The Eleven of Diamonds by Baynard Kendrick

Author:Baynard Kendrick [Kendrick, Baynard]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: MysteriousPress.com/Open Road
Published: 2020-03-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter XVIII

“What’s the daylight?” LeRoy demanded grimly as the door of the office closed behind Dave Button. “Are you convinced now that Fowler was a crook?”

“I’m convinced he wasn’t,” Stan said ruefully as he stood up and stretched. “I’m also convinced that we cabled the wrong department in South Africa. You’ll have to admit my hunch about the springbok was correct.”

The Captain reached for a cigar. “How much will it cost me if I do?”

“Another cable. To the war department this time. Send the same description you sent the police and a telephotograph. Also mention that shooting on the Cragmoor Castle and ask them to get details from Southampton if they are not on file in Capetown ”

“And love and kisses.” LeRoy finished scribbling on his pad. His desk phone rang. He picked it up listened quietly, and said: “Tell the others. I’ll be right along.”

“More trouble?” Stan asked from the window.

“Nigger cut to death in a gin mill. I hate rainy days. We’ll have to postpone Millie until tomorrow.”

“Unless I take her out tonight,” Stan said thoughtfully. “I understand she is affable and fairy-footed. Have you any objection?”

The Captain lifted his brows. “Have a good time while you’re young, boy. I’ll enjoy reading the reports on you in the morning.”

“Anybody who will trail a man and a maid in their innocent amusements is a lecherous old goat,” Stan assured his friend. “Mark my word: you’ll end up running a divorce agency and peeping through keyholes.”

“That would sure make things tough for you,” said LeRoy.

Millie was seated on a bench in the room outside—a different Millie from the girl Stan had frightened on Sunday afternoon. The sudden deaths of two men who had befriended her had not left her unscarred. Expert make-up failed to hide the light touch of blue under her violet eyes, or the sharpness of two fine lines arching her carmined lips. Her belted green raincoat of transparent oiled silk topped with a chic beret, shaded to match, made a noticeable splash of color against the grim darkness of headquarters. She smiled with an obvious effort as Stan approached her.

“I was glad to hear yesterday that you weren’t dead,” she said.

“That’s generous of you.” Stan sat down beside her. “When did you hear that I was?”

Instantly she knew she had said the wrong thing, made an irremediable blunder. She had matched wits once with the lanky pleasant man beside her and ignominiously finished in tears. Rapier keenness cloaked with kindness, sympathy, good nature and more than a touch of chivalry was a combination too profound for Millie. She was an expert in competition with smart men, who mixed brutality with their smartness. One experience had taught her she was outclassed fencing with Miles Standish Rice.

When she came to police headquarters, all her accumulated knowledge of avoiding trouble had warned her against talking. The less she knew about Ben Eckhardt the freer she would be from the noisome toils of the police. But her first remark to Stan had forced her to make a quick decision.

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