hard to tell when he was getting warm. Because, if he judged the smelterman right, Jarnstrom was being very cagy about giving himself away.
It was in the flotation mill that the bony man made his false step. They had passed the long row of giant, canvas-covered drums revolving in the tanks bubbling with pine oil. To their left, a door opened into a shed. The smelterman ignored it, and moved on toward the crusher building. Garret paused at the open door, as if to inspect the shed.
Jarnstrom strode along steadily, glanced over his shoulder. Garret wasn�t looking toward the shed; he was watching the smelterman. Hastily the smelterman turned away. A bit too hastily, Gar-rat thought.
�What�s in the shed here, Jarnstrom?�
�Nothing but old machine parts. Pieces that got broke. Waiting to be welded.�
A few segments of drum-gears and stirrer-blades were sticking out from beneath stretched tarpaulins. Garret moved into the shed toward them. Jarnstrom didn�t follow, suggesting that the stuff under that canvas wasn�t worth looking at. Quickly Garret lifted a corner of one of the tarpaulins. The broken machine parts were there, all right. Also a score of tons of old auto bodies, rusty chains, once-galvanized roofing. And a dozen brown-crusted steel rails!
Garret dropped the canvas and moved swiftly back toward the mill. Jarnstrom was calling him from somewhere out of sight around the corner of the shed door.
�Telephone for you, Mr. Garret.�
The instrument was in a little alcove between two of the flotation tanks. The smelterman indicated the up-ended receiver; displayed his lack of interest by walking away as the detective said, �Garret talking.�
�This is Shirley Brann.�
�Well, well!� He hadn�t expected to hear from her, yet somehow he was not surprised. �How�d you know I was here at Consolidated?�
�Ken called in; he told me.� She sounded contrite. �I hadn�t meant to let you know I was going to look up that Yault accident, but I did, to satisfy my own concern about it. And you were right. The report certainly sounds queer.�
�Don�t tell me, let me guess.� She had trusted him enough to look up the records, at any rate. And she was fair enough to admit there might be something whacky about the accident. �Would Jig Darcy have been on the spot when that so-called cave-in occurred?�
�How�d you know that?�
�I didn�t know, pure guesswork. Not too hard, though. Darcy tried to put me out of the way because I was trying to find out something about stolen copper. It�s not unreasonable to suppose he might have been mixed up in the death of another guy who happened to learn something about the same business. Darcy could get around the mine anywhere he wanted to, being in charge of shoring up the shafts. He would know how to knock out a few timbers so as to make it look like a cave-in, too.�
�If you�re that smart� � there was admiration in her tone � �perhaps you�ve figured out that someone notified the hospital Harve Yault�s death wasn�t an accident.�
�No. The hospital authorities told me no one had been to see him there.�
�They were right. She didn�t actually call at the hospital. She phoned, asking them if Yault had regained consciousness. When they said he hadn�t, she swore a blue streak and accused them of concealing an attack on him.�
�Who is �she�?�
�They don�t know.�
�This is where I came in then.�
�Maybe not,� she said. �I did a little digging, as you suggested.�
�Hit pay dirt?�
�Hard to say. But in Yault�s pension compensation papers, I found the name of a girl.�
�Ah!�
�The queerest name you ever heard in your life!�
�What?�
�Millie Hippo!�
�Can�t be a name, must be a description. Who is the lady?�
�I�m not sure,� Shirley laughed, �but from her address, I�d say she�s not my idea of a lady.�
�What�s the address?�
�The Big Red Rooster. It�s kind of a... well, a cheap joint.�
�Looks like one. Where are Yault�s papers?�
�I... I have them, but I�m not supposed to let anyone see��
�Don�t fall down on me now, when you�re so close to making a score � Shirley.�
There was a little pause. �What do you want me to do?�
�Bring the records to me.�
�At Consolidated? They wouldn�t let me in the office!�
�No. To the Big Red Rooster.�
�Oh, I couldn�t go��
�Right,
�All right.� Her voice was faint on the wire. �I�ll be there.�
He hung up. Jarnstrom was a dozen yards down the mill, bending over something on the floor. Garret went toward him.
There was a sudden singing as of strong wind through telegraph wires. Garret looked up. A yard-wide length of leather belting slipped off its pulley on one of the revolving tank drums. The loosened loop snaked toward Garret like a mad boa-constrictor.
He flung himself sidewise and crashed into a guard screen. The deadly loop twisted toward him. He dropped to the floor. Hard leather, traveling at a mile a minute, slapped savagely against his head. It sent him rolling over and over on the floor, half stunned. But the next instant it had jerked away, kinked into a monstrous knot, and was flailing violently at a window yards distant. Glass shattered. Men yelled frantically. Someone pulled a lever, and the belt ceased its terrible threshing.
Jarnstrom ran up. �You hurt?�
�Not much.� Garret stood up groggily.
That had been close, too close. If he had delayed a fraction of a second in diving out of the way, his head would have been twisted from his shoulders.
�Too bad. These belts are always coming off the pulleys. I should have warned you.�
Garret�s gaze was steely. �If that thing had caught me around the neck, it would be to late for a warning.�
�You seen all you want to see?�
Garret answered cryptically, �I�ll be back for another look. And I�ll make sure no one is monkeying with the pulley-idlers when I come through next time!�
Garret didn�t stop at Loomis� office on the way out. He was still dizzy from that smack by the lashing transmission-belt. He needed fresh air. The ten-minute walk down to town might do him good.
Nevertheless, he did ride down the hill in Ryder�s limousine. The Bender Corporation�s general manager was waiting for him, fifty yards down the street from Consolidated�s office.
�Where you want me to drop you now?�
�The hotel.� Garret had no intention of letting anyone else in on his Red Rooster appointment. �I didn�t expect you to wait for me.�
Ryder smiled. �I wouldn�t trust those muckers any further than you could spit.�
Garret felt of the lump on his head. �Not as far as that.�
�Besides� � the big man let the car coast easily down the incline � �I didn�t exactly wait for you. I drove back to Darcy�s place. Bill Narriver was there, thirsting for your blood.�
�Proctor got away from him then.�
�Sure. Bill�s burned to a cinder. He says if it hadn�t been for you, Proctor�d be in the jailhouse now.�
�Why do you hire punks like Narriver for company guards, anyway?�
�Bill�s just a plug-ugly in uniform,� the executive agreed. �But he has his uses. For instance, he has an in with the local police. They just tipped him off there�s a murder warrant out against you.�
�Darcy, huh? Did they find his body?�
�Bill didn�t know how they learned you were in the thing.�
�Better let me out right here then.� The car was still a hundred yards away from the Big Rooster, but Garret could make out a slender figure in a sports coat hurrying into the cafe. �They�ll post a cop in the lobby of the Rocky Mountain House, first thing.�
�You ought to know.� The limousine stopped. �I�ll have Ken pull a few strings. We might be able to kill that warrant. Anyhow, if the police do pick you up, you�ll have the satisfaction of knowing your job�s more�n half done already.�
�Which half?�
�Why, Darcy�s.� There was surprise in Ryder�s tone. �Doesn�t seem to be much doubt he was working with Consolidated.�
�Not much,� Garret admitted, �but the other half of the combination might not be so easy to work out. I�m busy on that now. Thanks for the lift.�
He waited until the limousine rolled out of sight, then came up cautiously on the opposite side of the street from the Rooster. There was no one around who looked as if he might belong to the police force. He crossed the street and went in.
He didn�t see Shirley Brann for a minute. The place was roaring. At an enormous horse-shoe bar, miners in work denims jostled young girls in fluffy dance frocks; slick-haired youths just out from behind store counters reached for their drinks across the shoulders of housewives whose men had just gone down on the eight o�clock shift. Four bartenders in white jackets, with red roosters on the breast pockets, pulled beer taps, juggled shakers, poured from bottles at a furious pace. There was no time for punching a cash register; silver dollars were merely bounced on a marble slab to make sure they rang true, then tossed into a washtub on the back bar.
A double row of red-covered tables ran along one wall; among them, waitresses in knee-length Dutch girl costumes perspired under trays heaped high with steaks, french fries, hot biscuits. Against the other wall a staircase slanted up to the second floor. Guarding it at the foot was a cashier�s booth commanded by a brassy-haired female with a pink complexion, a baby stare and the physique of a wrestler. A neatly lettered placard over the cage stated:
Garret looked over the couples milling on the dance floor between the tables and the stairs; he knew Ken Brann�s sister wouldn�t be with that mob.
She saw him before he located her, called, �Bruce� over the din of the booming juke box and the babbling hubbub at the bar. He found her squeezed in between a middle-aged man and a bald-headed miner.
Garret steered Shirley deftly toward the end tables. �Sorry to get you into this.�
She laughed nervously. �It�s all right. It�s kind of exciting to see it once. Only it�s so terribly noisy.�
�That�s what the customers seem to want.� He found a vacant table. �Noise and excitement. But the food will be good, you can bank on that.�
�I�m not hungry, though. And I refused three drinks in those few minutes before you got here.�
But Garret said, �Two orders of sirloin and french fries,� to the waitress who flounced up to the table. �And coffee.�
�I understand.� Shirley opened her handbag, slid out a packet of printed documents. �So we won�t be too conspicuous?�
�That�s the idea, sort of.� He didn�t know how to tell her that nothing could prevent her standing out in this mob like a Powers model at a washerwomen�s convention, no matter whether she ate or drank anything or not. But perhaps nobody would notice him, as long as she attracted all the attention.
He smiled with his eyes. �Thanks in advance, for services rendered.� He took the packet of papers.
�I hadn�t intended to be helpful,� she admitted frankly. �But Ken�s brought me up to believe that every man at Ajax should be given a square deal, so I wanted to reassure myself that Harve Yault was treated fairly. When I found Darcy�s name in the report, I realized you might be right.� She leaned over to let him light her cigarette. �But if it does help you, I�m glad.�
�It does.� He studied the documents. �This pension allotment of his, made out to this Millie, seems to check with an anonymous scrawl sent to Washington a couple of days after Yault�s death.� He brought out the cellophane envelope. �No way of determining absolutely. But it looks as if a woman wrote this, judging by the use of lipstick and the way she worded it.�
�By the way she misspelled cartridge,� Shirley said, �not an especially well educated woman, either.�
He glanced up approvingly. �That�s Bingo for you. The sort of female who might have a name like Millie Hippo.�
There was a little squeal of surprise from the waitress bringing their steaks.
Garret asked, �You wouldn�t be Millie Hippo, by any chance?�
�Oh! No!� She giggled. �That�s her.� She pointed to the brassy-haired cashier at the foot of the stairs. �You must be new around here. Everybody knows Millie!�
Shirley made a confidential appeal. �I don�t know her, but I�d like to. Would you mind asking Millie if she�d care to come over to our table and have a bite to eat��
��or a drink,� Garret amended hastily-
�I�ll ask her.� The waitress seemed dubious. �I don�t know if she can get a relief now.�
Garret took the cellophane envelope with the scribbled message on it. He folded it in a bill of fare. �Take this over to her, sister. Then ask her if she wants to join us.�
Millie did. She opened the cardboard menu and started as if she�d seen a mouse. Hurriedly, she called a girl from one of the tables to sit in the booth, and came waddling over to Garret�s table. When he saw her lumbering method of locomotion across the floor, there was no necessity of asking where she acquired her nickname.
What he did ask her, after she had sipped daintily at her highball, was, �Millie, I came all the way from Washington because of that note you wrote. You must have been a good pal to Harve Yault.�
She surveyed Shirley with skepticism. �What if I was?�
�He left you some money, didn�t he?�
�He didn�t have much to leave, the poor guy. Miners never have much to leave anybody.�
Shirley said, �You�re right there, Millie.� The cashier relaxed a little.
Garret worked on his steak. �You think Harve was murdered?�
�I ain�t saying what I think.� Millie Hippo drained her glass, started to get up from the table. �Not until I know who I�m talking to.�
Garret took out the Sphinx badge again. �I�m a government investigator, Millie. This lady is working with me to see that Yault�s murderer is punished � if he was murdered. You told the hospital authorities he was murdered, at the time, didn�t you?�
The big woman examined the badge respectfully, but she was still cautious. �Maybe I thought that then. Ain�t saying I think the same way now.�
�We�re not trying to take the pension money away from you.� Shirley attempted to soothe her suspicions. �It�s just that Mr. Garret thinks maybe we can help square accounts with � whoever was responsible for Harve Yault�s death.�
The cashier�s cupid-bow lips quivered; her eyes filmed with moisture. �If you really mean that � if you honestly mean it � why, I�ll go right down the line for you. Harve � well, he was about the only guy in my whole life who ever actually kept his word with me. I�d cut off my right hand if it would help get the people who murdered him.� She gulped at the liquor.
Garret signaled for a refill of her glass. �What makes you so sure he was murdered?�
�He told me so.�
Shirley exclaimed, �How could he tell you, when you didn�t go to the hospital to see him?�
Tears began to roll down Millie�s plump cheeks. �He told me it was going to happen, three or four days before the cave-in. �Millie,� he says to me, �Millie, if you hear of me getting stove up or knocked off in an accident, you�ll know it wasn�t no accident. If they get me, it�ll be plain murder!��
�Who was Yault afraid of?�
�Somebody in the mine. He didn�t know for sure who it was.�
�At Ajax?� Shirley tried to keep the worry out of her voice.
Millie rattled the ice cubes in her glass. �That was where Harve worked. He wouldn�t know about any other mine. He found out something about copper being stolen out of Ajax. A hell,� � she coughed, daintily � �a whole lot of copper. Enough, Harve said, to make maybe a million cartridges a week.�
�Did he say how it was being stolen?� Garret was patient.
�No, he didn�t. I don�t even know if he knew. He kept mentioning something about swapping iron for copper, but I couldn�t tell if the swapping had anything to do with the stealing.�
That matter of iron again! If I only knew what the rusty iron had to do with it! Garret fumed inwardly.
�Now, listen. If Yault didn�t know who was stealing the copper or how it was being taken, what did he know that made somebody bump him off in that fake accident?�
She stirred her drink with her little finger. �Harve knew where it was being taken from. That�s what they were afraid of, I guess. The where of it.�
�That might be enough.� Garret watched Shirley ball her napkin up into a knot. �Where was it?�
Millie put a ladylike palm in front of her mouth, hiccoughed gently. �Fear Street,� she said. �That�s what he said. Fear Street.�
Shirley looked blank. �I never heard of it, Millie. Where�s that?�
Millie Hippo shrugged her enormous shoulders. �I don�t get around town very much on my job. I guess Harve thought I knew where it was, or he�d have told me.�
Garret gritted his teeth. �Do you think he told anyone else?�
�I don�t know, mister. I couldn�t say about that.� She dabbed at her lips with a bit of musk-scented cambric. �But there was another fella who�d know. He was with Harve just before the cave-in that night.�
�Who is this other man? Where is he?� Shirley cried apprehensively.
The big woman set her glass down sharply. �I can�t tell you who he is, not unless he says it�s okay. But I can take you to him.�
�Now?� Garret asked.
Millie nodded. �I guess now�s as good a time as any.� She stood up. They did the same. �If you�ll kindly follow me.� She started across the end of the dance floor toward the stairs.
Garret caught Shirley�s arm. �Maybe it would be better if you stayed down here.�
�No. I�d rather go with you.�
�Well � a place like this��
She smiled. �You forget I�ve lived in Stope City all my life. I�ve never been in a place like this before, but it doesn�t matter.�
Nevertheless, Garret felt as if every eye in the crowd were watching them as they filed upstairs in the wake of Millie�s skirts. Somebody at the bar began to chant raucously:
Shirley laughed softly. Garret chalked up another credit to her score.
At the top of the stairs, Millie Hippo turned toward the front of the building, and led them down a dark and odorous corridor with closed doors on either side. The doors were facetiously lettered Wyandotte, Barred Rock, Rhode Island Red.
At the door marked Leghorn, Millie knocked. There was no answer. Her lips close to the jamb, she said, �It�s Millie.�
Still no answer.
�Open the door! Friends of mine want to talk to you � about Harve.�
Instantly the door swung open six inches or so. The room was dark and the illumination from the fly-specked bulb in the hall was dim, so Garret couldn�t see the occupant.
But he could inspect them, without being seen. There was a whispered exchange between the man inside and Millie. Then the door swung wide.
�Go on in, folks. It�s okay. I can�t stick around, but I�ll see you when you come down.� Millie pushed Shirley into the dark room. Garret stepped quickly in after her. The door closed gently.
�Got to be careful,� the man said, his voice oddly familiar to Garret, �about anybody in the hall getting a peek at me.� The light went on.
�Scat!� Garret said in surprise.
The ex-con chortled. �Now you know what it feels like to be in the lineup yourself, where somebody can give you the eye and you can�t see him.�
�Shirley, this is Scat � I mean Sam Proctor. He works for your brother. Sam, Miss Brann.�
They shook hands quite formally. He waved toward one of the chairs at the battered table, but she preferred to stand. There wasn�t anything in the room to look at except a spring-saggy sofa with pink-and-purple cushions. On the table a cracked water pitcher stood alongside a half-empty pint bottle and a dirty tumbler. Shirley smiled uncertainly at Sam. He grinned toothlessly.
�I been holing up here ever since that dimwit Narriver sent out an alarm for me. I did Millie and Harve a few favors now and again, and she don�t forget a friend.� He indicated the whiskey.
�No great need of worrying. The captain hasn�t anything on you,� Garret said.
�No.� The bankrobber leered slyly. �But a couple of D.A.�s back east have. Old indictments, before I... uh... reformed, you might say. So I don�t like the idea of being fingerprinted.�
Garret said he understood. �Miss Brann and I won�t turn you in. We�re after someone else. The parties who rigged up that phony accident to explain Harvey Yault�s death.�
�Oh-oh!�
�Millie Hippo says you were with Yault a little while before he was killed.�
�That�s so. I was. And I always had my own ideas about that cockeyed cave-in, but working with Jig Darcy all the time, I didn�t want to shoot off my mouth and wind up under a few tons of loose ore myself.�
�Millie says Yault told her he might be murdered because he�d accidentally discovered where copper was being stolen from Ajax.�
The old peter-man rubbed the stubble of his chin thoughtfully. �Oh! Was that it?�
Garret nodded. �You know where the place is. Yault said it was on Fear Street.�
�Yuh. I know.� Scat pinched his Adam�s apple uneasily. �It�s one of the old stopes on the two-thousand-foot level.�
�A tunnel in the mine?� Shirley was astonished.
�Yezzum. A bad one. Ore�s soft there. Chalcocite, they call it. Crumbles easy. Lots of good guys did their last mining on Fear Street. That�s why it got its name.�
�That�s where Yault was hurt?� Garret thought he began to see some of the pieces fitting together.
�Yezzir. Him and me and Darcy were looking over the stope to see if we could retimber it, and Jig sends me back to the main shaft for a couple of hydraulic jacks. When I come back, Harve was under fifty ton of rock and Darcy was bawling for the rescue crew.�
Garret gripped Scat�s shoulder fiercely. �Can you get me down where I can have a look at this Fear Street?�
Scat Prodger shook his head slowly. �No sir. Somebody else � not me. I couldn�t get even as far as the cage without that dirty slob Narriver putting the arm on me.�
�Suppose I could fix it so Narriver wouldn�t bother you, and those old indictments would be dropped?�
�No siree. It ain�t that I don�t take your word, Mr. Garret. You�re on the up-and-up. There ain�t a stir-bug who knows you would say different. But you know how it is. I saw promises made with the best of intentions, many�s the time. Only the guy who made them couldn�t carry them out, because some dirty little drip with a title and a bellyful of ambition thought he could climb another step up the ladder by slapping another poor sucker in the pen.�
Shirley came across the room. �Mr. Proctor��
�Yezzum? Ain�t no use trying to talk me outa it. I had many�s the bitter experience with human nature.�
�But this is different,� she said. �Really different. By doing what Mr. Garret wants, you�ll be helping the men in our armed forces to get the ammunition they may need to win a battle.�
�Howzatt?�
Garret said, �The copper that�s being stolen, down there on Fear Street, ought to be making cartridges. If we can find out who�s stealing the metal, we can help to put more rounds in those machine-guns and��
�Hold on! Hold on!� Scat strode majestically to the take. He poured out a stiff slug of beady liquor, drained it at one gulp, shook his head and tugged at his coat lapels. �You don�t have to go no further. If an old-timer like me can do his bit in this shindig, he�d be a terrible bum if he didn�t do it, wouldn�t he? A
In the corridor, Scat Prodger turned. �I said I�d take you down, Mr. Garret. But how you going to get as far as the cage?�
�That�s right. I have to have a pass before they�ll let me in the hoist house.�
Shirley snapped open her handbag. �Wait.� She fumbled with coin purse and compact; found a pad of printed blanks and a pencil. Swiftly she filled in ruled spaces, tore off a sheet. �That�s not Ken�s signature, but it�s close enough. I make out most of the passes for him to sign. Lucky I have the pad with me.�
�Saves time,� Garret agreed.
She tucked her hand under his arm. The cloth of his coat was sticky. �You�re hurt! That�s blood!�
�Courtesy of Jig Darcy.� They were going down the stairs again; this time no one paid any attention to them. Garret said, �It�s not serious, except it�ll cost three bucks to have the sleeve rewoven.�
�If you�ll stop a second, I�ll fix it.�
�Thanks, no. But if you really want to do something for me��
�What?�
�See if you can find out the names of Loomis�s backers in Consolidated Reclaimers. Charlie Ryder was talking to them on long distance tonight. Might be important to learn who they are. Do it without letting anybody know I�m interested.�
�Maybe Ken would know.�
He avoided her eyes. �Why don�t you ask the phone people?�
She hesitated. �All right.� His evasion seemed to trouble her.
They edged through the crowd at the bar. Calloused palms were clapping together in accompaniment to The Heart of Texas. Shirley had to press close against him to make herself heard. �It�ll be dangerous, down in the mine.�
Garret gestured at the old safe blower. �He knows his stuff.�
�I don�t mean danger from cave-ins. Harvey Yault wasn�t caught in a rock fall,� she said.
�I�ll keep my eyes open for the other hazards. And I�ll be seeing you.�
�I hope... I hope... I hope!� Shirley said.
Out on the street, Garret waited until her trim figure swung around the corner of the block.
�Let�s go, Scat.�
�This ain�t gonna be no picnic, y�know.�
�Hey, where you heading? Hoist house is up the hill.�
�I�m gonna stop down at my boarding house for a couple of helmets. You�d get your skull stove in before you went a hundred yards down Fear Street, without you had a helmet.�
The boarding house wasn�t far. Prodger reconnoitered a bit before he decided to go in. �Reckon Narriver�s been here and gone.� He marched up the steps and came back in a minute with two steel helmets that might have been regulation army issue, except for the electric lamps attached to their fronts. Prodger handed one to Garret, put one on himself, and disposed of other packets in various parts of his clothing.
�I�m set. That thick-neck cap�n better not push me around now.� He patted his coat gently.
But Garret, toiling up the steep grade, didn�t waste any grey matter on Narriver. Instead, he mulled over the strange activities of Shirley Brann�s brother. Especially, the strange shuffling of those fiber disks under the water faucet in Jig Darcy�s house. What was it Ken Brann had said? Darcy couldn�t have had any use for those steel rails, unless�
Unless what? Beyond question, the theft of the iron was connected with the stealing of the copper. But how? Why hadn�t Brann come right out with it? Why didn�t Charlie Ryder make it clear, what the super�s curious charade-play had meant? Why had Loomis changed his mind about letting Garret go through the smelter works right after the detective brought up the matter of scrap iron? Strangest of all, why had someone in the Consolidated plant � very likely Nels Jamstrom � done his best to wrench Garret�s head from his body with that belt slipped off the whirling pulley? Just because the investigator had found that pile of rusty chain and smashed-up auto bodies?
Maybe Scat could furnish him with the key, if he asked. �Scat?� �Getting pooped? This is a tough hill.� �I�ve got my second wind. Scat, how can a man swap old iron for new copper?�
�Howzatt?�
�Those rails you and Darcy picked up tonight. They were going to be exchanged for copper. How?�
Scat stood still. �Exchanged! Well, for the love�� He resumed his upward climb. �I never figured it might be the old two-for-one. Give you odds that�s what it was, though.�
�What the hell is two-for-one?� Garret was exasperated. �Speak English!�
They showed their passes at the fence, and hurried toward the hoist house.
�I don�t know just how the two-for-one stunt does work.� The ex-con called his number to the timekeeper at the hoist-house door. �But it works, all right. You put the iron in the water�� He broke off, began to swear vehemently at a stocky, bull-necked man in a guard uniform. �Lay off me now, Narriver! I�m giving you warning!�
�Why don�t you try running away now?� The captain swaggered up with one hand on his pistol holster. �Either run or stand still!�
Garret cut in. �You�re a little late, Cap.�
Narriver pivoted, glaring. �I thought you�d be in the jug by now.�
�No. Not going to be. The only jail I�m going to be in is the one I deliver my prisoner to.�
�
�Sure. Sam Proctor�s my prisoner.�
�Nuts!�
�Yeah? Federal arrests take precedence over local authorities, to say nothing of unofficial company finks like you. Ever hear about that?�
�No.� The captain was rattled, but he wasn�t going to be bluffed out of the capture. �Proctor�s on Ajax ground and he�s accused of stealing Ajax property. I�m taking him in, and that�s that.� He took out the gun for emphasis.
�You�ll run yourself into a federal pen first thing you know,� Garret retorted. �They hand out stiff sentences these days to guys who impede war production.�
The ex-con spat out, �What are you supposed to be arresting me for, anyhow? The company�s got the rails. Darcy�s a cold turkey. I ain�t done nothing except show you up for a dumb, bulldozing��
�That�ll be all from you.� Veins stood out on the captain�s forehead. �You�re coming up to the office. If Mr. Brann wants to turn you over to this Washington wisey, that�s his business. Until I find out what he wants done with you, you mosey along and be quick about it, or I�ll beat you down to your socks.�
Scat licked his lips. �If you try it, it�ll be the last beating you�ll give! I promise you that!�
Garret saw a group beginning to gather around, men who had come up on the last cage, others waiting to go down into the mine. He wasn�t ready for a showdown yet, and this wasn�t the place to have it. So he said, �We can�t afford to horse around all night, Narriver. Let�s get up to Brann�s; he�ll tell you where to get off.�
The captain sneered. �That�s crawling, mister! Wouldn�t surprise me if you yelped some more when the Stope City police turn the cell key on you.� He herded the Ajax man out of the hoist house, but waited until Garret walked ahead of him before he marshalled them up toward the office.
There were only two clerks busy at the time cards when the three of them filed in. Shirley wasn�t in sight.
Narriver called across the railing, �Ken Brann in?�
�Went out about half an hour ago, Cap,� one of the elderly men answered. �Said he might not be back for quite a while. Had a suitcase with him. And his briefcase.�
Narriver scratched his head so the visored cap tilted forward over his eyes. �He didn�t say anything to me about going on a trip.�
Scat mumbled, �Ain�t that too bad! The super can�t make a move without asking your advice, huh?�
�Pipe down!� Narriver prodded the peter-man in the back. �Get on in his office. He probably was just taking some papers home to work on. I�ll call him up.�
He opened the super�s door. Garret stared at the desk drawers, open and empty; at the bookshelf with gaping holes where volumes had been hastily removed.
Narriver planted fists on his hips, gawked incredulously. �That�s damn funny! Looks as if Ken�s flown the coop.�
The captain muscled Scat along to the desk, picked up the phone. �See if you can get Mr. Brann at his home, babe.�
Garret could hear the phone ring, but there was no answer. He didn�t think there would be, not with all the personal do-dads missing from the top of the super�s desk. Everything had been taken away except a brass-mounted memo pad. Why had that been left?
Garret went close, looked at it. A couple of phone numbers had been scribbled on it, and a group of cabalistic figures which the investigator recognized as engineering formulae. Also, across the bottom of the pad, a series of dots and dashes had been penciled in blue:
-.||.-|..|...|..||-|--||..-.|.|.-|.-.||...|-|||
Narriver hung up the phone. �Them hen tracks mean anything?�
�They might,� Garret replied, �to anyone who knew Morse code.� Obviously the message hadn�t been intended for Narriver�s eye. It read: G wise to Fear Street! Now Ken Brann�s sudden departure was understandable!
The guard rubbed his chin, dubiously. �I�m no boy scout. Don�t expect me to dope it out. But don�t think Mr. Brann�s taking French leave is going to set you loose either, Proctor.� He shoved the ex-con roughly against the wall. Scat bit his lips as if in pain.
�If you keep that up, Narriver, you ain�t gonna last the night,� he said roughly.
Garret picked up the phone. �Operator?�
�Yes, sir?�
�Get hold of your nearest United States Marshal.�
�Marshal?�
�That�s right. Ask him to call Bruce Garret at the Ajax Number Six office.�
�Yes,
�And tell him he�d better get hold of a deputy. I want him to take a guy in custody. Man named William Narriver.� He slapped the receiver on the hook.
Narriver began to bluster. �Damn you, Garret! Ain�t anybody in Stope City would dare lay a finger on me! You�ll see.�
Garret stepped to him swiftly. One hand caught the captain�s necktie, jerked him forward too close for the man to use his fists. Garret�s other hand closed on the butt of Narriver�s pistol.
�Slight error, Narriver,� He wrenched the gun out of the holster. �
Scat laughed scornfully; his laugh was echoed by a chuckle from the doorway behind Garret.
Charlie Ryder stood there, surveying his dumbfounded guard-captain. The general manager�s thumbs were in his vest armholes; he teetered back and forth on his heels, judicially. �I�m much obliged to you, Garret. If I�d known Bill could be bluffed like that, I�d have fired him long ago.�
�Listen, Mr. Ryder!� Narriver stormed. �This lousy snooper calls up a U.S. Marshal to arrest
�Shut up, Bill! You�ve had your chance to speak your piece. You didn�t do so well. Where�s Brann?� Ryder�s eyes went to the barren desk-top; the half-empty bookshelves. �What goes on here?�
Garret waved a hand. �Man done gone away. Took his belongings with him. Seems as if he didn�t intend to come back.�
�Lord!� Ryder moved slowly around the desk, slumped heavily in the chair. There was a hurt look in his eyes; his voice suddenly sounded tired. �Didn�t he say anything to anybody?�
�No. Just beat it, without a word.� Garret put Narriver�s gun in his own pocket. �Somehow he must have found out I was getting the lowdown on this copper stealing.�
�I�m glad of that,� Ryder muttered. �But I�m sure sorry about Ken.� He put a clenched fist on the desk. �It doesn�t make any difference now. But I put Ken through Tech; I brought him along in Ajax for more than ten years.� He stood up, straightened. �I�ve never known him to do a dishonest or a disloyal thing.� His face clouded. �Surely you won�t expect
Garret said, �I expect you to keep hands off my investigation of this mine, that�s all.�
Ryder spread his hands out, palms up. �You�re the doctor. We�ll take your prescription, even if it�s going to be bitter.�
�That�s the idea. Proctor�s going to take me down where somebody�s swapping rusty iron for copper, according to��
�It�s the old two-for-one, Mr. Ryder,� the safe blower interrupted. �I guess you know how it works.�
�Two-for-one?� The general manager�s eyes narrowed. �But we�re doing that all the time! There isn�t a chance of anybody�s stealing metal that way. Unless�� He stared blankly at the wall.
There was that �unless� again! �Unless what?� Garret said.
Ryder took a long cigar out of his pocket, bit the end off with a preoccupied air. �Unless our friends at Consolidated Reclaimers are sluicing off our metal by the gallon. And that�s something I can�t believe. If it�s true, I want to see it with my own eyes.�
�You�ll come along with us?� Garret was surprised.
�You bet your life I�m coming. Bill?�
�Yes, Mr. Ryder?�
�Get me a helmet and a suit of coveralls. Snap into it!�
�Yes, sir.� The guard hurried away.
Ryder paced the office restlessly. �It�s possible, just barely possible. They might get away with five or ten tons a week that way, and nobody the wiser. It�s the only way in the world you can mine copper without working for it.�
Narriver came back. Ryder stripped off his coat, climbed into the coveralls, and slapped the helmet on his head. �Ready.�
He didn�t attempt any further explanation of the two-for-one on the way to the hoist house. And in the three-tiered cage which dropped men nearly a mile into the earth and hauled ore out, there were a dozen other miners, so nothing was said by Garret.
The man at the cage controls hailed the chief jocularly.
�Going back to work for a change, Boss?�
Ryder smiled. �Little tour of inspection. Drop us off at the two-thousand-foot level.�
They plummeted down into the darkness. It seemed to Garret as if the cables on the heavy elevator car must have snapped and the cage was bound for the very bottom of the mine. But when the air pressure had built up so his ears felt stuffed with cotton and the air in the car became almost unbearably hot, the platform came to a rest opposite a wide, timbered passage in the rock.
A miner, naked to his sweating waist, sat in an ore car piled with blue-black rock. He had a board in his lap, with a paper clipped to it. He recognized Ryder, but he asked the routine question, �Where you going to work, boys?�
Scat Prodger said, �Fear Street, Mac,� and led the way along the tunnel.
The miner called after them. �Better watch your step in there!�
The only light in the tunnel came from the little electric lamps at the front of their helmets. The air was like that of a boiler room.
For a while, the only sound in the stope was the gritting of gravel under their shoes. Ryder followed Scat; Garret kept close behind them. The ex-convict threaded his way through cross-overs and around blind turns without once hesitating. Garret knew there were twenty-five hundred miles of these subterranean catacombs, wondered how Scat could be so sure of the way.
�Somewhere along here,� Ryder panted, �there�s supposed to be an underground stream. Probably drainage water from the upper levels.�
�That would be full of copper, wouldn�t it?� Scat called back.
�Might be full of copper sulphate,� the general manager corrected, breathing heavily.
�What they call blue vitriol?� Garret shook sweat out of his eyes.
�That�s right, blue vitriol. Leached out of the rock.� Ryder stumbled over a heap of fallen rubble. The passageway sloped sharply upward now.
Scat shouted back a warning. �Keep away from the walls. Might start the rock. This here�s Fear Street.�
�Ore seems to be softer here.� Ryder stopped for breath. �Probably on account of the water seeping along the vein.�
Garret touched the rock overhead. It was dank with moisture.
�Right here�� Scat�s words reverberated from the tunnel sides � �is where Harve Yault got it.� He stopped and pointed. �The clean-up crew took out enough rock to get at his body. But the tunnel�s still blocked.�
Ryder halted. Garret came up behind him. Somewhere ahead, in the blackness, was the splash of running water. Between them and the sound, there was a mound of rubble that reached to the tunnel-top.
�Far as it�s safe to go.� Ryder wiped his forehead on his sleeve. �Ken Brann showed me the report after that accident. We�d have to have double timbering, from here on, to make it safe enough for the muckers to operate.�
A chip of rock fell at Garret�s feet. �That water I hear � is that the stuff full of copper?�
�Can�t tell,� Ryder said. �Might be just a flow from ordinary rock strata.�
Scat Prodger chuckled. He patted his coat pocket. �I can get you through there, if you want to take a chance.�
�How?� Ryder said sharply.
�Dinah.� The peter-man took out an object that looked like a chunk of thick candle, wrapped in a piece of old newspaper. �Always carry Dinah with me, just in case there�s a cave-in and I�ve got to get air quick.�
Dynamite cartridges! Garret knew Scat had been familiar with explosives for a score of years � had used them professionally � in the days before the Sphinx man sent him away for the stretch. But it hadn�t occurred to him the bank robber would be carrying blasting cartridges around in his pockets like so many cheese sandwiches! That was what Scat had meant when he said he was �set� � when he had warned Narriver not to mess around with him, or else!
�Too risky,� Ryder decided. �There�s been one cave-in here already. Be just asking for another to blast again.�
Garret�s eyes strained into the darkness ahead. �What�s beyond that rock heap?�
�More trouble, probably.� Ryder wagged his head in disapproval. �If there�s much water there, a blast might let it right in on us. We�d drown like rats.�
Scat held the explosive to his lips, made a loud smacking noise. �Don�t you worry! Dinah�ll do like I tell her. She�ll clear a way through this pile here and not even jar a drop of sweat off the end of your nose!�
Garret didn�t wait for the caution that was on Ryder�s lips. After all, Harve Yault had been here, and he hadn�t been drowned by drainage water, had he? Jig Darcy�d been here, too, presumably without any fears about the consequence of the rock-fall he�d arranged to cover the driller�s death.
He said, Go head, Scat. �Do your stuff�
�Well�� Ryder protested. �See that you don�t overdo it!�
Scat went to work. He whittled away with a pocket knife at the chunk of nitroglycerine-in-sawdust. He extracted a percussion cap from a phial stuffed with cotton batting. The whole thing had been tucked in his hip pocket all the while Narriver had been shoving him around. He uncoiled wires from a spool wrapped in a black sock, and attached the wires to a switch kept in his tobacco pouch. Then he borrowed Garret�s helmet and hooked the switch by clips to the battery of the miner�s light. It took him no more than three minutes, including packing the charge away under one side of the rubble pile.
He came back down the tunnel to where Garret and Ryder were squatting in semi-darkness. �Stick your fingers in your ears,� he ordered. �When I say
Garret nodded. �Fire when ready.�
�Okay. One, two �
Garret shouted. It was like bellowing against cannon-fire. He couldn�t hear his own voice against the rumbling thunder of the explosion. The tunnel filled with fumes and dust.
Scat prowled up ahead. The beam of his lamp poked here and there through the cloud of dust.
�Howzat, Mr. Garret?� he exulted. �Clean as a whistle. Don�t let nobody tell you old Scat can�t still part your hair with a spoonful of �soup!��
Garret crept forward over a yard-thick layer of splintered ore. The splashing of water was clearer now, even though his ears were still ringing.
Scat was still moving ahead along the stope. �Here she is!� he cried. �Here�s your two-for-one!�
Garret could make out that they had come to the end of Fear Street. But there was a cross-tunnel, at right angles. This new stope was three times the width of the narrow pasageway along which they had just come. It ran below the level of Fear Street, like the channel of a stream � a fifteen-foot stream of dark and swiftly flowing water whose surface glinted blue-black under Scat Prodger�s helmet-light!
At the detective�s shoulder, Ryder exclaimed: �By heaven, somebody�s turned this stope into a sluice for copper recovery! Look at that scrap iron!�
Scat hopped down onto the bottom of the underground brook. The water came barely to his knees. �She�s got a timber bottom,� he called. �That means the stuff can be scraped off. It�s kinda slipp�ry.�
Garret saw the fender of a junked automobile sticking above the surface like the fin of some subterranean shark. Scat bent down, fished a length of once-heavy iron chain out of the stream. The foot-long lengths had been eaten away until they were no thicker than match sticks.
Garret stepped gingerly down into the water, and was surprised to find it warm as a bath. Soft powder on the bottom made the footing unsteady. He bent down, scooped up a handful. It was fine reddish sludge. Heavier than any mud he�d ever handled.
Was this what Ken Brann had meant by the rinsing of those fibre disks in water?
�Copper?� as asked.
�Pure copper,� Ryder answered. �We have our own recovery sluice, further down the hill. Looks as if somebody�s taking our copper out before the water gets to us.� He rubbed some of the sludge between his fingers. �You see, the copper is like a man who�s hungry for affection. It comes drifting along, arm in arm with the sulphate � the girlfriend, so to speak. When this combination meets up with a piece of iron, there�s your old eternal triangle, again.�
Garret began to catch on. �The sulphate reacts with the iron, eh?�
�Like a sailor to a red-headed siren.� The general manager joined the little procession that began to move slowly along the wider tunnel in the direction of the current. �The sulphate-girl deserts her boy-friend, copper, and grabs hold of her new acquaintance, Old Iron. So the copper sulks. It sinks down to the bottom. The iron mates with the sulphate, forms a new marriage, if you want to put it that way. About two tons of iron are used up for every ton of copper sludge you get. We�ve been recovering the metal this way at our own sluice for years. Nothing new about it � except this idea of sluicing off
There was a wild yell from Scat, up ahead.
�Hold on!� Garret hollered. �We�ll get you!� He stumbled over old rails, bits of broken gears.
�I�m all right,� the ex-con shouted. �But there�s another guy here who ain�t.�
Scat had stepped on the body, face down in the stream. There was an ugly wound in the man�s forehead; the face was clotted with red muck. But Garret had no difficulty in recognizing the corpse. Allen Loomis.
Ryder splashed along the tunnel toward them. �Who is it?�
�Loomis.� Garret lifted the man�s body half out of the water.
�Must have fallen,� Scat said, �over one these hunks of iron. Cut his head open.�
�He was clubbed,� Garret growled. �Struck with the hot end of a gun. See where the front sight cut the skin, there?�
�Body�s still warm!� Ryder exclaimed. �Can�t have been dead more than ten or fifteen minutes.� He swore fervently. �Maybe I ought to be sorry, but I�m not. I think he got what was coming to him.�
Garret looped a limp arm back of his shoulders in the fireman�s carry. �Can�t leave him here, whether he deserved it or not.�
Ryder sloshed ahead, in the direction of the current. �If Loomis came up this way, we ought to be able to get down. It�s the first time I ever was sure there was a connection between our shafts and Consolidated�s smelter. He and Darcy must have found a way to divert our drainage; by-passed our own sluice somehow. Then, after the copper�d been extracted, they sent the waste back into our stream so we wouldn�t notice any lessened quantity of flow.�
�Darcy must have been in it, all right.� Garret had to follow Ryder closely to keep from bumping into old castings, bed-frames, sections of iron fence. �But I�m not so sure about Loomis.�
Ryder slogged along in silence for a few minutes, except for cursing at barked shins. Then, �You�re right, of course. If Loomis was killed up here, it wasn�t by Darcy. You saw Loomis at his office after Darcy was shot, so there must be a third one in on it.�
�Must be.� Garret had no breath to waste; Loomis was becoming terribly heavy. Once he stepped on an old anvil which crumpled and gave way beneath his weight as if it had been made of
The tunnel became wider, its downward slope decreased, the current slowed. A raised path appeared at one side, wide enough for a battery-operated carrier truck. This was how they got the copper sludge out of the sluice then � scraped it up with shovels, scooped it into the truck and ran it � where? The precious sludge must have been dried out and melted down into blister copper somewhere in the Consolidated smelter.
Ryder, in the lead, held up a hand. �The tunnel forks, right ahead. Water goes off into the hill somewhere at the right. This stope swings left � and listen!�
Garret heard it. Above the murmur of the stream, the pounding of an ore-crusher!
�Must be Consolidated,� Scat said. �You can hear them �verbratory furnaces roarin�.�
Garret was too weary to lug his burden any further. Besides, he didn�t want to be hampered in his movements here at the smelter. He laid Loomis down on one of the carrier trucks, just inside the mouth of the tunnel. In another hundred feet, they were crunching the slag of the flotation-mill yard under their feet.
There was no moon, yet somehow the night sky seemed luminous to Garret, in comparison to the gloom of the hill�s interior; the air was remarkably cool and fresh.
Ryder stopped to wring out his trouser cuffs. He took off his steel helmet, ran his fingers through the shock of white hair. �Ball�s in your court now, fella. I came, I saw and I�m convinced. With what I know now, I can file counter claims against Loomis� outfit that will shut them up in a hurry.�
Garret felt of the lumps on his shins. �Don�t gamble on it. Suppose it turns out that an Ajax man was in on the deal? What if he was someone who had a certain amount of authority?�
Charlie Ryder made tracks toward the office building. �I know who you�re thinking of. But I don�t believe�� He broke off, staring up at a rear window of the office building. Silhouetted against the glare of a bright light, with his hands upraised beside his shoulders, was Ken Brann!
Garret sprinted for the office steps, got the door open as Ryder and Scat came slogging along. The Consolidated lobby was empty; there was no one in the outer office.
Garret flung open the door of Loomis� private office. Nels Jarnstrom, sitting back in the president�s swivel chair, did not move the muzzle of the forty-five gripped in his bony hand. It pointed straight at the Ajax super�s belt buckle.
�I thought you�d be the cops!� the smelterman snapped. �I phoned for the cops to lock this man up for murdering Mr. Loomis.�
Brann said nothing. His face was drawn and tense. There was a cut at one corner of his mouth; a little streak of dried blood ran down the cleft of his chin.
Ryder called across the room to him, �Don�t talk, Ken old man. I�ll get a lawyer for you. Don�t open your mouth!�
Brann�s lips silently formed the word, �Okay.�
�A bad choice, Brann,� Garret said. �Now�s the time to talk.�
�Won�t do him any good to keep still,� Jarnstrom rumbled. �He was seen going into the drainage-water shaft, so I followed him. Quarter-mile up the tunnel I found him bending over Mr. Loomis� body. You don�t hear him deny it, do you?�
Brann spoke, with an effort. �I don�t deny it.�
�Takes more than that to get a murder conviction, Jarnstrom.� Garret threw a leg across the corner of the desk, lounged against it. �I was bending over Loomis� body myself ten minutes ago.�
The forty-five swerved briefly in Garret�s direction. �Keep your oar outa this! I�ve got enough on Brann to hang him six times.�
Garret swung his foot idly, along the side of the desk. �Then there ought to be enough to go around, eh?� He raised his voice.
�Yezzir?� Startled, the ex-con made a sudden movement into the room. Jarnstrom�s eyes flashed toward him. And Garret kicked out, hard.
His foot caught the arm of the swivel chair, spun it around so Jarnstrom swung toward the rear corner of the room. Garret leaped.
He dived
Garret hefted the forty-five. �You can put your hands down, Brann. And you can talk up, if you want to.�
Ryder cried, �No, no, Ken!�
The super lowered his hands, but kept his mouth closed.
Garret licked the knuckle he�d split open on the smelterman�s chin. �That speak-no-evil stuff won�t get you anywhere, Brann. Don�t you suppose I can figure out why you cleared the stuff out of your desk?�
The super answered him hoarsely. �I meant to get out of town.�
�Yeah. To give everybody the impression you were running away because you thought the law had caught up to you. Not very convincing, Brann. It does credit to your sense of loyalty, but not much to your common sense. If you�d been skipping out because you were guilty, you wouldn�t have left that Morse code message saying G is wise to Fear Street.�
Ryder roared, �
�Oh, yes. Yes, indeed!� Garret let the muzzle of the gun angle over toward the general manager. �You saw it, Ryder. Blue pencilled dots and dashes, there on the pad on Brann�s desk. You couldn�t have missed it. It was the only thing there was to see, and you sat right there with your face a couple of feet away from it. Even dumb Bill Narriver noticed it, though he couldn�t read it, as you could.�
Brann said sharply, �You�ve no right to draw conclusions��
�Hell! You�ve been drawing them for a long time, Brann!� Garret picked up the chair, sat down in it. �You must have concluded some time ago that Charlie Ryder was getting away with murder. Where you made your mistake was in believing he�d appreciate your loyalty in covering up for him.�
Brann pulled down the corners of his mouth, closed his eyes. �I owe damn near everything in my life to C.J. I was ready to pay the debt.�
�That might be all right,� Garret snapped, �if it didn�t affect the lives of other men. Men who are running bigger risks every day than you or I will ever run!�
Charlie Ryder whirled, dived for the door. Garret leveled his gun. His finger tightened on the trigger � but didn�t pull it. For Ryder collided with Shirley Brann, coming in at that same moment, and took instant advantage of the opportunity to use her as a shield.
There was a gun in Ryder�s hand now. He held his left forearm under the girl�s chin, pressing her head back and up so she couldn�t struggle without being choked.
He�s not trying to get away, Garret thought. He knows that, sooner or later, he�s a dead man even if he does escape now. But here in Loomis�s office are all those who know Ryder for a betrayer of trust and a killer.
�Drop your gun, Garret!� The command was accompanied by a shot from Ryder�s pistol, and Garret didn�t dare to fire in return for fear of hitting Shirley. He tossed his gun down.
Ryder fired again instantly. He missed, because the girl struggled violently at that moment. But there was no doubt that he meant to shoot them all.
If Garret could keep Ryder from thinking about it � if the murderer could be stalled long enough�
Garret shouted, �It won�t put you in the clear to kill the lot of us, Ryder! Not as long as Washington gets that report I mailed in when you dropped me off near the hotel tonight!�
�What�s a report� � Ryder held his gun high, sighted along the barrel � �without any witnesses to back it up?� �Enough to convict you. Washington can check my suggestion that you would be the most likely person in Stope City to have known I was coming. Some of your big-shot friends in the Capitol might have mentioned that an investigation of raw copper was under way. They�d probably figure, as Brann and his sister did, that you were so important you were above suspicion.�
Ryder laughed, pleasantly. �Even if they believed you, they couldn�t do anything about it � with you pushing up daisies.�
Her voice faint, Shirley said, �They could � check your � Chicago call! Wasn�t to � Consolidated backers at all. You talked with O.P.M. Asked about � Bruce Garret.�
Garret began again. �I thought there might be something phony about your talking an hour to Chicago about Consolidated. Loomis didn�t seem to know anything about any negotiations; he didn�t mention any to me. It�s a cinch he�d have been consulted if a deal was on. For another thing, I�ll bet if we check up, we find you had someone at your house on the phone while you were in that Chewy after me.�
The girl was half-strangled into submission.
Garret decided there wasn�t more than one chance in a million that Ryder could be prevented from a four-way murder.
He said, �So you learned from Chicago I was on the way West. You tipped off that note to Darcy � I suppose Jarnstrom, here, supplied you with the Consolidated letterhead � telling him when I�d get here and what I look like. Darcy could understand your telegrapher�s abbreviations.�
Scat Prodger began to sidle, cat-fashion, along the wall toward the door. Ryder couldn�t get a good shot at him because of the angle, but he tried.
It won�t be long now! Garret thought. He said, �You figured the easiest way to keep out of trouble, Ryder, would be to murder me before I found any incriminating evidence. You must have been right behind Darcy when he trailed me over from the Rocky Mountain House. Only you were in a car, not your big limousine. You drove along behind Darcy so that if he didn�t succeed in slitting my throat, you could get a shot at me.�
�Kick that gun of yours over to me, Garret,� Ryder said. �Be quick about it!�
He was going to have trouble getting them all with the shells in one gun. And he wouldn�t dare to try to reload! Garret kicked the gun part way.
�I began to get on to you when you told me Narriver�d heard the cops located Darcy�s body. The only person I told about putting Darcy in that vacant store was Brann. So if the cops knew, they�d been tipped off by Brann, or someone he told.�
�Boot that clear over here! Hurry, or I�ll use one of these cartridges on Shirley,� Ryder snapped.
Garret took his time and he was clumsy; the gun bounced away when he kicked it � toward Ken Brann. He said, �But I wasn�t sure of you, Ryder, until you told that cage operator in Ajax to let us off at the two-thousand-foot level. Neither Prodger, there, nor I had mentioned Fear Street � or any place on the two-thousand-foot level. But Ken Brann�s warning to you in Morse code
Ryder tried to hook Garret�s gun nearer to him, with his toe.
�So I knew you�d read the warning and knew what it meant,� Garret went on rapidly. �Any man who would know telegraphers� abbreviations � the kind you used to give Darcy a description of me � would be sure to know Morse code.�
Brann began to understand that Garret was talking against time. He tried to help out. �The reason I wrote that warning was that Shirley had come back from a meeting with you and told me you were going to investigate Fear Street.�
�Sure.� Garret knew it was going to be a matter of seconds now. Ryder had the other gun! �And after leaving that warning for the guy you were too loyal to, you took your things out of the office, Brann. You went over to check on Loomis to see if
�That�s right.� Brann kept up his end. �I found Loomis was supposed to have gone up in an abandoned stope. So I followed � and found his body. Then Jarnstrom trailed me and found me bending over Loomis� corpse.�
�He�d become suspicious of Jarnstrom� � Garret got ready to fling himself prone as Ryder leveled the detective�s gun � �when I brought up the subject of old iron. Ryder, you probably went over to Consolidated to see Jarnstrom. He told you Loomis was suspicious, and had gone up the drainage tunnel. So you followed, killed him, and left his body in the warm water. When Scat Prodger fished him out, half an hour to an hour later, you tried to pull something about Loomis not having been dead more than ten or fifteen minutes. Though, of course, his body would have stayed relaxed for hours in that warm stream.�
Ryder snarled, �Too bad a hard-working fella like you couldn�t have made a little something out of all that dope you gathered! What you are going to get you can take with you.�
�Offering me a cut of the quarter million or so you and Darcy and Jarnstrom must have been splitting every year from the ten tons of metal you took out of Ajax drainage and melted down into blister copper in Consolidated�s furnaces? Plenty of dough for one more�� He flung himself sideways as the gun in Ryder�s hand spat flame.
Garret was rolling on the floor and trying to reach the cover of the desk before the pistol barked again. But there were no more shots. Only a voice with a brogue, saying, �You wuz askin� for cops, Mr. Jarnstrom? Faith, it looks like you needed some!�
Then the office was full of bluecoats and Charlie Ryder was wearing shiny bracelets and Shirley Brann was on her knees beside Garret.
�I�m so terribly sorry!� she cried. �It wouldn�t have happened if I hadn�t told Ken you were going to investigate Fear Street. You see, I was afraid��
��that your brother was mixed up in it some way. I know.� He got to his feet painfully. �I figured that. It worked out okay, too. I kind of like the kind of girl who sticks up for her brother.�
She went to Ken, looked at the flesh wound in his shoulder.
�But don�t get me wrong,� Garret added hastily. �That sister stuff is fine, as far as it goes. Only I wouldn�t want you to be a sister to me, Shirley. If you know what I mean.�