Authors: Lee Falk
asleep in another, a frail blonde girl with a mock Afro hairdo was sitting on the chair arm.
When Colma came striding across the lobby toward the desk followed by the slower moving VerPoorten, the blonde girl jabbed thin fingers into the sleeping boy's side. He sat up, noticed the police and attempted to put an innocent expression on his puffy face.
The desk clerk had only one arm. The other sleeve of his candy-striped shirt was pinned up with a diaper pin. "Ah, I sense you are lawmen," he said. With his good arm he reached over to pluck a kleenex from the box next to the register. "Don't worry, this isn't a cold. Only an allergic reaction to this dismal lobby." After blowing his nose, enthusiastically, twice, he asked "How may I help you?"
After flashing his identification, Colma nodded at his big partner. "What's the name he's using?"
"Maxwell Arnold, Jr.," said VerPoorten, after consulting a wad of papers from his pocket.
"Is Maxwell Arnold, Jr. staying here?" the lieutenant asked the one-armed clerk.
"Yes, officer."
"Describe him."
"Well," reflected the clerk. "He's youthful. He's tall Yes, a tall youth, tending toward slimness. He sports a small beard as well, just on this part of his face." He drew a circle round his mouth with his fingertip.
"Okay, what room is he in?"
"286. That's a street view room."
"Is he in?"
'To the best of my knowledge."
"I'd like the key to his room."
"Certainly, officer." The single arm reached back to a nest of cubbyholes. "Here you are. If it's at all possible, could you return it once you accomplish your mission? You can't imagine how many keys we. . „ „"
Lt. Colma was already heading for the stairs.
"Don't tell him we're coming," VerPoorten suggested to the clerk before he turned to follow.
"Most certainly not, officer."
The second floor corridor walls were a drab green shade, the long dim corridor smelled of stale food nnd homemade cigarettes.
"This is not exactly what you would call a first class hotel," VerPoorten observed quietly.
Behind a door at the other end of the corridor a phone rang.
"I'll bet you thafs 286." Colma broke into a trot.
It was 286. When they reached the door the ringing had stopped. After VerPoorten positioneid himself to the left of the door, the lieutenant, standing to the right, reached out and pounded on the door. "Okay, Todd. Open up. This is the police."
Only silence came out of the room.
"Window opening," said VerPoorten.
Colma tossed him the room key. "Easy now."
VerPoorten thrust the key into the keyhole, twisted it and gave the door a careful shove inward. "Saves my shoulder."
The sound of rain was loud in the room. "Fire escape," said Lt. Colma. He ran to the open window of the tiny living room-bedroom. One of the brittle yellowed curtains had been pulled down when Sweeney Todd went out the window. It lay in a tangle in front of the narrow silver-painted radiator. Colma stood at the open window for a few seconds, still and listening. "He's going up," he announced, pointing with a thumb. "I'll go after him this way. You take an elevator, then get out on the roof."
"Right, lieutenant."
The stocky Colma took a careful look out the window. He got a face full of rain, plus a glimpse of the lean Sweeney Todd clattering up the iron fire escape
ladder about six stories up. Which meant he was still two floors away from the roof.
With his .38 in his right hand, Colma stepped out His raincoat got tangled on the window catch. "Damn, there goes another button." The button bounced down the metal stairs and then spun off into the rainy air.
"Come back here, Todd!' shouted Colma. "You won't get anywhere."
The young man was nearly to the roof now. Ho kept on climbing.
"Okay," said Lt Colma as he started climbing. "We'll do it the hard way."
Two floors further up a four year old girl in her < underwear waved at him while he was hurrying by her window.
Colma was still one more flight of metal stairs from the top of the Hobart when he heard shots. "Jim- dandy," he said to himself. Nobody was shooting at him. That meant Todd was shooting at VerPoorten. 2
There was one more shot. Someone cried out in pain.
Colma went quickly up the final steps. He stopped fl with his head just below the edge of the roof.
'It's okay up here," VerPoorten called out. "I got i him, not vice versa."
Keeping his gun ready, Colma climbed over onto 1 the tar-papered roof. Seeing that things were as his | partner had said, he holstered the weapon. "A lot of fuss," he said. "A lot of fuss you've been making, Todd."
Sweeney Todd was in his shirt-sleeves, holding a folded handkerchief against his upper right arm. Blood had run down his arm and was circling the wrist. "Me make a fuss? What about this lout of yours? He shot me full of holes."
VerPoorten was holding the young man's automatic
in his left hand. "One little flesh wound, after you tried to do me in with this."
"Can't we go inside? I don't want to get pneumonia on top of everything else," said Sweeney Todd.
"We want to have a talk with you," said the lieutenant
"Oh, really? I thought you simply wanted to gun me down in the streets, friend."
"Bluff," said Colma stepping nearer the wounded young man. "It's too late for bluff, Todd. We can slap a half dozen charges on you. So let's drop the bluff and talk."
Sweeney Todd winced. "What? What do you want to talk about?" Rain had plastered his shirt "to him, diluted the streak of blood on his arm.
"The golden arrow," said Colma.
"Let's go inside."
"Are you going to talk if we do?"
The young man licked his lips. "Oh, okay, all right, you win," he said. "But listen, lieutenant, I think we can make a deal."
"Can we?"
"Yeah, because," explained Sweeney Todd anxiously, "I can give you a nice valuable bit of information."
Lt. Colma took hold of the young man's good arm, guiding him toward the door off the roof. "What kind of information?"
'1 can tell you," he said, "where their next job is going to be. It's set for tomorrow night, right here in Manhattan. I can tell you where and when it'll be. That way you can catch them in the act" He paused at the head of the stairs. "That should be worth something, shouldn't it?"
"Something," said Lt. Colma.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
It rained again on the night of the robbery. Mara, who was driving the black Renault they were using that night, rubbed steam off the inner side of the windshield with the heel of her hand. "There's the old boy's townhouse," she pointed out, slowing the car.
Beth was sitting stiff and straight on the seat next to her. "And there's the red kerchief tied to the shade on the left-hand second floor window. Helga's signal that all's well inside."
"I got a funny ache in my elbow," said Nita from the back seat.
'It's the weather," said the small Chinese girl beside her. "Or maybe you've got a touch of the flu, like poor Mimi."
"Poor Mimi indeed," snorted Beth. "She got cold feet."
The car rolled along the slick night street and stopped at the corner. "Here's where you get off," said Mara. "I'll keep cruising until you come out."
"Whenever I get this funny feeling in my elbow it means something bad." Nita opened her door and stepped carefully out into the rain.
Connie, the little Chinese girl, slid across and followed her. "The flu can make you feel depressed"
Beth joined them on the curb. A fat man in a plaid raincoat was walking a silver poodle, who also wore a plaid raincoat. When he was out of earshot, Beth said, "I have very negative vibrations about this caper, loo, Nita. Still, the all-clear signal is flying."
The three women were wearing dark pants suits and dark head scarves. Nita rubbed her elbow, saying, "I'm worried about Sweeney Todd, too. He hasn't heen around his shop or his apartment for two or three days."
"Not at all unusual for a fellow with his footloose habits," reminded Beth. "He's not, thank goodness, really a full-fledged member of the golden arrow circle. He has other interests." They had reached the door of the townhouse. "Nine fifteen exactly," said Beth after checking the large square watch on her thin wrist. "Helga should have the noted Mr. Easton all tied up and taped by now." Producting the duplicate key Helga had provided, she opened the white panel door of the narrow brownstone house.
The three of them marched quickly across the welcome mat and into the hall. Connie pulled the door shut.
Inside the house a radio was softly playing. String quartet music swept down the eggshell-white hall at them. According to the prearranged plan Helga by now was to have Rowland Easton tied up, mouth taped, in the library.
"The library is the second door on our right," whispered Beth.
Nita had been staring up at a small impressionist painting on the wall. She shivered now. "Darn elbow," she said to herself.
Beth unbuttoned the jacket of her suit, and pulled the pistol out of her waistband. "Let's look in on the eminent author."
"Urn," said Nita. She stood beside Beth at the entrance to the library.
There were two gold columned floor lamps glowing brightly in the big room. A huge teakwood radio console sat against the far wall, giving out quiet music. Thousands of books were crowded on the floor-to- ceiling shelves.
But Rowland Easton, bound and gagged or otherwise, was not there.
Beth backed into the hall. "Helga," she called out.
"Something," muttered Nita, "is wrong."
"Up here," came a girl's voice. "Upstairs, Beth."
Beth strode to the head of the staircase. "What in the hell are you doing up there?" She gripped the banister with one bony hand. That's not in the plan."
"Come up, please," said the unseen Helga. "Hurry."
Beth, her gun held out in front of her, started up the staircase. Nita and Connie followed her.
The gaunt woman was two thirds of the way to the second floor when she heard the sound. It was a small sound, hardly noticeable. Nevertheless, Beth noticed it. A man had cleared his throat up on the second floor.
She made a halt motion with her free hand, jerking her head toward the floor above them.
Understanding, the other two commenced working their way silently down the stairs.
The door just inside the entrance opened and a big man holding a .38 revolver stepped into view. "Go on up, ladies. There's somebody up there who would like to talk to you."
"A trap!" Beth, without any hesitation at all, leaped over the banister. The instant her feet touched the hall floor she squeezed off a shot at the big man who was blocking the front way out.
VerPoorten hesitated before returning the fire.
This gave Beth time to duck into the library.
Nita was easing one hand toward her own concealed gun.
The big detective noticed. "Don't do that, miss. I'd like to keep the shooting down to a minimum." "Aren't you going to chase after her?" Nita asked him.
"No place she can go except back out here or through the window," VerPoorten told her. "And we've got a man out there."
From the library came the noise of a window being
smashed.