Vendetta by Harry Carmichael

Author:Harry Carmichael
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bloomsbury Publishing
Published: 1963-04-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter XI

Quinn Asked, “How’re you going to explain when she finds out about my stupid little escapade this afternoon—as she surely will find out?”

“I’ll worry about that when the time comes,” Piper said. “Right now I’m going home. If Miss Haupmann gets any word from her father she’s promised to ring me and I wouldn’t want to——”

“Don’t lose any sleep waiting up for the call.” Quinn’s voice matched the bleak look in his eyes. “I did some heavy thinking while you were on the phone.”

“And your conclusions are …?”

“If Fritz Haupmann had intended getting in touch with his family he’d have done so before now. That’s what knocks holes in our theory.”

“Why?”

“Well, look at it this way. We say he decided to scarper so that the family wouldn’t be exposed to any further danger. Right?”

“Yes.”

“Because of what nearly happened, or might’ve happened to his daughter last night, he realised there was no time to waste. If he wanted to save his women-folk he had to leave at once. Right?”

“Yes … but we’ve been over all this before and I don’t see——”

“You’ll see in a moment. This is what I’m driving at. If what I said to Haupmann this afternoon forced his hand, if he decided, more or less there and then, that the only way out was for him to disappear, why didn’t he phone his wife and tell her he was buzzing off … even if he couldn’t explain his reasons?”

With a nicotined forefinger held up to stop Piper answering, Quinn added, “At least, he could’ve said good-bye … couldn’t he?”

Piper said, “If she knew he’d gone away because he had no choice, because he was in serious trouble and this was the only way out, she wouldn’t notify the police that he was missing. And everything depends on that.”

“But——”

“There are no buts. The people who represent this menace to his family must learn quickly that he’s given up his home, his friends, his business … everything that makes his life worth living.”

Quinn finished his beer and put the glass down. For a moment he stood as if listening to the chatter behind him, his face very solemn, his eyes upturned to the smoky light above the bar.

Then he asked, “Do you think that’ll satisfy them?”

“No, I don’t. I think they’ll do their damnedest to hunt him down again.”

“And next time”—Quinn ran his fingers through his lank hair and drew in his mouth—“they won’t play cat-and-mouse.”

Piper said, “If there ever is a next time—they’ll kill him.”

He sat up until long past his usual bedtime, listening to the radio and glancing through the evening paper, his thoughts always returning to the look that had been on Fritz Haupmann’s face as he stood in the doorway that first Saturday afternoon. Haupmann had known then that time was on the side of his enemies.

For him there could be no escape except at the sacrifice of all that he valued in life. He had either to be prepared to die, or to live as a hunted fugitive for the rest of his days.

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