Atlanta Daily World

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

ALEX and I spent the next three days meeting trains. Blucher's men got the search down to a smooth, oiled routine. Some of them carried luggage, others wore conductor's uniforms, or maintenance workers' overalls. They gave every berth, every compartment and every men's room, plus the diners and club cars, a once-over that couldn't arouse anyone's suspicions.

And we didn't find Shenk.

By the fourth night I was getting impatient. Alex and I were on the platform, collars turned up against a chilly wind, waiting for the Rambler, the last train until the next morning. It was due within eight or ten minutes.

"Well, let's hope this is it," Alex said.

When the Rambler thundered in to a stop, Blucher's men unobtrusively entered the cars. Passengers went aboard, and departing passengers trickled away to cab ranks.

The conductor pulled out his watch.

Alex caught my arm.
"Up ahead," he said

I looked that way and saw one of Blucher's men holding one arm above his head.

"Hold the train till I get off." I said to Alex, and then trotted down the platform. Blucher's man said quietly, "In the men's room, car twenty-two, gabbing with the porter."

I boarded the train and walked through a darkened car, and into another which was numbered twenty-two. There was a green curtain hanging in the men's room door, and I pushed it aside and looked in. The porter was standing near the window, and I was aware, without turning my head, of a man who sat on the long black leather couch.

"This car twenty-one?" I asked the porter.

"No, sir This is twenty-two. Twenty-one is one car behind."

"Thanks."

Turning, I took a casual glance at the man on the couch. He returned my look, unconcerned, a big stocky man with heavy features and thick black hair. There was a briefcase beside him, a nice fat one.

I went down the aisle, through two cars and left the train.

"...We've done it," I said, rejoining Alex. "It's Shenk, all right. Thank your boys for me, friend.

I'll be heading for Chicago in the morning."

He slapped my arm. "Good luck, boy. Don't mess up the deal out there."

"No, I won't. That's a promise."

He came with me down to the cab ranks. "You said there was a personal deal. Sometime I'd like to hear about that, Bill."

"It's not a pretty story" I said

"Never mind then. I was just curious."

"No, you'll have it. I plan to be back at my old beat in a couple of days. We'll celebrate and you'll hear the whole story."

He was frowning as I climbed into a cab.

"Make it easy." he said.

"You look like trouble, Bill Let it be for the other guy, not you."

"I'll do that.

I went back to my apartment.

Terry was sitting up, reading.

There had been a little stiffness between us since her tantrum of a few days back but in the light of my news and what was ahead for us, I put out the olive branch.

"We just fingered Shenk," I said "Make a drink, and we'll celebrate."

She came to my side, smiling, but still uncertain of our relationship. "That's wonderful," she said. "You're a very smart guy, Bill."

That's true," I said, nodding.

"Now let's have that drink."

While she fussed around with glasses, I put a long-distance call through to Gibbons. It must have dug him out of sleep, for his voice was thick and crusty.

"Yeah, yeah, what is it?" he growled.

This is Canalli, Philadelphia," I said.

"How're things on your end?"

That cleared his head. "Oh. Fine, Canalli. Everything's set up. What about you?"

"Take this down. Our man is named Shenk. He's-"

"Hold it, boy, I need a pencil:"

A few seconds later he said, "Fire away.

"The guy is named Shenk. He's riding car twenty-two on the Rambler, due into Chicago tomorrow afternoon about four o'clock. You'll have things arranged to tail him the second he leaves the train?"

"Sure."

"Okay, I'll be there to point him out for you. If my plane crashes, he's got black hair, swarthy skin, is heavily built and is wearing a black overcoat. But my plane won't crash. I'll see you tomorrow Supposing you meet me at the information booth about three-thirty. Okay?"

That's okay.

After that I called TWA and got two tickets on a flight that would drop us into Chicago at two-thirty the next afternoon. I hung up then, and lit a cigarette. Terry was standing beside me, a drink in her hand.

"…Well. it's all set," I said.

The next morning while Terry was dressing I made a few calls around town, letting people who cared know I'd be out of touch for a few days. After that I looked through the mail, but found nothing that needed my attention now.

Then I played back the telephone calls that had come in and out of the office for the past few weeks, and again encountered nothing of any importance.

When Terry was ready, looking fresh and smart, I picked up my coat and hat. Everything was set now. The plane tickets were in my wallet, and Shenk was somewhere around Pittsburgh, or a little better.

"Let's go, baby," I said. "The last act is ready to start."

The plane ride was routine, and we landed smoothly at Chicago's Municipal Airport slightly before two-thirty. Shenk was about half an hour past Fort Wayne now, probably having finished lunch and preparing to pack his grip. I climbed into a cab after Terry and gave the driver the address of her apartment. We weren't too loaded with time; I had to meet Gibbons in just about an hour. The driver went in on Archer Avenue, a thoroughfare which slants diagonally into the Loop, and by three o'clock we were bowling along the Outer Drive, a few minutes from Terry's place. We were doing all right.

I said to Terry, If everything goes right, and we're lucky, we should make the pinch about five o'clock. I'll call you the minute it's definite."

"Fine. I'll be at the office."

When we stopped at her place I paid off the driver and walked into the lobby with her.

"Are you coming up?" she said.

"Yes. I've still got time to kill."

We went up to her apartment, and she said, "Fix a drink if you like. I'm going to call my boss."

The room looked lovely in the spring sunlight. The grays glinted purple in the brightness, and the picture frames, the icebucket and glasses, all sparkled cheerfully. I poured a short drink, and put it away neat. Then I walked into Terry's bedroom.

She was dialing a number.

I came up behind her, put my hand on the bar and broke the connection.

What's the idea?" she said, a frown gathering over her eyes.

"This is for your own good, Terry." I said. "You'll hate me, but that doesn't matter."

My punch didn't travel more than six inches. I clipped her on the point of the jaw as gently as I could; my fist merely grazed her as it went by, but her head shook quickly, back and forth, as if it were attached to a powerful spring. She folded against me and as her knees sagged, and I caught her and lifted her in my arms.

Her eyes had closed and she was breathing heavily. There was no mark on her chin, although I knew a little bruise would come up in a few minutes.

I stretched her out on the bed and then glanced at my watch.

Ten after three. I still had twenty minutes to get to Union Station and meet Gibbons.

I went into the bathroom and turned the shower on full force. It was a needle-spray and, most important, very noisy. That would be important when Terry came around and started yelling: it wasn't likely that she'd be heard over the hissing roar of the shower.

There were several silk dressing robes in her closet. I removed the sashes from two of them and tied Terry's wrists behind her, and bound her ankles together, not too tightly, but firmly enough to prevent her from wriggling free. She'd be comfortable enough when she came to, but she wouldn't be going anywhere.

I checked the time again, and took her keys from her purse. It was three-twenty as I left her apartment...

(To Be Continued)