The Doomsday Men by J.B. Priestley & J. B. Priestley

Author:J.B. Priestley & J. B. Priestley [Priestley, J.B.]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Publisher: Valancourt Books
Published: 2014-05-07T04:00:00+00:00

“I’ll trust you all right—we have to trust a lot of people in this business—as long as I know who you are.”

“But I’ve told you who I am,” cried the maddened Jimmy, his voice nearly cracking with fury, thirst, hunger, heat, weariness, and growing madness. “For God’s sake—use your wits.”

“Use your own. You don’t seem to be doing so well with ’em just now. Losing your coat and your wallet and what else——”

“Oh, shut up! I’m taking that car.”

“Here, wait a minute, mister. There’s three dollars——”

It was then, when they stood glaring at one another, not knowing what to do next, that the second miracle of the day took place. Into that garage, that dim hell-hole of stupidity and mistrust, tripped the neatest little figure of a woman, with the brightest eyes beneath the sauciest little hat you ever saw.

“Mrs. Atwood,” roared Jimmy, and pounced upon her before she could escape.

She started back, as well she might do, at the sight and sound of this astonishing grimy fellow.

“It’s me—you remember?—Jimmy Edlin.”

“Mr. Edlin? So it is. But—but——”

“I know, I know, you needn’t tell me. Please come over here a minute.” She followed him into a corner. “Mrs. Atwood, I can’t begin to tell you all about it now, but I’ve been having a hell of a time. I was kidnapped, last night. I escaped this morning, but I’ve lost my coat with my money and cheque-book in it—I haven’t had a bite or a drink or a wash since early yesterday evening—they won’t have me back at the hotel—I can’t even get my car out of this garage because I owe them three dollars—and I’m rocking on my feet, I don’t mind telling you, because they doped me last night——”

“Who did? Not those people?”

“Yes, that tall squinting devil, Brother Kaydick. This package here belongs to them. I gave them the slip at Baker. But ten to one they’ll be coming after me.”

“Mr. Edlin,” she said earnestly, looking hard at him, “this is true, isn’t it?”

“Mrs. Atwood, it is,” he assured her, even more earnestly. “Every word’s true—and a lot more there isn’t time to tell now. You’ve got to help me out of this—please.”

“But of course! I want to. I wanted to all the time. That’s why I was so annoyed with you, on the telephone. Did you notice? I don’t suppose you did.”

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