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Roy Glashan's Library
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Fantastic Adventures, February 1942, with "The A Thought in Time"
The bound and gagged girl was lovely, red-headed Inez Mathew!
Percy was seven feet tall, so people were careful what they
said to him. Then they learned it wasn't safe even to think!
A SHADOW passed between Inez Mathew and the window, blotting light from the office. Miss Mathew looked up, her attractive brown eyes widening.
"Goodness," she exclaimed. "Who let you in?"
Percy Dimwiddy, removed his cap, scraped his number thirteen shoes against the floor a little nervously and stared down at the pretty girl behind the desk.
"My name is Percy Dimwiddy," he announced in a meek voice. "I'd like to see Mr. Roberts."
Inez allowed her eyes to travel up and down the huge youth before her. There was a lot of Mr. Dimwiddy. About seven feet, including bulging shoulders and a clean-cut face that she liked almost at once.
"Cowboy," she said wonderingly. "I didn't know they made anything so big. What do you do about replacements, with a war on?"
Percy Dimwiddy considered the question. Twirling his cap on one finger, he leaned over and whispered in Miss Mathew's ear.
"You better be careful what you think about me. I pick thoughts from the air."
Miss Mathew rose quickly, a blush coloring her cheeks. She was not quite tall enough to reach Percy's shoulders.
"Are you getting fresh?"
Mr. Dimwiddy was very concerned.
"Oh dear, no!" he assured her. "I just want to play fair. Sometimes people think nice things about me, and I'm really not the fine specimen you just thought."
Miss Mathew turned a deeper shade of pink. She sat down abruptly, motioning him toward the door of Mike Roberts' office.
"Mr. Roberts will see you at once," she said in a low voice. "Fresh!"
Percy crossed the room and hesitated before the glass panel lettered Michael Roberts—Theatrical Agent. He had said the wrong thing again. Just when he started to like the girl behind the desk, he had to open his big mouth and spoil everything.
HE knocked gently. "Come in," said a gruff voice beyond the panel.
Dimwiddy pushed the door open, bent his head for clearance and managed to scrape through. He stood before a desk littered with phones, girl-pictures and whiskey bottles. The man who sat behind it didn't look very brilliant. He wore a battered derby, chewed on a wet cigar stub, and the fingers that fumbled with the pictures were fat and dirty. After a short time, he glanced up. His eyelids popped skyward. He snatched a bottle and gulped at its contents hurriedly.
"I don't believe it," he said after he put the bottle down. "They don't make 'em this big without priorities."
"I'm Percy Dimwiddy. I heard you hired people for show acts."
Roberts stood up, thrusting his fingers to Dimwiddy's big paw. To his surprise, although Dimwiddy's grasp was firm, he broke none of Roberts' fingers.
"Sit down, Dimwiddy," he urged. "What's your racket?"
"Racket?" Percy remained on his feet. He had a long-founded distrust for chairs.
Roberts was impatient.
"Act. You know. What do you do on the stage?"
"Oh!" Percy said. "I pick thoughts out of the air."
Mike grinned.
"Sorry, mind readers ain't what they use to be."
"But I'm not a mind reader, exactly," Dimwiddy protested. "That is, I'm no fake. You see, once we were having a history test in school. I found. I could pick up everything the girl next to me was thinking. I finished the test on her thoughts."
Mike Roberts smiled sourly.
"A perfect mark, no doubt?"
Dimwiddy colored slightly.
"The girl had all the wrong answers," he confessed. "We both flunked."
Roberts leaned forward in his chair.
"Show me," he invited. "It don't sound so bad."
Dimwiddy concentrated.
"You were looking at a lot of pictures when I came in." he said. "Right now you're thinking about a girl called Sandra Williams. You like her best because the costume she wears in the picture leaves little to the imagination. You've decided to hire her."
Roberts' face turned a mottled red.
"You're pretty smart, ain't you?"
Dimwiddy didn't answer. He was staring at Roberts, and his face turned pink. Roberts tried desperately to cover up his thoughts. It proved impossible. Dimwiddy clenched his fists.
"I came up here to get a job," he said. "I guess you and I can't do business, Mr. Roberts."
He turned and started toward the door.
Roberts thought: Who the hell does the big stiff think he is?
Too late, he realized Mr. Dimwiddy's queer gift was still working. Percy wheeled, his hand on the door knob.
"I may be a big stiff," he blazed. "But right now your secretary is comparing you and me. You aren't coming out so good. She thinks you're a dried-up little rat."
Roberts was on his feet, arms waving wildly.
"You—you oversized man mountain!" he bellowed. "Get the hell out of here before..."
His voice died to a whisper.
"Where you gonna get an army in a hurry?" Dimwiddy asked calmly. He went out, slamming the door behind him. The glass shivered violently and settled back into the putty, still intact.
Mr. Dimwiddy crossed the outer office, stopped at the door and turned to Inez Mathew. Her typewriter clicked steadily. She did not look up.
"Thanks, Miss," he said. "I think you're pretty sweet."
He was half way to the elevator before Inez dared to think of anything.
FOR the first time in Percy Dimwiddy's life, he was unhappy. Back home, thoughts hadn't disturbed him very much. Small towns produced people who didn't have many worries to pass along. Chicago was different. Everyone sent thoughts at him along the street about unpaid taxes and unhappy wives. Draft dodgers also made Dimwiddy miserable.
He found a lunch car, went inside and, standing behind one of the small stools, ordered a hamburger and a cup of coffee. The waiter, a kid of sixteen, stared at Percy Dimwiddy with great respect.
"Drag in the cow," he shouted to the cook. "Gulliver's here for a hamboig."
He turned to Percy.
"You working for a circus?"
Dimwiddy shook his head sadly.
"Nope! Just looking for a job. Only got here last night."
The kid whistled.
"Washing elephants would be easy for you," he said. "Oughta be a job like that around somewhere."
Dimwiddy smiled. There was nothing but honest admiration in the waiter's thoughts. He finished his first hamburger, decided he was still hungry and ordered six more.
"I tried to get on the stage," he admitted. "Went to see Mr. Roberts, the show man, but he didn't like me very well."
"Mike Roberts wouldn't give you the fuzz off his blankets," the boy said. "Don't bother with him. Go see Jerry Kern at the Vaudeville Club. Roberts works for him. Kern's got plenty of dough. Maybe he'll give you a break."
"Thanks," Percy said. "Will you tell me how to find him?"
The waiter scribbled an address on a paper napkin and passed it across the counter.
"The Vaudeville Club is down the street a ways," he said. "It's a big joint. You can't miss it."
Percy finished his meal in silence. He paid the check, thanked the waiter and started to leave.
"Drop in again," the kid invited. "You make up for six ordinary customers."
AT ten o'clock the Vaudeville Club was doing a fair business. Cabs discharged their fares from the Loop under the awning of the club. The club had glitter and music that attracted a big following.
Jerry Kern entered his office just after ten, tossed his hat in the general direction of the rack and peeled cellophane from a slim cigar. He neglected to remove the expensive, tight-fitting gloves that covered slim fingers. Mike Roberts had been waiting for Kern to come in. Roberts removed his feet from Kern's desk hurriedly and stood up. Ignoring Roberts, Kern sat down and started to scan through a stack of letters. His fingers darted about in quick, decisive movements. The thin, curled lips and narrow eyes reminded Mike Roberts of something closely akin to the rat family. He didn't like Kern, but the boss had money and Mike could overlook a lot for that reason.
He waited until Kern checked the last letter, removed a large silk handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his forehead.
"Did you get those girls for next week's chorus?" Kern asked sharply. Roberts nodded.
"Sure did," he said. "They're pips."
Kern left the desk, went to the wall and took down a large painting. There was a small wall safe hidden behind it. Kern twisted the dial expertly and opened the safe.
"Is Inez outside?" he asked.
Mike nodded.
"We're all set," he said.
Kern took out two small parcels.
They were wrapped in brown paper and taped securely.
"Let Inez take the first one to the currency exchange on Walnut Street." Kern passed the packages to Mike Roberts. "You can deliver the other to Casey's Exchange on Twelfth and Pine."
"Right."
Roberts pushed the packages into his coat pockets. "You're pretty smart, Jerry."
"I get by," Kern answered. He closed the safe, replaced the painting and returned to his desk.
A KNOCK sounded on the door.
"Come in," Kern said.
One of the bartenders entered, wiping his hands on his apron.
"Sorry to bother you, Boss," he said. "But there's a big bruiser outside what wants to see you."
Kern was once more busy at the desk. He looked up impatiently.
"Get rid of him."
The bartender's face colored slightly.
"I don't think we oughta do that," he protested. "He's pretty big. Maybe you better handle him."
Kern started to speak, then hesitated. A smile twitched his lips.
"Who is this guy?"
"Says his name is Dimwiddy," the bartender mumbled. "Percy Dimwiddy."
"Oh-oh!" Mike Roberts slid forward in his chair. "Maybe you oughta talk with this guy, Mr. Kern. He was at the office today. Stands seven feet tall in his stocking feet."
Kern smiled unpleasantly.
"Send Dimwiddy in," he said. "Perhaps I can use him."
"Keep him outside for a minute," Roberts said. "There's something about Dimwiddy I think the boss oughta know."
The bartender looked at Kern, caught his signal and went out. Roberts leaned over Kern's desk.
"Look out for this Dimwiddy," he cautioned. "He can read minds. Anyhow, when you think something, he can tell what you're thinking."
For an instant Kern looked startled. Then he grinned unpleasantly.
"Anyone can read minds," he said. "The way to prevent it, though, is just think of a lot of things that aren't important. I'll have your mind reader so confused he'll go batty."
Roberts started to bluster.
"Don't say I didn't warn you."
Kern's hand shot out and closed around Roberts' wrist like a steel band.
"Warn me about what?" His eyes narrowed.
Roberts' face turned white.
"I didn't mean nothin' special," he said. "Just—well, it ain't no fun having a guy telling you what you're thinking before you can get it out."
The fingers relaxed.
"No one gets information out of me until I'm ready to talk," Kern said coolly.
A knock sounded on the door.
"Come in, Mr. Dimwiddy," Kern said in a pleasant voice.
Percy Dimwiddy hesitated just inside the door. He twirled his cap on one finger and stared at Kern.
Mr. Kern had Percy Dimwiddy puzzled. There were an awful lot of disconnected thoughts floating around the room, and Dimwiddy couldn't make sense out of them. He had a feeling that Mike Roberts had warned Kern, although he couldn't be sure. Jerry Kern was thinking about a cottage at Mountain View—about making love to Inez Mathew and—yes, odd as it seemed, Kern was thinking how he'd have to hide paper plates from Inez when they went to Mountain View.
That last part had Percy stumped. He was suddenly angry to find that Kern and Miss Mathew were so friendly, and he wondered what in heck Kern meant by hiding paper plates.
HE didn't have time to sort out any more of the thoughts that were floating about the room.
Mr. Kern stood up and walked over to Dimwiddy.
"I understand you want a job," he said.
"Yes, sir," Percy answered eagerly. "I thought perhaps if I came and saw you..."
Kern smiled approvingly.
"I guess you'll be okay," he said. "Ever work as a body-guard?"
Percy wasn't sure, but somehow he felt Kern wasn't telling or thinking what was really most important in his mind. The thoughts in the room were all blurred and mixed up. They didn't make sense.
"No, sir," he said. "But I could try. I guess I'm pretty strong. I might scare people all right."
"Good," Kern said. "Go out and have a few drinks on the house. You'll start work at once. I'll be out in half an hour and you can see that I get home safely."
He took a small automatic pistol from his pocket and passed it to Dimwiddy.
"Better carry this from now on," he said. "You probably won't have to use it, but better be on the safe side."
Dimwiddy drew away.
"I'd—I'd rather not carry a gun," he said weakly. "I guess I won't need it."
Kern's lips tightened.
"You want the job, don't you?"
"Yes, sir. I need it."
"Then let me be the judge," Kern said. "A body-guard needs a rod."
Dimwiddy took the weapon and put it carefully into his pocket.
"Thanks," he said. "They gave me some milk at the bar. I'll wait there until you want me."
Mike Roberts chuckled and Dimwiddy whirled toward him.
"Milk never did me any harm," he said. "I've got an idea I could knock the stuffing out of you if Mr. Kern told me to."
Kern smiled.
"You two better be friendly," he said. "From now on, you're working for the same man."
Dimwiddy looked doubtful.
"And when you go out, tell the barkeep to send Miss Mathew in here."
"Yes, sir." Percy felt better. Maybe he'd at least have a chance to see Miss Mathew if they both worked for the same boss.
Outside, he found the barkeep, delivered his message and sat down before a tall glass of milk. In a few minutes he saw the trim figure of Inez Mathew as she went toward Jerry Kern's office. Later, she and Mike Roberts came out and left the club hurriedly.
HALF an hour passed. Percy amused himself by picking up odd thoughts that drifted around the Vaudeville Club. Jerry Kern came from his office and motioned Percy after him. They picked up their coats at the check room.
"Okay, Gulliver," Kern said. "We're going home now."
He led the way toward the entrance. As they crossed the sidewalk toward Kern's car, three uniformed men came from the shadows, guns in hand.
"Okay, Jerry, up with your mitts."
Kern raised his hands slowly.
A short, red-faced policeman poked a gun into Dimwiddy's ribs.
"You too, big boy," the cop said. "Jerry's friends are my friends at a time like this."
Percy Dimwiddy, completely bewildered, followed Kern's example. He felt the cop's hands as they went swiftly over his clothing and stopped on the hard bulge of the automatic. The cop whistled.
"Well, well," he said, pulling the gun out. "Looks like we got the right party."
"What the hell's the idea?" Kern asked angrily. "He wouldn't hurt anyone."
The cop chuckled.
"One of you knows Randy Edwards," he said. "If I'm not way off the track, this will be the gun that killed him. Let's all take a ride down to the station and make sure."
"BUT I am telling the truth," Percy Dimwiddy protested. "I just went to work for Mr. Kern tonight. He gave me the gun at the club and I was going to see that he got home safe. I didn't know it was against the law to carry it. I thought he knew best."
Sergeant Jim Waddle was both angry and exhausted. His throat was parched from asking many questions.
"We know, we know," he said with mock sweetness. "So you took the gun because he asked you to. Listen, kid, you may be big but you ain't smart. There's no prints on that gun but yours. Randy Edwards was found dead in his currency exchange over on Wallace Street. We know Randy had something on Kern. He was about ready to tell us what it was. That's why we picked up Kern. I don't know if he's mixed up in it or not, but you need money and you got the gun. Kern's got the alibi. Now, are you gonna talk?"
Dimwiddy was bewildered. They had kept him under a bright light for three hours. He had picked up Jim Waddle's thought, and he knew the policeman wasn't sure of himself. Percy knew that Kern had framed him somehow, but he didn't know how he was going to prove it.
Mike Roberts and Inez Mathew were mixed up with Kern. He hated to believe that the girl was a crook.
"I tell you I just got the gun tonight," he said again. "I never even heard of..."
Waddle groaned.
"Okay," he said. "Let's sleep on that. Maybe in the morning you'll see that it ain't any use to lie. Take him out, boys."
Two husky policemen sidled toward Percy.
"I'm not going to fight," Percy said. "You won't have to be afraid."
The cops looked at each other in dismay. How in hell did he know they were afraid of him?
THE policeman led Dimwiddy along the row of cells, through two doors that he locked carefully behind him and into the visitor's room.
"You got ten minutes," the cop said. "There's a girl here who wants to see you."
Dimwiddy's heart jumped. Before he was half-way to the table where Inez Mathew sat, he picked up lovely, warmhearted thoughts from her. Inez looked very tired.
"Hello," Percy said hesitantly. "I'm glad you came."
She stared at him, slightly bewildered by what had happened.
"How did you get into this terrible mess?",
Dimwiddy was trying hard to pick up coherent thoughts from her mind. She seemed on guard. The vagrant thoughts that he managed to catch were mostly about herself. She seemed worried about trips she had taken to Randy Edwards' exchange. Once, he was sure she thought for a minute about Jerry Kern, and the thought expressed worry for Kern's safety.
"They think I killed a man named Randy Edwards," he said a little stiffly. "I had a gun that Kern gave me. I never heard of Edwards."
Inez leaned forward eagerly.
"You think Jerry Kern might have something to do with it?"
I hope not! Oh, I hope not! she was thinking.
Dimwiddy was on guard at once.
"I don't know anything about Kern," he said. "I only met him last night. Do you know anything that might help me get out of here?"
A number of things, she was thinking. But they can't be true. Kern would involve me in this thing. I'd maybe go to jail with him, No! Jerry knows nothing about the murder.
Dimwiddy picked up each thought carefully, and found himself suddenly hating Inez and Jerry Kern.
"I can't understand how Mr. Kern could kill anyone," she said aloud. "He used to send the money he made at the club to the bank. One night the armored car was held up and his money was stolen. Of course he was insured and didn't lose a cent. Still, after that, he always sent Mike Roberts and me to various cash exchanges with the day's proceeds. It's an odd way to handle money, but I see nothing in it that would point to murder."
"Then you knew Edwards?" Percy asked.
"I've taken money to him several times," Inez admitted. "He was a nice fellow. I can't believe..."
Percy Dimwiddy shook his head.
"I didn't kill him," he said. "But I can't make sense out of it. Kern must know something that we don't."
"Ten minutes are up." The cop came up behind Dimwiddy. "The lady will have to go."
"Mr. Kern is putting up bail for you." Inez rose hastily. "He sent cash to his lawyer this morning. If everything goes well at the preliminary hearing, we'll have you out of jail tomorrow night."
"Thanks," Percy answered. "I appreciate everything..."
"Sorry," the cop behind Percy said in a loud voice. "Time's up."
Percy turned once more as he reached the door. Inez was watching him. She looked very sad.
JIM WADDLE was waiting in the front office. He tossed Dimwiddy's pocketbook and comb to him and grinned.
"Okay," he said. "For the time being, you're free to go. Guess we got a fight on our hands. Kern's hired a good criminal lawyer."
Percy knew what Waddle was up to. He could read Waddle's thoughts like a book. The fat policeman hadn't been able to get a confession. He was going to play the part of a buddy and secure what information he could.
"Did Mr. Kern put up the bail money?" Percy asked.
Waddle nodded.
"A big wad of it," he admitted.
Percy Dimwiddy had been thinking things out pretty carefully since Inez Mathew's visit. A lot of points refused to tie up. If Jerry Kern meant to frame him, why did he put up that bail money?
"Mr. Waddle," Dimwiddy asked suddenly. "I wonder if you'd let me help you solve this case. I got a lot of ideas that I wish you'd help me figure out. Maybe you haven't much to do this morning?"
To say that Waddle was surprised would be an understatement. His eyes narrowed.
"You trying to put over a fast one?"
Dimwiddy expressed utter astonishment.
"No—honest," he said. "I didn't kill Randy Edwards. I've never seen him. I sort of wanted to go over to the currency exchange where he was murdered. Could you go along?"
Waddle thought the thing out slowly, and Dimwiddy knew Waddle's answer before it came.
Waddle wasn't a fool. He figured that Dimwiddy might do something that would trip him up, if he revisited the scene of the crime.
"Okay," he said finally. "We'll have to be back before noon. I still can't figure..."
"Don't try," Percy Dimwiddy begged. "I think I got some ideas, that's all."
THE currency exchange in which Randy Edwards had been murdered was a small, box-like affair wedged between a couple of office buildings. The place was locked. Waddle produced a key and opened the door. They went inside.
"Damndest thing I ever heard of," Waddle mumbled. "Revisiting the scene of a killing with the murderer at his suggestion. I still can't figure how they let Kern bail you out."
Percy Dimwiddy was wandering about slowly. Instead of looking for clues, he closed his eyes tightly and walked from one side of the room to the other.
"Randy Edwards was killed while he was sitting back of the cage?" he asked.
Waddle nodded.
"You ought to know," he grumbled. Dimwiddy opened the small door that led to the cashier's cage and went inside. He sat down in the chair where Edwards had evidently been sitting when he was shot. Closing his eyes again for a long time, he sat motionless, as though half asleep.
Suddenly he sprang to his feet.
"Do you know where Mountain View is?" he asked Waddle eagerly.
Waddle thought for a moment.
"Taking a summer vacation?" he asked sarcastically.
"We got to get to Mountain View right away," Dimwiddy insisted. He left the booth, and came out to the front of the exchange. "I think I can find your murderer for you, and prove that he killed Edwards."
"That's what we need—proof," Waddle agreed. "I can touch the murderer from where I stand. Now tell me how you did it?"
It was Dimwiddy's turn to become sarcastic.
"I wanted to help you, Mr. Waddle," he said. "You can't prove I did something that I didn't know anything about. We've got to get to Mountain View right away. It may be too late if you keep on stalling."
Waddle thought the whole thing over carefully. What could he lose? At least he was keeping track of Dimwiddy.
"Okay," he agreed. "It's the screwiest murder setup I've ever had, me solving the murder with the help of the killer himself. I got gas enough for fifty miles. Come on."
THE ride to Mountain View was a swift one. Percy Dimwiddy had everything figured out nicely now. So smoothly that he was heart-broken about the whole thing. It all straightened out with the two old thoughts he had managed to pick up while he and Waddle were at the exchange. First, he found one of Inez Mathew's thoughts which had evidently stayed locked into the small room after the police left.
Inez had been there sometime, probably about the time Edwards was shot.
I can't see any harm in the trip to Mountain View, Inez's thought told Dimwiddy. As long as Mr. Roberts and the other girl are along.
The other thought must have been Randy Edwards'.
The money's counterfeit, all right, Randy Edwards had thought as he sat in the chair behind the cage. Kern's number is up, as soon as I tell the cops.
"IT'S all quite simple," Dimwiddy thought as Waddle's car sped into the deep, pine-clad valley of Mountain View. "Kern makes counterfeit dough and uses Mike Roberts and Inez to distribute it for him. Edwards found out, and was ready to squeal. Kern shot him, planted the gun on me, then to clear himself once and for all, he put up bail money to get me out. He knew Waddle would pin enough on me sooner or later to put me back in jail."
He was conscious suddenly that the car had stopped at a gas station near the edge of a mountain lake, and that Waddle had spoken to him.
"Huh?" Percy asked.
"I said, here we are. Where next?"
"Oh," Percy said. "Could we ask someone where Jerry Kern's cabin is?"
"Kern?" Waddle's fingers clutched the wheel a little more tightly. "Sure, wait a minute."
Percy was sure Inez didn't know Kern was making counterfeit money. He remembered that meaningless thought he had picked up in Kern's office to the effect that Kern would have to hide the paper plates from the girl. Kern's thoughts must have been a little garbled. To make counterfeit money, it took paper—a special kind—and plates for the printing. Why hadn't he thought of that?
An attendant was busy filling the gasoline tank of Waddle's car.
"You know a guy named Kern?" Waddle asked him. "Supposed to have a cottage up here somewhere?"
The attendant, a gangly, sleepy individual, scratched his chin and leaned on the side of the car.
"Kern?" His eyes brightened. "Oh, sure—Jerry Kern. He came through here just this morning. Had a fella and a girl in the back seat of his car. Drive up this road about half a mile and turn off toward the lake. It's the only cottage off the road. Can't miss it."
"Thanks," Waddle said, and waited for change.
"You got a gun with you?" Dimwiddy asked.
Waddle grinned.
"You're fixing to have some fun, ain't you? Yeah, I got a cannon."
THEY drove for a while, found the small, rutted road and turned down across sandy fields toward a grove of trees by the lake.
"You better stop before we get too close," Dimwiddy said. "We don't want them to know we're coming."
He was worried about Inez. If Kern had brought a couple in the rear seat, they would be Mike and his girl friend. What about Inez? Percy hoped she hadn't come. Perhaps she was innocent after all.
Waddle, so bewildered that he was ready for anything, stopped just at the entrance of the grove and turned off the motor. They climbed out and moved forward cautiously.
The cottage, a rambling, one-story affair, was close to the water. Brown shingles glistened in the sun on the far side of the grove. Dimwiddy led the way. The back of the cottage had two small windows. Percy Dimwiddy went swiftly to one of them, and stood close to the rear wall. Waddle, puffing a bit, reached his side.
Dimwiddy pushed up one of the windows gently and they climbed in. Voices, subdued and mysterious, were coming from another part of the cottage. Dimwiddy went to the far side of the bedroom and stood by the closed door, listening.
Kern was beyond the door. Dimwiddy heard him, his voice angry and threatening.
"You two got your cut. We'll have to quit and lay low for a while."
Knowing that he was probably putting Inez Mathew behind bars, Dimwiddy motioned Waddle across the room. Waddle, his ear close to the panel, listened as Mike Roberts raised his voice in protest.
"But the cops don't know nothing about the counterfeit racket. Edwards died before he could squeal."
Dimwiddy, triumphant and sad at the same time, watched Waddle's eyelids raise.
"You keep your mouth shut about Edwards," Kern said. "That goof Dimwiddy will take the rap. After this, we don't even know there was a Randy Edwards."
"But, Boss, they can't get nothing on you. You were wearing gloves—"
Crack!
"Ouch!" Roberts yelped. "You didn't have to..."
"Shut up," Kern shouted. "I told you not to talk about Edwards."
Silence for a minute, then:
"What about the girl?"
Kern chuckled.
"What do you think I drove up to the lake for?"
There was a sudden feminine cry of protest.
"My God, you wouldn't..."
Dimwiddy did not recognize the voice. It wasn't Inez, he was sure.
"The bottom of the lake is a good place for the girl and the printing press," Kern was saying. "The girl knows too much. I'll put enough grease on the press so we can pull it out and go to work again when things clear up."
Waddle nodded suddenly and Percy Dimwiddy knew the cop had heard enough. Waddle stood well away from the door, and drew his pistol. He kicked the door open and yelled:
"Put 'em up, before I start spraying lead!"
MIKE ROBERTS jerked around quickly. At sight of Waddle his eyes widened and his hands shot toward the ceiling. There was a tall, red-haired girl at his side. She looked out of place in a low-cut dancing-frock and mascara that had run down her cheeks. She screamed and her arms jerked over her head. Kern had been sitting on the edge of a desk. Beside him were a small printing press, a couple of ink cans and some zinc plates. His fingers, slim and glove-covered, went up slowly, reluctantly. His smile was humorless.
"That's what I call gratitude," he said smoothly. "I spend good dough to bail out a cheap crook and he turns around and bites me."
Percy Dimwiddy didn't hear him. He was across the room and beside the girl lying on the davenport. It was Inez Mathew. Her arms and legs were tied firmly with heavy rope. She had a thick gag in her mouth.
"Good dough, is it?" Waddle moved toward Kern slowly, a tight grin on his face. "We can find that bail money in a hurry, Kern. I'll bet it's counterfeit like everything else about you."
DURING the trip home in Waddle's car, Percy Dimwiddy was very
happy. Kern, Roberts and Mike's girl friend were locked safely in the county jail at Mountain View. Inez, a little frightened, was sitting between Waddle and Percy Dimwiddy.
"But how in hell did you figure it out?" Waddle asked at last. "All you did was sit around with your eyes closed, like you was sleeping. Then bingo—we hit the jack-pot."
Inez looked up at Percy with dreamy, worshipping eyes.
"He has a gift," she said. "He does read minds, and he even picks up thoughts after people think them."
Waddle chuckled.
"That's good!" He started to laugh and his cheeks got very red. "That's rich! I'll sound convincing if I try to tell the Chief that story."
"I can't understand why Kern was going to kill you!" Percy drew her close to him with a big arm.
"I was trying to help you," Inez confessed. A shudder passed through her. "I asked a lot of questions and finally he made me admit I thought he was the murderer. They were going to throw me in the lake."
"If it hadn't been for our thought detective," Waddle admitted, "they might have succeeded."
MIKE ROBERTS had no further use for his office. Kern didn't need an agent any longer. At eleven-fifteen Monday morning, the interoffice set on Inez Mathew's desk buzzed. She snapped the button down.
"Yes, Mr. Dimwiddy?"
"Miss Mathew, will you take a letter?"
Inez, armed with pencil and notebook, entered Roberts' former office. A new sign, Percy Dimwiddy—Private Detective, was painted on the door.
"Yes, Mr. Dimwiddy?"
He smiled at her.
"I'm glad you weren't mixed up in that counterfeit money business," he said. "I figured, after you talked to me, that Kern must have a good reason for peddling his money around that way. Randy Edwards got wise and was ready to tell the police. Edwards was thinking about it just before he died and I picked up his thoughts. The word counterfeit fitted in with Kern's thoughts about paper and plates. I figured he was trying to get you to Mountain View and his printing plant must be up there. You thought quite a lot of Kern, didn't you?"
Inez shook her head.
"It was you, silly!" she admitted. "After I talked with you, I decided to go to Mountain View with him. I tried to help you, but he was too clever. He found out why I went and was going to kill me before I could tell on him."
Percy Dimwiddy sighed.
"It's all over now, I guess."
"I—I think I'm going to like my new job," Inez confessed. "I'm sure we'll—that is—you will make a fine pair—er—that is, a fine detective."
Percy blushed.
"What you're really thinking is, we'd make a nice man and wife," he reminded her. "Please sit down, Miss Mathew."
Inez looked around for a chair, found none, and was pulled down onto Percy's knee. For the next two minutes she struggled half-heartedly to release herself.
"You big goof," she managed between kisses. "How could a wife keep secrets from you?"
Percy scowled. "You'd better not try," he warned.
Roy Glashan's Library
Non sibi sed omnibus
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