Frank Gruber

The Honest Dealer

Chapter One

With the Funeral Mountains behind him and the Panamints far ahead, he looked down into Death Valley and wondered if this place would take his life as it had taken so many others.

He had heard about Death Valley all his life. For years he had lived within a day’s travel of it and on a number of occasions he had skirted the edges. Once, even, he had gone through it; in a speeding car, in the late fall of the year.

But now he was afoot and it was July. He was wearing a brown pin-stripe suit that had cost him a hundred and fifty dollars. His shoes, tan oxfords, were utterly inadequate for walking across the hot sands and salt crusts of Death Valley. His shirt, once white, was a dirty gray. He wore a shapeless hat and he carried a canvas sack of the sort that travelers in the desert carry in their cars. But there was only a pitifully small amount of water in it.

He turned and looked back up the Funeral Mountains. Was there movement up there? Was his pursuer that close to him? Would he follow him even into Death Valley?

He studied the ravine down which he had himself descended and after a while picked out a tiny figure. Yes, he was coming.

Maybe Death Valley would get them both.

He started out into Death Valley. Perspiration was seeping from his pores, so that his clothing was damp and sticky, but that was good. It was when you stopped perspiring that you had to worry.

After a few minutes of traveling, the sand gave way under his feet and he traversed a bed of salt or borax. In some spots it was fairly hard, in others it cracked and crunched underfoot. The color was a mixture of a dirty white and yellow. Far ahead was a dazzling white plain that resembled frost on a frozen river.

The heat of the sun beat upon him and the reflection of heat from the valley floor caused him to keep his mouth open so that he was like a man gasping for breath. He felt oddly depressed, which had nothing to do with the danger from the man who was following him. It was caused by the density of the air which closed tighter and heavier around his body, for by now he was well below sea level.

He never looked behind him until he reached a smooth bed of salt, glistening as if it were powdered ice. This was the “frozen river” he had seen from a distance. He stepped on it and found that it trembled and heaved with his weight, but upheld him.

He stopped now and looked back. Yes, he was coming. He was probably two miles away, but looked closer. He would follow the pursued man through Death Valley.

There was really very little use in continuing. But you can’t quit; you can’t just sit down and wait for death. Instinct won’t let you. His tongue was swollen in his mouth and he unscrewed the cap of the canvas bag and drank sparingly. There was only another mouthful or two left in the bag and the sun was still high over the Panamints.

Gasping, he started across the white salt. The substance grew softer as he progressed and in a little while became wet and sticky. Fortunately the river of salt was quite narrow. On the other side of it extended a wide flat of salt and mud, rough, upheaved as it had boiled and baked to a crust, then cracked and sunk in places. The crust crumpled under the traveler’s shoes, got into them and burned his feet. Frequently he came upon thin streams of colored water. He knelt and tasted of one. It was strong as acid and burned his lips and tongue. A mouthful of it, he knew, and he would remain where he drank.

The Panamints stood ahead, dim and distant in a strange haze. Low down, the heat veils lifted in ripples, and an object at a distance seemed elusive. Turning, he failed for a time to see his pursuer and thought that he had quit. But then, in a while, he saw him again.

How long he traveled he couldn’t guess. The sun seemed closer to the Panamints, but Time itself seemed to stand still here on the floor of Death Valley.

He dropped to his knees frequently and it became harder and harder to get up. Finally, he could not make it at all and then he opened his water bag once more. He meant merely to moisten his throat, but the water slipped down and he swallowed again and again until he realized that he was sucking in only air.

His water was gone.

It gave him strength enough to get to his feet and he looked back. The man was closer — much closer.

The hunted one sobbed aloud and staggered on. The Panamints seemed as far away as ever, but the sun was closer to it... it had to be closer. Perhaps he could survive until darkness fell upon the Valley.

He ran his hand across his face and discovered with a shock that he was no longer perspiring. He began to run, or thought that he did. Actually, he moved no faster than before. He merely stumbled, and falling, had to struggle to pick himself up. But the salt under his feet changed to sand and gravel and he seemed to be slowly ascending. If he had water he might make it. But he had none; he had dropped the bag itself, and after a while he fell to his knees and could no longer get up.

He was lying flat on his back, his eyes open and staring at the sky, when the pursuer finally reached him. He was a much younger man than the one lying on the ground and he was better equipped for desert traveling. He wore boots and Levis, a broad-brimmed Stetson hat and he carried two canteens, one still full. He stood for a moment looking down at the man on the ground.

Then he said, “Well, I guess you couldn’t make it.”

The man on the ground made no reply. His swollen, blackened tongue couldn’t move. The standing man unscrewed the cap of one of his canteens and, stooping, let water trickle into the other’s mouth; a few drops, then a few more. Perhaps a spoonful altogether.

Then he straightened and watched the other man. The glaze faded from his eyes, the lips moved.

“Water... water...”

The other man’s mouth twisted cruelly. He stooped once more and again let a few drops trickle down the parched throat. The little water revived the man on the ground. After a few minutes he even sat up.

For a long moment the two stared at each other. Then the man on the ground cried out, “What’re you waiting for?”

“You think I’m going to kill you?”

“Aren’t you?”

“Yes.” He paused a moment. “But not until you talk.”

The thirsting man laughed horribly.

The man with the canteens shook the one from which he had doled out drops. “Like a drink? A good drink?”

For an instant a light glowed in the dying man’s eyes, but then it faded again.

“You can have all the water what’s in this,” said the man with the water, “all you have to do is to tell me what I want to know.”

“But you’ll still kill me?”

The cold eyes looked down into the anguished ones. “Yes,” said the owner of the cold eyes. “I’ll still kill you. It’s just a matter of whether you’ll die with water in your belly, or...” He shrugged significantly.

The eyes of the sitting man dropped to the canteen in the other’s hand. It was a large, round canteen, heavy and hard. It was almost empty, but there was at least a gill of water in it. And a gill of water...

“All right,” said the man on the ground. “Give me the water...”

“After you talk.”

“I can’t talk without the water...”

The man with the canteens hesitated, then deciding that it really didn’t make any difference, he dropped the canteen on the sand at his feet. He stepped back as eager hands snatched it up.

Water gurgled past parched lips, flowed down into the man’s throat and restored life to him. He drank all the water and by the time he had drained the last drop, strength was flowing back into his body. But he did not take the canteen from his lips. Not yet. Not until he dug the toes of his shoes into the gravel.

Then he took the canteen from his mouth... and threw it into the face of the standing man. The throw caught the other by surprise and the canteen struck his forehead. The man cried out in sudden alarm — and pain — and staggered back.

The man who had been dying a few minutes before catapulted up from the sand and launched himself at the other.

He almost made it. Perhaps he would have made it if the other man hadn’t had a gun. But he had one and he knew how to use it. As a matter of fact, a gun was his stock in trade. So now the gun came into his hand and a bullet tore into the chest of the man who was hurtling at him.

“You fool,” the killer said, as his victim fell to his face.

Savagely, he forced the toe of his boot under the body and heaving, turned it completely over. Then he exclaimed in surprise. The man’s eyes were open. He was dying, but still alive.

The killer looked down into the dying man’s face. Then he raised his eyes and looked toward the Panamints. The sun was touching the tip of a peak, would sink behind it in a few minutes.

A groan came from the lips of the man on the ground. The killer’s eyes shot down. He brought forward his gun, pointed it at the head three feet away.

But he did not shoot. Those tortured lips, that dying brain, held a secret that he wanted to know; a secret that had caused him to follow the man even into Death Valley. A word or two... it would be enough. And perhaps, as life faded, those words would come. Not voluntarily, but perhaps in the dying delirium...

The killer put away his gun, seated himself on the ground and slowly unscrewed the cap of his full canteen. He took a drink, a long one.

A hundred yards away was a strip of gray pavement. The dying man had been that close to it. Although it probably wouldn’t have done him any good. People don’t drive into Death Valley in July. Not if they can possibly escape it.

Chapter Two

At Baker, in the Mojave Desert, Johnny Fletcher saw the sign pointing to Death Valley. “I’ve always wanted to see Death Valley,” he said to Sam Cragg.

Sam tapped the thermometer that hung on the wall of the filling station. “Look — 112. That’s hot enough for me. There’re mountains in the east and it’s cool up there. Let’s not even talk about Death Valley.”

“But we’ll be traveling at night,” Johnny persisted. “We’ll get to Furnace Creek Inn before morning. It’s air-conditioned and we’ll stay there tomorrow, then in the evening we’ll have a nice cool drive to Reno.”

“I’d rather see Las Vegas,” Sam protested, “and we can be there in two hours.”

They wound up by tossing a coin for it, so two hours later they were chugging along the road that led into Death Valley. It was a clear moonlit evening and the road was a good one, although a bit on the lonesome side. As a matter of fact, they hadn’t seen a car since leaving Baker, shortly before seven o’clock.

With all the windows open it was still hot in the car. The sun had been down for more than an hour, but the cool evening breezes had failed to materialize.

“If you ask me,” Sam complained, “it’s getting hotter all the time.”

“Oh, it isn’t so bad,” Johnny said. He was wringing wet, but he wasn’t going to admit to Sam that he had made a mistake. “In another hour, we’ll have to shut all the windows.”

“Maybe we’re making a mistake keeping them open,” Sam said. “The wind’s getting pretty stiff, but it’s hot...”

A gust of wind hit the car and caused it to swerve a little. The road curved to the west, and in making the turn the car was broadside to the wind. Johnny had to fight to keep on the road.

“This is the goddamndest thing I ever heard,” he exclaimed. “Imagine a wind like this in a narrow valley; you’d think the mountains would break it.”

He pressed down on the gas pedal, hoping the added speed would offset the pressure of the wind, but the car was buffeted even harder.

“Roll up the windows,” he snapped to Sam, and put up the one on his own side.

It didn’t help. They seemed to be driving into the teeth of a cyclone. Johnny raised his foot from the gas; the wind rocked the car even more. He tried second gear and the front wheels left the pavement and he had to fight to get them back on the slab.

“Our water’s boiling over,” Sam said, ominously.

Johnny stopped the car. The motor heaved and groaned and the water boiled and hissed as it ran over. Sam looked at Johnny.

“Don’t say it,” Johnny snarled.

“I wasn’t sayin’ a word. But you can’t keep me from thinking.”

“The wind’ll let up in a little while. It’s got to let up.”

But he was thinking of the gas station operator in Baker, when they had tossed the coin and announced their intention of driving north into Death Valley.

“At night?” the man had said.

Johnny opened the door on his side and it was torn from his hand. He stepped out to the pavement and had to cling to the car to keep from being knocked over by the wind.

“You’d think this wind was coming out of an oven,” he yelled at Sam.

In that he was right. The winds were coming from the oven that was Death Valley. They were Nature’s equilibrium — Nature’s eternal and perfect balance of the elements. During the day the temperature rose in Death Valley to 135 degrees, to 140 and even to 150. At night the cooller upper air, high as the sky and wide as the desert, bore down relentlessly to drive away the day’s torrid heat.

During July and August, when man cannot live in Death Valley — except in an air-conditioned place like Furnace Creek Inn — the winds blew every night. They started in the early evening and howled through Death Valley into the Mojave. They reached hurricane force, the velocity as much as 70 miles an hour, and the temperature as high as 120 degrees.

Johnny Fletcher and Sam Cragg had barely touched the edge of the winds. The further they drove into Death Valley, the stronger would become the winds, and they would blow far past midnight.

Johnny must have sensed something of the sort as he stood on the pavement beside the car.

He suddenly got in and pulled the door shut. “We’re going back to Baker,” he announced.

“Let’s go,” Sam cried.

Johnny started the motor and made a quick U-turn on the pavement. Then he braked the car and pointed through the windshield. “Look...!”

Sam followed Johnny’s pointing finger. “It’s a man walking...”

“Staggering,” Johnny corrected.

“We’re not picking up anyone out here...”

“He’s fallen!”

Johnny shut off the ignition and forced open the car door. The wind bent him double as he struggled around the front of the car to the desert on the right of the pavement.

The man was down on the sand, but as Johnny approached he managed to get up to his knees. There he remained, shivering in the furnace-like blasts.

Johnny reached his side. “Can I give you a lift, old-timer?”

The man did not seem to hear Johnny. His head bent lower and lower and suddenly he collapsed on his face. Johnny exclaimed softly and stooped to touch the man, but Sam’s brawny hands reached past him and turned the man over.

Sam cried out in astonishment, “He’s all bloody!”

“Wa-water...!” croaked the man on the ground.

Johnny winced. “We haven’t got any.” Then he added bitterly, “Fine desert travelers we are!”

“I can carry him to the car,” Sam offered.

“Yeah,” said Johnny. “Nearest place is Baker; we can get you there in about two hours...”

The man’s mouth quivered. “Two hours...” He shook his head feebly. “I’ll never last that long. I... I’ve been... shot...”

Johnny had already guessed that. “Who did it?”

The man made a helpless gesture with his right hand. “It doesn’t matter. I’m done for and I know it.” He groaned. “But if I could only have a drink of water...”

“There’s water in our radiator,” Johnny said, “but it’s boiling hot.”

Sam leaned over and took the man’s shoulders in his massive hands. “Ain’t there somethin’ we can do for you, pardner?”

The man’s strength was going fast. He made an effort to thrust his right hand into his side coat pocket. “Yes,” he gasped, “send these to Nick in Las Vegas. Nick...” A bubble of blood appeared suddenly on his lips. It burst and the man went limp.

“He’s dead!” exclaimed Sam.

Johnny nodded soberly. Gingerly he reached past Sam and picked up the dead man’s right hand. He opened the fingers and a playing card fell into the sand. He picked it up and opened the box.

“It’s just a pack of cards,” he said, and as an object fell into his hand, “and a poker chip.”

“Is that what he wanted us to send to Nick?”

Johnny drew a deep breath and reached into the man’s coat pocket. It was empty. He searched the other pockets and found an almost empty sack of tobacco, cigarette papers and a half-used pad of matches. And that was all.

Chapter Three

It was four o’clock when Johnny Fletcher and Sam Cragg returned to Baker, after their abortive venture into Death Valley. They pulled into the same filling station from which they had taken their departure.

The place was ablaze with neon lights, but there was no one in sight. The gas tank was virtually empty, there hadn’t been any water in the radiator for the last fifty miles and the winds were still howling out of Death Valley.

Johnny honked the horn and when that produced no results, went into the station. The attendant was sprawled on a canvas cot, with his mouth wide open, snoring lustily.

Johnny shook the man. “Hey, wake up!”

Eyes opened and stared stupidly at Johnny. “Huh?”

“I want some gas.”

“Yeah, sure.” The man sat up and yawned, “Whatcha say?”

“Gas!”

The attendant groaned. “And I just got to sleep.” He got up and went outside.

Johnny followed him. “Aren’t you the fellow who was on duty around five o’clock?”

The attendant stuck the gas nozzle into the tank of Johnny’s car. “Guess so, why?”

“Remember me?”

The man shrugged. “Everybody stops here; ain’t another town between Las Vegas and Barstow.” He blinked sleepily and looked at Johnny. “Yeah, you’re the guy was going into Death Valley.” He laughed. “Came back, huh? Kinda windy, wasn’t it?”

“Why didn’t you warn us?”

“Ain’t my job. If some fool wants to drive into Death Valley at night, it’s his lookout.”

Johnny used some dirty words. The station attendant merely grinned.

“Your radiator sounds like it’s dry.”

“It’s been dry for the last hundred miles,” Johnny said angrily.

“Oughta watch that. You can crack your block, you know.”

Johnny’s eye was on the gas pump. “That’s enough.”

“That’s only six gallons; your tank’s almost empty.”

“I know, but that’ll get us to Las Vegas.”

“What’s the difference you buy in California or Nevada?”

“Money,” said Johnny. “In California I’m broke, but in Nevada I’m going to make money.”

The attendant snickered. “Are you kidding? I see them coming and going here. They’re happy going and sore coming back. You can’t beat the percentages.”

“Quite right,” said Johnny, “but you can nudge ’em a little.”

“Try it. They’ll take you up to the State Line and boot you across.”

Sam Cragg leaned out of the car. “He’s kidding you, buddy. We’re only going to pass through Nevada.” He turned an anxious eye on Johnny Fletcher. “Aren’t we, Johnny?”

“We’ve got to pass through to get to New York.”

“You coulda stayed on Highway 66, at Barstow,” said the gas station attendant. “That way you woulda gone right into Arizona. It’s shorter, too, but the road ain’t so good. Most people prefer this way; to Las Vegas, then down through Boulder City to Kingman, Arizona, where you meet 66 again.”

“That’s the way I had it figured.” Johnny drew two bills from his pocket. “Dollar eight, isn’t it?”

The man held up the oil gauge. “You could use two quarts of oil.”

“Never mind.”

Johnny accepted the ninety-two cents change and dropped it into his pocket to join a few other coins. He got back into the car.

“Luck,” said the gas man. “You’ll need it.”

Johnny rolled the car onto the highway. Beside him, Sam Cragg fidgeted. “We are just going through Las Vegas, aren’t we?”

“If we don’t spend any more money between here and there,” Johnny said, “we’ll land in Las Vegas at breakfast time with a dollar and forty-four cents. If you’ve got any ideas how we’re going to continue with that amount of money, this is the time to come out with them.”

Sam groaned. “But when we started into Death Valley, you said something about stopping off tomorrow at the Furnace Creek Inn; how were you going to pay for that?”

“Oh, I’d have thought of something.”

“Then why can’t you think of something in Las Vegas?”

“I will.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of. I don’t think I’d care much for making little ones out of big ones in Nevada.”

Johnny reached into his pocket and brought out a round object. “What’s this, Sam?”

Sam shivered a little. “It’s the poker chip you took from the dead guy.”

“Right. Only it isn’t a poker chip. It’s a check that they use in gambling houses. In Nevada the silver dollar is the medium of exchange. But in the gambling houses they use these checks for larger amounts — five and twenty-five dollars. This check is worth either five or twenty-five — if we can find the right place.”

“That ought to be a cinch. How many gambling joints can there be in Las Vegas? It’s only a little town.”

“That’s right — and I’ve got a clue,” Johnny reached into his pocket again and drew out a paper match pad. “He had this in his pocket, too...”

Sam leaned over and read the advertising on the match pad. “El Casa Rancho, the Pride of Nevada... Say, you think...?”

“Could be, although he might have gotten the matches elsewhere. They give them out all around for advertising purposes. But we’ll try this El Casa Rancho first.”

A few miles east of Baker they began ascending an easy mountain slope. Crossing the crest of the mountain, the winds of Death Valley stopped abruptly and Johnny and Sam began to cool off. In another ten minutes they were buttoning their coats and by the time dawn broke they were numb from the cold.

The sun was a welcome sight as it rose slowly over the horizon, shortly after they crossed the Nevada State Line. But the country was about as bleak as any they had seen, sand, a Joshua palm here and there, sand, tumbleweeds and more sand.

Signs and billboards began to appear. They advertised Joe’s Club, Mike’s Club, Harry’s Club, Elmer’s Club, The Last Frontier, El Ranch Vegas and El Casa Rancho.

They whizzed past a couple of motels, seemingly dumped on the desert wastes. Then far ahead, they saw a haze of smoke in the sky.

“Las Vegas,” Johnny announced.

Sam exclaimed, “Lookit the hitchhiker; musta been walkin’ all night.”

The hitchhiker stepped to the edge of the pavement and began using his thumb. Johnny took his foot off the gas. “Might as well give him a lift; it’s still six-eight miles to town...”

The hitchhiker wore Levis, a bright red and white checked flannel shirt, cowboy boots and a flat-crowned black Stetson hat.

Johnny began applying the brakes and then emitted a low whistle. “He’s a she!”

And it was — a girl wearing a man’s western outfit. A girl with golden hair, not quite concealed under her hat. A girl with finely chiseled features and a complexion like golden honey.

Johnny leaned across Sam. “Lift?” he called to the girl.

Although she had given them the thumb from a distance, she seemed suddenly not so sure that she wanted a lift; two men in a coupe — two big men. It would be a tight fit.

“My horse threw me,” she said. “And I’m not used to walking in these boots.”

Sam swung open the door and slid over closer to Johnny.

“Hop in, sister!”

The girl gave Sam a sharp glance. Then she got into the car. Johnny threw the gear shift lever into second, but held his foot on the clutch. “What about your horse? I don’t see any around.”

“Oh, he’s probably back at the place by now. He threw me ten minutes ago.”

Johnny let out the clutch and the car leaped forward. “Live in town?”

“Oh, no, I’m just in Las Vegas for... for a visit...”

Johnny grinned. “A six-weeks’ visit.” Then, as she made no reply to that, “Kinda young to be getting divorced.”

“I beg your pardon!”

“Oh, no offense. I was just thinking you look almost too young to get married, much less divorced...”

She said coldly, “You can drop me at The Last Frontier, over there on the left.”

“Staying there?”

“I’m staying at El Casa Rancho,” she said, “but I can get a cab at The Last Frontier.”

“Oh, we’ll drive you all the way,” Johnny said easily.

He glanced out at The Last Frontier, a magnificent tribute to the laws of Nevada which made gambling a legal — and the chief — business of the state.

Beyond The Last Frontier was El Rancho Vegas, every bit as large and luxurious. A half mile more and the third luxury hotel and casino appeared — El Casa Rancho, almost a principality of its own; a main hotel and casino and dozens of cabanas and hotel cabins sprawled behind it. The place had private macadam drives, a little green park of its own, a swimming pool and “health” club. You could lose your money here and still enjoy yourself.

Sam whistled as Johnny turned into the El Casa Rancho drive. “Some layout. What do they charge you a day?”

The girl ignored Sam. She began opening the door. “Thank you,” she said, “thank you for the lift. I’m sorry I have no money with me, but if you’ll wait...”

“Oh, that’s all right, babe,” Johnny chuckled. “Maybe you can give us a lift sometime.”

She got out of the car and without looking around, entered the hotel. Johnny shook his head and drove around a circular flower bed. “It’s a little early, so we’ll run into town and get some breakfast, then come back and see what’s what...”

“You were kinda rough on the kid, Johnny,” said Sam.

Johnny shrugged. “A girl who can’t ride a horse has no business being out on the desert before sunrise.”

“I didn’t mean about that. The divorce stuff... s’pose that’s what she’s here for?”

“Nevada has two industries,” Johnny said. “Gambling and divorces. Men come here for gambling; women for divorces.”

Chapter Four

The city of Las Vegas began a short distance beyond the luxurious El Casa Rancho.

After a few minutes Johnny turned into Fremont Street and Sam Cragg exclaimed, “Look at those signs! Every place is a gambling joint.”

Johnny grinned crookedly. “Looks like we’re going to have a bit of trouble finding the one that’ll accept our check.”

Sam scowled. “You ain’t kidding!”

Johnny parked in front of an all night restaurant. There was a lunch counter down one side and a row of booths on the other. Every available bit of wall space contained slot machines, nickel, dime, quarter and half-dollar machines.

Johnny chuckled. “One-arm bandits.”

They seated themselves at the counter and picked up menus. The prices were quite reasonable. “Let’s have a good breakfast, at least,” Johnny said. They ordered ham and eggs and coffee, which would cost them fifty-five cents apiece.

“A dollar-ten,” Johnny said, “that leaves us thirty-five cents.” His eyes went to the slot machines.

Sam exclaimed. “No, Johnny!”

“What can we do with thirty-five cents?” Johnny got off his stool and went to one of the nickel machines.

He dropped in a nickel and pulled down the lever. The machine whirred and the “fruit” cylinders spun merrily. They stopped with a bang on three cherries and twelve nickels plumped into the slot below.

Johnny and Sam exchanged amazed glances. Then, without a word, Johnny scopped out the nickels and took them to the cashier. “Give me dimes for these.”

He got six dimes and took them to a dime machine. He fed them in one after the other and the machine retained them without paying any dividends.

“That machine was a come-on,” Sam said, bitterly.

There was thirty cents left of the original stake. Johnny got rid of the nickel in the nickel machine and then produced the quarter that remained over and above the amount necessary to pay for their breakfasts.

“I’ve got a hunch,” he said to Sam Cragg and dropped the quarter into the slot. He pulled down the lever, the cylinders whirred and... Johnny and Sam were total paupers.

Sam Cragg strode to the counter and mounting the stool, began to eat his ham and eggs. After a moment Johnny sat down beside Sam. They ate in complete silence, then left the restaurant and got into the car parked at the curb.

“Well,” said Sam, “what now?”

Johnny looked as the dashboard. “There’s two gallons of gas in the car; we could go about forty miles, which would leave us in the middle of nowhere.”

“What about the purple check?”

Johnny brightened, and reaching into his pocket, brought out the pack of cards, as well as the purple check. “Most of the places are still closed, but we might as well try those that are open, beginning with El Casa Rancho where we left the girl.”

He reached forward, turned the ignition key and stepped on the starter. The motor caught and he started a U-turn in the middle of the street. Before the turn was completed a man was springing into the street from the sidewalk. His hand was up in the air, palm turned toward Johnny Fletcher.

“A cop!” cried Sam.

Johnny stopped the car. “Want a lift?” he asked, innocently. The policeman wore plainclothes, but there was a broad leather belt under his coat, which contained a holster.

He came over to Johnny’s side of the car. “Stranger in town?”

“Just got in a half hour ago.”

“Passing through?”

“Why, no,” said Johnny, “we thought we’d stay a day or two.”

The policeman nodded. “All right, have a good time, but don’t make any more U-turns in the middle of the street. Catch on?”

“I catch,” said Johnny.

The policeman returned to the sidewalk and Johnny started the car again. Sam, beside him, exhaled in relief. “I thought sure he was gonna pinch us.”

“Nah, not in this town. They like people to stay here and spend their money.”

He turned right on 3rd Street and a few minutes later drove into the wide drive in front of El Casa Rancho. He parked the old coupe in a parking space and climbing out, headed for the hotel entrance. Sam fell in beside him.

A doorman opened the door for them. “Good morning, gentlemen,” he greeted them.

Johnny nodded acknowledgment. “A good morning to you.”

They passed into a wide hall. On the left was the casino, a room at least eighty by one hundred feet, containing more than a score of tables for various games, all at this time covered with felt cloth. Johnny stepped to the door of the room and glanced in. Around the walls were more than a hundred slot machines.

“Nice,” he said to Sam.

He turned back. Straight ahead was a huge dining room with a dance floor and bandstand. And on the right was the hotel lobby and beyond it, a coffee shop and grill. Every piece of furniture in sight, in all of the rooms, was the best that craftsmen could make. The carpeting was thick and soft.

Johnny strode to the desk. The clerk, a short man of about forty-five, came forward.

“A suite,” said Johnny.

The clerk shook his head sadly.

“Crowded, eh? Well, how about a nice room with twin beds?”

The clerk shook his head again.

“Then what about a room with one bed?”

“Not a thing,” the clerk finally said, “not a room of any kind. Not even in the bunkhouse. We’re booked up.”

Johnny exclaimed. “But you’ll have some checkouts today.”

“Yes, we probably will,” the clerk admitted, “but we have four reservations for every checkout.”

Johnny smiled and leaned over the counter. “Look, chum, I’ve been around. I know the hotel racket. It’s hard to keep things straight and to prove it, I’ll bet if you looked real hard you could find a room for us.” He fixed the clerk with a meaning look. “I’ll bet ten bucks.”

The clerk snorted. “A man wanted to bet me fifty dollars yesterday...”

“All right,” said Johnny through his teeth, “I’ll bet you fifty.”

“You didn’t let me finish. I said the man wanted to bet me fifty. But I couldn’t do it...” He smiled thinly. “Because I really didn’t have the room.”

Johnny shook his head sadly. “So things are that tough?”

“Not only here, but at all the other hotels. You might find a motel room, but you’d probably have to go out quite a way. Of course if you wish to make a reservation, I might have something for you in about ten days.”

Johnny sighed. “No thanks.” Then he drew the purple check from his pocket. “This is one of yours, isn’t it?”

“No, ours are brown. That is, the five dollars ones. The twenty-five are yellow.”

“Know anyone named Nick?”

“I believe one of the bellboys is named Nick.” The clerk frowned. “What’s he done?”

“Nothing. A friend of mine told me to say hello to him, if I stopped here.”

“He doesn’t come on duty today until noon.”

“Oh! Well, I’ll probably drop in sometime during the afternoon or evening.” Johnny and Sam left the hotel. As they climbed into the car, Sam exclaimed. “Fifty bucks...!”

“Fifty was the bet; the selling price wasn’t reached. Well, we’ll try The Last Frontier and El Rancho Vegas.”

They did; neither had rooms and neither used purple checks. Johnny drove back into Las Vegas where the gambling houses were beginning to open for the day’s play.

They entered the Pioneer Club, a huge room, open to the sidewalk. The crap table was already receiving a good play. This early in the morning the players were mostly workers and men in from the outlying ranches, so silver dollars were used mainly, but the croupiers had checks in their racks. They weren’t purple.

They tried the Frontier Club, Joe’s Club, Mike’s Club, Pete’s Club, Jake’s Club — all the clubs on both sides of Fremont Street and a few on 1st, 2nd, 3rd, 4th and 5th Streets. They found purple checks in four clubs, but the designs didn’t match that of the check the dying man in Death Valley had given them.

At every place Johnny asked if Nick had been in yet. The reply in three-fourths of the place was, “Nick who?”

The other fourth knew Nicks. Nick Brown, Nick Jones, Nick Smith, Nick Pappas, Nick Genualdi, Nick Schick and Nick the Greek.

As the French would say, it was all quite décourageant.

“Well,” said Johnny, when they had completed the rounds of the gambling places that were open, “there’s only one thing left to do... work!”

“I’m willing,” Sam said, “but where can we get a crowd?”

“Where are all the people?”

“In the gambling joints...”

“Well?”

Sam exclaimed. “They’d throw you out.”

“The sidewalks are still free.”

Sam hesitated, then went to the car, and opening the luggage compartment took out an armful of books. Each had a nice dust jacket, with a picture of himself, wearing a leopard skin and nothing else. Above the picture was the title, Every Man a Samson. He also took out of the car a six-foot length of one-inch iron chain and returned to Johnny, who was standing before the open front of Mike’s Club.

“Here?”

“There’s fifty people inside. Forty-five of them will come out.”

“Okay,” said Sam, but he wasn’t happy about it. He took off his coat, folded it neatly and placed it on the sidewalk. He removed his tie and shirt and placed them on top of the coat. Three people came out of Mike’s Club to watch. Four people, passing, stopped. Sam picked up the chain and putting it about his massive chest, twisted the ends into a tight knot.

You know about Sam Cragg — he’s five feet eight inches tall, weighs 220 pounds, every ounce of it muscle and bone.

Johnny looked admiringly at Sam’s torso and threw up his hands.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he bellowed in a voice that rolled across Fremont Street on the one side and into Mike’s Club on the other. “Ladies and gentlemen, give me your attention for a moment...”

That was as far as he got. The cop who had caught him making a U-turn earlier in the day darted out of Mike’s Club and grabbed one of Johnny’s arms.

“Here, you, what do you think you’re doing?”

“Why, I’m going to give a little spiel,” Johnny replied calmly.

“And then?”

“Then my friend, Young Samson here, is going to break that logging chain merely by expanding his chest and after that I hope to sell these books at $2.95 per each.”

“You’ve got a license to sell on the street?”

“Oh, so it’s like that in Las Vegas.”

“That’s the way it is.”

“How much is the license?”

“I don’t even know if the chief d give you one, but if he did it’d probably cost you fifty or a hundred dollars.”

“In that case, let’s just forget the whole thing.”

“It’s just as well, because even if you did get a license to sell, we wouldn’t let you pull any phony chain-breaking stuff.”

“Phony? Sam, take off the chain.”

Sam obeyed and Johnny took the chain from him. He handed it to the policeman. “Look it over and if you find a weak link in it, I’ll eat the chain — without salt.”

The policeman dropped the chain to the sidewalk. “There’s a trick to it, somewhere, but I haven’t got time to work it out. No man could break a chain like that on the square.”

“Sam can. He does it right along.”

The policeman looked at Sam with jaundiced eyes. “Strong, huh?”

“Only the strongest man in the world,” Sam admitted.

“M’bongo, the gorilla I caught in the Congo, could tear you to pieces.”

Johnny looked sharply at the policeman. “You caught what gorilla in what Congo?”

“My name’s Mulligan. Remember? Catch ’Em Alive Mulligan?”

Johnny stared at the policeman. Mulligan laughed shortly. “Yeah, me, Catch ’Em Alive Mulligan; I’m a cop in Las Vegas. Eight years ago I was the toast of New York and Hollywood. But you can’t eat toasts.”

“You can’t eat books, either,” Johnny said.

“You’ve got a car; you can sell that.”

“The Finance Company wouldn’t like it.”

“You can sell your equity in it...”

“Yeah,” said Johnny, “I guess I could at that.”

“That is,” added Mulligan, “if you’re not behind in your payments and you got permission from the Finance Company to take the car out of California.”

“Oh, sure!”

Mulligan laughed without humor. “ ’S’ll right, I work for the city of Las Vegas, Nevada — not for the Finance Companies in California.”

Sam by this time had put on his shirt, tie and coat and he now picked up the books and chain. He took them to the car. Mulligan followed Johnny.

“Look, Mister,” he said, “when I was hunting wild animals in Africa, I gave it all I had. I always do — whatever I’m doing. I’m a cop now, a good cop. You violated a traffic law this morning, you broke another law just now and you’ve been going all around town asking about some guy named Nick...”

“Nick who?”

“Don’t try that on me, wise guy. I could take you down to the Blue Room and point out to you the error of your ways. But you don’t look like such a bad guy, so I’m just going to give you a friendly tip. There’s an awfully good road going east and another one going south. Get on one or the other...”

“Our gas tank is empty.”

Catch ’Em Alive Mulligan scowled. “I’ll give you a buck for one of those books.”

“The regular price is $2.95.” Johnny reached into the car and brought out one of the books. “But for you... one silver dollar!”

Mulligan had already produced the cartwheel. “Buy some gas,” he said, and turning, walked abruptly back into Mike’s Club.

“Say,” said Sam, “he wasn’t such a bad guy.”

“Come on,” said Johnny.

“Where—?”

“What good’s a buck?”

Sam grabbed Johnny’s arm. “But you heard what the guy said, Johnny...”

Johnny grinned frostily and stepped into Harry’s Club, which was right next door to Mike’s Club. He headed for the crap table and laid the silver collar on the pass line. A big man in shirt sleeves had the dice in his hands. He shook them up and rolled them down the length of the table, so they hit the rubber cushions and bounced back.

“Seven,” the dealer announced. He added a silver dollar to Johnny’s. He collected other dollars, paid out a few. The big man rolled the dice again.

“Seven, with a six-ace,” droned the dealer. He put two dollars on top of Johnny’s two.

The player rolled an eight for a point, made two inconsequential rolls and made the eight. The dealer added four silver dollars to Johnny’s pile.

Johnny reached out and pushed the stack from the pass rectangle to the one lettered “won’t pass.”

The swarthy man promptly rolled a twelve and the dealer raked in Johnny’s sixteen dollars and replaced them with six blue checks and two silver dollars. Johnny smiled at him. Sam began breathing hoarsely down Johnny’s neck. “Pinch, Johnny, pinch...”

Johnny ignored him. The man with the dice threw ten for a point and sevened out immediately afterwards. Johnny’s stake was now sixty-four dollars.

The dealer gathered up the dice with his stick, added a dozen or so from in front of his place and slid the entire group over to Johnny.

“Your dice, Mister.”

Johnny selected two green dice from the lot and the dealer snaked back the rest. He looked inquiringly at Johnny. Johnny nodded.

“There’s a gambler in the house,” said the dealer, “he lets it ride.”

Johnny shook up the dice and rolled them out. They stopped on six-five.

“And he made it!” cried the dealer. He measured out chips and silver dollars, then pushed the stack over to Johnny’s side. “Two hundred’s the limit.”

“Shoot it,” said Johnny. He counted out eleven checks and one silver dollar and shoved the rest back on the pass line. He picked up his dice and tossed them out, carelessly. They came up six-one.

Five minutes later, Catch ’Em Alive Mulligan entered Harry’s Club and approached the crap table. He looked at Sam Cragg, then at Johnny Fletcher, then down at the chips in front of Johnny. There were a few blue checks in the pile, but most of them were a bright pink.

“Just the man I want to see,” said Johnny. He raked over his chips and found a lone silver dollar at the bottom of the pile. “Here’s your buck, Captain. The book’s on me. And thanks.”

Mulligan took the dollar, looked at it, then put it into his pocket.

Johnny rolled the dice toward the dealer. “I’m getting bored. Cash these in, will you?”

The dealer rang a bell and began stacking up Johnny’s checks. The manager of Harry’s Club came over to the table. “Gentleman cashing in,” said the dealer.

“How much?” asked the manager, indifferently.

The dealer finished stacking up the checks. “Eighteen-eighty, I made it.”

Johnny reached across and picked off a pink chip. He tendered it to the dealer. “Eighteen fifty-five.”

“Thanks, Mister,” said the dealer, putting the check into his pocket.

The manager went to the cashier’s desk and returned in a moment with a two-inch stack of bills. “Come again,” he said.

Johnny turned to Catch ’Em Alive Mulligan. “Can I buy you a drink?”

“Later. You’re staying in town now, I suppose?”

“If I could get a room.”

“Where do you want one?”

“El Casa Rancho — but they’re full up...”

“Follow me out there,” said Mulligan, heading for the street. Johnny and Sam followed, but once they were in their car, Sam exploded.

“Let’s scram, Johnny. We’ve never been this rich before and...”

“It’s only a measly eighteen hundred dollars. I can run it up to eighteen thousand...”

“Oh, no!” Sam howled. “Don’t try it. Please, Johnny! I don’t like Nevada. I want to go back to New York.”

“So do I. But I want to get there with a roll.”

Chapter Five

Sam was still complaining when they entered the lobby of El Casa Rancho.

Mulligan was standing at the desk.

“Mr. Bishop tells me he’s just had a cancellation.”

Johnny smiled frostily. “How nice.”

“It’s a very lovely room in one of the cabanas,” said Mr. Bishop.

“Too bad, you didn’t make that bet when we were here before.”

Mr. Bishop looked a little downcast. He tapped the bell and a bellboy wearing a satin Spanish costume popped forward. “Nick, take these gentlemen to Number 24.”

Johnny signed the register for himself and Sam Cragg. Catch ’Em Alive Mulligan leaned forward and examined their signatures.

“See you later, fellas.”

Nick the bellboy led Johnny and Sam through the casino, out through a rear door and across a driveway to one of the cabanas, an elongated building shaped roughly like a banana. There was a veranda along the front and, judging from the doors, the cabana contained three rooms.

Nick went to the center door and unlocked it. “Here you are.” He led the way into one of the nicest rooms Johnny had ever seen; all new furniture — twin beds — bright Navajo blankets on the floor and walls and a bathroom, all gleaming and white.

“If you’ll give me your car keys,” Nick said, “I’ll get your luggage.”

“The keys are in the car,” Johnny replied, “and the luggage consists of one second-hand suitcase. But don’t let that bother you.” He reached into his pocket and brought out the roll of bills he had won at Harry’s Club. He skimmed off one of the few small bills on the outside, a ten spot.

Nick’s eyes glowed. “You want me to get some change?”

“About nine dollars and ninety cents,” Sam Cragg snapped.

Johnny smiled. “Sam’s a comic. The bill’s yours, Nick, and if you’re a good boy you can make yourself another.”

“Oh, no,” said Nick, “I can’t. It’s against the law in Nevada.”

“Taking tips?”

“No — murder.”

“Who said anything about murder?”

“You said twenty bucks...”

“Sit down, Nick. I’m Johnny Fletcher, and this is Sam Cragg, the strongest man in the world. I want to ask you a couple of questions. Maybe you know the answers and maybe you don’t.”

“If I don’t I’ll find someone who does, Mr. Fletcher.”

“That’s the stuff, Nick. By the way, what’s your last name?”

“Nick Bleek. Silly name, ain’t it?”

“A man can’t help his name, Nick. Now, look, do you know a place in town that uses checks like this...?” Johnny took the purple check from his pocket and handed it to Nick. The bellboy turned it over in his hand.

“Yeah, sure, we used to use these here...”

“What!”

“They called them in about a month ago; now we use yellow ones.”

“I showed this to Bishop at the desk early this morning, asked him if they used them here. He said no...”

Nick grinned. “Well, we don’t — now. But we did up to three-four weeks ago. You understand, of course, that if all the checks aren’t turned in, the house is just so much ahead. But I’ll get the money for this check.”

“Maybe later. I’ll keep it for a while. Now, Nick, who’s a little lady staying here, a blonde, about twenty, twenty-one, who looks like Lana Turner, only more so...”

“Well, that’s hard to say. There’s a lot of good lookin’ babies stayin’ here. Personally, I like brunettes...”

“...She goes horseback riding before sunrise.”

“Oh, that’s Jane Langford — Mrs. Langford.” He pointed to the west wall. “Number 12...”

“Right next door!” Johnny peeled off the second ten dollar bill. “You’ve almost earned your money, Nick.” Johnny drew a deep breath and looked closely at Nick. “Who’s Nick?”

Nick’s eyes remained blank. “My name’s Nick.”

“I know, but I don’t think you’re the Nick I mean...”

“What’s his last name?”

“That’s the thing I don’t know. But a friend of mine over in California, told me to look up Nick, in Las Vegas...”

“And no last name? Gosh, there must be fifty Nicks in this burg. The second cook is named Nick. And so’s one of the dealers... Nick Fenton...”

“What does he deal?”

“Blackjack. The second table from the front. Short, dark-haired fella, ’bout forty. I think he’s on now...”

“I’ll run over in a little while. Well, thanks, Nick.”

“Anything else I can do...”

“...I’ll call for you!”

The bellboy left the room and Johnny sat down on one of the beds. “Boy, I could rip off about eighteen hours’ sleep...”

Sam Cragg came over and looked down at Johnny. “After this, I’m not going to say any more, Johnny...”

“...You’re going to play detective again...”

“Okay, don’t...”

“Because I asked about Nick?”

“Yes. This Nick, whoever he is, can get along without an old pack of playing cards...”

“You forget the twenty-five dollar check.”

“I’m not forgetting it, Johnny. And I’m not forgetting the blonde—”

“Mrs. Langford?”

“I’ve been through this before with you, Johnny. You’re a sucker for murders and blondes; put them together and I’m a cinch to get the hell beat out of me or wind up in the clink.”

“You haven’t had any exercise lately,” Johnny said, “and as for the couple of times you’ve landed in the hoosegow — I’ve always gotten you out, haven’t I?”

“There’s always a first time to miss,” Sam retorted gloomily. He threw himself down on the second bed. Johnny went into the bathroom and washed his face and hands. When he returned to the bedroom, Sam was snoring.

Shaking his head, Johnny left the room. Just outside he met the bellboy, carrying the suitcase and an armful of books.

“Cragg’s sleeping,” Johnny cautioned. “Take the stuff inside, but don’t make any noise.”

“Okay, Mr. Fletcher,” replied Nick. “And Fenton’s at his table — I just checked.”

“Thanks.”

Johnny went into the casino. Being still early there were only forty or fifty patrons in the room and the majority of these were about a crap table.

Chapter Six

Johnny strolled to the blackjack tables, of which there were five. They were high, felt-covered tables, shaped somewhat like the cabanas — semicircular, with the dealer on the inside. Nick Fenton was in his shirt sleeves. He was a rather short, smooth-looking chap in his late thirties.

He was leaning against his table, as he was without players at the moment. Johnny seated himself on a high stool.

“Hello, Nick.”

The dealer nodded acknowledgment and picked up a pack of cards. He riffled them three times about as smoothly as Johnny had ever seen cards riffled. Then he plunked down the deck for a cut and the dealer whisked the top card to the bottom, face up, so that he would know when he reached the end of the pack.

Johnny got out his roll of bills. “What’s the limit?”

“Hundred. Pay one and a half for blackjack.”

Johnny eased a hundred dollar bill out of his roll. He put it on the table. Nick whisked the ball away, stuck it into the slot and shoved it down into the box under the table, with the wooden plunger provided for that purpose. He placed four yellow chips in front of Johnny. Johnny let them remain.

Nick looked at him inquiringly. “The hundred?”

“Why not?”

Nick dealt Johnny a card, gave one to himself, then another to Johnny and a second turned face up to himself. It was a six. Johnny looked at his cards, found they were a king and an eight. He placed his chips on them. The dealer turned up his hole card, revealing a jack. He hit quickly — got an eight and broke.

“Always hit sixteen?” Johnny asked.

The dealer nodded. “We hit sixteen and stay on seventeen.” He scooped four yellow chips from his rack and placed them beside Johnny’s. Johnny drew back one of the stacks.

The dealer dealt out the cards again, turning up a nine for his second card. “Do I know you?” he asked suddenly.

“You called me by name... and I always remember the hundred dollar players... I don’t remember you.”

“I’m Johnny Fletcher. You’re Nick Fenton, aren’t you?”

“Yes, but damned if I can remember you...”

Johnny peeked at his cards, turned them up. “Blackjack.”

Nick put six chips beside Johnny’s four, scooped up the discards. Johnny reached into his pocket, brought out the purple check and placed it on the table. Nick shook his head. “You’ll have to turn that in to the cashier.”

“I’m keeping it for a lucky piece. Fellow gave it to me... over in California... Death Valley.”

“That so?” Nick’s tone was merely polite. He dealt the cards again, gave Johnny twenty and himself seventeen. Then Johnny turned up a second blackjack.

Another customer wandered up, took the seat beside Johnny and placed out a silver dollar. Johnny won his hundred dollar bet and the other player lost his dollar.

Johnny turned up a third blackjack.

Gambling is like that. You can roll the dice all evening and not make a single pass; you can lose twenty straight blackjack hands or feed a roulette wheel for two hours without winning a bet. You can sit in a gin rummy game and be triple-blitzed six times in a row. You can bet all the favorites at the track and all run out of the money.

And then comes a time when you can’t lose. You put a quarter into a slot machine and hit the jackpot. You make eighteen straight passes with the galloping dominoes. Percentages have nothing to do with it. In the long run they’ll beat you, but for that one glorious period, which may last a day, a week or even a month, you cannot lose a bet.

Johnny’s luck was in. He won fourteen straight blackjack hands, turning up six blackjacks. He lost one bet then, but came back with eight more straight wins.

He left the blackjack table with his pockets loaded down with yellow chips and went to the crap table. He got the dice and held them for twenty solid minutes. And then, to test his luck to the last degree, he got five silver dollars and went to the dollar slot machine.

His second dollar dumped out the jackpot. A tall, cold-eyed man helped him scoop out the silver dollars. “My name’s Honsinger,” he said. “Gilbert Honsinger.”

“I’m Johnny Fletcher,” Johnny said. “You’ll be hearing about me.”

“I already have,” said Honsinger. “I own the place... Can I cash in your yellow checks? They’ll be needing them at the tables.”

“Why not?”

Honsinger’s office was behind the cashier’s cage; a large luxuriously furnished room, with a steel door at one side, which led into a vault.

Johnny began taking yellow checks out of his pockets, huge quantities of them. Honsinger stacked them up on his desk. His fingers were well-manicured and nimble. They were probably very handy with a deck of cards.

“You’ve got one of our old checks,” Honsinger said, picking out the purple check from a stack of yellows. “I’ll cash it for you.”

“No — I want to keep it as a souvenir. Or until I go broke.”

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to get it in. There’s only a few out and I may have to nullify them in a little while.”

“Let me know before you do,” Johnny said. “Just now I’d like to keep it.”

Honsinger shrugged and ran his fingers over the stacks of yellow checks. “A nice win,” he said. “Eight thousand, seven hundred and fifty-five. Would you like the cash, or would you prefer a check?”

“I’ve got a couple thousand in cash now,” replied Johnny. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d like to keep the eight thousand here and let me draw against it. I’ll take five hundred cash and keep checks for the rest.”

Honsinger nodded. “That’s quite all right. Can I give you a drink now?”

“I never drink when I’m gambling.” Johnny stowed away the remaining yellow checks in his pockets. Before he completed the job, there was a knock on the door.

“Come in,” called Honsinger.

The door opened and a man who looked like a retired wrestler came into the room. “Oh, hello, Whit,” said Honsinger. “Shake hands with Mr. Fletcher. Mr. Fletcher, Whit Snow, my manager.”

Snow took Fletcher’s hand in a beefy paw and put on the pressure. “Been watchin’ you, Mr. Fletcher. Having a run, eh?”

Johnny rescued his bruised hand. “Not as much of a one as I’m going to have before I get through.”

“Gonna break the place?”

“It could happen, couldn’t it?”

Honsinger smiled thinly. “Hardly.”

Johnny gave him a wink and left the room. He strolled back to the blackjack tables, then caught sight of a blonde head at the crap table and wheeled back.

She was wearing woman’s clothes now: a flowered print dress and high-heeled pumps. She held white gloves in her left hand and had a purse slung over her left shoulder. Her right hand was shaking up a pair of dice.

Johnny squeezed in beside her, but she was too intent on the game to notice him. She rolled out the dice, got ten for a point, then sevened out on the next roll.

“Damn!” she exclaimed.

She had a half dozen silver dollars and a brown check on the table in front of her. The dice came to Johnny.

He put out two yellow checks. “Bet with me.”

She sent a quick sideward glance and recognized him. Pressing her lips together, she picked up her five dollar check and reaching out, placed it in the section marked, “No Pass.”

Johnny chuckled and rolled out the dice. They came up seven. A dozen of the customers, who knew about Johnny’s streak, showered checks and silver on the pass line. Johnny let his own four checks ride.

The girl beside Johnny frowned and placed two silver dollars against Johnny.

Johnny got a four for a point, bet a hundred dollars that he could make it and came up with a trey-ace. The dealer and his assistant exchanged significant glances.

“Get wise,” Johnny said to Mrs. Langford. “I’ve got a streak.”

She picked up her four remaining silver dollars and put them on the “No Pass” line. Johnny shook up the dice, was about to roll them, when the girl suddenly reached out, retrieved her four dollars and put them on the pass line beside Johnny’s bet.

Johnny rolled out a nice eleven for her. “Let it ride,” he said, “I’m good for a couple more passes.”

He made twelve passes, before sevening out. Whit Snow was there for the last six.

“Run’s holding up,” he remarked.

“In a couple of days you’ll be working for me,” Johnny chuckled.

Whit Snow shook his head. “No, I won’t. Because we’ll get you in the end; wait and see.”

Johnny was stacking up his yellow chips. “Here’s another two thousand. Ask Mr. Honsinger to add it to the rest. These I’ll keep to fool around with.”

Mrs. Langford cashed in eight hundred and twenty dollars. “I’ve been here six weeks,” she told Johnny, “and this is the first time I’ve won.”

“Six weeks?”

“The day after tomorrow,” she said evenly, “I’ll be a free woman.”

Nick the bellboy came in from the hotel lobby. He nodded to Johnny. “Hello, Mr. Fletcher.” Then he addressed the girl. “There’s a gentleman in the lobby to see you, Mrs. Langford. He says his name is Langford.”

Her color faded. So did the light from her blue eyes. She looked at Johnny and said dully, “Excuse me...” Then she headed for the hotel lobby.

Nick said, “I hear you’re breaking the bank, Mr. Fletcher.”

Johnny handed him a yellow check. “What’s the guy look like?”

“Her husband?” Nick grimaced. “Like that. I’m not surprised she’s divorcing him.” He shook his head. “I could go for her myself. She’s class with a capital K and I like class.”

“So do I,” Johnny said, “when it looks like that.” He turned and walked through the casino, across the driveway and into his room in the cabana.

Sam Cragg was still sawing wood. Johnny emptied his pockets of checks, making a small mountain on the dresser. Then he went into the bathroom to wash his hands. As he dried them, he heard muffled voices.

He put his ear to the wall. The voices were louder, but still indistinguishable. But they were excited voices. He came out of the bathroom and stepped to the door that connected his room to Jane Langford’s.

He didn’t have to put his ear to the connecting door. Jane Langford’s voice came through. “You’re wasting your time, Jim. I’m going through with it if it’s the last thing I ever do.”

“Maybe it’ll be the last thing,” grated a harsh voice.

Then Jane Langford exclaimed in sudden pain.

In two leaps Johnny was at his front door. He tore it open, ran down the cement veranda to Jane Langford’s door and without bothering to knock, whipped the door open.

Jim Langford had one of Jane Langford’s wrists in one hand; his other was raised to strike her. The hand froze in mid-air as Johnny hurtled through the door.

“Hold it, chum!” Johnny cried.

Jim Langford let go of his wife’s wrist. He was six feet tall and outweighted Johnny by at least twenty pounds. He was a swarthy, vicious-looking man of about thirty-five. He most certainly was not the type you would expect a girl like Jane Langford to marry. But then she was divorcing him.

Langford bared his teeth at Johnny. “What the hell’s the idea bustin’ in here?”

“I heard the lady holler,” Johnny said coolly.

“You the house dick?”

“As far as you’re concerned — yes.”

“This happens to be my wife.”

“She won’t be the day after tomorrow,” Johnny retorted.

Langford’s eyes gleamed wickedly. “Oh, you know about that. You wouldn’t happen to be the lad who expects to take my place...?”

“What if I am?”

Langford’s lips twisted into a snarl. “Well, I’m glad to meet you, sucker. Been wantin’ to for some time...” He started toward Johnny.

Jane Langford sprang forward. “Jim — stop it!”

“Let him stop — this...!”

Langford stepped around his wife and swung a fist at Johnny. Johnny ducked and stuck at Langford’s midriff. His fist hit a muscular stomach and brought a grunt from Langford... and a smashing blow that landed high on Johnny’s face and sent him reeling back. Jim Langford started to follow through for another crushing blow, but Jane grabbed his arm.

“Stop it, Jim!” she cried. “I don’t even know this man.”

“Let him go,” Johnny muttered thickly. “I c’n handle him.”

Langford shook off his wife. “Handle this!” He sprang for Johnny, hit him heavily on the right ear and as he went down to his knees, gave him his foot.

Johnny wound up against the wall, flat on his face. A roaring filled his eyes as he tried desperately to get to his hands and knees. He made it after considerable exertion and shaking his head, looked at Jane Langford and her husband.

Jane was standing in front of her dresser; a very efficient-looking little automatic was in her hand and pointed at Langford.

“Get out,” she said, “get out before I become a widow instead of a divorcee.”

Jim Langford laughed harshly. “Damned if I don’t think you’d shoot.”

“Make a move in any direction except the door and you’ll find out.”

Johnny struggled to his feet. “I can handle him, baby...” he mumbled.

“You sure can,” jeered Langford. “And maybe you’ll get another chance.” He gave Johnny a half salute and went to the door. He stepped out upon the veranda, then turned for a parting shot at his wife.

“And don’t count too much on that divorce, sweetheart.” Then he passed out of sight.

Jane Langford came over to Johnny. “Did he hurt you badly?”

Johnny rubbed the fog from his eyes. “Him? He hardly touched me...”

“There a mouse starting up under your eye,” Jane Langford said. “Better go to your room and put a cold cloth on it.”

Johnny nodded. Bees were still buzzing in his head. “See you later, baby...”

He went to the door, passed through and entered his own room, the door of which was still standing open. Sam was snoring as loudly as before.

Johnny went into the bathroom, moistened a cold wash cloth at the tap and put it to his face. After a moment he returned to the bedroom and, throwing himself on the second bed, went to sleep.

Chapter Seven

When Johnny awakened one of the floor lamps was lighted. He sat up on the bed and looked across the room at Catch ’Em Alive Mulligan, who was seated in an armchair beside the floor lamp, reading the evening Las Vegas Nugget. As the bed creaked, he put down his paper.

“Hello, Fletcher,” he said. “Somebody hang one on you?”

“Believe it or not,” Johnny retorted, “I bumped into a door.” He touched his face and discovered that the mouse had practically disappeared. The spot felt sore, as did his chest where Jim Langford’s foot had caught him, but on the whole the sleep he had had made up for everything. He felt pretty good.

“I hear you’ve been killing ’em,” Mulligan continued.

“Only slightly,” Johnny replied. “I wonder what time it is by my watch in the Kansas City hock shop.”

“Almost nine o’clock, since it’s seven here.”

“Then I ripped off seven hours.” Johnny looked over at the other bed. Sam was still sound asleep, but his snoring was negligible.

Mulligan pointed at the yellow checks on the dresser. “Careless. The door wasn’t even locked.”

“I didn’t think there was any danger,” Johnny said. “They tell me the cops are very good in Las Vegas.”

“Everybody’s got his price,” said Mulligan.

“What’s yours?”

“It was a quarter of a million six years ago.”

Johnny looked at him sharply.

“My third wife,” Mulligan said calmly. “That’s what she paid me.”

“And you got rid of a quarter million in six years?”

Mulligan laughed without humor. “I went through it in a year and a half. I dropped the last hundred thousand in LV. That’s why I’m a cop here.”

“Memories are tough.”

“Not mine. I’ve lived. I was a big game hunter and I wrote a book that sold a million copies. I made a movie and I made a movie star. I had a regular table at the Stork Club and I spent a weekend in the White House. I was married to a woman worth fifty million bucks. We had a house in New York, a cottage at Bar Harbor, an estate on Long Island, a place in Florida and a ranch in New Mexico. What else can a man have?”

“A woman who hasn’t got fifty million.”

“I’ve got her; my fourth wife. She does the washing herself.”

“I’d like to meet her.”

“Maybe you will.” Mulligan folded his newspaper. “What do you want, Fletcher? I mean, here in Las Vegas?”

Johnny thought for a moment. “I was driving into Death Valley last night. There was a man staggering along beside the pavement... he’d been shot...”

“Yes?”

“He died. But before he cashed in, he gave me this...” He drew out the pack of playing cards and the purple check. Mulligan got up, and coming over, took them from Johnny’s hand.

He took the cards out of the box riffled them out, then put them back into the box. The purple check he turned over and over. “What was his name — this fellow in Death Valley?”

“He never got to tell me.”

“What’d he look like?”

“About fifty. I guess he would have weighed about a hundred and forty.”

“Where does Nick come in?”

“Nick?”

“You’ve been asking all around town about a guy named Nick.”

“Well, that’s all he said. Gave me the cards and the purple check and told me to send them to Nick in Las Vegas. He tried to give me his whole name, but he couldn’t.”

Mulligan’s face was screwed up in thought. “I don’t place him, Johnny — not from your description. And I know at least twenty men here named Nick. You... searched him?”

“Yes. That was all he had on him; the cards and the check. Except these paper matches...” He tossed them to Mulligan.

Mulligan looked at the matches and nodded. “So that’s why you wanted to stay at this place.” He handed the articles back to Johnny. “But why?”

“The man in Death Valley was murdered.”

“But you’re not a cop. Or are you...?”

“I’m a book salesman. Sam Cragg—”

Sam’s bed creaked and he sat up. “Yeah!”

He blinked and looked around.

“Hello, Sam,” said Mulligan.

“Jeez, it’s night,” exclaimed Sam. Then suddenly he groaned. “You’ve had time to lose all that dough, Johnny!”

“I didn’t lose it.”

“Naw? Lemme see.”

Johnny took the roll from his pocket. “It’s all here, see.” He nodded to the dresser. “And there’re a few yellow checks.”

Sam Cragg sprang up and crossed the room. He grabbed up a handful of checks. “Are these five-dollar checks, Johnny?”

“Twenty-five...”

“Holy cow, there must be a hundred here. That’d be...”

“Around twenty-five hundred...”

Sam’s mouth fell open in astonishment. “You mean, with what we won uptown, we got around forty-five hundred...?”

“Plus ten thousand,” said Mulligan. “On a single dollar...”

Johnny grinned. “Help yourself, Mulligan.” He pointed at the yellow checks.

Mulligan shook his head. “What would I do with them?”

“Are you kidding?” Sam gasped.

Mulligan smiled crookedly. “You tell him, Johnny.” He went to the door. “I’ve got to look around. See you later...”

He went out. Sam whirled on Johnny. “We’re rich, Johnny, we’re rich!”

“Still chicken feed.”

Sam stuffed a handful of the yellow boys into his pocket. “You said it. We’ll run this up to a hundred grand...”

“Have you forgotten that you wanted me to stop at eighteen hundred?”

“Me?” He rubbed his big hands together. “I had a fine sleep and I feel like a million bucks. Let’s go out and have some fun.” He stabbed a finger at Johnny. “That blonde, Johnny. You liked her. Maybe she’s got a friend.”

“She’s got a husband,” said Johnny. “He showed up.”

“Huh? I thought she was divorcing him.”

“She is, but I guess he came over to try for a reconciliation...”

“Recon... reconcil... what’s that?”

“He wants to make up with her.”

“He coulda done that weeks ago, couldn’t he? She’s here now, gettin’ a divorce. You ain’t gonna let a little thing like that stand in your way, are you?”

Johnny touched the bruise on his face. “We had a little discussion about it... I lost...”

“He bopped you?”

“I hit him. Then he hit me.”

Sam growled deep in his throat. “If he’s still around, point him out to me.”

“I intend to do just that, Sam.”

Johnny was peeling off his clothes. As he draped his coat over a chair he bumped the pocket and was reminded of the deck of cards the man in Death Valley had given him. He took them out, riffled them and studied the backs.

Sam watched him. “Marked?”

“If they are, I can’t find the markings.”

“Don’t they sometimes mark them at the factory?”

“Yes, but it’s in the design and I’ll swear that the designs on the backs of these all match.” Johnny exhaled wearily. “You know, in blackjack, all you have to know is which is a low card and which a high one.” He shook his head. “But that won’t work, because they have a rule here — they hit sixteen or less; seventeen they stand. Always. It wouldn’t make any difference if they knew what you had.”

“You mean if the dealer knew you had eighteen and he had only seventeen, he still wouldn’t hit?”

“That’s the house rule.”

“Then what’d be the point in their using marked cards?”

“That’s it — there isn’t any point.” Johnny opened a drawer and dropped the cards into it. He took off his trousers and shirt and in his shorts went into the bathroom. He turned on the shower and slipped out of his shorts. He took a quick cold shower, then came out and put on the same clothes he had taken off, with the exception of a clean shirt.

“Tomorrow morning we’ll get some clothes,” he told Sam.

While he dressed Sam showered. Then Johnny waited for him to put on his clothes. Johnny distributed the yellow checks into several pockets so none of the pockets would bulge too much. Sam also helped himself generously to checks.

It was seven-thirty when they entered the casino and found it so crowded they couldn’t even get to the tables. There were women in evening dresses, men in tuxedos, cowboys in from the range, Army officers... and cold-eyed gamblers. From the dining room beyond came the music of an orchestra.

Sam’s eyes sparkled as he looked around the casino. “Whatta joint!”

“Let’s eat,” Johnny said.

They went through the hotel lobby to the dining room and found the velvet rope up, with a dozen people waiting for a table. But Mr. Bishop, the hotel clerk, saw them standing there, and leaving the desk, came up.

“Good evening, Mr. Fletcher,” he said unctuously.

“Oh, hello, Mr. Bishop.” Johnny grinned frostily, then took two yellow chips from his pocket. “About that bet we made this morning... I’ve been thinking and I’ve decided that you really won it, after all...”

“Thank you, Mr. Fletcher, I knew you’d see it that way... have you told Albert that you made a reservation for dinner?”

“We didn’t...”

“Just a moment...”

Mr. Wilson slipped through the crowd to the velvet rope and signaled to the headwaiter. Sam, watching, growled. “I wouldn’t a given him the fifty, Johnny...”

“What’s the diff? Somebody told me today that everybody has his price. It seems that fifty dollars is Bishop’s price... Yeah...”

Mr. Bishop was turning, signaling to Johnny. They pushed through the crowd. “Albert has the table you reserved, Mr. Fletcher...”

“Thanks,” said Johnny.

The headwaiter raised the rope and they went into the crowded restaurant. “I have a nice ringside table,” Albert said. He led them to a table which almost touched one at which Jane Langford was having dinner with a blonde young giant. Johnny slipped Albert a yellow check, seated himself and smiled across at Mrs. Langford.

She returned the smile. “Mr. Fletcher, I’d like you to meet Mr. Halton.”

Johnny got up and shook hands with the young giant.

“You’re the man who’s been breaking the bank,” Halton exclaimed. “I’ve been wanting to meet you.”

Albert said smoothly, “Shall I move the tables together?”

Mrs. Langford gave smiling consent. Johnny said, “You know my friend, Sam Cragg, Mrs. Langford... Mr. Halton, Mr. Cragg...”

“Harya, pal,” said Sam. He gripped the big man’s hand, put on the pressure. A startled look came into Halton’s eyes. He returned the pressure and then Sam put on more. Halton winced and jerked his hand out of Sam’s.

“Where’d you get a grip like that?”

Sam grinned. “Your own grip ain’t bad, for a kid.”

“Kid?”

“Mr. Halton is the former All-American,” said Mrs. Langford.

“Where’d you play?” Halton asked Sam.

“Me?! Oh, the old Hippodrome in New York, the Coliseum in Chicago...”

“The mat,” Johnny explained.

“I did a bit of wrestling myself,” said Halton. “Intercollegiate heavyweight champion, nineteen thirty-six...”

“College stuff,” said Sam deprecatingly.

“We wrestled for sport,” said Halton, his eyes glowing. He sized up Sam. “I’d like to go a fall with you some time.”

“Anytime, pal. I’m always in trainin’...”

Johnny was studying Mrs. Langford. “Everything okay?”

“Of course. And how do you feel?”

Johnny shrugged. “Like silk.”

Her eyes remained on him. Then she said irrelevantly, “Chuck — Mr. Halton, was explaining his system just before you came up. I told him about this afternoon...”

Halton turned away from Sam. “If you don’t mind, Mr. Fletcher, I’d like to exchange systems with you...”

“You’ve got a system?”

“Naturally. That’s why I’m here, to try it out.” He reached into his breast pocket and took out a folded paper. He unfolded it to full letter size and placed it down on the table. Johnny saw that it was covered with figures.

“It’s the Esquire system,” Halton went on. “Infallible...”

“How does it work?”

“Why, as you can see, you have to play different amounts, depending on what is transpiring at the moment. You increase the bets when you’re losing and decrease when you’re winning.”

Johnny nodded thoughtfully. “How much have you won so far?”

Halton winced a little. “As a matter of fact, I haven’t won anything yet...”

“You’ve lost?”

“Just a few hundred. But then I’ve only been playing the system four days. I’m bound to win in the long run.”

“Sure.”

Halton cleared his throat. “You’re welcome to use this system.”

Johnny waved it away. “I think I’ll stick to my own.”

“What is your system?”

“I keep the dice.”

“Eh?”

“That’s it.”

“What do you mean?”

“That’s my system. I keep the dice. As long as I’ve got them I can’t lose, can I?”

“No, of course not. But you must have a system for betting.”

“Sure. I put down the money and roll the dice, then pick up the money.” Halton flushed. “Of course if you don’t want to tell...”

“I’m telling you. That’s all I do — put down the money and pick up the winnings.”

“You mean you haven’t got any system? You’re just... lucky...?”

“Yep!”

“And you won fifty thousand dollars this afternoon?”

“Fifty thousand?”

“Isn’t that the amount?”

Johnny coughed. “More or less.”

“I won eight hundred,” interposed Mrs. Langford. “What’s the term — riding with him?”

“Speaking of riding,” said Johnny. “Did your horse get back all right?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Then you’ll be riding again in the morning?”

“Why not? I’ve only got two more days.”

Halton regarded her sulkily. “You’ll be glad to leave Las Vegas?”

“Why shouldn’t I be? It’ll mean I’m free...”

A waiter came up with a bottle of champagne. “Compliments of Mr. Chatsworth...”

“Chatsworth?” exclaimed Johnny. “I don’t know any Chatsworth...”

“The champagne is for the lady,” said the waiter.

But Mrs. Langford was already smiling and nodding to somebody behind Johnny. Johnny turned in his chair and picked him out — a sleek man in his late forties, three tables away. He was wearing a tuxedo and as Johnny looked, he got up from his table and came forward.

“The traffic’s getting heavy,” Johnny remarked sourly.

Chapter Eight

Chatsworth came up and took Mrs. Langford’s hand. For a moment Johnny thought he was going to kiss it, but he contented himself with pawing it in both of his own hands. “Do you mind, my dear?” he purred.

Young Halton growled deep in his throat.

“Not at all, Mr. Chatsworth,” Mrs. Langford was saying, “I’m delighted... you know Mr. Halton?”

“Of course,” said Chatsworth, nodding curtly.

“...And Mr. Fletcher and Mr. Cragg...”

Chatsworth gave his hand to Johnny, started to give it to Sam, then switched to a bare nod. “How are you, gentlemen?”

“Pull up a chair,” said Sam Cragg.

“May I?” Chatsworth addressed Mrs. Langford.

She gave assent, but there was no chair. The waiter who had brought the champagne was equal to the occasion, however. He went back to Mr. Chatsworth’s former table and brought up his recently vacated chair.

Johnny looked at Halton across the table. “Competition?”

Halton scowled.

Sam Cragg suddenly took it upon himself to roll the conversational ball. He grinned pleasantly at Mr. Chatsworth.

“What’s your racket, buddy?”

A startled expression came into Mr. Chatsworth’s eyes. “I beg your pardon?”

“Your racket — whaddya do for a living?”

“Why, uh, I... I’m in the insurance business,” floundered Mr. Chatsworth.

“You sell life insurance?”

Halton guffawed and Sam glared at him. “I say something funny?”

“Mr. Chatsworth,” said Jane Langford patiently, “is the head of the Midwest Insurance Company, one of the largest...”

“Oh, yeah,” said Sam, not at all disconcerted. “I had a policy in that outfit myself once.” He hitched his chair closer to that of Mr. Chatsworth. “I’m glad to meet you. I’ve got a bone to pick with your company. I paid in twelve bucks in premiums and then when I couldn’t pay once they closed me out. I ask you, Chatsworth, is that a way to treat a customer?”

Mr. Chatsworth got very red in the face. “I’m sure I don’t know the circumstances, Mr. Slagg...”

“Cragg!”

“...Mr. Cragg.”

“Yeah, well, circumstances or not, I shelled out twelve bucks and never got nothing for it. It’s things like that that make people turn against the insurance companies...”

“If you will write me a letter,” Mr. Chatsworth said stiffly, “I shall see that you are reimbursed in full... the entire twelve dollars...”

“And what about the interest?”

“Mr. Cragg,” interposed Mrs. Langford, “you’re quite droll, but you shouldn’t carry a joke too far...”

“Who’s joking?” cried Sam. “I’ve got a beef...”

“But this is hardly the time...”

Then Halton added his voice. “If a man’s in the insurance game, any time is the right time. Insurance agents bother you night and day — anywhere, any place. So why shouldn’t an insurance man be asked to make adjustments at any time...?”

“See here,” exclaimed Chatsworth. “I like a joke as well as the next man, but I fail to see the point of this, ah, rib... as you might say...”

Nick the bellboy came up, and bending over, whispered in Johnny’s ear. “Mr. Fletcher, could I see you a moment?”

“What’s up?”

Nick’s eyebrows went up. Johnny rose to his feet. “Excuse me a moment...”

He followed Nick toward the door. When he saw that Nick intended to go still further, Johnny reached forward and caught Nick’s arm. “Oh, come now, Nick, it can’t be that secret...”

“It is, Mr. Fletcher. Believe me, it is.”

Johnny followed Nick through the hotel lobby into the casino. Near the dollar slot machines, Nick stopped. “Go to your cabana, Mr. Fletcher, but don’t go inside. Not until I get there.”

“Look, son,” said Johnny. “I haven’t had any dinner yet...”

“You won’t feel like eating when you see what’s in your room...”

Johnny exclaimed in annoyance. “You talk like there was a stiff in my room...”

“There is...”

“What!”

“That’s why I don’t think we should be seen leaving together, Mr. Fletcher. You go through here and I’ll go out the front and around...”

Johnny looked sharply at the bellboy, then without a word, started through the crowded casino.

He left the casino by the rear door, cut across the driveway and bore down on the cabana which contained Room 24. As he stepped onto the veranda, he heard the rapid clicking of heels behind him and turning, saw Nick the bellboy come up.

“All right,” Johnny said tersely, “now let’s see what this is all about...”

He tried his door, found it locked. Nick brushed past him. “I’ll open it.” He put a key into the lock, turned it, and opening the door, reached inside. He found the light switch and flicked it.

Johnny stepped into the room. Nick crowded in on his heels. At first Johnny saw nothing unusual in the room, then his eyes swept the floor and he saw — between the two beds — a pair of brown-trousered legs.

He stepped swiftly around the nearest bed and looked down at the dead face of... the man from Death Valley, the man who had died virtually in his arms.

For a moment he stared down while a thousand thoughts flitted through his brain. Then slowly he turned and looked at the shrewd face of Nick.

“He’s been plugged,” the bellboy said softly.

“Who is he?”

“Don’t you know?”

Johnny shook his head slowly. Nick stepped to his side, drew a shuddering breath, then shot a quick glance down at the dead man. “I’ve been trying to place him for the last ten minutes. I’m almost sure I’ve seen him before, but damned if I can remember...”

Johnny went to the door, shot the bolt, then stepped to both windows in the room and made sure the shades were drawn down clear to the sills. Then he turned back to the bellboy.

“All right, Nick, let’s have a little talk.”

Nick seated himself on the edge of the bed, then grimacing, got up and moved to a chair. “Sure, Mr. Fletcher, that’s why I called you over on the q.t. Like I said, I come in here and find this guy...”

“Wait a minute, Nick. You say you came in here... why?”

“Because I got called.” He looked at his watch. “It’s eight twenty-three. It was two minutes to eight when I came in...”

“In answer to what call?” Johnny persisted grimly.

“Search me. The bell captain gives me a bell and when I go up he says go to Room 24. I come over here and knock on the door and there’s no answer. I think it’s funny so I unlock the door and... biff!”

“Do all the bellboys carry passkeys to the rooms?”

A ghost of a grin appeared on Nick’s face. “All the smart ones.”

“All right, Nick, you’re smart. So see if you can give me a straight story. You say the bell captain sent you over here. Who’s he?”

“Bill Hayes, a no-good, two-timing, double-crossing bastard if there ever was one.”

“I take it you and this Bill Hayes aren’t exactly pals.”

Nick stuck out his tongue and brought air up from his lungs. The result was a moist, raucous sound... his opinion of Bill Hayes. “I wouldn’t put it past him that he knew about this before he sent me over.”

Johnny blinked. “What makes you think that?”

“I dunno, but maybe he figured he was doing me a dirty trick.”

Johnny frowned. “What’s the system up front? Does the bell captain get the calls from the hotel clerk and then relay them to the various bellboys?”

“Sometimes, if the guests call the clerk direct. Usually, though, they tell the operator, and the operator calls the bellstand.”

“And Hayes told you there was a call from Room 24?”

“Yeah.”

“Did he tell you what I... I mean the caller, wanted?”

“Uh-uh, he just said twenty-four wanted a boy. I came here and when there wasn’t any answer to my knock I figured...” He cleared his throat. “I mean, I was thinking with the luck you been having you might a been celebratin’ and passed out. So I opened the door and... biff!”

“Biff!” repeated Johnny. “Just like that. You didn’t go back and tell Hayes what you found?”

“Think I’m crazy? You treated me white, Mr. Fletcher, The first thing I thought I’d talk to you and see what was what... I looked for you in the casino; then I tried the dining room and there you was.” He stopped. “Don’t you think we’d better get going?”

“Where?”

“You’re not going to leave this here, are you?”

“I’m going to call the police — naturally...”

A shudder ran through Nick. “The cops are awful tough in this burg.”

“I can’t help that. There isn’t anything else I can do, is there?”

“The desert’s right outside your back window. We could dump him out there a ways.”

“If I’d really killed him, that’s what I might be tempted to do.”

“You mean — you didn’t?”

“Did you think I had?”

Nick shrugged. “To me, it wouldn’t make any difference.”

There was a step on the stone veranda outside, then knuckles rapped on the door. Nick’s knees buckled for a second and his face turned pale.

“Sufferin’ Susie...!”

Johnny went toward the door. “Yes?” he called.

“It’s me — Mulligan,” said a voice outside the door.

“Oh, no!” gasped Nick.

Johnny gave him a sardonic glance. “Tough?”

“The worst of them all. And I’m caught...”

Johnny turned the bolt and opened the door. Catch ’Em Alive started to come in. “I’ve been thinking over our little talk,” he began. Then he caught sight of the legs between the bed.

“Surprise,” said Johnny.

Catch ’Em Alive stepped past Johnny and walked to a position between the beds. He looked down at the dead man and shook his head slowly. “I’ll admit I am a little surprised, Fletcher...”

“So was I — two minutes ago, when I came in and found him like that.”

“You called the station?”

Johnny shook his head.

“Why not?”

“Didn’t have time.”

“Where’s the gun?”

Johnny cocked his head to one side. “Feel him, Mulligan.”

Mulligan dropped to one knee, touched a leg of the corpse, then gripped it hard. He got to his feet. “I don’t get it; it’s only an hour or so since I was here.”

“He’s been dead twenty-four hours. He died just about this time yesterday...”

Mulligan regarded Nick the bellboy for a moment. “What are you doing here, Nick...?”

“Why, I, uh, I came over with Mr. Fletcher...”

“Why?”

“I wanted him to run an errand for me,” said Johnny, coming to the bellboy’s defense.

“Doing what?”

“I wanted him to have some gas put in the car and I came over to give him the keys...”

“They’re in your car,” said Mulligan bluntly. “They’ve been in it all day. I looked when I was here before.”

“Oh, so that’s where they are.”

“You didn’t know?”

“No, I didn’t have them in my pocket and I figured I must have left them here, so I asked Nick to come over...”

“Thanks, Mr. Fletcher,” Nick said, “but it ain’t gonna be no use. He’ll find out from Bill Hayes.” As Mulligan nodded, “He’s just tryin’ to help me. I brought him over. The bell captain sent me here, said he had a call from twenty-four. There wasn’t any answer when I knocked, so I came in and—”

“The door was unlocked?”

Nick swallowed hard. “Y-yes... I mean, no, I opened it with my passkey and there he was. So then I went right away to look for Mr. Fletcher...”

“Are you working for him or the hotel?”

Nick’s hand dove into his pocket and he brought out a yellow check. “Does the hotel give me tips like this, Captain?”

Catch ’Em Alive grunted. “You’re spoiling the help Fletcher.” To Nick, he said, “Take a look at him.” He indicated the dead man.

Nick didn’t like it, but walked gingerly in between the beds. He stared down, then looked at the detective. “His face is familiar, but I can’t seem to remember...”

“Look again,” Mulligan urged.

Nick obeyed, but backed away, frowning. “I don’t place him.”

“Suppose his face was filled out and he weighed about forty pounds more.”

Nick’s head swiveled back to the floor. He exclaimed, “Harry Bloss!” The bewilderment on his face increased. “But how could he lose all that weight in a couple of weeks?”

“You tell him, Fletcher.”

“Me? I never saw him until yesterday.”

“Where was that?”

“Death Valley. I told you...”

Mulligan nodded quickly. “A man can lose fifty pounds in a single day in Death Valley. Dehydration. Didn’t you notice how loose his clothing is?”

“Yes, but he was in pretty bad shape when I first saw him. I took him for a kind of a desert rat... Who was he?”

“A dealer. He dealt blackjack here until about two weeks ago.”

“What was he going wandering around Death Valley?”

“I thought you might be able to tell me that, Fletcher.” Catch ’Em Alive paused, then added gently, “Also why you brought him here...”

“I brought a dead man from Death Valley to Las Vegas?”

“How else would he get here?”

Johnny pointed at Nick. “Nick, my boy, did you or did you not get my bag out of the car when I checked in here this morning?”

“Sure I did, Mr. Fletcher.”

“And where was the bag when you got it out of the car?”

“In the luggage compartment.”

Johnny smiled at Catch ’Em Alive Mulligan. “Nick, tell the gentleman what else where was in the luggage compartment.”

“Why, nothing.”

“No corpses?”

“Of course not.”

Mulligan shrugged. “As a matter of fact, I looked in there myself. But if this is the man you saw in Death Valley...”

“It is.”

“...How did he get here?”

“That’s your problem, Mulligan.”

Mulligan swore without heat. “Why couldn’t he stay in Death Valley? Then it would have been the headache of the California police...”

“Can’t you ship the body back?” Johnny asked. Then, as Mulligan regarded him sourly, “I was only trying to help.”

Mulligan went to the phone. “You can help by clearing out of here for about an hour.” He picked up the phone. “Get me police headquarters.”

Johnny hesitated. “Where do you want me to wait?”

“I’ll find out when I want you.”

“Yes, but I thought I might look around town...”

“Go ahead. No matter where you are, I can locate you inside of five minutes...”

Johnny went out, followed by Nick. “Did he mean that?” Johnny asked the bellboy.

“About finding you inside of five minutes? Yep. Every place in town has a policeman stationed there, you know. And out in the county, there’s a deputy. The place pays half his salary and the county the other half. Las Vegas is a mighty big city...” He looked sidewise at Johnny. “Did I do all right in there, Mr. Fletcher?”

Johnny grinned crookedly. “Fine, Nick. Now, I wonder if you can do something else for me...”

Nick rubbed his hands together joyfully. “Anything, Mr. Fletcher. Just name it.”

“Jane Langford’s husband; think you can locate him for me?”

“He ain’t registered here at the hotel, but he’s got to sleep somewhere — if he’s staying in Las Vegas overnight. I’ll know where in a half hour.” He took the yellow check Johnny handed him. “This is sure a big day for Nick Bleek.”

Johnny clapped him on the shoulder. “Ride with me, Nick. I’ve got a streak and if it lasts, maybe you can retire...”

Chapter Nine

They entered the casino and Johnny worked his way through the crowds to the crap tables. He the crowds to the crap tables. He found Sam and his former dinner companions at the second table. Young Halton had his system in his hand, folded so he could consult it handily. Jane Langford was on his left and Chatsworth on his right. Sam was beyond Chatsworth and on his right was a gorgeous redhead in evening dress over which was draped a long mink scarf. Sam had the dice and was shaking them.

After a few seconds of spectacular shaking he pressed the cubes into the hand of the redhead. “You shake them for luck, Red!”

She did, laughingly, and handed them back to Sam. He threw them out.

“Eight,” droned the voice of the croupier.

“Eighter from Decatur!” Sam exclaimed.

Johnny squeezed in between Chats-worth and Sam. He threw a yellow chip on the eight. “Twenty-five says you make it, Sam.”

“Johnny!” Sam cried. “Where you been?”

“Taking care of a stiff... Doing okay?”

“I lost a hun’erd and a half, but look what I got...” He grabbed the redhead’s arm. “Jane had a friend and this is her. Red, shake hands with my pal, Johnny Fletcher. Johnny, her name’s Red...”

“It’s Molly,” laughed the redhead. “Molly Benson.”

“I’ll say hello later,” Johnny said. “Sam, you’re holding up the game.”

Sam threw out the dice.

“Seven,” said the croupier.

“Too bed.” Johnny picked out two of the several dice that were shoved over to him by the stick man. “Ride with me, Sam.”

“Sure — why not? Maybe my luck’ll turn.” Then he suddenly gasped. “What do you mean — you was taking care of a stiff?”

Halton leaned out over the table, so he could look at Johnny, past Chatsworth and Sam. “Is this your system coming up, Fletcher?”

“Yep.” Johnny put eight chips on the pass line. “Watch how it’s done.” He shook the dice, rolled them out. They came up seven.

The stickman put eight chips alongside of Johnny’s, signaled him to take away one of the piles. Johnny threw the dice out again. He got a ten for a point, took the odds for a hundred that he would make it and made it on the next roll.

“Luck,” said Halton. “Sheer luck.”

“Better ride along.”

Halton shook his head. “I can’t.”

“I can,” exclaimed Jane Langford. She nodded to Mr. Chatsworth. “How about you?”

“Oh, I might venture a dollar,” said Chatsworth.

“Sure you can spare it?” Sam Cragg asked.

Whit Snow came up behind Johnny. He was breathing heavily. Johnny winked at him and threw an eleven, then followed with a seven.

“Could I talk to you a sec?” Snow asked.

“Sure, go ahead.”

Snow cleared his throat. “Over here on the side...”

Fletcher gathered up his chips and followed Snow over to the slot machines. “It’s the boss,” Snow said, “Mr. Honsinger; he was wondering if you wouldn’t just as soon play blackjack?”

“Why?” Johnny was surprised.

Snow grimaced. “Well, the place is pretty full right now, and, uh, well, you know how people are. A man gets a run in a crap game; everybody plays with him. The house takes a beating.”

Johnny whistled softly. “And they can’t ride with you in blackjack.”

“That’s right. Mr. Honsinger don’t mind somebody winning — in fact, it’s good advertising, but you get thirty people riding with you on a crap table and you get a streak, the house can lose forty-fifty grand in a little while; if you know what I mean.”

“I know what you mean, Whit, old boy. But somehow I’m not in a blackjack playing mood tonight. I’ve got a feeling that I’d be luckier with the bones...”

“Then why don’t you run over to To Last Frontier for awhile? Or the El Rancho Vegas. They’re both nice places.”

“No doubt. But they’re not home.”

Snow sighed. “How about a grand not to play any more? Just tonight.”

“I can make more playing.”

“Look, buddy,” Snow said, forgetting his manners, “you’re not going to get tough about this, are you?”

Gilbert Honsinger appeared, coming from the rear of the casino. His eyes were fixed on Johnny. “Mr. Fletcher,” he began, as he came up, “I’ve just come from your room...”

“Ah, yes,” Johnny said quickly. “I was just going to make a complaint about that. I’m not used to having corpses dumped into my room...”

“Corpses!” exclaimed Whit Snow.

“A corpse...”

“Harry Bloss,” said Honsinger.

Air whistled through Snow’s teeth. “Bloss... dead...!”

Honsinger inclined his head towards his office. “Come in, Whit. You, too, Mr. Fletcher.”

Johnny followed them into the owner’s private office. Honsinger closed the door carefully, then whirled on Johnny. “Now, if you don’t mind, Fletcher — let’s have it.”

“Didn’t Mulligan tell you?”

“He said you claimed to have come upon Bloss over in Death Valley. Saw him die.”

“Wh-who did it?” Snow asked hoarsely.

Honsinger gestured to him to be silent. “Mulligan says he’s been dead for twenty-four hours. Is that right, Fletcher?”

“I was Mr. Fletcher awhile ago.”

“This is no joking matter.”

“Who said it was?”

A glint came into Honsinger’s eyes. “Look, Fletcher, you’ve won a little money. But I’ve known a lot of people in my time. Big ones. And sharp ones. I sized you up the first time I set eyes on you.”

“If it comes to that,” Johnny, “I’ve seen a few people myself. Sure, you own this joint. It’s probably worth a million bucks. But what were you doing five years ago? Or, say ten...?”

“I was running a floating crap game in Chicago,” Honsinger laughed shortly. “All right, we understand each other. Now, about Bloss...”

“I hear he worked here.”

Honsinger nodded. “He was the best blackjack dealer I ever had. You never had to watch him.”

“Then why’d you let him go?”

“I didn’t. He just walked out one day. Without a word.”

“When was that?”

“Two weeks ago.”

“Without his pay?”

“It was the first of the month.”

“Oh, then, he left seventeen days ago. Today’s the seventeenth.”

“So it was seventeen days.”

“Three days are important. You can go across the country in that time.”

“You’re stalling, Fletcher,” Honsinger said. “I want to know how you ran into Bloss.”

“Just the way I told Mulligan.”

“I want to hear it firsthand. How did you happen to be in Death Valley?”

“It was just one of those things. We stopped at Baker for gas and I saw the sign, pointing to Death Valley. I’d always wanted to see it...”

“In July?”

“It was evening and I thought it would be cool. We drove for a couple of hours and the wind was like a furnace blast. So I turned the car around and then I saw this man — Bloss. He was staggering toward the road. I got to him just as he fell. He died inside of sixty seconds.”

“Did he talk? I mean, before he died...”

“He asked for water. But we didn’t have any.”

“And he didn’t say anything else? Who he was?”

Honsinger was leaning forward expectantly. Johnny said, “He didn’t say a word.”

Honsinger seemed to relax. “You didn’t... uh... look through his pockets?”

“Why, yes, I did. He had this...” Johnny took out the purple check, “...in his pocket.”

“So that’s where you got it!” Honsinger reached for the check, but Johnny pretended not to see his hand. He dropped the check back into his pocket. Honsinger frowned a little. “Nothing else?”

Johnny shrugged. “Nothing important. Some paper matches, with the name of this place.”

“Is that why you came here?”

Johnny laughed. “I came because it looked like the biggest joint along the road.”

“Mulligan tells me you didn’t have a dime this morning.”

“That reminds me,” said Johnny. “I’m losing money talking here. I could be out at the crap table...”

Whit Snow interrupted. “I offered him the grand to keep away, boss.”

Honsinger looked inquiringly at Johnny. Johnny smiled and shook his head. “I said no.”

Honsinger grunted. “You’ve got a streak, Fletcher. Like to get into a real game?”

“What kind?”

“Without a limit?”

“I thought two hundred was the legal limit?”

“In public. We have a little private game sometimes. Riley Brown’s here. And there’s an insurance man from Chicago...”

“Chatsworth?”

“Know him?”

“He joined our party at dinner. But I saw him shooting a silver dollar at the table.”

Honsinger smiled. “I saw him peel off eight thousand dollar bills the other night.”

“Did he make it?”

“The hard way.”

“Where do you have this game?”

“Up in my apartment, after twelve.”

The door opened and Nick the bellboy stuck in his head. Honsinger exclaimed angrily, “Can’t you knock?”

“Sure,” Nick replied, unabashed, and knocked on the open door. “Mr. Fletcher, your friends have gone over to The Last Frontier. They told me to tell you.”

“Cragg, too?”

“Yep.”

Fletcher grinned at Snow. “You’ve saved a grand.” He began emptying his pockets of checks, dumping them on Honsinger’s desk. “I may need some cash over at The Last Frontier.”

Honsinger didn’t seem too pleased about the transaction, but he stacked up the checks. “Five thousand, one hundred and fifty,” he said. “Want it all in cash?”

“I feel like plunging.”

“Save some for the game later.”

“Oh, I’ve got the ten grand to fall back on,” Johnny said. “Which reminds me, if you don’t mind — I’d like your check for it. Just in case.”

“In case of what?”

“Just in case.”

Honsinger gave Johnny fifty-one one hundred dollar bills, a fifty and then wrote out a check for ten thousand dollars. “Not bad,” he said, “starting with a dollar.”

“It’ll be a hundred thousand before I’m through.”

Honsinger regarded him sourly as Johnny left the office. In the casino, Nick fell in beside Johnny. “I been callin’ all around town about Langford, Mr. Fletcher,” he said. “He don’t seem to be registered at any of the hotels.”

“Have you tried the motels?”

“I’m going to now.”

“Well, have me paged at The Last Frontier if you find him before I get back.”

Johnny found his car where he had parked it that morning. The keys were still in it.

Chapter Ten

El Rancho Vegas was a half mile from El Casa Rancho and beyond it, another half mile, was The Last Frontier. In the spaces between the three big casinos was virgin desert. Johnny drove easily to the El Rancho Vegas and was passing it when he suddenly became aware of a pair of headlights swooping down upon him from the rear. He stepped on the gas, but it was too late. The headlights swung out and the car started to pass Johnny’s. Johnny pressed the accelerator down to the floorboard, but the other swerved over toward him and he was compelled to brake and pull up on the shoulder of the road. The other car stopped in front of Johnny’s.

Johnny jumped out of his car, but promptly gave up the thought of flight on foot. A man from the car ahead was out as soon as he was and a gun flashed in the light of Johnny’s headlights.

“All right, buddy!” a harsh voice yelled.

Johnny raised his hands.

“Put ’em down!” the approaching man snarled.

Johnny lowered his hands reluctantly. Headlights were turning out of The Last Frontier and would be bearing down on them in a minute.

There was a second man in the car. He honked warningly and the man with the gun ran up to Johnny, thrust the weapon into his side and gestured with his head toward the car.

“In, chum — and be goddam quick about it!”

Johnny moved forward with alacrity, opened the tonneau door of the sedan and stepped in. The man with the gun crowded in behind him. The car leaped forward.

The man kept the gun in Johnny’s side. With his free hand he slapped Johnny’s breast pockets, then felt his side pockets and finally made him lean forward so he could try the hip pockets.

“Give me a break, fellows,” Johnny pleaded. “Take my dough, now, before you get too far out in the desert. I’m not much on walking.”

“You think this is a stick-up!” asked the man with the gun.

“Isn’t it?”

“Sure.”

The car was rushing past The Last Frontier. Johnny could see the speedometer on the lighted dashboard waver up to 70, then 75.

“This is your lucky day, fellows,” he said.

“Loaded?” asked the man at the wheel over his shoulder.

“Plenty. It was my lucky day, until now.”

“That’s the way it is,” said the man with the gun in Johnny’s ribs. “One day you’re lucky as hell, then the next you can’t turn a blackjack to save your life.”

“Where do you deal?” Johnny asked.

The man beside him chuckled, “A comic, eh?”

“I didn’t say anything funny.”

“Trying to place me — that’s funny. If I told you who I was, you’d faint.”

“Don’t tell me, then. I faint easily.”

The car suddenly slewed sidewards, left the road and bounced along a trail that cut straight across the desert. The driver decreased the speed of the car, but only a trifle. Johnny had to brace both feet against the back of the front seat to keep from hitting the roof of the car every time the wheels hit a slight depression in the road.

The rough road stopped the conversation between Johnny and the gunman. Then brakes began screeching and the car pulled up in a cloud of dust.

Johnny, looking out, saw that they had pulled up near an adobe house. There was a light inside and a man carrying a rifle at the ready came out of the door.

“Jake!” the driver of the car called. “It’s us...!”

The identification seemed sufficient, for the man with the rifle lowered his weapon. Johnny’s seat-mate prodded him with his revolver.

“Out, pal!”

Johnny got out of the car, which he noticed was a dark-colored Buick. But he could not see the license plates. His two abductors also alighted and moved toward the adobe shack.

The man with the rifle seemed to be a native of the section. He was a stringy man of indefinite age, wearing Levis, flannel shirt and rundown cowboy boots. The two men who had brought Johnny here were city men. At least, they wore “store” clothes. The driver of the car was a brawny, squat man with oily hair that was a bluish-black. The man with the revolver was a smoother type; quite young and rather handsome — if you like the gigolo gangster type.

Jake, the man with the rifle, led the way into the adobe shack... a room about twelve by eighteen, that contained a rusty stove, a bunk, a table and three broken chairs and a shelf on which were stacked groceries.

An oil lamp hung from the ceiling and another stood on the table in the center of the room.

“Nice place you got here,” Johnny said, conversationally, as he looked around.

“It ain’t as big as Sandy Bowers’ place up in the Washoe,” Jake retorted, “but it’s good enough for me.”

Johnny reached into his breast pocket and took out the packet of fifty-one one hundred dollar bills. He plunked it on the table, then brought out from a trouser’s pocket his original roll of over eighteen hundred dollars.

“Call it seven grand, or a hundred, more or less. Not a bad haul.”

“Jeez!” exclaimed the squat, dark man. “I t’ought you was a bum.”

“I’ve had a run of luck,” said Johnny, modestly. “Now, do you drive me back to town, or do I walk?”

The younger of the stick-up men shook his head. “I didn’t get to tell you who I was.”

“I’m not curious,” Johnny retorted.

“I think you’d be interested in my name. It’s Nick...”

“H’arya, Nick! I’m Johnny.” He turned to the squat man. “I didn’t get your name.”

“You can call him Bill,” said Nick. Then his tone became hard. “The name Nick doesn’t mean anything to you?”

“Should it?”

Nick caught Bill’s eye. “Mr. Fletcher has a bad memory, Bill. Do you suppose you could refresh it a bit?”

“Sure,” said Bill. He grinned pleasantly and hit Johnny in the face with his fist. He didn’t exert himself a great deal, but the blow smashed Johnny back against the adobe wall. He caromed from it and wound up on the floor, on hands and knees. In that position he looked up.

“A little rough,” he said.

“That was just to save time, Fletcher,” said Nick. “I know what you found in your room tonight. And I heard you and the elephant hunter...”

Johnny got to his feet and wiped away the blood that was trickling from his mouth. “Then, if you listened at the keyhole you know that I don’t know a thing about Harry Bloss. I ran into him in Death Valley...”

“You stopped the car on the pavement,” said Nick. “You got out and stood there for a moment, then you got back into the car and turned it around. You saw Harry Bloss and stopped again...”

“You were there?”

Nick nodded. “He gave you something and told you to send it to Ni — to me, in Las Vegas...”

“...He was out of his mind,” Johnny said, “he was dying...”

“He was dying for four hours. But he wasn’t out of his mind. I know that because I was there.”

“I didn’t see you.”

“You didn’t look. I was in a dry-wash, not more than thirty feet from where Bloss fell.”

“Then I guess you’re the man who...?”

“Yes,” said Nick. “I followed him across the worst part of Death Valley... something I wouldn’t do again for a hundred thousand dollars. And then the fool wouldn’t come across... But you are, or the buzzards’ll be eating you tomorrow morning.”

Johnny cleared his throat and pointed at the money on the table. “There’s my pile — except for a check that I don’t imagine you’d want to cash...”

“Let me see it.”

Johnny took it from his pocket and Nick snatched it from his hand. “Honsinger’s,” said Nick contemptuously and dropped it on the table. “Now, shell out the thing Harry Bloss gave you.”

“I haven’t got it with me.”

“Where is it?”

“In my room at the hotel.”

“I went over that with a fine-tooth comb.”

“You knew what you were looking for, didn’t you?”

“A piece of paper.”

Johnny cocked his head to one side, “If it was a piece of paper it must have been stuck to one of the cards...”

“What cards?”

“The ones Bloss gave me.”

Nick looked at him steadily. “Repeat that.”

“Harry Bloss gave me a pack of playing cards.”

“He gave you the cards?”

“Well, not exactly. He reached into his pocket but he died before he brought anything out. Since the cards were all that were in the pocket, I assumed that was what he intended to give me.”

“I searched him myself,” said Nick, “and I looked at those cards; there wasn’t anything in them...” He frowned. “Or if there was I missed it... You went through his pockets; what else did you find?”

“Some paper matches and... a purple check.”

“I saw the check, but I left it in his pocket, because I wasn’t planning to come back to Vegas... Take off your clothes.”

“Eh?”

“Take ’em off. I’m not taking any chances.”

“I give you my word,” said Johnny, “I haven’t got anything on me that you’d be interested in...”

Nick gestured to Bill. The squat man reached for Johnny, but the latter stepped back quickly and peeled off his coat. Nick took it and began going through it. He searched the pockets and examined the lining for hidden pockets. He ran his fingers along the seams and edges.

Johnny took off his trousers and Bill examined those. “The shirt,” Nick said.

Johnny removed it, then knowing that he would be ordered to do so, followed with his shoes and socks. He stood on the bare adobe floor in his shorts, but Nick wasn’t satisfied even then. He made Johnny take off the shorts. His search, of course, was fruitless.

Johnny reached for his clothes, but Nick swept them angrily aside. “You can have them when I come back...”

“It’s cold,” Johnny complained.

Nick handed his gun to Bill. “I’ve got to get those cards; it must be in there, after all. Keep him undressed until I get back. He’s less liable to try anything that way.”

“Don’t worry, Carl,” said Bill, “I can handle him...”

“Damn you!” Nick snarled. “Watch that big mouth of yours...”

Bill showed sudden surprise. “What’d I say?”

“The name,” said Johnny. “He’s supposed to be Nick, but you called him by his real name — Carl...”

Carl, alias Nick, gave Johnny a dirty look. “You’ve got a pretty big mouth, too. Somebody may shut it up for you.” He walked to the door. “I won’t be gone more than a half hour; if I can’t get it in that time I’ll come back.”

He went out and a moment later the car lights went on and then turned around and started off across the desert to the highway.

As soon as the sound of the motor died away, Johnny appealed to his two remaining captors. “Look, fellas, a joke’s a joke, but this is embarrassing — let me put on my shorts, anyway.”

“Uh-uh,” said Bill, promptly.

Johnny stepped to the table. “A hundred bucks, just to let me put on my underpants.”

“Go ahead,” Jake urged promptly.

But Bill still shook his head. “What hundred bucks? We got the money, anyway.”

“Carl’s got it,” Johnny corrected. “He knows there’s eight thousand in that pile and he’ll give you what he feels like.” He coughed. “Of course he doesn’t know the exact amount... he didn’t count it, you know. You could take away a hundred apiece without him knowing it... if I didn’t tell him...”

Cupidity struggled with caution on Bill’s features. Johnny stepped to the table. “We can peel off a hundred from this stack and one from this...” He did it.

Jake stepped forward. “A hundred bucks is a hundred...”

He reached for one of the bills. Johnny extended it to him with his right hand and with his left scooped up the lamp on the table.

Bill cried out, but he was too late. Johnny hurled the lighted lamp at Jake, dropped the two hundred-dollar bills and tore the rifle from Jake’s hands.

The lamp exploded as it crashed and Jake yelled in pain and terror and began beating the blazing kerosene from his body.

Bill didn’t go to his rescue.

He threw up his revolver to shoot at Johnny. But at the same time Johnny struck with the rifle barrel. The blow landed on Bill’s wrist, just as the squat hoodlum pulled the trigger.

The gun exploded and wind fanned Johnny’s cheek as the bullet went past. Then the gun flew from Bill’s hand and he was clutching his bruised arm with his other hand. Crippled, he headed instinctively for the open door.

Johnny started after him, with the rifle, but swerved aside when he saw Jake still fighting flames on his clothing and grabbed a blanket from the bunk. He threw it over Jake and quickly smothered the few flames.

Jake staggered to his bunk when he saw that he was no longer in danger. There was a slight burn on his face and one or two on his hands, but aside from a few holes in his shirt he had suffered no other damage.

Johnny examined him for a moment, then stepped to the table. Placing the rifle on it, handy to his reach, he began dressing himself.

Jake remained where he was. When Johnny finished dressing, he picked up his money and began stowing it away in his pockets. Bill’s gun he appropriated.

“You’ll find your rifle somewhere along the trail,” he said, to Jake, “that is, if you feel like searching for it. I have an idea though, you’ll be making tracks for the desert, on account of there’ll be some deputy sheriffs here about ten minutes after I reach a telephone...” He nodded to Jake and stepped out of the cabin.

Outside the moon had risen and the trail leading to the paved highway was plainly discernible.

Johnny strode along swiftly. After awhile he saw car headlights swooping by some distance ahead and in another ten minutes he reached the highway.

He walked a mile along the pavement before he came to a motel. They had no telephone at the place, but a ten-dollar bill persuaded the motel keeper to drive him to El Casa Rancho.

Chapter Eleven

Sam Cragg dropped two hundred dollars at The Last Frontier. Molly, the redhead, playing with her own money, lost twenty-eight dollars. She didn’t like it. “I can’t afford this,” she complained. “My alimony doesn’t start for another month.”

“Red,” said Sam, “somethin’ tells me you won’t be collecting alimony very long.”

“Is that a proposal?”

Sam grinned. “Could be, Red.” He fingered her mink scarf. “What’d this set you back?”

“I don’t remember exactly. Three thousand. Or maybe it was four.”

Sam winced. “How much alimony you going to get?”

She sighed. “A measly three thousand a month.”

“Only three thousand? If it was me, I’d give you five thousand. If I had it.”

“From what I hear, your friend has it. By the way, where is he?”

Sam looked toward the door. “I dunno. He oughta been here by now. Maybe he ain’t comin’...” Then he met Jane Langford’s glance. “Or maybe he is...”

“I’m getting tired of this place,” exclaimed Halton. “Let’s go somewhere else.”

“Whatsamatter, ain’t the system working?”

“There’s too many people here. I can’t concentrate. Let’s run uptown, to one of the smaller places.”

“But I left word for Johnny to meet us here.”

“That was a half hour ago,” Chats-worth interposed. “It doesn’t look like he’s coming. If the rest are willing. I’d like to go into town.”

Molly sided with Halton and Chats-worth. “We can leave word for Johnny at the door where we’re going.”

“Yeah, but we don’t know where we’re going,” Sam protested.

“We’ll go to Elmer’s Club,” Halton exclaimed peevishly. “It’s a small place on Fremont between 3rd and 4th. I was there last night and it was fairly quiet.”

Since Halton’s car had brought them to The Last Frontier, Sam saw that he would be stranded in the event Johnny failed to show up, so he reluctantly agreed to go along.

Elmer’s Club opened on Fremont Street and was a narrow room containing a single crap table and a half dozen tables for blackjack and poker. And the inevitable battery of slot machines.

Halton promptly brought out his system and began playing it. He lost eight bets in a row. Sam, meanwhile, won seven bets. So did Molly, playing with Sam. Jane Langford toyed with silver dollars, as did Chatsworth.

But suddenly Jane threw a fifty-dollar bill on the table. She won and let it ride. The dice came to her.

“Shoot the hundred,” she said.

“A hundred she’s wrong,” said Jim Langford, stepping into an open spot on the other side of the table.

Jane rolled out an eleven. “I’ll let it ride.”

“Two hundred the little lady’s wrong,” said Jim Langford. “I never knew her to be right yet.”

Sam Cragg shot a quick glance across the table. “What was that crack, buddy?”

“I’m betting the lady’s wrong,” retorted Langford. “Any law against that?”

“No, but you made a crack.”

“All right, if you want to make something of it, I said she’s never been right about anything.”

Jane put the dice down on the table and reached for her checks. “I’d like to go back to the hotel.”

“Is your friend Fletcher waiting for you?” Langford asked nastily.

Sam exclaimed, “What do you know about Johnny?”

Jane gripped Sam’s arm. “Please, Sam, let’s not have a scene.”

She had caught the signal of the croupier.

“Who’s making a scene?” Sam cried. Then he did a delayed ‘take’. “Hey, is this punk the guy who socked Johnny...? Your husband...?”

Two policemen came up behind Sam. One of them tapped his shoulder. “All right, mister,” he said, “you’re creating a disturbance...”

“Me?” boomed Sam. “It’s that punk there who’s looking for a fight. And I’m just the guy who can give it to him...”

The policemen grabbed Sam. That was the worst mistake they had ever made. Sam threw both arms out violently and hurled the policemen away. Then he was going around the table, knocking people right and left.

To Langford’s credit, he came to meet Sam, even after he had seen him dispose of the policemen. He was four inches taller than Sam and not much lighter in weight. And fighting was his racket.

He sent a sizzling right at Sam, as the latter rounded the end of the table. The blow caught Sam in the midriff and didn’t even produce a grunt. Then Sam clubbed Langford with his right fist. Langford turned a complete somersault and came up to his knees, ten feet away.

Sam was there to meet him. He reached down, grabbed Langford in both hands and raising him over his head, threw him...

Langford landed squarely in the center of the crap table, with such force that the table collapsed and showered silver dollars and checks all over Elmer’s Club.

That was all there was to the fight. Langford was in the land of slumber, and Sam... well, the two policemen produced their guns.

That was how Sam got to see the inside of the Blue Room.

Chapter Twelve

The third Mrs. Catch ’Em Alive Mulligan (née Gloria Hutney) had owned a little place near Manhasset, Long Island, that contained twenty-three rooms. Off Catch ’Em Alive’s personal bedroom was a bathroom that was exactly twice the size of the entire house in which Detective Mulligan of the Las Vegas Police Force now resided.

The house contained a bedroom, a kitchenette and a living room eight feet wide and twelve long. It had a concrete floor that was only half covered with a Navajo rug.

The fourth Mrs. Catch ’Em Alive was some years younger than her husband, a dark, rather plain girl who washed her husband’s shirts and darned his socks. She read Palpitating Love Stories and listened to the soap operas on the radio.

She was reading her pulp magazines when she saw the headlights turn into the sagebrush patch that was her front yard. She put down the magazine and got up when the headlights went off. Then she heard Catch ’Em Alive’s step on the concrete veranda and opened the door for him.

He came in and patted her shoulder. “Hi, babe,” he said. He didn’t kiss her, which meant that something was bothering him. Mrs. Mulligan returned to her seat on the little sofa and folded her hands in her lap. Her dark eyes were fixed on her husband.

Catch ’Em Alive took off his hat and dropped it on the sofa beside his wife. His coat followed. Then he loosened his necktie and went into the little kitchen. He opened the tiny icebox, got out a bottle of beer and removed the cap. He poured some of the beer into a glass, then carried the glass and bottle back into the living room.

He dropped into a chair opposite his wife and sipped the beer. When he finished the glass he refilled it from the bottle. During this time neither her nor his wife spoke a word.

But at last Mulligan finished the second glass of beer and set it and the empty bottle on the floor beside his chair. He got to his feet, a solid squarely built man with only a bit of a paunch.

He said, “Babe, do you like Las Vegas?”

Nell Mulligan replied quite simply, “Yes.”

He nodded and began pacing the floor. “I thought you’d say that. You like the town because I like it. You think I like it, because I’ve always said I do.”

“Don’t you?”

Mulligan stopped his pacing. “No, I don’t like Las Vegas. And I don’t like the desert. I’ve been all over the world, Babe — Borneo, The Congo, Siberia, Paris, London, New York. I’ve rubbed elbows with the important people of the world. I drank a Duke under the table once and I hate this goddam place. I caught lions in Africa, tigers in India and now I catch drunken Saturday night drivers.”

Nell Mulligan’s eyes never left the face of her husband. She had been married to him only a year, but she knew that Mulligan was not happy. Too many times had she seen his face when he was staring at the concrete floor or the adobe wall, his thoughts five thousand miles away.

Mulligan began pacing again. “Things have been going on around here. They won’t admit it and when you ask them they give you a surprised look, but I’ve picked up a word here, another there. And I’ve been watching and putting this and that together. Harry Bloss was killed and a man who knows something about his death came into town today and ran up a dollar — a dollar I gave him — to fifteen or twenty thousand. And Honsinger’s bleeding.”

“Isn’t Harry Bloss the man who was here a few weeks ago?” Nell Mulligan asked. “The dealer from El Casa Rancho?”

“Yes, and I’m kicking myself now for not drawing him out. He was worried about something, but he wasn’t a talking man. But I should have known and made him talk. He knew about it then...”

“What do you mean by it... a scheme?”

“What else? Las Vegas itself is honest. Gambling is big business and the percentages are enough for the houses; enough and more. They don’t have to be crooked. With the investment some of the places have they couldn’t afford to be. But there’s money here, and wherever there’s money you’ll find fellows trying to get it. Put a ten-dollar bill on top of a greased pole and somebody’ll figure out how to climb that pole. I knew a fellow in Liverpool who could make a pair of dice sit up and talk for him. He was the only man I’ve ever known who could throw the dice against a wall and call his shots. He never missed. I asked him how long it took him to learn that trick and he told me ten years. In less than ten years a man can learn to be a lawyer or a doctor, or he can work his way up to the top in a business. But some men spend ten years learning how to bump dice against the wall.”

“You mean somebody’s beating the games in Las Vegas?”

Mulligan turned up both of his palms and held them like that while his shoulders hunched up. “I’m trying to tie things together. When Bloss left, a bunch of new dealers showed up around town. Honsinger put on two men, Elmer Dade hired one... Harry Murphy... You know what I think, Nell?”

“What?”

“I think some of the dealers got together.”

“But what would be the point in that?”

“Dealers get fifteen dollars a day. They’re not allowed to play on the other side of the table — even in the other places, so there’s no chance for them to ever get lucky and make a killing... You know what I’d do if I was a dealer and wanted to make a pile? I’d get me a friend who’d never been here before, and I’d have him come to my game and I’d let him win a lot of money. Then I’d split with him afterwards.”

“But how much would the house let you lose before they’d watch you?”

“Oh, they watch the dealers right along. Even when they’re winning. But there are ways of doing it. And suppose I had three-four friends on the other side of the table... and maybe there were a half dozen dealers in on it, all around town. Our friends could go from place to place, with a few thousand at each, then make the rounds again. In two days we could get quite a lot of money and we wouldn’t care at all if we lost our jobs.”

“And you think that’s what happened?”

Mulligan nodded. “I’m sure of it. I think Honsinger, Dade, Murphy and a couple of others got nicked for heavy sugar... and I think that sugar is still somewhere around and I intend to get it. It’s anybody’s money, there’s nobody can say so much was taken from him and so much from him. If I can get that money it’s mine.”

“And then?”

“Then I leave Las Vegas. I’m going back to civilization and you’re going with me, Babe.”

All the while Mulligan had been talking his wife’s face became duller and duller. And now when he was finished, she said,

“Whatever you say...”

Chapter Thirteen

The jailer came to Sam Cragg’s cell and said, “Okay, buddy.” He unlocked the door.

Sam stepped out. “I’m sprung?”

The jailer laughed humorlessly. “Are you kidding?”

He led the way to a door, opened it and stepped aside. Sam passed him and entered the Blue Room. It was a square room, with blue painted walls. It contained a long table and several plain wooden chairs.

Catch ’Em Alive Mulligan was sitting on the edge of the table. “Hello, Cragg,” he said calmly.

Sam grinned sheepishly. “Johnny get in touch with you?”

Mulligan ignored the question. “I made a little mistake this morning. I let you stay in Las Vegas.”

“Where’s Johnny?” Sam persisted.

“Outside,” said Mulligan, “and you’re inside. You know you’re in big trouble, don’t you?”

“It wasn’t me started it, Mulligan. Honest. That Langford bozo insulted Jane. He’s sore, because she’s divorcing him. Besides, he took a poke at Johnny this afternoon.”

“They say you picked him up and threw him twenty feet.”

“Aw,” said Sam modestly. “It wasn’t hardly ten feet.”

Mulligan cocked his head to one side. “You threw him... ten feet?”

“Yeah, but he hit me first. Didn’t they tell you about that?”

Mulligan nodded. “Langford weighs right around two hundred.”

“But he’s a half a head taller’n me. I wasn’t pickin’ on no baby.”

“Oh, I wasn’t complaining about that, Cragg. I’m a little sore that I didn’t see the fight, if it was anything like they say. As a matter of fact, I’m not complaining at all. It’s Elmer...”

“Who’s Elmer?”

“The man whose place you wrecked. He figures the crap table at five hundred dollars.”

“All right, we’ll pay it. Johnny’s got the money.”

“...And he claims a thousand dollars worth of checks were picked up by customers...”

Sam winced.

“...And he says he would have won a thousand dollars during the time it took to bring up the new table, that he was lucky enough to have in the basement. That’s a total of twenty-five hundred dollars.”

“You mean I gotta shell out twenty-five hundred to get outta here?”

“That’s Elmer’s asking price.”

“And if we don’t pay it?”

Mulligan smiled. “I think you’ll pay it.”

“Well, get Johnny here...”

Mulligan looked down at his fingernails. “It’ll take that much money to keep Elmer from pressing charges against you. But it seems there are a couple of other charges against you, Cragg. Such as starting a riot, assault and battery, resisting arrest and assaulting two police officers.”

Sam groaned. “You mean... I’m in the clink?”

“I’d say you were good for about six months. Maybe ninety days, if Judge Megan has a fight with his wife before coming down tomorrow morning.”

Sam reeled to one of the chairs and dropped down on it. “Ninety days...!” He moaned. “I couldn’t stand it. I’d go nuts sitting around ninety days without doing anything...”

“Oh, you’ll be doing something, all right, so don’t worry about that. I’d say they’d put you to work on the road gang. They’re a little short of help, anyway...”

“Get Johnny,” Sam pleaded. “Get him, will you, Mulligan?”

“He’s already been here,” said Mulligan. “He’s been and gone.”

Sam gasped. “You mean they wouldn’t even gimme bail?”

Mulligan shrugged. “We don’t like to give bail here, not when the parties involved are transients and the state line is only forty miles away...”

“But Johnny’ll put up the dough — whatever they ask. He wouldn’t let down his pal. We been together for years and he never let me down yet.”

“I’m afraid he hasn’t got anything to say about it this time. However...”

Mulligan got up and walked to the door. He opened it and called out, “Jenkins!”

One of the two policemen who had arrested Sam Cragg came into the room. “Jenkins,” Mulligan said, “how do you feel about Cragg?”

Jenkins scowled. “Not so good, Mulligan. He gave me quite a shoving around.”

“And Casper? What does he say?”

“He’s plenty sore.”

Mulligan nodded thoughtfully. “Then I don’t suppose you and Casper would be willing to withdraw the charge of resisting arrest and assaulting a policeman?”

Jenkins pursed up his lips. “Well, I dunno...”

Sam sprang to his feet. “Would a hun’erd bucks apiece square it?” he asked eagerly.

Mulligan inhaled sharply. “That’s attempted bribery, Cragg!”

“Jeez!” cried Sam. “I on’y t’ought...” He suddenly clamped his mouth shut and went back to his chair.

Mulligan shook his head sadly. “Now we’ve got to add a bribery charge...”

“Get Johnny Fletcher,” Sam howled. “He got me into this and he’s gotta get me out...”

Mulligan signaled to Jenkins. “That’s all, Jenkins...”

Jenkins hesitated. “I won’t say anything about this if you don’t want me to, Mulligan.”

“We’ll see; if Cragg’ll play ball with us, maybe we’ll play ball with him. It’s up to him...”

Jenkins went out of the room, closing the door behind him. Cragg looked at Mulligan in agony. “Jeez, Mulligan, you seemed like a nice guy this morning. Why don’t you give me a break?”

“Maybe I will, Cragg. It depends on you. If you’ll tell me a few things I’d like to know, I may be able to do you some good. I’ll drop the bribery thing at least, and maybe... maybe I can do something with Jenkins and Casper. They owe me a couple of favors...”

“You can square them?”

“I don’t know. I’ll try.”

“Johnny’ll make it up to you, Mulligan. I know he will.”

“Well, we’ll see. Now, I’d like you to tell me everything that happened out in Death Valley last night.”

“Death Valley? What’s that got to do with... uh... Las Vegas?”

Mulligan looked sharply at Cragg. “Didn’t Fletcher tell you... about what he found in his room this evening?”

For a moment Sam looked blankly at the detective, then his eyes widened. “You mean, after he left the dinner table...?”

“Yes.”

Sam suddenly looked as if he had swallowed a live lizard. “I on’y talked to him a second when he came back, but...” He swallowed hard. “You mean he wasn’t... kidding?”

“About what?”

“About... well, a... a stiff...?”

“So he did tell you!”

Sam groaned. “Somebody got... knocked off...?”

“Well, there was a bullet through his chest. I guess you might say he was knocked off. Fletcher tell you who he was?”

Sam shook his head. “We was at the crap table when he came back and the redhead was with me... we was kiddin’ and then Honsinger or somebody called him away... I ain’t seen him since then...”

“Tell me about Death Valley — the man you found there.”

Sam rubbed his face with the back of his hand. “Jeez, Mulligan, we didn’t do it. Honest. We was ridin’ along and then all of a sudden we seen this guy staggerin’ along beside the road. We on’y wanted to help so we stopped the car. And then he croaked.”

“He’d already been shot before you met him?”

“Oh, sure. We was goin’ to take him back to Baker with us, but he said he couldn’t make it. And then he...” Sam gulped. “Uh, what’d Johnny tell you about it?”

“Just what you’ve told. But he also said you searched the man after he died... and took some things from his pockets...”

“Only the cards and the purple check... an’ some matches. He didn’t have nothin’ else on him.”

“Well, that matches Johnny’s story. Matches, a purple check... and cards. Now tell me what he said before he died...”

“He wanted us to send the stuff to Nick, here in Las Vegas...”

“Nick; that’s right. What was the last name?”

“He didn’t say. He died before he could bring it out. He just said Nick and then — bingo! He was a goner.”

“What’d you do then?”

“Nothing. There wasn’t anything we could do. It was so goddam hot and the wind was blowin’ so hard. We wouldda buried him, probably, but we couldn’t dig a grave with our hands, could we? So we just left him there and then we drove back to Baker. We had a helluva time makin’ it too, with hardly any water in our radiator...” Sam shivered at the memory of it. “I never wanna go into Death Valley again!”

Mulligan walked to the door and opened it. “Jenkins!” he called.

Jenkins came to the door and looked inquiringly at Mulligan. Mulligan gestured. “Send in that Fletcher fellow...”

“Jeez!” cried Sam. “Johnny’s here?”

Johnny Fletcher entered the room. There was an angry glint in his eyes.

“So that’s why you’ve kept me waiting, Mulligan. You were pumping Sam.”

“Johnny!” exclaimed Sam. “Have you still got that money?”

“Of course I have — why?”

“They want twenty-five hun’erd to square the beef.”

“Who wants twenty-five hundred?”

“A guy named Elmer.”

“I’ll give him fifty bucks; if he wants more he can sue.”

Catch ’Em Alive Mulligan scowled heavily. “Sit down, Fletcher!”

“I can talk standing.”

“All right, then stand. But you’ll talk. Where’re those cards Harry Bloss gave you?”

Johnny looked reproachfully at Sam Cragg. “He made like he already knew, Johnny,” Sam said defensively.

“It’s all right, it doesn’t matter, Sam.” Johnny turned to Mulligan. “I guess a man named Carl’s got them. Tall, thin, about thirty... looks like a gigolo...”

Mulligan’s eyes slitted. “Carl Shinn!”

“You know him?”

Catch ’Em Alive nodded. “A two-bit con man; I was figuring on running him out of town the next time he got smart.”

“I think you’ve got the wrong man, Mulligan. Shinn’s the lad who followed Bloss into Death Valley. No two-bit con man would do that...”

“Carl Shinn wouldn’t; I’m sure of that... how do you know he’s the one who gave it to Bloss?”

“He said so.” Johnny pursed up his lips. “Although come to think of it, it didn’t sound very convincing to me at the time he told it. He had the details right, but he may have gotten them from someone else...”

“Give it to me in order, Fletcher. What details?”

“He said Bloss had been four hours dying — well, I wouldn’t know about that; but he claimed he was hiding in a dry wash when I stopped my car, got out, climbed in and turned around...”

“Is that what you did?”

“Yes. He also knew what Bloss had said to me before he died.”

“Ah,” said Mulligan, “that’s a little item you forgot to tell me about.”

“No, I didn’t. I told you he said for me to take the check — and the cards — to Nick in Las Vegas. Rather, he said ‘send’, not ‘take’...”

“But Nick’s full name?”

“I didn’t get it, so help me, Mulligan. And Sam couldn’t have told you any name...”

“I didn’t,” Sam cut in, “I told him just what the guy said. ‘Nick,’ that’s all...” His forehead creased in thought. “I don’t even know how you figured out the guy’s name was Bloss...”

“Oh,” said Johnny, “Mulligan identified him... when he saw the body in our room, a few hours ago...”

Sam gasped. “The stiff! But...” His face grew bewildered. “How’d he get in our room? We left him in Death Valley...!”

“Somebody brought him here.”

“Who?”

“The man who killed him? This Carl Shinn...”

“I can’t see Carl Shinn bringing a corpse all the way from Death Valley,” said Mulligan.

“Well, if you know Shinn, you shouldn’t have any trouble checking up on him. And if you find him, hold him for me. I’ve a little private business to settle with him.”

Mulligan looked inquiringly at Johnny and the latter related his own adventures of that evening. Mulligan grunted when Johnny finished. “That was Shinn, all right, and the other lad is Bill Temple. Jake, I don’t know. The shack’s out of my jurisdiction, but I think I’ll have the sheriff’s office look into it.”

“The whole business is screwy,” Johnny declared. “There wasn’t anything in those cards for anyone to get excited about.”

“How do you know there wasn’t?”

“I looked at them. They were just regular Wasp playing cards. And I doubt if they were marked — if that had anything to do with it.” Johnny looked sharply at Mulligan. “Have you got any idea what this is all about?”

“Not the slightest,” said Mulligan. But Johnny wondered. There was just a shade too much assurance in Catch ’Em Alive’s tone.

Johnny yawned. “It’s two o’clock in the a.m. and I’ve got to get up early...”

“Why?”

“So I can get the rest of the fifty grand I’ve got my mind on... Are you through with Sam?”

Mulligan hesitated. “Langford hasn’t made any complaint, but Elmer Dade’s awfully sore...”

“Sam isn’t going to skip town.”

“All right,” Mulligan conceded. “Leave fifty bucks at the desk — just for the record, then you can go.” He regarded Sam speculatively. “I still don’t believe you threw him ten feet.”

Sam grinned.

Chapter Fourteen

The phone rang but the only response was a groan from Sam Cragg’s bed. After awhile it rang once more and this time Johnny Fletcher groped in the darkness and found the receiver.

“Yes,” he said sleepily into the receiver.

“It’s four-thirty, Mr. Fletcher,” said the operator’s voice.

“So what?” Johnny snapped and slammed the receiver back on the hook. But then he remembered and threw back the bed covers.

He walked groggily into the bathroom, switched on the light and closed the door. He peeled off his pajamas, and turning on the cold water in the shower, stepped under it. In one second he was fully awake and gasping.

After a moment he turned off the water and stepping out, rubbed himself dry with a towel. Leaving the bathroom door partly open so the light from it would shine into the bedroom, he came out and dressed himself quickly.

Finished, he looked at Sam Cragg still sleeping. Shaking his head he unlatched the door and stepped out into the chill dawn. He shot a quick glance at Number 23, but saw that the room was dark.

He circled the cabana and headed for a long, low stable about a hundred yards away. As he approached he noted two or three horses, already saddled and tied to a corral pole. A man was curry-combing one of the horses.

“Mornin’, sir!”

“My name’s Fletcher,” Johnny said. “I ordered a horse for this morning.”

“Yes, sir, this is it right here...”

The horse shied away skittishly. Johnny pointed at it. “That’s for me? I told them I wanted a, uh, gentle horse...”

“Oh, he’s gentle as a kitten. We generally save him for the ladies...”

The horse turned his head and snapped at the groom. He wasn’t playful about it, either. Johnny regarded the animal gloomily and cursed himself for being fool enough to attempt a sunrise gallop.

The man regarded Johnny skeptically. “Goin’ to ride without boots?”

“I used to ride without shoes,” Johnny snapped. He approached the horse warily. “As a matter of fact, I’m not quite ready... I’m waiting for Mrs. Langford...”

“Oh, she pulled out five minutes ago. You’ll have to ride a bit to catch her...”

“Which way’d she go?”

The groom pointed west. “Be light enough in ten minutes to see...” He put out his hands, locked together to help Johnny mount. “Ready?”

Johnny put his foot into the cupped hands and was tossed into the saddle. The horse promptly reared and pranced about. But the groom quieted him down and Johnny got his feet into the stirrups.

“Just keep a firm grip on the reins, Mr. Fletcher,” the groom advised. “And if he gets fancy whack him one or two across the ears. He won’t like that at all...”

He let go of the bridle and the horse started off like a race horse. Johnny jerked desperately on the reins, but he might as well have been pulling back on the Sante Fe Super Chief. The animal tore off across the desert, apparently intent on lowering the six-furlong record.

Johnny had been on a horse exactly one and one-half times previously: as a ten-year-old boy, he had once gone ponyriding. That counted for the half. The full time was when he had mounted a horse in his early twenties and had been promptly thrown from it.

He almost wished now that the horse would throw him. In fact, if it had been a little lighter, so that he could pick a soft spot he would have tumbled off of his own accord. But as it was, he was compelled to cling to the pommel with both hands and trust to luck.

The “gentle” horse galloped for about a mile and a half, then slowed to a canter and finally a walk. By that time it had gotten light enough for Johnny to see, and he discovered a horse and rider standing a couple of hundred yards ahead. It was Jane Langford.

His horse whickered and trotted forward.

“Good morning,” Jane Langford said, quite coolly as Johnny came up. “I didn’t expect you out so early.”

“Why not?” retorted Johnny. “I had a lovely sleep of at least two hours.”

“And your friend? Did he sleep...” she cleared her throat, “...in or out of jail?”

“Oh, I got him out... I hear he got in that fight sticking up for you.”

“I’m sorry he did. It’s not going to help me any, you know... Well, shall we ride?”

Johnny grimaced. “Do we have to?”

“Isn’t that what you came out for?”

“No — I came out to have a talk with you. There’s been so damn much traffic around you I haven’t had a chance.”

She touched the flank of her horse lightly with her quirt and it moved off. Johnny’s mount trotted beside the other horse. For a moment Jane rode in silence, then she looked sidewards at Johnny.

“Mr. Fletcher, I’ve been hearing all sorts of strange stories about you. They can’t possibly be true, but I can’t help wondering. Things have been happening ever since your arrival and, well... just who — and what — are you?”

“Believe it or not,” said Johnny, “I’m a book salesman.”

“It’s too early in the morning for joking, Mr. Fletcher...”

“The name is Johnny — and I’m not joking. I am a book salesman. Isn’t that one of the stories you’ve been hearing about me?”

“That’s one I haven’t heard. But I did hear that... well, that a dead man was found in your room last night.”

“Who told you that?”

She shrugged. “As a matter of fact, it was the night maid. And she was so scared I’m almost inclined to believe...”

“That it’s true? Well, it is...”

Her eyes remained fixed on his face. “Who... was it?”

“I understand he used to be a blackjack dealer at El Casa Rancho... a man named Harry Bloss...”

She inhaled sharply. “Why, I know him! He... the maid said he was... mur... murdered?”

Johnny nodded. “But not in my room.”

“Where, then?”

“In Death Valley.”

She exclaimed softly, “How... how do you know?”

“That’s the really strange part of the story. I found him in Death Valley. He died in my arms... and I left him in Death Valley. Then twenty-four hours later he appeared in Las Vegas, two hundred miles away. I didn’t bring him here.”

“But that’s absurd. No one would transport a dead man all that distance just to... to put him in your room.”

“Somebody did.”

“Who?”

“I’m not quite sure.”

“You mean — you suspect somebody?”

“I do.”

“Who?”

Johnny was silent for a moment. Jane Langford continued to watch him.

Then Johnny said, “Are you going through with your divorce tomorrow?”

“Why, of course I am.” Her eyes widened suddenly. “Why?”

“I was just wondering.”

“No,” she said, suddenly decisive. “You... you think I’m involved in that... that...”

“Are you?” asked Johnny suddenly.

Color flooded her cheeks. “Now wait a minute, Johnny Fletcher...”

Johnny suddenly pointed off to the southwest. “There’s a ranch over there, isn’t there?”

“Why, yes, but I don’t see...”

“Chatsworth’s, isn’t it?”

Anger caused her to flush even more. “Yes, Chatsworth’s ranch is over there — approximately five miles from here, as the crow flies. And just what are you insinuating by that?”

“You were the first person I saw coming into Las Vegas yesterday. I picked you up on the highway, just about a mile from here — four miles from Chatsworth’s ranch...”

“Go on.” There was a dangerous note in her voice.

“You ride very well,” Johnny said coolly.

“Meaning that my horse didn’t throw me yesterday morning? That I was coming from Chatsworth’s ranch... walking home, so to speak...?”

“Your husband,” said Johnny, “is quite sun-tanned. But I noticed that the tan is a bit recent — a little on the sunburned side.”

Jane pulled up her horse and turned it so she could face Johnny squarely. “That you’re going to explain,” she said hotly.

“Why,” said Johnny, “I thought maybe he’d been in Death Valley recently.”

“You think my husband killed Harry Bloss?”

“Did he?”

“Don’t answer my question with a question,” she cried. “I want you to tell me just how you think I fit into this? Because you do think that. You’ve somehow got the idea that my being on the highway yesterday morning had something to do with the death of Harry Bloss. But just how I can’t guess... since I was on the highway before you came from Death Valley.”

Johnny pantomimed putting a telephone to his mouth and ear. “Telephone. Long distance.”

For a moment she stared at him, then her right hand — the one holding the quirt came up. “You... you...” she began.

Johnny lunged forward to grab the quirt as it sizzled toward him. He forgot that he was on a horse. But the animal didn’t forget that it had an amateur rider on its back. As Johnny lurched suddenly, the animal shied away — kicking up its heels... and Johnny hit the hard-packed sand of the Nevada desert.

For a moment he lay flat on the ground, the breath knocked out of him. Then he groaned and began to pick himself up. The first thing he saw was his horse, a hundred feet away... galloping back toward El Casa Rancho. Then he turned slowly and saw Jane Langford sitting easily in her saddle, looking down at him. The anger was gone from her face.

Johnny grinned slowly. “Is that the way it happened?”

She laughed merrily. “An object lesson — if ever I saw one. And so well timed.”

“All right,” said Johnny. “I’ll believe you...”

“As a matter of fact,” she said, “I wasn’t really thrown. I dismounted — to pick a silly desert flower. And then I couldn’t catch my horse again. I don’t know why I said I was thrown. It seemed the simplest thing at the moment.” Then her face sobered. “But about Jim...”

“Yes?”

“I was married to him exactly two months. He told me he was a businessman. I found out... otherwise...” She bit her lower lip with her sharp, white teeth. “He’s a gambler... and worse...”

“What’s worse than a gambler?”

“A crooked gambler.”

“Where? Here, in Las Vegas...?”

She shook her head. “Chicago.”

He nodded. “Chatsworth’s from Chicago... and Halton.”

“Oh, damn you,” she exclaimed impatiently. “There you go again. Would you believe me if I told you that I never met either Mr. Chatsworth or Charles Halton until I came out here? There’re three million people in Chicago. Or maybe four. I don’t know them all.”

Johnny chuckled. “Okay, okay. But since we’ve gone this far, tell me a little more about your — about Jim Langford... just what kind of gambling does he go in for?”

“Horses, mostly. There was an investigation about a race at one of the tracks and... well, some men came around and asked me questions. I faced Jim with it and he tried to laugh it off... that’s when I walked out on him. And I didn’t see him again until yesterday...”

“How long ago did you walk out?”

“Almost a year ago.”

“And you didn’t decide to come out to Las Vegas until now?”

“There was a little matter of money,” said Jane Langford. “Jim Langford never gave me a dollar; I came here on my own money and I’m not asking for alimony — in case you’re interested.”

“And Chatsworth?”

She frowned angrily. “Why do you keep harping on Chatsworth? Why not Charles Halton?”

“Halton’s a squirt,” Johnny retorted. “When he gets through with that silly system of his, he won’t have enough carfare to get home. But Chatsworth... well, he’s rich, so he’s real competition.”

“Competition?”

“For me.”

She stared at him. “I never know when you’re kidding or not.”

“Smile when you say that! What’s wrong with me?”

“What’s right about you? You said you were a book agent...”

“Salesman — not agent...”

“What’s the difference?”

“Plenty. One year I made seventy-five thousand dollars. I was in love and ambitious.”

“And what happened?”

“She married somebody else... and I bought a horse.”

Jane laughed. “Maybe the girl made a mistake.”

“I tried to tell her that and she told her husband and he came around to see me. He had a gun, so I left town.” Johnny sighed. “She’s probably fat by now.”

Chapter Fifteen

Sam Cragg was no longer in the room when Johnny returned from his combination morning ride and walk. But Johnny found him in the grill room, having a breakfast of ham and eggs, waffles and sausages and a rasher of bacon.

“I’ve been lookin’ all over for you,” Sam cried, as Johnny came up. “Where’ve you been?”

Johnny started to seat himself, winced and lowered himself gently onto the padded bench. “Riding. I like a good canter in the morning before breakfast.”

Sam looked sharply at Johnny. “With the Langford dame?”

“With Jane Langford.”

Sam looked around surreptitiously, then reached into his pocket and brought out a folded piece of paper. “The bellboy woke me up; he slipped me this.”

Johnny unfolded the paper. A number and name was written on it: 1428 Bonneville. He looked inquiringly at Sam.

“Langford’s hideout,” Sam whispered.

Johnny folded the piece of paper and put it into his pocket. Then the waitress came up and he gave his order.

“Got anything special planned for today?” Sam asked, his eyes on his plate.

“Why?”

“Oh, no reason, but if you’re not going to do anything, I thought I’d take a swim. They got a swell pool out in front.” He suddenly grinned. “The redhead gave me a buzz. I’d like to see her in a swimming suit.”

“Well, go ahead and look at her, Sam. I think I’ll run uptown.”

Sam looked at him suspiciously. “You going to see Mulligan?”

“Not if I can help it.”

Sam glanced toward the door of the grill room and almost choked on his coffee. “Holy cats!” he exclaimed.

Johnny turned and saw Molly, the redhead, wearing a polka dot handkerchief and polka dot loincloth. He whistled.

“So long, Sam!”

Sam got up and headed for the redhead.

Johnny finished his breakfast, then going into the lobby, picked up the local phone directory. He turned to the classified section in the rear, ran down the classifications until he came to the D’s. Then he nodded and closed the book.

Ten minutes later he parked his car before a stucco cottage on one of the side streets off Fremont and going to the door, pressed the buzzer.

A little man in a dirty flannel bathrobe opened the door.

“Walter Cobb?” Johnny asked.

“That’s what it says on my mailbox,” the little man retorted.

“Can I come in?”

“Depends on what you want.”

“Business.”

Cobb threw the door wide. “Then welcome to the Cobb domicile. Although I wouldda been in my office in another hour or so.”

“I didn’t want to wait that long.”

Cobb led Johnny into a tiny living room that was littered with newspapers. A huge woman in a soiled wrapper was clearing dishes from a table in a dining recess off the living room.

“The ball and chain,” said Cobb. “I didn’t get your name.”

“Fletcher.”

“My dear, this is Mr. Fletcher.”

The woman put down a stack of dishes, and wiping her hands on her wrapper came into the living room. She plopped herself in the best chair.

“You’re the man who broke the bank at El Casa Rancho yesterday, aren’t you?”

“I dented it a little, but I don’t think I broke it.”

Cobb’s eyes glowed. “Well, well, Mr. Fletcher, have a chair, won’t you?”

Johnny went to a couch and Cobb took a position halfway and to one side of the couch and the chair in which his wife was reposing.

“You said you wanted to see me on business?”

“You’re a private detective — according to the classified phone directory.”

“The best in Las Vegas,” Cobb admitted.

“What about the police department?” Johnny asked. “I mean, how do you get along with them?”

“Oh, fine, fine...” Cobb said easily, then as Johnny continued to look at him he shot a glance at Mrs. Cobb.

She said, “We mind our business and they mind theirs. Is that the answer you wanted, Mr. Fletcher?”

“Practically. But I wanted to hear it a little stronger.”

“How much stronger?”

“You name it.”

“That depends on what you want us to do,” said Mrs. Cobb, firmly. “You understand that Las Vegas is a small city and the police department is a large one. Walter has to stand in with them... to a certain degree.”

“I understand that,” said Johnny. He reached into his pocket and brought out a sheaf of hundred-dollar bills. He skimmed off one, added a second to it. Mrs. Cobb gazed intently at the sheaf of bills, and Johnny took off a third bill. Mr. Cobb was breathing heavily.

“Could you add two more?” Mrs. Cobb asked. “We’re having a little mortgage trouble.”

“Well, let’s say there’ll be two more when the work is finished.”

“How long will that take?”

“You might be able to finish it today.”

“Then it’s a deal!”

Johnny folded the three bills and started to hand them to Walter Cobb, but his wife bounded up from her chair and snatched them from Johnny’s hand. Then she retreated to her chair.

“Half of this money you can earn by just telling me some things I don’t know; For instance... what happened at El Casa Rancho about two weeks ago?”

Mr. and Mrs. Cobb exchanged glances. Mrs. Cobb nodded. “Why,” said Cobb, “they got to some of the dealers.”

“Who?”

Cobb shrugged expressively. “They don’t know. Do I have to find out?”

“Maybe it won’t be necessary. But just how did they get to the dealers?”

“You won some of your money playing blackjack?” Cobb asked. Then, as Johnny nodded, “This house hits on sixteen or less, stands on seventeen. Suppose you knew when the house was going to hit? It would make quite a bit of difference in whether you hit or not.”

“I guess it would,” Johnny replied. “If I had twelve or thirteen and the dealer had a five or six up and I knew he was going to hit, I’d stand on my little twelve or thirteen... on account of half the time the dealer would break. I wouldn’t have to take the chance of breaking myself.”

“That’s absolutely correct, Mr. Fletcher,” said Cobb enthusiastically. “And how often would such a situation occur in, say an hour’s steady playing?”

“Probably ten or twelve times — maybe even oftener.”

“And if you were a hundred dollar player, that’d be a tidy little edge, wouldn’t it? Multiply it by about ten or fifteen hours and what would you have? About fifteen thousand dollars, maybe twenty. And suppose you played for say, three-four days? And then maybe you had three or four partners, who made the rounds of three or four places. To give it to you straight, Mr. Fletcher, the boys took the places for around two hundred thousand dollars. Which is big money, even in Nevada.”

Johnny frowned. “And the places took it? Somehow, I think that I would be watching my dealers pretty close if I owned a place like, say, El Casa Rancho...”

“Oh, they do watch the dealers. All the time. But can you watch a twitch of a face muscle, or the tap of a little finger. Or a little scratch of the finger on the felt. Sure, the dealers work in shifts, half hour at a table. But the boys moved around... and they were strangers. By the time they were spotted they’d collected their pile.”

Johnny nodded thoughtfully. “And then what happened to the dealers?”

“They got fired.” Cobb looked at his wife. “Was there any special dealer you were interested in?”

“Not particularly.”

Mrs. Cobb grunted. “Harry Bloss?”

“Why Harry Bloss?”

“Because he was found dead in your room last night.”

“Is that in the morning paper?”

“It isn’t — and it won’t be. But we hear things.”

Johnny thought about that for a moment. Then he said, “Did you also hear that Harry Bloss actually died in California — not Nevada?”

Mrs. Cobb frowned. “No, I just heard that he was found in a room at the El Casa Rancho and that he looked like he hadn’t eaten in a month.”

“Bloss was one of the dealers who was fired,” Cobb offered. “Which surprised a lot of people, because everyone always said he was one of the most honest fellows who ever dealt blackjack.”

“That’s what Gilbert Honsinger told me.” Johnny cleared his throat. “You don’t know any of the men who did the winning here?”

“They were outsiders,” said Cobb. “They just came here, took their money and left.”

“With the money?”

“I don’t follow you.”

“I was just wondering whether the men who did the actual playing were the ones who engineered the scheme. I thought they might have been cut in for only a piece of their winnings.”

“How do you figure that?”

“You said they got to the dealers. That would mean they knew the dealers before they started to play...”

The Cobbs again exchanged quick glances. Then Walter Cobb nodded admiringly. “You’ve got a point there, Mr. Fletcher.”

“The deal required a fixer — a mastermind. The players could be anyone. They could even be perfect strangers to the dealers, if they had the password — or sign.”

“Yeah! I see what you mean.”

“Now,” said Johnny, “for the dirty work. Do you ever have occasion to do wire tapping here, Mr. Cobb?”

Walter Cobb smiled. Then he went into the dining recess and opened a closet. He took out a black bag very much like a doctor’s kit and depositing it on the couch beside Johnny, opened it. He took out an instrument in which an induction coil seemed to be the main element.

“With this little gadget, Mr. Fletcher, you can hear through a stone wall. And it works even better on a telephone, because you don’t have to connect it to the wire. You can put it a foot away and hear better than the people on the telephone.”

A slow smile of admiration crossed Johnny’s face. Then he reached into his pocket and bringing out his roll, took off another hundred dollar bill. “This is extra, folks — just for the use of this dingus.”

“Whose wire do you want to tap?” Mrs. Cobb asked sharply.

Johnny took a folded piece of paper from his pocket. “The address is 1428 Bonneville Street...”

“Who lives there?”

“I don’t know, but someone I know is staying there. A Mr. James Langford...”

“Never heard of him.”

“I’m curious to know who Mr. Langford talks to — and what he talks about.”

“Then it’s in the bag,” declared Cobb. “I was afraid for a minute you wanted to tap a local wire — one of our friends, maybe. I wouldn’t like to do that, but a stranger...” He shrugged.

“And what else do you want us to do?” asked Mrs. Cobb.

“Why, I thought you might make some telephone calls for me. To Chicago. There’s a private detective there named Beeler, who did some work for me once.[1] I want to find out as much as I can about some people who live there... a Mr. and Mrs. James Langford, a Mr. Chats-worth and a Charles Halton. I want to know where they live, how long they lived there, what they do for a living — what their neighbors think about them. In short, I want to know everything there is to know about them and I want to know it before six o’clock this evening. You tell Beller it’s for Johnny Fletcher and that two hundred dollars is being wired to him today.”

“What about the toll charges?” asked Mrs. Cobb, firmly.

Johnny made a clucking sound with his tongue, but Mrs. Cobb remained firm. “I’ll have to telephone Beeler two-three times and he’ll be calling me and reversing the charges. You can run up a hundred-dollar telephone bill like that in no time at all.”

“All right, I’ll pay it — extra.”

“Good!”

“Good!”

Chapter Sixteen

1428 Bonneville was on the far east side of Las Vegas. It was a house very much on the order of Walter Cobb’s, but it was set back farther from the street and was the only house in the block. The street was, at this point, native Nevada sand.

Johnny Fletcher drove past the house, continued for another block, then turned left one block and came back on Doniphan Street.

As they approached the block in which the house was located, Cobb exclaimed in satisfaction. “Perfect! There’s only one window in the rear and it’s such a small one they won’t be standing there all the time, looking out... Stop in the next block.”

Johnny drove another block and pulled up at the curb. Walter Cobb stepped out of the car. He was already wearing a heavy leather belt, which had a loose section that was supposed to go about a telephone pole; spiked pole climbing equipment was attached to his legs.

He winked at Johnny Fletcher and clambered rapidly up the pole. Reaching the top he made a connection to the telephone line and dropped a coil of thin wire to the ground. Then he descended the pole and picking up the loose wire, climbed back into the car.

A quick connection to his little black box in which reposed the induction coil and he put on the headset. A smile of satisfaction lit up his face.

“A beautiful connection.”

“I got an idea while you were up there,” Johnny said. “It might be hours before anyone phones them. Why don’t I run uptown and call them from a pay phone?”

“Oh, splendid!” exclaimed Cobb. “You’ll stir them up and they’ll make a call, is that it?”

“Something like that.” Then Johnny frowned. “But if I take the car you can’t sit on the curb and listen...”

“Don’t worry about that,” said Cobb. “I’ll climb up on the pole and anyone sees me will think I’m a linesman. I can hang up there for an hour, if necessary.”

He got out of the car, carrying his box. Fastening it to his belt, he climbed the pole rapidly. Johnny waited until he had reached the top, then started his car and drove down to Fremont Street. Entering a drugstore he went into a phone booth. Cobb had obtained the telephone number at 1428 Bonneville before they had started the expedition, and consulting a slip of paper, Johnny dialed it.

The phone rang and rang. Then it was taken off and a gruff voice said, curtly, “Yeah?”

“They got him,” said Johnny in a harsh tone.

“Who’s this?” snapped the voice on the other end of the phone.

“I can’t give my name,” Johnny said, “but I’m warning you... the heat’s on...” He put the receiver back on the hook, counted to twenty, then dialed the number again.

The receiver was taken off instantly this time. Johnny laughed into the mouthpiece and hung up. He left the booth, then, had a cup of coffee at the soda fountain and won two dollars in a quarter slot machine. Then he re-entered the phone booth and again dialed the Bonneville number. The line was busy.

Outside he climbed into his car and drove back to Doniphan Street. He was slowing up for Cobb’s telephone pole, when he happened to look out across the field on the north side of Doniphan Street.

There was a shed-like adobe house there and on the veranda a heavy-set man was standing. He had a pair of field glasses trained on Walter Cobb.

The man was Catch ’Em Alive Mulligan.

Johnny kept his car rolling down the middle of the street.

He drove a mile out into the desert on a trail that was the continuation of Doniphan Street, then coming to a ranch yard turned his car and drove back.

Catch ’Em Alive Mulligan was still on the veranda of the little house. But now he had brought out a wicker armchair and was taking things easy. The glasses were in his lap, but he was quietly watching Walter Cobb up on the telephone pole.

Swearing to himself, Johnny drove back to Fremont Street. He entered a drugstore — a different one than before — and dialed the number of 1428 Bonneville Street.

The phone was promptly answered. Johnny said, “Look out for Mulligan,” and hung up.

The message would be a cryptic one to the occupants of the house on Bonneville Street and it would be a warning to Walter Cobb.

The best Johnny could do then was to drive to Walter Cobb’s residence. He parked his car a couple of doors down the street and walked back to the little stucco house.

Mrs. Cobb answered his ring at the door. She had changed her sloppy morning wrapper for a sloppy house dress. “Where’s Walter?” she asked.

“Walking,” said Johnny. “Probably coming home, but I’m afraid to go out and pick him up, because I think Catch ’Em Alive Mulligan’s following him.”

“Oh, that’s all right,” said Mrs. Cobb. “Mulligan gets mad at Walter once in a while, but he owes Walter a favor or two. He tipped Mulligan off to something big only a few months ago that he got by listening in on a telephone... I’ve talked to Beeler in Chicago, Mr. Fletcher...”

“Oh, yes?”

“Twenty-eight dollars’ worth,” Mrs. Cobb said pointedly. “He’s going to call me back as soon as he gets some further information...”

“You mean he’s already got something?”

“Only about Jim Langford; he knew his record. He was arrested on suspicion of murder two years ago, but he was released for lack of evidence. He was barred from the Arlington Race Track last season and he worked as a bodyguard for Barney O’Toole four years ago, but he lost his job when O’Toole was killed. The police questioned him at the time and there was a rumor that Langford himself had killed O’Toole, but nobody seemed to care much so nothing happened.”

“A nice lad,” remarked Johnny. “Probably very kind to his mother, too... Hear anything about Chatsworth?”

“Beeler knew the name, but offhand didn’t know anything about him. But he’s going to check on him. Halton, he never heard about.”

“I forgot to tell you — when Beeler calls back, tell him Halton was All-American once. I’d say about ten years ago.”

“All-American what?”

Johnny shrugged. “Football, I guess.” Johnny, looking out of the front window at that moment, saw a “Lucky Cab” pull up to the curb. Walter Cobb, carrying his black box and spikes, stepped out and paid the cabby. Then he came to the house.

Johnny opened the door for him and Cobb came in. The detective grinned. “I forgot about Mulligan living near there.”

“Did he question you?”

“I practically stepped into his arms when I came down the pole. He said to tell you he’ll see you later today...”

“Me?”

“Oh, he saw you driving by; there wasn’t any use denying that I was working for you.”

Johnny grimaced. “I guess I’ll have a couple of bad moments with Catch ’Em Alive.”

“He isn’t an unreasonable man,” Cobb said. “For instance, he asked me what I heard on the telephone line and when I told him nothing, he didn’t even press me.”

“Then you didn’t hear anything?”

Walter Cobb rubbed his palms together. His wife, watching him, snorted. “Now, don’t start that cat-and-mouse stuff, Wally. Spill it — without any frills.”

“Well, first,” said Cobb, “there were your two calls to the house. About two minutes went by and then they made a call. They have a dial phone, but the person at the other end who answered said that it was the H-C Ranch...”

“—Chatsworth!” exclaimed Johnny.

“So I assumed,” said Cobb, “but the party making the call asked for a Larry Piper...”

“Who’s he?”

“My dear Fletcher,” expostulated Cobb, “how could I know? I’m merely repeating what I heard over a telephone line. I couldn’t ask any questions, could I?”

“Stop it, Wally!” snapped Mrs. Cobb.

Cobb nodded surrender, then resumed his account. “Very well, this Larry Piper, who has a somewhat uncouth voice and is probably a ranch hand was told to watch his step and if anything suspicious happened to telephone at once. That was all, except that the speaker identified himself as Carl.” Cobb looked sharply at Johnny. “Carl, not Jim...”

“I got it,” Johnny replied. “Carl. I know him. Now, who was the second call to?”

“It went to the El Casa Rancho — the switchboard operator identified it. The caller wasn’t Carl, though — he had a deeper, harsher voice. He asked for Room 24...”

“24?” cried Johnny. “You’re sure about that?”

“The operator repeated the number.”

“But that’s my room!”

“Oh,” said Cobb. “And whose is Number 41?”

“Why 41?”

“That was the fourth call. But there, as at your room, was no answer.”

Johnny frowned. “And the third call?”

“That was to Mark Morrison, an attorney here in town. I do a little work for him once in awhile. The caller this time identified himself as Jim Langford and he told Morrison that he was going to appear in court tomorrow to contest his wife’s divorce suit, on the grounds that she was not a bonafide resident of the state...”

“Is that any good in Nevada?” Johnny interrupted.

“Depends on whether he can prove it; if she left the state overnight — and it can be proved — she’ll have to start all over again.”

Johnny nodded thoughtfully. “How did Morrison take that?”

“Not badly at all. He told Langford that he had definite proof that Mrs. Langford had lived up to the terms required of her and that it was too bad Mr. Langford should take such an attitude at this late date. Whereupon Mr. Langford called Mr. Morrison a damned shyster and Mr. Morrison hung up on it. And then, you called for the third time, Mr. Fletcher, and I decided to come down the pole.”

“Did you tell Mulligan who it was you listened in to?”

“He didn’t ask me.”

“I’m surprised at that.” Johnny frowned. “I don’t like the way Mulligan takes some things so casual. You’d almost think...”

A phone in the dining recess suddenly rang and Mrs. Cobb hurried to it. She took down the receiver and said, “Mrs. Cobb speaking. Yes...” Then she signalled to Johnny. “This is Chicago...”

“Let me take it,” exclaimed Johnny. He strode into the other room and took the phone just as Beeler’s purring voice came on.

“Beeler,” he cried into the phone. “This is Johnny Fletcher; how are you?”

“I’m fine,” retorted Beeler. “I could tell you in about ten dollar’s worth of time, if you want me to...”

“Same old sourpuss,” Johnny said, “well, go ahead, give it to me — what’ve you got?”

“Chatsworth, Homer Chatsworth, Harvard, ’16, lives in Glencoe, belongs to the University Club, the Midwest Athletic Club, president of the Central Accident and Assurance Company, director of the North Side Bank and Trust Company, owns a summer place in Bar Harbor, and a ranch in Las Vegas, Nevada. A widower...”

“Okay, okay,” Johnny interrupted. “I could get all that out of Who’s Who...”

“Then why didn’t you look?” Beeler snapped, “I’ve got an important murder case on my hands and I’m only doing this as a favor to you.”

“Baloney, you’re doing it for two hundred bucks...”

“—Which I haven’t received yet,” Beeler exclaimed.

“It’s on the way. What else have you found out?”

“Charles Halton isn’t in the phone directory, but a man by that name owns an automobile, License Number 6N66-63. His address is a hotel on the near North Side and I’m going over there as soon as I hang up on you. It’s about Langford that I really called you this time... I hear his number’s up in Chicago. He and another hoodlum stuck up The Ojai Club about four weeks ago. Langford’s wife used to be a singer there before her marriage, so they knew Langford. There’s nothing against his wife, though. She sang professionally under the name of Jane Castle, but her real name is Bloss...”

“What!” roared Johnny.

“Bloss,” said Beeler, “Jane Bloss. Does that name mean something?”

“It means two hundred bucks extra for you, if you can get me her complete history — her father’s first name — the names of any other relatives; their history and present whereabouts. Get that first — before you do anything else. Understand?”

“All right, Fletcher.”

Johnny hung up abruptly and turned to face the Cobbs.

“He get something interesting?” Walter Cobb asked.

Johnny thrust the phone at Cobb. “This Morrison who’s handling Mrs. Langford’s case... you said you worked for him at times; call and get him to tell you Mrs. Langford’s maiden name...”

Cobb nodded and dialed a number. “Louise,” he said into the phone. “This is Walter Cobb; let me talk to the boss... Oh!... No, never mind, but look — do something for me; look at Mrs. Langford’s divorce plea... tell me her maiden name...” He nodded. “Thanks, Louise, thanks a million...” He hung up. “Mark’s gone out to the El Casa Rancho, to see Mrs. Langford—”

“All right, all right,” Johnny cried, impatiently. “But what’s the name...?”

“Louise had the papers right there...” He winced as Johnny’s face twisted into a snarl. “It’s Bloss!”

“Well!” said Mrs. Cobb. “I hadn’t expected that.”

“Neither had I,” Johnny said. “Beeler dropped it by accident...”

“Harry Bloss’ daughter?”

“It looks like it — that’s what I want Beeler to check for sure.”

“We could ask Mrs. Langford herself,” Cobb suggested.

“That’s one thing I don’t want to do.”

Johnny reached into his pocket, skimmed two hundred-dollar bills off his roll. “Wire this money to Beeler in Chicago...”

“There’s a charge for wiring money,” Mrs. Cobb said.

Impatiently, Johnny peeled off another bill. “Keep the change for incidentals.” He went to the door. “The minute Beeler has anything call me at El Casa Rancho. If I’m not in my room, get Nick the bellboy and tell him to find me.”

Chapter Seventeen

Leaving his car in front of El Casa Rancho, Johnny went directly to Jane Langford’s room and knocked on the door. There was no response. He tried the door, and found it locked.

Annoyed, he went to his own room and saw Sam Cragg’s suit hanging up in the bathroom. Leaving, Johnny headed for the casino. The tables were already receiving some play, but Johnny was not tempted at the moment. He went through the lobby to the terrace in front of the hotel.

There he found Sam Cragg, the center of an admiring group of feminine hotel guests. He had somewhere obtained trunks, but they were dry and he had apparently not even been in the pool. Sam was enthusiastically recounting a wrestling bout in which he had figured.

“...he tries to get his thumb in my eye,” he was saying, “so I gives him the elbow. He gets sore and kicks me in the... the... where he ain’t supposed to kick me. For a minute I don’t know what’s hit me and I’m down on the mat. Only instinc’ keeps me from lettin’ him pin my shoulders. And then I’m okay again and what I don’t do to the guy shouldn’t happen to a dog. When I got him good and groggy I gives him the old kayo... I picks him up and throws him clear outta the ring. He breaks his collar bone and four ribs...”

At this point Sam saw Johnny at the edge of the crowd. A sheepish grin spread over his features. “Excuse me,” he said to his admirers, “I gotta see a fella about a dog.”

“Nice going,” said Johnny, as Sam Cragg came through the fringe of feminine pulchritude.

“Aw, it wasn’t anythin’...”

“Where’s your redheaded friend?”

“She hadda go see her lawyer...”

“Speaking of lawyers!” said Johnny grimly. He walked abruptly away from Sam and bore down on Jane Langford, who was seated at a table under a sun umbrella in a far corner of the flagged veranda. Opposite her was a little, bandy-legged man with a briefcase.

Jane Langford, somehow, did not seem overly pleased to see Johnny.

“Hello,” she said coolly. “This is Mr. Morrison. Mr. Fletcher.”

The little man bounced to his feet. “Glad to know you. I’m Mrs. Langford’s lawyer. If you should need a good attorney, come and see me.” He bowed to Mrs. Langford. “Remember what I told you, my dear...” He nodded to Johnny. “It’s been a pleasure.” With that he hurried off.

Johnny took the seat vacated by Mr. Morrison. He regarded Jane steadily.

“Well?” she asked in a tone of annoyance.

“Why didn’t you tell me your maiden name was Bloss.”

Jane picked up her purse from the table, prepared to rise. “This is where I came in.”

“What was he — your father?”

“Look, Mr. Fletcher,” said Jane Langford. “I’ve got a lot of things on my mind. I’m in no mood for another third degree session.”

Johnny got up and took her purse from under her arm and replaced it on the table. “Baby,” he said, “I could get huffy, too. But we’re not going to get anywhere that way. I know how you feel. You just got bad news from your lawyer—”

Jane exclaimed indignantly, “What makes you think that?”

“Your husband’s threatened to appear in court tomorrow with a charge that you haven’t fulfilled the terms of your legal residence in this state...”

Her eyes went wide. Johnny smiled crookedly. “I had Jim Langford’s telephone tapped this morning.”

She stared at him. “Now you’re being absurd again.”

“It’s true, isn’t it — about Langford making that threat?”

“Yes, but I don’t see...”

“And how do you think I found out that your maiden name was Bloss... and that you met Jim Langford at The Ojai Club in Chicago, where you were singing...?”

“And what else do you know?”

“Quite a lot — and I’ll know more before the day’s over... I’ve got a private detective agency working on you in Chicago... I wasn’t going to tell you about that, but in view of...” He shrugged.

The color faded from her cheeks. “So you are determined to make trouble...”

“Uh-uh! I’m trying to help you. There were things you wouldn’t tell me yourself, so I’ve got to learn them from other sources. I can’t help you if I don’t know what trouble you’re in...”

“You can’t get it through your head that I’m not in any trouble?”

“Maybe you don’t know you’re in trouble. Your father...”

“He wasn’t my father!”

“No?”

She bit her lip. “He was my uncle, but I scarcely knew him. I saw him once when I was eight years of age; then when I came here — he came up and said he was my uncle.”

“Was he?”

“Yes, he told me enough about my family.”

“How did he happen to know you? You didn’t register under your maiden name, did you?”

Her eyes clouded. “He said he’d followed my career in Chicago and when he saw in the papers that I was coming here for a divorce...”

“Was it in the paper?”

“Just a couple of lines.” She shook her head. “Mr. Fletcher, are you or are you not a book agent?”

“Yes.”

“Then why don’t you go and sell your books and leave things alone that don’t concern you...?”

“What doesn’t concern me? Your uncle died in my arms in Death Valley and someone brought him here and put him into my room. You think that doesn’t concern me?”

“It’s a matter for the police.”

Johnny laughed. “You’re not kidding. Right now, I’m out of jail only because the police haven’t figured things out.”

“And when they do figure them out, you’ll be in jail?”

“I mean,” said Johnny firmly, “they’ve got to have somebody, and failing to pin it on anyone else, I’ll be elected.”

“You’ve got enough money; you could leave town.”

“How far do you think I’d get?”

Jane sighed wearily. “I don’t know; all I know is that I wish people would let me alone. I want to get through the next twenty-four hours as quietly as possible...”

Johnny got up and handed her purse. “All right, you won’t hear another word from me.”

She walked off. Johnny watched her enter the hotel. He looked around for Sam, but that worthy was nowhere to be seen. Johnny shook his head and headed for the hotel lobby.

Chapter Eighteen

The first person Johnny saw in the hotel lobby was Nick the bellboy, who was coming from the casino with a tray containing a Scotch and soda.

Johnny saluted him. “Hi, Nickie!”

Nick set the tray down on a table and pocketed the yellow check that Johnny gave him. “Just name it, Mr. Fletcher,” he said, fervently.

“Can you get a peek at the registration cards?”

“If I have to choke Bishop! What do you want to know?”

“I want to know when these people checked in: Jane Langford, Mr. Chats-worth and Charles Halton.”

“Mr. Chatsworth doesn’t stay here at the hotel...”

“That’s right — I forgot for the moment. But you can find out when he started showing up around here, can’t you? And by the way, I’d like to know when Harry Bloss started to work here... And Nick Fenton, too, while you’re about it.”

“I’ll have it for you in a half hour,” Nick promised.

Johnny continued on through to the casino and stopped at Nick Fenton’s blackjack table. He put out four yellow checks, turned up a blackjack and proceeded to the crap table. He shot fifty, the hundred, then the two hundred.

Whit Snow, who was watching, shook his head sadly. “Still got it, eh?”

“Fifty thousand,” said Johnny, “then I quit.” He put the checks into his pocket and left the casino, crossing the drive to the cabana.

Sam Cragg was just finishing his dressing. “What’s on the program for this afternoon?” he asked.

“For me, sleep.”

“Okay if I roll the bones for a while?”

Johnny took out a handful of yellow checks. “Have fun — there’re plenty more where these came from.”

Sam left the room and Johnny threw himself down on the bed. He sighed wearily and closed his eyes. Knuckles massaged the door.

“For the love of Mike!” Johnny groaned.

The door opened and Catch ’Em Alive Mulligan came in. “Hello, Fletcher,” he said, cheerfully. “Like you to meet a friend of mine. Ed Wright.”

He stepped aside and a lean, sharp-faced man of about forty came into the room. “How are you, Fletcher,” Wright said.

“D.A.’s office,” Mulligan offered, laconically.

Johnny sat up on the bed. “Is this a pinch?”

“Oh no,” said Wright. “Mulligan happened to be in my office and mentioned that he was coming out to see you, so I thought I’d come along.”

“About that wire tapping,” said Mulligan, “I didn’t ask Cobb what he found out, because he was on a job and he wouldn’t have told me, without I got a little rough — and I didn’t want to get rough with him.”

“No,” said Johnny, “no use spoiling an old friendship, is there?”

“That’s what I thought.”

“About Langford, Mr. Fletcher,” said Wright. “I understand he and your friend had a... a brawl, shall we call it?”

“Go ahead, call it a brawl. He sassed Sam and Sam slapped him down. Which served Langford right.”

“I hear he gave you a workout earlier in the day,” remarked Mulligan.

Before Johnny could reply, the phone rang. Johnny scooped it up. “Yes?”

It was Walter Cobb. “Mr. Fletcher, Beeler just phoned. He tells me that Harry Bloss was Jane Bloss’ uncle. Also that Bloss is well known in Chicago. He was arrested there four times in three years, as an employee of gambling houses. This was prior to five years ago. No record of him in Chicago during the last five years.”

“That’s fine,” Johnny said into the phone. “Now, can you give me a price on a more recent model?”

“I get it,” exclaimed Cobb, “somebody’s with you. Mulligan?”

“That’s right.”

“Okay, then I’ll just give you the rest of it, briefly. The Halton lead Beeler had petered out. It’s a different party altogether. I’ll call you again — or would you rather call me?”

“I’ll give you a ring later — after I decide which model I want. Goodbye...”

He hung up and smiled at Mulligan and Wright. “The old jalopy ain’t what she used to be.”

“Getting a new car?” Mulligan asked.

“A later model.”

Mulligan nodded. He came to the bed. “Mind if I make a call?”

“Help yourself.”

Mulligan picked up the phone. “Police headquarters, operator,” he said. Then — “Ned? Mulligan... That’s right... Fine... Stay with it...”

He hung up. “About that wire tapping business, Fletcher. It works two ways, you know.”

“Eh?”

“Your line can be tapped, too.”

Johnny swallowed hard. “Is it?”

Mulligan nodded. “That was Walter Cobb who telephoned you. He told you that Beeler had called and that Harry Bloss was Jane Bloss’ uncle. Also that he was arrested four times in three years...”

“...and the Halton lead petered out,” Johnny finished.

“So now we understand each other, eh, Fletcher?”

“I guess so,” said Johnny morosely.

“And we can sit down and talk things over quietly? What did Cobb pick up on Langford’s phone?”

“Langford and Carl Shinn between them made three calls; one to a man named Larry Piper at the H-C Ranch, warning him to watch his step...”

“I’ll just make a note of that name,” Mulligan took out a notebook and pencil. “And to who were the other calls?”

“One was to the El Casa Rancho Hotel — Room 24...”

“That’s this room?”

“Yes. I didn’t answer because I wasn’t here.”

“Cragg?”

“—Was showing his muscles to some women at the pool. The third call was to Mark Morrison, an attorney. Langford threatened to come into court when Mrs. Langford’s case comes up claiming that she had violated the terms of her legal residence in the state...”

“Were there any other calls?” Wright interposed.

“There were three incoming calls — all mysterious.”

“What do you mean — mysterious?”

“I made the calls. To get them worried so they’d call their friends.”

“What friends?” Mulligan asked.

“That’s what I hoped to find out. I flushed out one of them, Piper, who seems to be connected with the H-C Ranch.”

Mulligan frowned. “That’s out in the county — out of my jurisdiction...”

“But not mine,” said Wright, cheerfully. “I think I’ll ride out there — with the sheriff.” He looked significantly at Mulligan and inclined his head slightly in Johnny’s direction. “What do you think, Mulligan?”

“About Fletcher?” Then, as Wright nodded, “I think we’ve got about enough.”

“Don’t mind me, fellows,” Johnny cut in, sourly.

Wright didn’t even look at Johnny. “That wire tapping alone ought to be good for six months...”

“And impeding justice should add another six.”

“All right, Mulligan, I’ll issue the warrant...”

“In the morning will be all right, Ed...” Mulligan finally looked at Johnny. “I mean it, Fletcher. I’ll be here with the warrant at nine o’clock in the morning.”

“In other words, you’re running me out of town.”

“No-no — I’m just telling you that I’ll be here in the morning with a warrant...”

“Okay, okay,” said Johnny. “You don’t have to drop a stone wall on me...” The phone rang and he scooped it up, automatically. “Yes?”

A gruff voice said, “This is police headquarters. Does Detective Mulligan happen to be there?”

“Yes. Just a moment.” He extended the phone to Mulligan. “For you...”

Mulligan took the phone. “Mulligan talking...” Then surprise spread across his features. “I’ll be right over!” He slammed the receiver back on the hook. “Come on, Ed. You, too, Fletcher...”

“What’s up?” asked Wright.

“A shooting.” Mulligan watched Fletcher closely. “A man named Langford. Jim Langford...!”

Chapter Nineteen

Three police cars were already parked before 1428 Bonneville, when Catch ’Em Alive Mulligan stopped his car at the curb. Wright, Mulligan and Johnny Fletcher got out.

A couple of uniformed policemen were outside the door of the little cottage. “A sweet job,” one of them commented to Mulligan.

Inside the house were a half dozen policemen and officials. Most of them were in a tiny living room. It was furnished with a day bed, a rough table and three or four chairs. On the floor was the dead body of Jim Langford. He was quite a mess.

A man wearing a leather jacket nodded to Mulligan. “Your wife heard the shooting, Mike.”

“Quite a lot of it, wasn’t there?” said Mulligan, his eyes on the body.

“He’s got four bullets in him and two are in the wall,” replied the man in the leather jacket. Then he saw Johnny Fletcher and looked inquiringly at Mulligan.

“His name’s Fletcher,” said Mulligan. “He knows something about this.”

“Oh?”

Mulligan nodded to the leather-jacketed man. “The chief.”

The chief sized up Johnny. “What do you know about him?”

“His name was Jim Langford,” Johnny replied. “The Chicago police will probably send you a vote of thanks.”

Mulligan said, quickly, “Could I see you a minute, Chief?”

The chief hesitated, still looking at Johnny Fletcher, then he shrugged and led Mulligan into another room. Johnny watched them leave, then stepped gingerly around the body of Jim Langford. There was a burlap sack standing beside the couch. It seemed to be about half filled with some bulky objects, but the top flap of the sack was concealing the contents.

The policemen continued to move about the room.

Johnny seated himself on the couch. His hand fell over the end of the couch, onto the burlap sack. His fingers opened the sack.

“Hey!” exclaimed one of the policemen.

Johnny looked into the mouth of the bag, got a glimpse of leather boots, a round water canteen, the cover encrusted with salt. Then a policeman’s hand knocked away his own. “Don’t touch things!” the policeman snapped.

Mulligan came back into the room, caught Johnny’s eye and signalled to him. Johnny got up and followed Mulligan out of the room and out of the house. Ed Wright remained behind.

“You’re an awfully lucky fellow,” Mulligan said, bleakly as they walked to the curb.

“How do you figure?”

“Because my wife’s a cop’s wife. She heard the shooting and looked at the clock before she phoned Headquarters. You’re safe by ten minutes. The shooting was just about four minutes before I stepped into your room at the hotel... You couldn’t have got there in that time.”

Johnny got into the car beside Mulligan. “Your wife’s a wonderful woman, Mulligan!”

Mulligan turned the car left at the corner and stepped hard on the accelerator. “You can tell her.”

“Good!” said Johnny.

Mulligan drove a block and a half down an unpaved street, then turned into a pair of ruts that led up to his little house.

Mrs. Mulligan came to the door as Mulligan and Johnny got out of the car.

“Nell,” said Mulligan, “this is Johnny Fletcher. My wife, Fletcher...”

Mrs. Mulligan shook hands with Johnny. And then Johnny said to Mulligan, “I see what you mean...”

They went into the house. Mulligan stepped into the little kitchen and got out two bottles of beer. He opened them and handed one to Johnny.

“Sit down a minute.”

Nell Mulligan started for the bedroom door, but turned back. “You’ve been — over there?”

“Yes. The chief told me. You heard the shooting and saw the car drive off — a big limousine, but the distance was too far to see the license number...”

“There were two men in the car...”

“Two?” asked Johnny.

“That’s what I want to talk to you about, Fletcher,” said Mulligan.

“Excuse me,” murmured Mrs. Mulligan. “I’ve got some work to do...”

She disappeared into the bedroom.

Mulligan seated himself on the couch, facing Johnny across the narrow living room. He drank some of his beer. “Two men,” he repeated.

“Carl Shinn... and Bill?”

“What do you think?”

Johnny looked at his bottle of beer and slowly shook his head. “I may be wrong, but somehow I got the idea that Carl Shinn was a tomcat, a snarling tomcat, yes, but still a tomcat... and Jim Langford was another kind of cat...”

“A bigger cat?”

“A wildcat. And Bill... well, Bill was a bulldog. Carl was smarter than Bill, but in a rough and tumble, Bill would have licked Carl. But my money would have been on Langford against both Carl and Bill.”

“Langford’s got four bullets in him,” said Mulligan.

“Well, the gun may have equalized them.”

Mulligan put the beer bottle to his mouth and drank heartily. Then he held the bottle up to the light, noted that there was another good swallow left in it and polished it off. He stood the bottle on the floor.

“Fletcher,” he announced then, “I’m going to tell you something.”

“That Jim Langford killed Harry Bloss?”

“How do you know?”

“I noticed yesterday that Langford was pretty sunburned; recently. And that sack in the room over on Bonneville; it’s got some clothes and a canteen in it. They’re crusted with salt — like you find in Death Valley...”

“All right,” said Mulligan. “I could have grabbed Langford yesterday, even if only for the California people. I suppose you’re wondering why I didn’t?”

“I guess you thought he’d lead you to the boodle.”

Mulligan leaned against the back of the couch and studied Johnny for a moment. “I had an idea you’d figured things out pretty well by now. Go ahead — tell me about it...”

“About the crowd getting to the dealers?”

“Yes.”

“You know more about that than I would,” said Johnny, modestly. “You’ve been on the ground floor and you know the people who got taken...”

“Oh, but they kept it pretty quiet. They don’t like to let those things get around. Gives others ideas... How much would you say they got?”

“A hundred thousand?”

“My guess is two...”

“And Harry Bloss grabbed it all and skipped!”

Mulligan frowned a little. “It looks like that, Fletcher, but that’s something I find it hard to swallow. I knew Harry.”

“You think he was honest?”

“Once, after I’d gone through my pile and didn’t know where my next meal was coming from, Harry bought me a drink... and after he’d gone I found a hundred dollar bill in my pocket.”

“I knew a man in Iowa once,” said Johnny. “The kids used to cross the street to meet him, because he always gave them nickels. He was a teller in a bank and worked there thirty-two years. Then one morning he was gone and so was about half of the bank’s money.”

Catch ’Em Alive Mulligan nodded. “Harry was getting along and he was still dealing at fifteen dollars a day.” He rubbed his chin with the back of his hand. “And he was Jim Langford’s uncle, by marriage. By the way, did you find out yet that Langford was here for a few days some time ago?”

“It ties in. He laid the groundwork, then went away. A few weeks later the team came. They got together two hundred thousand and Uncle Harry took the bag and ran away with it. Nephew Jim followed him... but didn’t get the bag. Which brings us to third base... who is Nick?”

“I’ll bite,” said Mulligan. “Who is Nick?”

“Nick Jones, Nick Bleek, Nick Fenton, Nick Smith, Nick Brown... Take your choice...”

Mulligan shook his head. “I’ve been thinking, Fletcher... you said Bloss died in your arms... could he have been delirious when he talked to you?”

“He was,” said Johnny, “that’s why I’ve practically given up trying to find Nick.”

“But what about the cards?”

“What about them?”

“When the chief took me in the other room he showed me Jim Langford’s effects. There were no cards.”

“I didn’t expect there would be.”

“Why not?”

“Wasn’t that why he was killed?”

Mulligan looked at Johnny through narrowed eyelids. “You’ve been hinting at that before; your theory is that there’s a mysterious Mr. X, who’s the head of the crowd. All right, I’ll buy it... but who is it?”

“If I knew that,” said Johnny, “I’d have an awfully good chance of collecting myself that two hundred thousand.”

“Two hundred thousand is a lot of money,” said Catch ’Em Alive Mulligan. “So’s a hundred thousand, for that matter...”

“A hundred thousand?”

“That’s what I said.”

“I thought your price was two hundred and fifty thousand?”

“I’ve come down.”

Johnny rose to his feet. “I’ve got some things to do if I’m to leave town by nine tomorrow morning.”

“Oh,” said Mulligan, “I wouldn’t leave if I were you. Not yet...”

“You told me...”

“Things have happened since then.” Mulligan got up. “I’ll drive you back to the hotel...”

Mulligan’s wife came out of the bedroom. “Good-bye, Mr. Fletcher,” she said.

“It’s been a pleasure...”

Johnny went out and climbed into the car. Mulligan remained in the house for a minute or two. When he came out he climbed in behind the wheel. He began driving without looking at Johnny and the latter, sensing that Mulligan was through talking, remained quiet.

Mulligan pulled up in front of the hotel entrance, let Johnny out and drove off without saying a word.

Johnny entered the casino and found Sam Cragg at a nickel slot machine. He grinned foolishly.

“I never saw dice so cold in my life.”

“You mean you’re broke?”

“I got these nickels left.”

He exhibited a handful of nickels. Johnny struck the hand and the nickels scattered over the floor.

“Leave them for the birds,” he said loftily. “And come watch me warm up the dice...”

They came up to the crap table just as a woman player threw a twelve and used some unladylike language. She threw down another dollar.

“If I crap again,” she said angrily, “I’m throwing these dice away...”

“Double up, lady,” Johnny said, cheerfully. “I’m betting with you and you can’t lose...”

The woman gave him a contemptuous glance and shook up the dice. Johnny dropped eight yellow chips on the pass line. The dice came up seven and the woman shot Johnny a quick glance.

“I’ll shoot it,” she exclaimed.

Johnny, already betting the limit, was compelled to draw back his two hundred. He handed the checks to Sam Cragg and gave him a signal to bet them all.

The little lady who had been throwing nothing but craps before now began throwing nothing but naturals — sevens and elevens. She made seven passes, then Johnny shifted his money to “No Pass” and the woman promptly sevened out.

“Hey — what gives here?” she cried. “The minute you get off me, I seven out...”

“You’ve got some yellow checks now,” said Johnny. “Be satisfied.”

Gilbert Honsinger came out of his office and seeing Johnny, strolled over. Johnny bet with a player for two passes, then went against him and so the dice came to him.

“How much can you spare?” he said mockingly to Honsinger.

Honsinger shook his head. “We’re having a little game right after dinner.”

Johnny dropped the dice on the table. “In that case I think I’ll get rested up.”

“About seven.”

Johnny nodded and was about to start off when a bellboy came into the casino and called out, “Paging Mr. Fletcher...!”

Johnny signalled to the bellboy.

“My name’s Fletcher, son.”

“Telephone call for you.”

“I’ll take it in my room,” said Johnny. “Here...” He tossed the boy a yellow check and the boy almost fainted.

Johnny went ahead of Sam, hurrying to their room in the cabana. He wasted a couple of seconds trying to unlock the door, then discovered that it was already unlocked. Inside his room the phone began ringing.

He slammed open the door and stopped when he saw Jane Langford seated in an armchair.

“Hello,” he said and crossed to the phone. He picked it up. “Yes?”

“Mr. Fletcher,” said the voice of Walter Cobb. “Beeler just called again.”

“What is it?”

“He was unable to get a thing on Halton — no one by that name was ever All-American.”

“What else?”

“He got some things on the Bloss family.”

“Forget them!”

Cobb’s voice protested. “But, Mr. Fletcher, this is quite interesting...”

“Forget it,” Johnny repeated, looking at Jane Bloss Langford.

“You mean you don’t want anything more from Beeler?”

“That’s right.”

“...Or is it that you can’t talk?”

“No — I got my information about them right here,” said Johnny and hung up.

Sam Cragg appeared in the doorway.

“Molly just called,” Johnny told him. “She wants you to come over and have a cocktail...”

Sam was pleased. “Where is she — at the bar?”

“No, she’s in her room...”

Sam grinned foolishly and went off. Johnny crossed the room and closed the door.

“I heard about... Jim...” said Jane Langford. Johnny nodded and made no reply. “I suppose it’s horrible,” Jane went on, “but he had it coming, didn’t he...?”

“Yes.”

“Was he the one...?”

“...Who killed your uncle?”

“Yes.”

Johnny nodded. Jane looked at him steadily for a moment, then exhaled wearily. “You’ve been looking for someone named Nick.” She paused. “When I was a little girl in Chicago, my uncle used to visit us... before he went off and became a professional gambler... He used to call me... Nikki...”

She reached into a pocket of her suit and brought out a box of playing cards.

Johnny went to her and took the cards. He glanced at them, then looked inquiringly at Jane.

“I found them here in the drawer last night.” She gestured to the door that connected Johnny’s room and her own. “Your side isn’t locked...”

Johnny took the cards out of the box and fanned them out. “You’ve looked at these?”

She nodded. “There’s nothing wrong with them.”

“Yet I have reason to believe that your — that Jim Langford was killed because of these cards.”

She looked up at him miserably. “I seem to be the pivot in all this... my uncle, then my husband...” She broke off as Johnny stooped suddenly and kissed her.

At that moment Sam Cragg slammed open the door. “Hey!” he cried, “she ain’t in her room...” Then he whistled. “Oh-oh!”

Johnny stepped back from Jane Langford and glowered at Sam. “Sometimes, Sam, I wonder why I ever put up with you...”

Jane Langford got up. “It’s all right.” She smiled wanly at Sam and without looking at Johnny, went out. Johnny stepped to the connecting door, saw that the latch on his side was open and tried the knob. It turned but the door didn’t give. It was locked on her side.

He let go of the knob and turned to Sam.

“Aw, gee, Johnny... how was I to know...?”

Johnny said, “I just remembered I didn’t have lunch... and it’s dinner time.”

Chapter Twenty

Gilbert Honsinger, wearing a black tie, came into the dining room as Johnny and Sam were eating their pie a la mode.

“Well, gentlemen,” he said, “are you ready for that game?”

“Tiddledy-winks, parcheesi or lotto,” said Johnny. “You name the game.”

“Poker.”

“I cut my eyeteeth on poker,” said Sam Cragg.

“Then shall we go?”

“Go?” asked Johnny.

“Chatsworth’s invited us to his place.”

Johnny pushed back his chair.

The three men left the casino by the rear door, where a large limousine was waiting. A pasty-faced man of about thirty sat behind the wheel.

Honsinger held open the tonneau door for Johnny and Sam and when they had stepped inside, followed. He seated himself in the middle.

“All right, Tod,” he said to the driver, “Chatsworth’s Ranch.”

The car leaped forward, swung into the drive beside the hotel and zoomed to the highway. It was doing sixty within a hundred yards.

“Heard about Mrs. Langford’s husband?” Johnny asked casually.

Honsinger nodded. “He had it coming.”

“How much did his boys nick you for?”

Honsinger smiled thinly. “Not me, Fletcher.”

“I heard they got two hundred thousand from you and some of the other fellows.”

“Riley Brown’s going to be at Chatsworth’s,” Honsinger said.

Johnny shrugged. “The more players the more money I’ll win.”

It was still daylight, although the sun was touching the mountains in the west. It was the best time of the day and Johnny leaned back and enjoyed the scenery. The limousine swished past El Rancho Vegas, The Last Frontier and after a couple of miles turned off on a good graveled road that dipped into a dry-wash a half mile from the main highway. It ran beside the dry-wash for a mile or so, then turned right through a field of huge boulders.

Coming into the clear, Johnny got his first view of the buildings of the H-C Ranch. He whistled softly. Money had gone into this place. There was a square mile or so of irrigated pasture — planted fruit trees and behind a stone wall, an enormous rambling ranch house and innumerable bunkhouses, stables and outhouses.

Several cars were parked in front of the house and a Mexican ranch hand sprang forward and opened the car door as Tod, Honsinger’s chauffeur, stopped the limousine.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” said the ranch hand in perfect English.

“Hello, Pancho,” Honsinger said easily.

He led the way into the ranch house, where an enormously fat Indian woman received them and padded ahead to a game room that was at least thirty by forty feet.

It contained, among other things, a pocket billiard table.

A poker table had been set up in the center of the room, but Chatsworth and several guests were at a full-sized bar at the far end of the room, where a Mexican, in Spanish costume, was dispensing drinks.

Chatsworth shook hands with Honsinger and Johnny; pretended not to see Sam Cragg.

“Gil,” Chatsworth said, “you know Riley Brown. Fletcher, Mr. Brown...”

Johnny shook hands with a cold-eyed gray-haired man.

“Hear you been doin’ all right, Mr. Fletcher,” Brown remarked.

A huge man in boots and Western costume turned from the bar.

“A hundred thousand is all right,” he boomed.

“My neighbor, Sim Page,” Chatsworth said. “His ranch extends over into the next county...”

The rancher crushed Johnny’s hand. “Glad to know you, Fletcher.” Then he reached for Sam Cragg’s hand. “And that goes for you, pardner...!”

A startled look came into his eyes. “Say...!”

He braced himself and gave Sam the old grip. Then suddenly his face whitened. Sam released his hand. “Harya, cowboy!”

“Gawdalmighty!” cried Page. “I been makin’ hombres yelp for forty years, but that’s the first time anyone made me quit on a handshake...”

“Well, gentlemen,” said Chatsworth, “shall we get at it? There’re a few more people dropping in later, but I’d like to do some poker playing before the party gets noisy.”

“Suits me,” exclaimed Page, the rancher.

Chatsworth apparently had in mind arranging the guests about the table to suit himself, but Johnny passed up the chair that was pointed out for him and seated himself on Riley Brown’s right.

Sam went around the table and plopped down in a chair directly opposite. Chatsworth showed some annoyance, but sat down on Sam’s left. That left Honsinger on Sam’s right and Page between Johnny and Honsinger.

“You’re all my guests, gentlemen,” Chatsworth announced them. “You decide what it’ll be.”

“You mean there’re people who play a limit game?” demanded Page.

“How about a buck?” Sam Cragg asked.

Gilbert Honsinger smiled thinly, but the cold-eyed Riley Brown fixed Sam with a cold stare. “What’s a buck?”

Johnny laughed. “Sam’s got to have his joke.”

“Then it’s table stakes?” Chatsworth asked.

“Sure,” said Page. “Table stakes and whatever else you want to bet.”

“I’m loaded myself,” Johnny said carelessly. He took out a packet of bills and dumped a handful of yellow checks on the tables. “These good here?”

“They’re good with me,” replied Chatsworth.

“I’ll redeem them,” Honsinger promised.

The waiter brought cards from behind the bar, two packs. Chatsworth fanned out one deck and they drew for the deal. Honsinger won it.

“Draw,” he announced, “with twenty-five ante...”

Sam threw a quarter into the center of the table. Chatsworth picked it up and threw it to the floor. Johnny tossed in a yellow check. Sam blinked.

“Huh!”

Sam grinned feebly and brought out the yellow checks Johnny had won for him at the last crap game — thirty-two. He slid one into the pot. Honsinger, Page, Brown and Chatsworth brought out cash. In setting a stack of bills in front of him, Chatsworth exposed the bottom bill. It was a thousand dollar note.

Honsinger dealt swiftly.

“Can you open with a pair of sevens?” Sam asked, looking at his cards.

“Jacks or better,” Honsinger said, “when I deal.”

“Then I pass.”

Chatsworth passed.

The rancher tossed two fifty-dollar bills into the pot. “She’s opened.”

Johnny looked at his cards. He had a pair of aces, the king of diamonds, the jack of diamonds and the ten of diamonds. One of the aces was a diamond. A possible straight, a possible flush or a possible Royal Flush... if he discarded the second ace.

He put a hundred dollar bill into the pot.

Riley Brown called by putting up his money.

Honsinger threw in his cards. Sam stalled but finally called. So did Chatsworth.

“Cards, gentlemen,” Honsinger asked.

Sam took three cards. “To your sevens?” Honsinger asked.

“Why not?” Sam retorted.

Chatsworth drew one card. Page two. Johnny started to throw away his ace, then suddenly changed his mind and discarded the jack and ten, holding the aces and the king.

“I’ll take three,” said Brown. “And it’s your bet, Mr. Page.”

“Is two hundred too much?” Page asked, grinning hugely.

Johnny looked at the first card that had been dealt to him. It was the queen of diamonds. Had he drawn for it, he would have made a royal flush. The other card was a seven... a card that Sam Cragg could well have used.

He said, “Let’s see where they are, men. I raise it three hundred.”

“Call,” said Brown, laconically.

Honsinger smiled. “I’m glad I dropped.”

“I wish to hell I had,” Sam growled. “I got another seven, but it’s only going to cost me money.” He counted out twenty chips and surveyed the eight he had left.

“I connected,” Chatsworth announced, “so I’m calling and raising you five hundred, Fletcher.” He picked up his bills, pulled out the thousand dollar note from the bottom and tossed it into the pot.

“Jeez!” cried Sam. He picked up the bill; held it to the light. “Counterfeit?”

Chatsworth laughed without humor.

“Good-bye, boys,” said Page. He showed a pair of kings. “Openers.”

Johnny counted out five hundred dollars, continued with five more. “Up five.” He laughed. “I said that as if these were dollar bills.”

“Well, boys,” said Riley Brown, “it looks like you intend to play some poker. In that case I raise it two thousand.”

“Ow!” cried Sam. He turned up his cards, revealing that he had drawn the case seven.

Chatsworth looked steadily across the table at Riley Brown. Then he began counting out bills — hundreds. Twenty made quite a sizeable addition to the pot. “I call,” he said shortly.

A little shiver ran through Johnny. He had no business in this pot, but he had already invested eleven hundred dollars in it. Riley Brown had drawn three cards — had probably gone in with a pair. He might have drawn another pair, perhaps three of a kind. He figured that Chats-worth had gone in on a possible straight or flush and had connected. He would beat Brown. And he was a cinch to beat Johnny’s one pair. Yet Johnny had drawn two cards. Calling a two thousand dollar bet ought to indicate a full house. But somehow, Johnny thought Brown and Chatsworth would call.

He threw in his hand. “Beats me.”

Riley Brown finally smiled. “I’ve got three sixes.”

“Beats two pair,” said Chatsworth.

Sam howled. “My three sevens wouldda won!”

“You’re playing poker, son,” Page, the rancher, announced dramatically.

Honsinger handed the fresh pack of cards to Sam to shuffle and deal. Johnny looking up, saw Jane Langford coming into the room. Jane Langford and Charles Halton.

“Poker!” cried Halton. “Mind if I sit in for a few hands, Jane?”

“Not at all,” replied Jane.

Chatsworth got up and introduced Halton to Riley Brown and Page. Jane, it seemed, already knew them.

Chapter Twenty-One

The waiter brought up a chair for Halton and he sat down between Honsinger and Sam. Jane went to the bar and seated herself on a high stool. Johnny, looking up, suddenly caught her eyes fixed on him. She averted her glance.

Halton pulled out a thick roll of bills, mostly fives and tens and a few twenties. “This is my roll. Seven hundred...”

Chatsworth laughed. “There was ten thousand in the last pot.”

Halton blinked. “You’re kidding.” His eyes went quickly around the table, sizing up the money in front of the various players.

“Bring out your system,” Johnny urged.

“That’s a dice system,” Halton said stiffly. He ran his fingers under his collar.

Sam was dealing. “Stud,” he announced. “My favorite game.”

“Mine, too!” boomed Page. “These crooks won’t play it, but I love the game. Ha — I’m high, with a queen. Fifty dollars!”

Halton’s mouth opened and a startled expression came into his eyes. “Too steep for you?” Chatsworth asked.

Halton shook his head, but his tongue came out and moistened his lips. Johnny threw in two yellow checks. Brown put in a hundred dollar bill and drew out Page’s fifty for change. Honsinger turned down his card — a four. Halton had a ten, hesitated and stooping, peeked at his hole card. Finally he put in four ten-dollar bills and two fives. Sam, also with a queen, put in two checks.

“I raise it two hundred,” said Chatsworth. He had a five showing.

“Back to back?” asked Page.

“Right smack!”

Johnny had a jack up and an ace in the hole. He put up his money. So did Brown. Halton got his face down to the level of the table and again studied his hole card. Perspiration showed on his face as he straightened. He counted out two hundred dollars.

“I’m in for a hundred and fifty,” Sam announced. “My pile.”

Chatsworth laughed. “One down!”

Twelve hundred dollars were raked together and put to one side — which would be Sam’s if he were fortunate enough to win. What went into the pot from now on — plus what was left over, so far would go to the second winner.

Sam dealt another round of cards. Chatsworth paired up his five that had been showing. Page got a deuce and turned down his hand. Johnny got an ace, giving him a pair. Brown drew a ten to his nine. Halton got an ace and Johnny winced a little.

Since Page had dropped out, it was up to Johnny to bet. “Two hundred,” he said.

“Up two,” Brown said in a monotone.

A gasp came from Halton. He repeated his peeking process, as if to make sure he had made no mistake in his hole card. He looked around the table, then counted out his money and discovered that he would have fifty-five dollars left if he called and pulled the money back again. Then finally he groaned and shoved the four hundred into the pot.

“I’m in for the showdown,” Sam reminded.

Chatsworth smiled crookedly. “Fifty-five you’ve got left, Halton. That’s the amount I’m going to raise.”

Johnny called. “Here goes your system, Chuckie.”

“I’ll raise next time,” Brown said, putting out fifty-five dollars more.

Glumly, Halton put in his money.

Sam dealt the fourth card, an ace to Chatsworth — the last one a deuce to Johnny, a ten to Brown, giving him a pair, and a king to Halton. That give Halton a ten, an ace and a king in sight. Sam got a nine.

The last card around. Chatsworth matched up his five... which made it look like three fives, since he had raised on his first five. Johnny got a deuce, which gave him aces and deuces. Brown drew a trey.

Halton got a second king!

Chatsworth sized up the hands. “I think my three fives are going to stand up to the two pairs all around. So it’ll just cost those who have the money — two thousand apiece.”

Johnny threw in his hand. Brown followed. Chatsworth smiled thinly and turned up his third five. “I guess I win it...”

“Against three kings?” asked Halton, turning up his hole card.

The smile died from Chatsworth’s face. “You had a king in the hole and you stayed with your short roll?”

“Why not?” asked Halton. He reached to the table and shoved back Chatsworth’s two thousand dollars, which was void. He looked at Sam Cragg. “Okay?”

Sam nodded gloomily. “I’m out!”

Halton collected in the neighborhood of three thousand dollars. “I’m sorry,” Johnny apologized. “Your system is all right.”

Chatsworth dealt a hand of straight poker. Everybody passed and ante’d another twenty-five dollars.

Page dealt. “Queens or better opens this one.”

As it turned out he was the one who opened, but Brown was the only one who stayed and finally won the small pot with a pair of kings.

Then it was Johnny’s deal.

“Stud,” he announced.

He dealt rapidly, gave himself an ace in the hole and one up. He opened for fifty dollars and all stayed — even Honsinger.

Brown got a pair of tens showing on the second card and bet two hundred dollars, dropping out Honsinger and Page. Johnny got a four.

He matched the four on the fourth card, giving him aces and fours.

Brown bet two hundred on his pair of tens. Halton turned down his cards and Chatsworth raised Brown four hundred. Johnny called.

Brown called the raise and came back with five hundred. Chatsworth called.

Johnny dealt the last card — a third ten showing to Brown. Chatsworth paired up a queen and Johnny — Johnny got a third ace, giving him aces full.

Brown’s cold eyes studied Johnny’s hand. “Could be!”

He searched for the thousand dollar bill he had won in the opening pot. “We’ll see.”

“This is it,” Chatsworth exclaimed. Ignoring the money in front of him he reached into his pocket and brought out a thin sheaf of bills... all thousands. He counted out five, then added three more.

He sneered, “Poker’s going up.”

Johnny had a cinch on Chatsworth. And almost one on Brown — although the latter could have four tens.

He studied his hole card thoughtfully. And then... a sudden tremor ran through his body. There was a little nick in the edge of the hole card — on top. Just a tiny indentation made by a fingernail. He caressed the cards that were turned up. There were similar nicks in the two aces that were showing.

The cards were marked. Either previous to the opening of the game, or since it had progressed.

He fumbled with his money, pretending to count, the while he looked surreptitiously at Riley Brown’s cards. Yes... they were nicked — although nearer the center to distinguish from higher cards — like Johnny’s aces, marked at the edge. But Brown’s hole card was almost covered by the other cards. Was it marked?

He counted out eight thousand dollars, reached into his pocket and brought out Gilbert Honsinger’s check. He exhibited it to Honsinger. “It’s good, isn’t it?”

“Riley’ll take it.”

“If I win,” said Riley.

Deliberately, Johnny reached over and pawed out Brown’s cards. “Three tens and a king. Could be a full house... or four tens...”

“Or just three tens,” sneered Chats-worth. “And I’ve got that beat.”

Brown’s hole card was unmarked.

“After all,” said Johnny, “it’s only money.” He threw the check into the pot, followed with the eight thousand.

“You’re raising ten thousand?” Brown asked.

Johnny smiled.

Jane Langford came over from the bar, stood behind Sam Cragg, her eyes fixed on Johnny.

Honsinger laughed. “Easy come, easy go.”

But Chatsworth was suddenly worried now. “An eighty thousand dollar pot!”

“If you and Brown call,” Johnny reminded.

“Oh, I’m calling,” said Brown. “Not only that, but I’m raising...” He looked squarely at Johnny. “How much have you got left?”

Johnny got out his checks, counted the bills in front of him. “Twenty-one fifty...”

“That’s what I raise,” said Brown.

Chatsworth said slowly, “It costs me eleven thousand and fifty dollars then, to call...”

“Maybe you want to raise,” said Johnny.

“I’ve got three queens,” said Chats-worth slowly. “I guess you’ve got a full house; to me it doesn’t matter whether it’s three fours and two aces or two aces and three fours... It might make a difference to Riley...”

Riley Brown said nothing.

Chatsworth laughed. “All right, maybe I’m being bluffed...”

He picked up his cards, riffled them together and dropped them to the table, face down.

“I’ll call,” said Johnny, “and it’s aces full...”

“I think four tens beat that.” Riley Brown turned up a fourth ten... that hadn’t been nicked.

Sam Cragg groaned aloud. The faces of all the players were taut — with the exception of Riley Brown’s. He looked at Johnny. “All right?”

“All right,” said Johnny, “if you didn’t nick the cards...”

“I didn’t,” said Brown. “But a man has a right to take out nicks, hasn’t he?”

“I guess so,” Johnny conceded. “Well, it was fun while I had it.”

Brown began scooping in the pot.

He never quite got it all in. Carl Shinn came into the game room. With him was a sun-tanned man in cowboy work costume. Both had guns in their hands.

“Take it easy, everybody,” Carl Shinn said ominously.

Chatsworth cried out, “Piper!”

“Sorry, Boss,” grinned the cow-puncher.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Page, the rancher, started to push back his chair. “A holdup!” he boomed. “Well, by cracky...”

Carl Shinn fired at Page. The rancher yelped and looked at his right arm. Blood spurted out of a hole in the sleeve, halfway between the shoulder and elbow.

“That’ll give you an idea,” Shinn said.

Johnny Fletcher suddenly laughed. Shinn gave him an ominous glance. “Funny, is it?”

“You don’t know how funny, Carl, old boy. I just lost all the money I had.” He winked at Riley Brown. “Too bad, Mr. Brown...”

“I’m Riley Brown,” the cold-eyed gambler addressed Shinn. “That name mean anything to you?”

“I’ve heard it,” said Shinn. “But it isn’t going to make any difference. Not to us, it ain’t...” He took a step forward.

That brought him within reach of Sam Cragg. Sam’s right hand shot out, caught Shinn’s left arm in a mighty grip. Shinn cried out and started to swing his gun on Sam. Sam jerked. Shinn hurtled halfway across the room, smashing against the pool table.

Then Sam was up on his feet. He scooped up his chair with one hand, threw it at the cowboy gunman — just as the cowboy fired. The bullet knocked splinters off the chair and deflected it a bit, just enough so that only a leg grazed the cowboy. But his gun dropped from his hand.

Johnny was on his feet then. And Riley Brown’s right hand was under his lapel.

Charles Halton whipped out a .32 automatic and leaped clear of the table. He fanned the gun at Sam, Johnny and Riley Brown.

“Hold it!” he cried.

Riley Brown’s hand froze on the butt of his gun, still in the shoulder holster. Johnny stopped where he was. Only Sam still moved. But now he moved toward Halton.

“Why, you young squirt...!”

Halton took another step back so that he was beside Carl Shinn, who was getting up from the floor.

“Come ahead,” Halton invited Sam.

Johnny yelled, “Sam!”

Sam stopped.

Halton circled Sam and approached Johnny. “Fletcher, I want those cards...”

“Ah,” said Johnny, “now it comes... the chump with the system for beating the dice.”

“There’s more than one way of beating a game,” Halton said grimly.

“Sure,” said Johnny. “You can buy dealers to beat a blackjack game and you can beat a poker game by nicking the cards with your fingernails. And then, to make absolutely sure, you can have your pals stick-up the game. There’s only one thing you can’t beat, Halton... murder...” He took Bloss’s cards from his pocket and plunked them down on the table. “There they are, Halton. You got Jim Langford to kill Harry Bloss for these cards and then you killed Langford because you thought he was holding them out on you...”

“And you had them all the time!”

“No, he didn’t,” cut in Jane Langford. “I had them.”

Halton sneered, “So you’ve gone over to them?”

“I was never on any other side,” Jane retorted coolly.

“Your uncle wasn’t on my side, either — but he grabbed our stake after we’d worked for it. He was an honest dealer all his life, until two hundred grand came along. Then he wasn’t so honest any more.”

Halton put his gun down on the edge of the table, handy for a quick grab and picked up Bloss’s cards. He fanned them out, began sorting them into suits and sequences... ace, king, jack, etc., of spades, then the other suits.

He got them all sorted, then squared the pack. Johnny Fletcher, leaning forward, saw that writing had appeared on the edge of the pack. He read, Cabana 23. Look under bathroom tile.

“He left it for you, Jane,” Johnny said softly.

Halton laughed contemptuously. “Never tumbled, did you? Mixed up the cards had dirty spots on the edges. Put into sequences the spots became words... You had two hundred thousand dollars in your hands, Fletcher... and you were too dumb to know it.”

“Well,” said Johnny, “how long do you think you’ll have the money?”

“Long enough to spend it.”

“Think again. You’ll get away from here — but how long will it be before about twenty deputies are after you... and the state police...?”

“With fifteen minutes’ head start they’ll never catch me. The hills are big — and so’s the desert...”

A gun banged outside the house, then again and again.

Halton grabbed up his gun, jammed the cards into his pocket and leaped to Chatsworth’s side. He rammed his gun into the millionaire’s back.

“All right, Chatsworth, we’re going through — and if any of your men make a move toward me, you get it first. I guess you better announce that as we go out...”

The door slammed open and Catch ’Em Alive Mulligan came into the room. A snub-nosed revolver was in his fist.

Halton took his gun out of Chatsworth’s stomach, stabbed it in Mulligan’s direction. He was a tenth of a second too slow. Mulligan’s bullet got him in the forehead.

Carl Shinn threw his gun to the floor. “Don’t shoot!” he screamed.

Piper, the cowpuncher, was made of sterner stuff... but wasn’t as fast as Riley Brown. Piper died.

Johnny said softly, “I thought you had a price, Mulligan!”

Mulligan looked at him. “I thought so, too, but I got to thinking... What the hell, I had a hundred thousand bucks once. I didn’t know what to do with it.”

Gilbert Honsinger came up to the desk. “So you’re leaving us, Fletcher.”

“There’s a difference of opinion about that. The police are satisfied, but my bill is thirty-two fifty and I’ve only got this purple check. I always thought this was worth something and it is — twenty-five dollars. Mr. Bishop says I can’t leave unless I scrape up another seven-fifty... and I can’t do it.”

“Well,” said Honsinger, “it’s against the rules of the house, but in view of, ah, everything that’s happened, I guess I’ll just have to let you go.”

“That’s mighty white of you, Mr. Honsinger,” said Johnny mockingly.

Honsinger held out his hand, but Johnny pretended not to see it. He crossed to Nick, the bellboy. “Nick, old boy, you don’t happen to have a stray buck or two on you, do you?”

“Gee, Mr. Fletcher,” said Nick. “I put every nickel I had into my piggy bank last night.”

“That’s fine, Nicky. Keep that up and you’ll own a joint like this yourself some day.” He smiled and patted Nick’s cheek. “Good-bye, now...” He waved to Bishop, the clerk. “You, too, Mr. Bishop!”

He left the hotel and got into the car, where Sam was already waiting for him. Sam didn’t say a word. Not until they had turned south on Fremont Street and were rolling out of Las Vegas.

Then Sam could restrain himself no longer. “So we’re broke again!”

“Not quite,” said Johnny. He took a silver dollar from his pocket. “I was holding this out.”

“A buck,” said Sam bitterly. “And yesterday we had twenty thousand... We lost twenty thousand bucks...”

“Oh, no, Sam. We only had a dollar when we started. And we’ve got a buck now.” He laughed. “We broke even!”

Notes

1

(The Navy Colt, Farrar & Rinehart, 1941.)

Content

Frank Gruber
The Honest Dealer

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Notes