Читать книгу Held for Ransom - Percy Keese Fitzhugh - Страница 6

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Skippy’s heart was beating with delight as the elevator bore him down to the street floor for after six months of employment in the International Detective Agency, Mr. Conne had at last entrusted him with an errand outside of the drab routine of the office. And, although the great detective had not given out the slightest hint that such was the case, Skippy felt that this trust was a sort of reward for his keen observance of Silver Curley’s identity.

With his face fairly clean and his pompadour brushed and more bristling-looking than ever, Skippy circled the revolving door three times, “just for luck,” he told himself. Then he darted out onto the still, warm street and squinted up and down the deserted thoroughfare, instinctively, but there wasn’t a soul in sight. Nothing stirred save a few last quivering rays of the dying sun which gleamed upon the drugstore windows. The famous business district of the great city yielded gladly to the promise of coming twilight and seemed content under the growing shadows of its man-made canyons.

After a final scrutiny up and down the street, Skippy darted into the drugstore and ordered a lemon fizz. While it was being prepared he moved adroitly to the rear telephone booth and put in a call for the International Detective Agency.

Mr. Conne’s gruff voice answered. “Yes? You, kid? I thought maybe you got so excited about the two dollars I gave you that you went off and forgot your first order.”

“Naw,” Skippy assured him. “I gave a good look—that’s what took me so long. There ain’t a soul, boss.”

“I thought there wouldn’t be. But I wanted to make sure to know where I stand. Hmph, I guess he’s satisfied with what he got this afternoon. Now, you’ve got it down pat what you’re to do?”

“And how!” Skippy chuckled in anticipation. “I’m to get me a good feed uptown and slip into a movie and at ten bells I’m to be at the ferry.”

“Right. Don’t forget to use your eyes. Watch and see if there’s anybody aboard with the earmarks of the gang. And whatever you do, don’t let them see you getting in my car—understand?”

“And how!” Skippy assured him joyously.

He drank an extra fizz at the soda fountain just by way of celebrating the anticipated evening and departed from the drugstore with one dollar and ninety cents in his pocket. Five minutes later he had boarded an uptown subway train and whistled his way to a seat.

The next three hours Skippy spent in a continuous round of pleasure. He swallowed what he thought to be an excellent dinner for sixty cents, paid ten cents admission to visit a renowned flea circus on Forty-Second Street and made a two hour stay in an ornate movie palace on Broadway. Last but not least he invested twenty cents in a varied assortment of candy both sticky and otherwise despite Mr. Conne’s explicit warning that his trusted office-boy was not to appear at the appointed hour with a soiled mouth.

Before he reached the ferry house, however, the last of the candy had been consumed and he made a desperate attempt to rub away with his handkerchief all trace of the forbidden sweetmeats. The attempt was only partly successful for Skippy seemed never to be able to see himself as others saw him, not even when he glanced at his slightly smeared face in the mirror above a chewing gum slot on his way out to the boat.

But then he had not time to think of himself at all, for it was already two minutes before the hour and the cars were rattling down the runway and onto the lumbering-looking boat. He had enough to do to keep his eye out for likely looking Curley adherents without thinking about a smeared face.

He strolled through both passenger cabins just after the starting whistle blew but saw no one he knew. Then when the boat was well under way he slipped through the summer night crowd on deck and hurried into the dark vehicle passageway.

The cars for the most part had been deserted by their drivers and passengers who were among the crowd on the breezy forward deck. Skippy decided that they were better off, for the passageway was not only dark and gloomy but stifling and reeking with the odor of rancid oils and gas.

He espied Mr. Conne’s chauffeur, Driggs, sitting at the wheel of a dark gray sedan which was wedged in between two other nondescript cars. The curtains in the sedan were drawn despite the oppressive heat in the passageway and Skippy thrilled a little to think that his employer was waiting for him behind them to hear what his report of the boat would be.

Knowing this, Skippy made a car to car survey clear to the back of the passageway in order to assure himself that all was well up to the present time. And he was assured of this even after he stumbled over the fender of the maroon colored coupe just a little this side of Mr. Conne’s own car. He limped on despite a bruised instep and had almost made his way to the rear of his employer’s sedan when he heard a voice just behind him.

[Illustration: “I’D BE CAREFUL GRABBIN’ A RIDE KIDDO,” THE MAN SAID IN SOFT TONES.]

“I’d be careful grabbin’ a ride while you’re on this tub, kiddo,” a man said in soft tones. “You might get in a jam and it ain’t worth it. That’s what you were goin’ to do, huh?”

Skippy was nodding violently before he realized it. The man who had spoken to him was now motioning pleasantly from the maroon-colored coupe.

“Where you goin’, kiddo?” he was asking.

“I—er...” Skippy stammered.

“Up the line?” asked the man insistently. “Why—er....”

“Hop in, kiddo—hop in!”

Skippy could only stare, for he was face to face with the man with the mole.