Black-Eyed Stranger (15 page)

He didn't think he'd make it, that far, probably.

He stared at his shoes. How marvelous were shoes! What a thing! How cunningly the human race knew how to clothe the human foot. What a device!

He realized that Alan Dulain was shaking him by the shoulder and yelling in his ear, “Where is Katherine Salisbury?”

“Isn't she here?” Sam said stupidly. He had to have a little time, a few more minutes. Everything was so marvelous.
She
was safe. Ambielli wasn't going out there to get her. Ambielli was busy, downstairs waiting for Sam.

“You know damn well she isn't here. You knew it before it happened.”

Sam did not care for this Dulain. His brow lifted. “You mean to say she's been kidnaped?” he drawled.

“What do you know about it? You'll talk, Lynch.”

“Last time I talked, you took very little stock in what I had to say.”

“You'll talk this time. The whole truth this time.” The blond boy's face was pinched with rage.

Salisbury, her old man, said, “Don't do that, Alan. Lynch, you will tell us? I believe you meant to tell us before. Tell us now.”

Sam opened his mouth to tell. He said, instead, “What were you folks telling Ambielli?” He was looking for a loophole. He didn't want to die.

“None of your concern,” said Dulain.

“Oh, brother.” Sam sank in the chair, “No? You think no?”

He heard Salisbury groan. “So it was Ambielli you heard that day?” cried Dulain. “So that's going to be your story? Well, it won't wash. You slipped. I thought something would slip if I let the two of you meet. You're in this, Lynch. I always knew it.”

“Take your hand off my shoulder,” Sam said. “Take your hand off. That's better. Now, what is this?” He pulled himself together to pay attention.

Dulain was burning up. “You're working for Ambielli. You did the dirty work. While he fixed his alibi.”

“Ambielli's got an alibi, eh? Good one?”

“A dandy,” Warner said.

“You checked it, Warner?”

“Yeah, Sam.”

Alan swung around to Reilly. “Where did you pick Lynch up?”

“Saw him go into his place.” Reilly shrugged. “He came back, that's all.”

“Where were you?”

“Out of town,” said Sam. His black eyes took in this Dulain. Really in a tizzy. Katherine Salisbury was going to marry this Dulain. He asked himself with surprise, why should he die for Katherine Salisbury?

“What's
your
alibi?” Dulain was shouting.

“For when, bub?”

“For Wednesday. She went out of here when you did.”

“Is that so?” Sam looked stupid.

“Where did you go?”

“I went out of town,” said Sam irritably. “Wait a minute, will you? I'm trying to think.” In the back of his mind a new fear was boiling up. Once he was dead … He felt sick. Ambielli wasn't just going to quit, was he? It was like a guy dying before the war was won, and nobody else in the army. He didn't trust
them
to know what to do.

“Think,” said her old man. “Can you help us?”

Sam thought, I can help you, Pop, but who can help me? And if you don't, who will help her and keep her from Ambielli? “What did Ambielli say? What was
said?
” he demanded.

Dulain made a gesture of impatient disgust but the father began to tell him. “Alan said he had remembered about that watchman and that Ambielli might have had a grudge …”

His eyes, thought Sam, were a little like the girl's eyes, the same earnest honesty. “You thought Ambielli would take that?” he said aloud. “Naw, it was a silly idea. Why did you tell him that?” Sam looked at Dulain with curiosity. “What got into you, to cover me?”

“I wasn't covering you. I was trying to cover Mr. Salisbury.”

“I didn't think you'd be interested in covering me.”

“I'm not,” said Dulain. “I don't give a damn what happens to you. I want Katherine.”

“I hope you do,” muttered Sam. “I hope to God you do.”

“I'll get you for this, Lynch, if it's the last thing—”

The father said, “Wait. Listen, Lynch. It was because …” He took a piece of brown paper out of his pocket.

“Out of town!” said Dulain furiously. “Are we to take that from you?” He snatched the paper. “Give him a pencil,” he commanded. “Now, Lynch. Print what I dictate.”

“You going to dictate, boy?”

“I am and you'll print.”

“Why?”

“Never mind. Print.”

Sam said, “What is this?”

“Print it. ‘Take the first left after the third traffic light. Go west three quarters of a mile to iron fence.'”

Sam's damp fingers slipped on the pencil. He felt a grin begin to form on his face, a battered thing. Then he put his tongue out of the corner of his mouth and began to print laboriously.

Reilly was looking over Dulain's shoulder at the brown paper. “Oh, oh,” he said.

“Am I perchance printing part of a ransom note? Perchance?” Sam saw Salisbury's hand over his eyes. “Continue,” said Sam, cutting the comedy. “Sorry, Pop.”

“The way that's done,” Reilly said in a low voice, sounding troubled, “you can't tell. It's a trick. You take cardboard. You cut a square hole. Every letter is drawn square with a guide, see. How about fingerprints?”

“Have it tested,” Alan snapped.

“Better have it tested,” drawled Sam, “in case this fellow never read a book or went to the movies. Maybe he can write but he can't read. Say, tell me, when did this show up?” Sam's fingers were spread. The yellow pencil jiggled in the press of his thumb against his palm. Marvelous, he thought. A pencil! What a thing! What a device!

“Thursday,” Salisbury said tensely. “Eighteen hours are long gone. Why isn't she home? Can you explain it?”

“You mean!” Sam exploded. “Don't tell me you've paid!”

“I … thought I did.”

“Don't keep telling
him
—” began Alan.

“I want to listen to this, sunshine,” snarled Sam. “Shut up a minute. Get out of the way.”

Salisbury told him and Sam leaned back. He let the chair take him. He closed his eyes. He thought, oh, this is marvelous!

He said, “Was there anything from her? Surely you didn't pay off without some sign?”

“They sent her scarf.”

Sam looked at it. He said, “Mulberry, eh?” in an odd tone. “Pretty exclusive, I guess. That pattern.”

“What?”

“You shouldn't have paid off. You should have gone to the cops. You know that.”

“
I
'knew that,” Alan said.

Salisbury's haunted eyes met Sam's. Sam saw the hurt and looked away. “You should have figured it for murder, sir,” he said somberly. “From the very beginning. From the first word. Well, down the drain.” He jiggled the pencil. “When did they say she'd be back?”

“By now. An hour ago,” The old man was steady. “Why isn't she back, Mr. Lynch?”

Sam answered mechanically, “Don't be too sure. There could be a hitch somewhere. Things don't always go in order. It's a slippery world.”

He was thinking. That fox! That Ambielli! Must have been hanging around, ready to pick her up, maybe on Thursday. She doesn't show. So, he snoops. They let it out. Maybe the servants. Let it out she was missing. Or, calling hospitals, they let it out. Or asking questions. Lots of ways Ambielli could catch on she was gone.

Ambielli must have been burning. Somebody hijacks his prey. So, he steps in.
He
hijacks the money. Oh, oh, it was marvelous! A world such things could happen in, you wouldn't want to leave.

And now, Ambielli had the money, and what did he care where the girl was? She'd been no trouble to him, no groceries for Baby to buy, never a face of theirs to see. She was no danger to them at all, and Ambielli didn't want her any more. Wouldn't want anything to do with her. All he cared, now, was to discipline Sam Lynch.
If
Sam was the one.
If
he got sure.

But, Sam thought with growing excitement, anyhow
she
was safe and she could get home by herself easily, now. And she might even … the girl, herself … oh, she would if she could … little sister with the gray eyes … she'd even said so …
she'd
protect Sam Lynch!

Then he wouldn't have to die!

If he could make it back out there, let her go, tell her what to say. Tell her she never saw any faces. The ransom was paid, and she was released. Simple as that. Or she could even give a partial description, not possibly Sam Lynch. Some way to cover. Some way. Maybe it would work.

In fact, Sam
had
done the dirty work and Ambielli had his profits, safely, and he had an alibi, a dandy, they said. Sam thought, I could even get Ambielli to buy that. But he thought, No. There's his reputation. What else was he up here for, if not to see what he could find out about who did this to him? He got the money. Used
my
method. Of course, he's got it. So he wasn't up here for profit, but for his dignity. He came to find out. And he did find out. Or, did he?

Maybe there was still a chance, if he could get out there to the shack alive and stay alive until she came home and told the story. Dulain would never do it, never cover him. (Don't tell. Don't tell. Death to tell.) See if he could get to her alive. Little sis Salisbury with the crooked tooth, she had heart enough and little enough sense to do it for him. At least, he thought, she'd listen.

He said aloud, “Did you speak my name?” Nobody answered. He looked at Warner. “You were here, Joe?”

“Yeah, Sam.”

“
Did
they?”

“Ambielli did, Sam.”

“But
they
didn't?
You
didn't?”

“Just then, you came in.”

“Oh. Did Ambielli have a car?”

“Him and Baby rode up with me.”

“Oh.” Sam thought, but they'll get a car. Have one by now.

Alan was listening, his ears almost pointed. Not really listening, Sam thought bitterly, but waiting to hear what he expects to hear.

He heard Salisbury say, quietly, “Is there any way you can help us?”

“Maybe so,” Sam said.

“Help
us!
” burst Dulain. “He knows all about it. He's in it. Don't you get that? He's trying to figure how to shake you down a little more. He …”

“Alan, this time I'm going to assume Lynch is a decent—”

“Then you're a fool, sir. He is not decent. He is on the wrong side of this somehow. Why do you spill everything you know to
him?
Everyone's telling
him?
But he hasn't told us one thing. Not one thing. I can't understand.”

“Boy,” said Sam, “that's the truth.” He looked at his shoes. He thought, and why should I die for Katherine Dulain?

“If he can help …” the old man argued.

“Don't listen to him, sir. We'll get help. He'll try to talk you out of going to the police. His type never wants authority in on it. He'll be mysterious. A phony like this! It'll be agony, sir. And more money, no doubt. And all the while, you know quite well, she may not even be alive.”

The father knew it quite well, Sam saw. Sam said, angrily, “That's right, Dulain. For all
you
ever listened or did about it, she could be dead.”

“You—”

“There are wolves in the woods,” raved Sam, “that ain't been rehabilitated yet. But when I come crying wolf, you say, ‘
I
can't understand this kid's motive, so he must be a liar.' And if Alan Dulain can't understand it, it can't be human. Aw, you're so damn silly. Why didn't you call your police on Wednesday?”

“Why didn't
you?
” spat Dulain.

“Because I was scared. But you got nothing to be scared of, a hero like you. Go ahead. Call them now. Sic them on Ambielli, why don't you? Go ahead. Do that. Do something useful.” Sam ground his teeth. “Call them
now.
”

“Will you swear,” said Dulain craftily, “that it was Ambielli you overheard plotting—”

“I can't quote him,” Sam said through his teeth, “for God's sake, he didn't
say.
”

“Then how can I sic the police on him?”

“You won't do it? Just do it, right now? Just for the hell of it? You're going to debate, boy?”

“If you don't tell …” Alan shrugged. “What have I got? You said yourself the grudge idea was silly.”

Sam said, “Yeah, it was silly. Never mind.”

The question churned in his mind. How get Ambielli? For extortion, or whatever it would be called? For the taking of the money, which was a crime, and Ambielli had done it. This Sam
knew.
But how could he tell? “Because I told him a little plot,” he would say, “and the little plot was used.” It was a long way from proof. A long, long way. He could hear the sarcasm. “Now, Mr Lynch, you contend that you and only you in all life and time could think up such a little plot? Do you mean to say, Mr. Lynch, that in—how many?—years you never mentioned it to another soul but Mr Ambielli?” Sam groaned. Laughter in the courtroom.

Then, get Ambielli for the murder of the watchman? That was a crime, and Ambielli had done it. And Sam
knew.
And knew by nothing but the intuition, without evidence or witness or clue.

All right, get him for kidnaping? Which was a crime. Oh yes.
But Ambielli hadn't done it.
Sam's eyes felt hot and the lids dry.

“Do you think,” he heard the father say, “that Katherine is alive?”

Sam pulled himself together. “I'll find out for you,” he said carefully. “If you'll let me go. I've got contacts. Dulain knows my reputation. Think it over. Meantime, where is there a bathroom?”

“Phinney,” called Alan, “will you show Mr. Lynch?”