Читать книгу Dead Man's Hat - Footner Hulbert - Страница 8

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When they drove up in front of the police station there was no other car in sight.

“Where did the other fellow go?” the officer asked their driver.

“When he stopped for the light at the Avenue,” the driver replied, “a fellow run out from the curb and hopped on his running-board. I thought it was somebody rubbering. I couldn’t see if he got in with him, because there was a car between. When the little fellow turned down the Avenue he drove faster that I wanted to go with a cop inside, and I never seen him again.”

The policeman scratched his head. “Damn funny thing,” he said. “You better come inside and tell the lieutenant.”

This little colloquy had the sound of a reprieve to Dave. He lifted his head again.

Inside, behind the old-fashioned raised desk flanked by two lights, a fat lieutenant sat all squashed down in his chair like a fatherly bullfrog or a Buddha. The patrolman told his story briefly, and Dave was booked. He gave a false name and address. He had a good hold on himself again. As long as the hideous corpse was not in evidence, he could put up a bluff.

“Where’s the body?” asked the lieutenant.

They told him what had happened.

He grunted impassively. “What have you got to say?” he demanded of Dave. “Anything you say can be used against you.”

“I’ve got nothing to hide,” said Dave, glibly. His tongue, it seemed, started to lie of itself. He didn’t have to think anything up. “I’m a stranger in New York. I was calling on a friend on East Forty-ninth Street....”

“Where did he pick up the cab?” asked the lieutenant.

“In front of number 398 East,” said the officer.

“That isn’t where my friend lives,” said Dave, quickly. “It’s across the street. I saw the cab waiting there, and I crossed over.”

“What’s your friend’s name?”

“I refuse to say. Don’t want to drag anybody else into this.”

“Go ahead.”

“When I opened the door of the taxi I saw the dead body inside. It gave me a nasty shock. I lost my head sort of. The taxi-driver came up, and I was afraid to say anything, thinking they might try to hang it on me, being a stranger. I thought the easiest thing to do was just to drive where I wanted to go, and get out and let them settle it.”

“Hm!” said the fat lieutenant, grimly. “That’s a new one. You thought nothing of taking a little joy ride with a dead one, eh? Must have good nerves!”

“The driver said he tried to open the door while they were going, and throw it out,” put in the patrolman.

“The door flew open by accident,” said Dave.

The lieutenant’s stubby forefinger suddenly shot out. “What’s that making your vest bulge out?” he barked.

The patrolman ripped open Dave’s vest, and took out the old crushed derby. Dave’s head sank again. He had forgotten he had it.

“Where did you come by that?”

“I ... I don’t know,” stammered Dave.

“Is it the dead man’s hat?”

No answer.

“Hm! This don’t look very good for you, young fellow! Likely it’s an accomplice of yours who’s got the body. At any rate, it’s a case for the Homicide Bureau. Handcuff him and take him down to Headquarters, Crehan. They’ll make him talk. I’ll send out an alarm for the other taxi.”

Crehan handcuffed Dave’s right wrist to his own left. “Will you pay for a taxi down to Headquarters?” he asked.

Dave nodded dumbly.

They went on in the same taxi that had brought them to the police station. As they were getting in, Dave noticed under a light down at the end of the block a car standing by the curb which had not been there when they went in. It had the look of a gunman’s outfit—a touring-car with the top down and four quiet figures sitting in it. Dave gave it no particular thought until they started, when, happening to glance through the rear window, he saw that the touring-car had started, too. This suggested that it had some connection with his own confused situation. Crehan did not notice it.

They circled back into the next cross street, and returned to Third Avenue. Crehan was disposed to be friendly now. “You don’t happen to have a cigarette on you, do you?” he asked. “I’m not allowed to pack them on duty.”

“Sure,” said Dave. They lighted up together.

“That goes good!” said Crehan, blowing a cloud of smoke through his nostrils. “I miss it on the night tour.... I never have no feeling against the guys I pull in,” he went on. “I figure they’re just the same as me.”

“You’re a good fellow,” said Dave.

“Aah, we’re all human. A uniform don’t make no difference in a man’s nature.” He looked Dave up and down. “You had ought to have joined the force yourself. You’ve got the physique for it. It’s a good way to keep out of trouble.”

“Well, it’s too late now,” said Dave, with a bitter laugh.

Crehan studied him. “It’s a fact you don’t look like a killer,” he said, thoughtfully. “You don’t look like a crook at all.”

“I’m no more crook than you are!”

“Then what about the little taxi-driver? Looks like he was snatched, don’t it, to get the body out of the way?”

“If he was, no friend of mine did it.”

“And the dead man’s hat, how did you come by that?”

“Where is it now?”

“Buttoned up inside my coat.”

“I don’t know who killed that guy,” said Dave. “I only know I’m in a jam!”

“Cheese! I wouldn’t like to be you if you can’t explain that hat!”

When they turned into Third Avenue, Dave glanced through the rear window again. The touring-car was still following. Both cars headed downtown, traveling at a high rate of speed on the trolley tracks under the elevated railway.

It was the quietest hour of night, and after crossing Fourteenth Street, which still showed some life, Third Avenue was completely deserted. The old-fashioned brick house-fronts showed no lights; the little stores were shut up; the side streets were merely lanes of silence with little pools of light around the street lamps.

A new sound from behind caused Dave to glance back again. He saw a big truck turning out around the touring-car. It was being driven as no truck is ever driven through town, fifty miles an hour perhaps. It bore down on them, running in the adjoining track. A strained white face could be seen over the wheel. Crehan heard, and looked back.

“Cheese! that driver is crazy!” he muttered.

A moment later it overtook them, bouncing and swaying wildly. It carried no load.

“That’s no truck-driver!” said Crehan, sharply. He turned to Dave. “By God! are these some more of your friends?”

The truck turned in sharp ahead of them. The taxi-driver yelled a warning. Crehan made a move to open the door of the taxi, jerking frantically at the fetters which bound him to his prisoner. The brakes of the truck were applied. Between the truck and the elevated pillars there was no possible escape for the taxi.

There was a blinding crash and a shower of glass. They had hit a pillar. The taxi spun around and crashed a second time against the motionless truck. Dave and Crehan were wrenched violently apart, breaking the handcuffs, then flung together in a heap. Both lay motionless.

The touring-car turned out around the double wreck, and came to a stop just ahead of it. Two men leaped out of the rear and ran back. The driver of the truck was standing by his engine, swaying uncertainly.

“Are you all right?” growled the first man to reach him.

“Right enough,” he mumbled.

“Then get in the car quick!”

The truck driver staggered towards the touring-car and was helped in.

The other two ran around the truck to the wrecked taxi. The taxi-driver was lying outstretched on the pavement, bleeding from a head wound, but they paid no attention to him. It required their combined strength to wrench open the jammed door of the cab. One reached in and dragged out the limp form of Crehan.

“Leave him lay!” said the other.

The first man reached in again and dragged out Dave, anyhow.

“Is he mashed up?”

“No blood on him.”

“Find his hat! Here, take his feet and I’ll take his shoulders!”

Carrying the unconscious form between them, they ran to the touring-car, flung Dave in behind, and climbed after him.

“Step on it, Shad!” growled the one who appeared to be the leader. “Turn the first corner!”