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."I marked all these bills with two little tears close to-gether near onecorner, just before I gave them to Aunt Flo this afternoon as a charitydonation.How did you get them?""She gave them to me.I was lucky, too.""You certainly were.But that goes back to when you first hit Santa Barbaraand ran into a meal ticket when you were just window-shopping.What were youin stir for, comrade?""You'll find out soon enough.It was about some uranium stock I sold.Thereshouldn't of been any squawk at all, but I wrote something in a letter andthey used it to hang a federal rap on me.""And now you're out, you've switched from the bunco racket to blackmail.Thatsums it up, doesn't it?""You're talking to yourself.""And even taking it out of charity donations.""She gave it to me," Powls repeated."I don't know where it came from.If shesnitched it where she shouldn't, what does that make her?""A scared old lady," said the Saint."What have you got on her?"Mr.Powls' cartilaginous lips curled.He was regaining con-fidence quickly."I should tell you so that you can take over.You dig that up for yourself, ifyou're so wise.You can't beat it out of me here, without one of theneighbors'll call the cops, and you don't want that any more than I do.Leaveme alone to handle it, and I might even give you a little cut."The Saint's smile was terribly benevolent."I'm only humanly inquisitive about Aunt Flo," he said."But I'm just ashumanly certain that whatever her guilty secret is she's done a great job ofliving it down for twenty years.And you should have heard that blackmail isone of the crimes I rate among the wickedest in the world and among the leastadequately punished by the law."Page 66 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.htmlHe held Mr.Alton Powls by the coat lapel and shook him back and forth quitegently, while the forefinger of his other hand tapped him on the chest foremphasis; and his eyes were swordpoints of sapphire in the angelic kindlinessof his face."I shall give you twelve hours to get out of Santa Bar-bara, and a few more tobe out of the state of California," he said."And if I run into you afterthat, the only cut I shall take will be in your throat."He went out without a backward glance.He got into his car and drove purposefully away, knowing full well that he waswatched from the window above; but after four blocks he circled around andcame quietly down an alley to coast to a stop with his lights out in itsblackest patch of shadow from which he could watch the building he had justleft.When Mr.Powls came out a few minutes later, and drove off in a small car froman open garage under one end of the building, Simon did not even have to becautious about following him.Unburdened with luggage of any kind, Mr.Powlswas certainly not rushing to beat the liberal deadline he had been given.There was only one place where he could have been headed, other than the onewhich could have been generically described as Out of There, and Simon set hisown course for it by another route.If the Saint had not been quite so confident about it, it is barely possiblethat Mr.Alton Powls might be alive today.Simon knew the address of theWarshed menage, which was available to anyone who could read a telephonedirectory; and having ascertained that, he had not bothered to ask KathleenHolland to show it to him.He thought he knew his way around the Montecitodistrict fairly well, and he had driven a score of times over the road onwhich their house stood.The one thing he had overlooked was that he had onlydriven over it and not in search of a specific destination on it; and he hadtemporarily forgotten the penchant of denizens of even less traditionallyaloof areas than this for secreting their street numbers in minuscule figuresin the obscurest possible location, whether to discourage process servers orpoor relations.Thus he made two abortive passes at his target, each time madeslower by the fact that he did not want to arrive with a triumphant roar,before he positively identified the right entrance.And then he had to drifttwo hundred yards past it, and find a wider place in the road to park, beforehe could walk back and enter the rustic gates on foot.By which time, perhaps, Mr.Alton Powls had already been gathered to hisfathers, if an overworked recording angel could put the finger on them.At any rate, he looked dead enough, as the Saint saw him after threading acatlike way to the house which stood completely secluded from the road withinits ramparts of tall clipped hedges after circumnavigating Mr.Powls' smallcar which by this time was cooling in the driveway, and high-steppingdelicately over odorous flower beds, and almost falling into a treacherousexcavation in the middle of a small patch of lawn, and finally reaching thedraped living-room window from which the light came, and selecting the onemarginal crack in the curtains through which he could steal the widestwedge-shaped view of the interior.Mr.Alton Powls was dead on the carpet, with blood well-ing from a dent in hiscranium, and Aunt Flo standing over him with a poker in her hand, and the twocomparatively junior Misses observing the scene with respectful approba-tion.In contravention of all the time-honored legends about old maids, the frenchwindows were not even latched.Simon opened them at once, and made aninevitably sensational entrance through the drapes which wrung stifled screamsfrom Violet and Ida.Only Aunt Flo stood silent and un-daunted."I'm very sorry," he said."This is entirely my fault.""What are we to understand by that, Mr.Templar? he told us your real name.""I knew he was blackmailing you, but I was curious to know how.The easiestway to find out seemed to be to follow him here and eavesdrop a little.Butwhen I started the routine that I figured would make him come here, I didn'tknow that I'd have the answer even before he arrived.I picked his pocket justPage 67 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.htmlbefore I left him a few minutes ago, and here's what I found when I had achance to look."He produced Mr.Powls' wallet and unfolded a newspaper clipping from it, whichhe had read under a shielded flash-light while he waited in the alley.Itcould only be the same clipping which Kathleen Holland had described Mr.Powlsexhibiting in Ye Needle Nooke.It was from the Kansas City Star, under a 1930dateline, and described a raid on one of the most elegant local brothels.There was also a picture of some of the principal culprits being arraigned innight court.The accused madam was plainly identified as Florence Warshed, andthe likeness was unmistakable even after more than a quarter-century.Amongthe other girls, less easily recognizable, were two others modestly named asViolet Smith and Ida Jones.Simon handed the clipping to Aunt Flo, who barely glanced at it and let Idatake it and pass it to Violet."I thought you'd like to burn it yourselves," said the Saint.Aunt Flo had not let go the poker, but her grip was per-ceptibly less rigid."I've heard that you're a man who might understand some things that ordinarypeople wouldn't," she said steadily."I always ran a good house, if you knowwhat I mean.But after Repeal I could see the handwriting on the wall.I couldafford to retire.Violet and Ida were getting a bit too old for the bestclients, and yet it wasn't a good time for them to take over a house on theirown.They'd been with me longest of all my girls in fact, they might just aswell have been my own nieces.When the time came, we found that none of uswanted to split up and go it alone [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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."I marked all these bills with two little tears close to-gether near onecorner, just before I gave them to Aunt Flo this afternoon as a charitydonation.How did you get them?""She gave them to me.I was lucky, too.""You certainly were.But that goes back to when you first hit Santa Barbaraand ran into a meal ticket when you were just window-shopping.What were youin stir for, comrade?""You'll find out soon enough.It was about some uranium stock I sold.Thereshouldn't of been any squawk at all, but I wrote something in a letter andthey used it to hang a federal rap on me.""And now you're out, you've switched from the bunco racket to blackmail.Thatsums it up, doesn't it?""You're talking to yourself.""And even taking it out of charity donations.""She gave it to me," Powls repeated."I don't know where it came from.If shesnitched it where she shouldn't, what does that make her?""A scared old lady," said the Saint."What have you got on her?"Mr.Powls' cartilaginous lips curled.He was regaining con-fidence quickly."I should tell you so that you can take over.You dig that up for yourself, ifyou're so wise.You can't beat it out of me here, without one of theneighbors'll call the cops, and you don't want that any more than I do.Leaveme alone to handle it, and I might even give you a little cut."The Saint's smile was terribly benevolent."I'm only humanly inquisitive about Aunt Flo," he said."But I'm just ashumanly certain that whatever her guilty secret is she's done a great job ofliving it down for twenty years.And you should have heard that blackmail isone of the crimes I rate among the wickedest in the world and among the leastadequately punished by the law."Page 66 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.htmlHe held Mr.Alton Powls by the coat lapel and shook him back and forth quitegently, while the forefinger of his other hand tapped him on the chest foremphasis; and his eyes were swordpoints of sapphire in the angelic kindlinessof his face."I shall give you twelve hours to get out of Santa Bar-bara, and a few more tobe out of the state of California," he said."And if I run into you afterthat, the only cut I shall take will be in your throat."He went out without a backward glance.He got into his car and drove purposefully away, knowing full well that he waswatched from the window above; but after four blocks he circled around andcame quietly down an alley to coast to a stop with his lights out in itsblackest patch of shadow from which he could watch the building he had justleft.When Mr.Powls came out a few minutes later, and drove off in a small car froman open garage under one end of the building, Simon did not even have to becautious about following him.Unburdened with luggage of any kind, Mr.Powlswas certainly not rushing to beat the liberal deadline he had been given.There was only one place where he could have been headed, other than the onewhich could have been generically described as Out of There, and Simon set hisown course for it by another route.If the Saint had not been quite so confident about it, it is barely possiblethat Mr.Alton Powls might be alive today.Simon knew the address of theWarshed menage, which was available to anyone who could read a telephonedirectory; and having ascertained that, he had not bothered to ask KathleenHolland to show it to him.He thought he knew his way around the Montecitodistrict fairly well, and he had driven a score of times over the road onwhich their house stood.The one thing he had overlooked was that he had onlydriven over it and not in search of a specific destination on it; and he hadtemporarily forgotten the penchant of denizens of even less traditionallyaloof areas than this for secreting their street numbers in minuscule figuresin the obscurest possible location, whether to discourage process servers orpoor relations.Thus he made two abortive passes at his target, each time madeslower by the fact that he did not want to arrive with a triumphant roar,before he positively identified the right entrance.And then he had to drifttwo hundred yards past it, and find a wider place in the road to park, beforehe could walk back and enter the rustic gates on foot.By which time, perhaps, Mr.Alton Powls had already been gathered to hisfathers, if an overworked recording angel could put the finger on them.At any rate, he looked dead enough, as the Saint saw him after threading acatlike way to the house which stood completely secluded from the road withinits ramparts of tall clipped hedges after circumnavigating Mr.Powls' smallcar which by this time was cooling in the driveway, and high-steppingdelicately over odorous flower beds, and almost falling into a treacherousexcavation in the middle of a small patch of lawn, and finally reaching thedraped living-room window from which the light came, and selecting the onemarginal crack in the curtains through which he could steal the widestwedge-shaped view of the interior.Mr.Alton Powls was dead on the carpet, with blood well-ing from a dent in hiscranium, and Aunt Flo standing over him with a poker in her hand, and the twocomparatively junior Misses observing the scene with respectful approba-tion.In contravention of all the time-honored legends about old maids, the frenchwindows were not even latched.Simon opened them at once, and made aninevitably sensational entrance through the drapes which wrung stifled screamsfrom Violet and Ida.Only Aunt Flo stood silent and un-daunted."I'm very sorry," he said."This is entirely my fault.""What are we to understand by that, Mr.Templar? he told us your real name.""I knew he was blackmailing you, but I was curious to know how.The easiestway to find out seemed to be to follow him here and eavesdrop a little.Butwhen I started the routine that I figured would make him come here, I didn'tknow that I'd have the answer even before he arrived.I picked his pocket justPage 67 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.htmlbefore I left him a few minutes ago, and here's what I found when I had achance to look."He produced Mr.Powls' wallet and unfolded a newspaper clipping from it, whichhe had read under a shielded flash-light while he waited in the alley.Itcould only be the same clipping which Kathleen Holland had described Mr.Powlsexhibiting in Ye Needle Nooke.It was from the Kansas City Star, under a 1930dateline, and described a raid on one of the most elegant local brothels.There was also a picture of some of the principal culprits being arraigned innight court.The accused madam was plainly identified as Florence Warshed, andthe likeness was unmistakable even after more than a quarter-century.Amongthe other girls, less easily recognizable, were two others modestly named asViolet Smith and Ida Jones.Simon handed the clipping to Aunt Flo, who barely glanced at it and let Idatake it and pass it to Violet."I thought you'd like to burn it yourselves," said the Saint.Aunt Flo had not let go the poker, but her grip was per-ceptibly less rigid."I've heard that you're a man who might understand some things that ordinarypeople wouldn't," she said steadily."I always ran a good house, if you knowwhat I mean.But after Repeal I could see the handwriting on the wall.I couldafford to retire.Violet and Ida were getting a bit too old for the bestclients, and yet it wasn't a good time for them to take over a house on theirown.They'd been with me longest of all my girls in fact, they might just aswell have been my own nieces.When the time came, we found that none of uswanted to split up and go it alone [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]