Читать книгу Smoky Cell - Edgar Wallace - Страница 6

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LIEUTENANT SPELLMAN was standing by the tape machine, running the narrow strip of paper through his fingers, when Lavine came striding into the office. Just inside the door Lavine paused and stood for a few moments frowning across at him.

"I say, Spellman!"

"Hallo!"

"What's the great idea?"

Spellman continued scrutinizing the tape.

"Huh?"

"Leaving Mr. Perryfeld flat."

"I thought you were looking after him. Perryfeld's not my little brother."

Lavine made a gesture of impatience.

"There's no reason why you should always be so darned up-stage with him."

Spellman glanced across at him.

"And there's no reason, Lavine," he said, "why you should have people like that hanging around. Perryfeld pretty well lives here these days—when the Chief isn't about."

"What if he does?" demanded Lavine aggressively. "Have I got to ask you what friends I choose? Make a list of suitable acquaintances for a police lieutenant and get you to O.K. it, shall I? Like hell I will!"

Spellman, with a shrug, turned his attention again to the strip of paper in his hands.

"Make your own friends, Lavine," he said, "but keep them out of my way, that's all. We don't seem to mix well."

"Huh!" granted Lavine. "Grateful, aren't you?"

"For Perryfeld?" He shook his head. "Keep him Lavine. He's all yours."

"I was trying to give you a break."

"You've a kind heart."

"I was putting you near the money, anyway," said Lavine. "I suppose you don't want to be near the money, eh?"

Spellman grinned.

"I guess I'm near enough," he said. "I live next door to a bank."

"All right, leave it. If you feel like living on your pay, that's your affair. But you're a darned fool, Spellman."

"Sure I am," smiled the other. "And there's nearly a hundred million in these United States who are just the same kind of fools. They prefer to live on what they can earn honestly. Queer, isn't it? Kind of unnatural, eh, Lavine! A hundred millions who never take anything on the side and who'd hand you back your pocket-book if you dropped it. Never heard of those guys, have you? Well, I happen to be one of them. We don't get many write-ups, but we're there all the same."

"Sure you're there," sneered Lavine', "and you'll stay there—put! Still, if you're content—"

He stopped abruptly as the door opened and Perryfeld, smiling genially, came in.

"Ah, there you are, Mr. Spellman," he said amiably. "I thought I'd lost you."

"Mr. Spellman will show you round the report room, Mr. Perryfeld," said Lavine, and with a glance at Spellman went from the room.

Perryfeld jerked his cigar towards the tape machine. "Nothing much doing in your line just now in Chester County, eh, Mr. Spellman? Things have been sort of quiet lately, haven't they?"

"I guess they weren't quiet enough for Schnitzer last night, Mr. Perryfeld."

"Ah, yes—Schnitzer. I knew him slightly. There'll be a dame in that case somewhere, Mr. Spellman, from all I've heard of Schnitzer. Nothing else to keep you busy, eh?"

Spellman shook his head.

"We've had nothing in the way of excitement since the Harvey case."

"Too bad, that," said Perryfeld. "I was dining with him that night. He walked with me to the front gate, and he was going back indoors when he was shot. They never found the man."

"Men," corrected Spellman. "It was a machine-gun chopping."

"Sure, I remember. It sounded like a motor-cycle backfire. I was talking with the patrolman on the corner of the block when it happened."

"The patrolman was killed too," added Spellman. He crossed the room and pointed to the frame that hung on the wall. "See this, Mr. Perryfeld? These are the badges of every policeman who has been killed on duty this year." He waved a hand towards the second frame. "And all those since the Great War."

Perryfeld crossed and stared at the frames.

"Quite a few," he remarked.

"Yes, quite a few," agreed Spellman. "I'd like to be able to tell you, Mr. Perryfeld, that every killer who caused a badge to go in those frames went to the Smoky Cell, but they didn't."

"Smoky Cell? You mean the Death House?" Spellman nodded.

"Never heard it called the Smoky Cell before?"'

"No; it's a new phrase to me."

Spellman stared at him thoughtfully for some moments. Then:

"You've led a sheltered life, Mr. Perryfeld," he said. Perryfeld laughed easily and took a long draw at his cigar.

"Smoky Cell!" he chuckled. "Well, that's a nice picturesque way of putting it. Some of 'em made it, eh?"

"No, sir," said Spellman, with a frown. "None of them made it. Only one of those killers got even a life sentence, and five years later he was running a booze racket in Los Angeles. Such is life!"

Perryfeld turned away.

"Sure, that's the way things go in this wicked world, Spellman," he said, pulling out his cigarette-case and offering it. "Cigarette?"

"Thanks, but I don't smoke."

Perryfeld raised his eyebrows.

"You don't say! Married?"

"No, sir."

"But likely to be, eh?" chuckled Perryfeld. "Got your little love-nest all fixed, I guess."

"I have, sir."

Perryfeld nodded.

"Well, it's pretty tough, Spellman, trying to live on a lieutenant's pay. It's your funeral, of course, but I don't reckon it's doing right by the girl. Before you know where you are, along comes a little stranger, and then where are you?" He took his cigar from his mouth and stood gazing thoughtfully at the tip. "Listen, Spellman," he said, "if ever you find yourself in any kind of a jam maybe you'll come along and see me?" Spellman glanced at him quickly, and the hint of a smile appeared on his lips. Perryfeld continued to stare at his cigar.

"A thousand dollars one way or the other don't make any particular difference to me, Spellman."

"You're lucky. I seem to remember that you told me that once before."

"Maybe," said Perryfeld, with an airy wave of his hand. "I like you boys. You don't get the pay you ought, not by a darned sight."

"It'll keep me."

Perryfeld smiled.

"It'll keep you pretty short when there's two of you," he said. "Well, just remember what I've told you, that's all. You never know. Anything more to show me while I'm making the tour?"

"I think you've seen pretty well the whole outfit now, Mr. Perryfeld."

"You've got a racketeer fellow here, haven't you? Lavine was telling me—gave himself up, he said."

"Petersen?"

Perryfeld nodded.

"Yes, that was the name. He was trying to make the laundrymen pay for a new society, so Lavine was telling me. He had a bunch of hoodlums. Have you got 'em?"

"No—not yet."

"Huh!" grunted Perryfeld. "It beats me how these traders stand the rackets. It's blackmail and nothing more nor less. What sort of a fellow is this Petersen guy? I'd like to have a peek at him."

"Sorry, but that's against orders."

"Oh, say, there's no harm in letting me—"

As Lavine came into the room, Perryfeld turned to him. "Hullo, Edwin! I was just saying to Mr. Spellman I'd like to take a peek at that racketeer you've got inside."

"Sure," agreed Lavine readily. "He's no beauty, but you can have a look at him if you like."

"Petersen's in the dungeon, Lavine," said Spellman.

"Why? Has he been kicking up a fuss?"

"No."

"Then why put him there?"

Spellman shrugged his shoulders and went towards the door.

"I just thought I would—that's all."

"Got the key?"

"Yes," replied Spellman, tapping his pocket. "And I'm keeping it."

As Spellman closed the door behind him, Perryfeld jerked his cigar in his direction.

"Your boy friend's a bit fresh, Edwin."

Lavine nodded.

"He's young," he replied. "They get that way—"

"Means to get married and live on his pay."

"He'll change his mind about that when he's tried it for a while. They all start like that." He glanced hastily round the room. "Say, Perryfeld, I wanted to see you tomorrow."

Perryfeld turned away from him, strolled to the frame of badges and stared at it intently.

"That's O.K., Edwin," he said quietly. "Up at the Pike tomorrow at three."

"That'll suit me."

"I'll pick you up."

"O.K."

"How much will you be wanting?"

"If you could slip me a grand—"

"Sure thing."

He glanced round quickly as he heard the door open and saw Spellman waiting, his hand on the door-knob.

"Come right in, Miss Brady," said Spellman.

Josephine came in slowly. She was pale, and the dark circles around her eyes accentuated her pallor. Spellman, watching her closely, decided that she was frightened but determined to show no sign of her fright. Just inside the door she paused, looking swiftly round the room, and as her glance reached Perryfeld it became riveted on him, and Spellman saw her hands suddenly clench and her teeth show against her lower lip.

"No need to be scared, Miss Brady," he said. "The Chief wants to ask you a few questions, but you needn't let that worry you."

She turned to him and nodded; then once again her glance went back to Perryfeld. He was smiling at her genially, and as she went towards the chair which Spellman had pulled forward for her he came to meet her.

"Why, it's Miss Brady," he said, taking her hand and shaking it warmly. "How d'you do, Miss Brady?" Josephine withdrew her hand hastily, and Spellman frowned.

"Is Mr. Perryfeld a friend of yours, Miss Brady?" he asked.

"Sure I'm a friend of hers," said Perryfeld hastily. "We're old friends—eh, Miss Brady?"

Josephine stared at him in bewilderment. What was Perryfeld doing here—at Police Headquarters? And why was he suddenly claiming friendship? Perhaps he had known that she would be called in and questioned this morning and had risked coming there himself to make sure that she should say nothing....

"You remember me. Miss Brady, don't you?" said Perryfeld, and the look in his eyes told her closely what her answer must be.

"Oh yes!—I think so," she stammered. "Yes, of course I do, Mr. Perryfeld."

"Sure you do," he said. "Mr. Schnitzer introduced me to you, didn't he?" The smile left his face and he sighed heavily. "A bad shock for you, I'm afraid, Miss Brady. Poor Schnitzer! You'd never have thought a man like him had an enemy in the world. And you were there when it happened, weren't you?"

"You don't have to answer questions from Mr. Perryfeld, Miss Brady," said Spellman quietly. "And you don't have to ask them, Perryfeld. If there are any questions to be put to Miss Brady, the Chief will put them."

Perryfeld gave a shrug.

"I'm only saying what's in the papers, Mr. Spellman," he said. "No harm meant. The reports all say Schnitzer's stenographer was there when the shooting happened." He turned to Josephine again and patted her shoulder. "You've no cause to worry, my dear," he said. "You just tell them the simple truth and stick to it, and the police aren't going to hurt you. That's so, eh, Mr. Spellman?"

Spellman nodded.

"All you've got to remember," continued Perryfeld, "is not to try any funny business. Funny business don't pay, Miss Brady. The people who get into trouble when they come to Police Headquarters are the ones that try funny business."

"It's no use keeping Miss Brady hanging around, Spellman," said Lavine. "There's no knowing when the Chief will be in. I'll ask her a few questions and then she can go—"

"The Chief wants to see Miss Brady himself, Lavine."

"Of course he does—who wouldn't?" smiled Perryfeld. "But the Chief's not here, Mr. Spellman, and this is no sort of place to keep a lady hanging around. It'd get on anyone's nerves who isn't accustomed to it. It gets on mine sometimes. I guess I'll take Miss Brady and give her a cup of coffee and a cigarette—"

"Oh no—please—I'd rather not," interrupted Josephine hastily. "I'd much rather stay—I mean, I don't fancy a coffee just now, thanks, Mr. Perryfeld—"

"Well, you're not arrested, you know," said Perryfeld, "and if you'd care to take a bit of a stroll until the Chief arrives there's no reason why you shouldn't." Instinctively she moved closer to Spellman.

"Thanks, but I'd rather wait here," she said.

Perryfeld went to her and laid a hand on her shoulder. "Listen, Miss Brady," he said, and as he smiled at her she saw that ugly look in his eyes again, "there's no sense in staying here and getting yourself all worked up. You just come along with me like a sensible girl."

The door opened and O'Regan strode in.