"The ---- Detective Agency," he stuttered.
He named one of the largest Agencies in town. Of course, I didn't know
but what he was lying, but I meant to find out before I let him go. I
turned a threatening scowl on him, and let my hand stray towards the
gun again.
"I want the truth," I said.
He watched my hand like one hypnotised. Little drops of sweat broke
out on his forehead. "For God's sake, Mister--!" he chattered. "For
God's sake--! I'm telling you the truth. I'm only a poor operative.
I don't know who wants to get you!"
"You'll have to prove it," I said.
"Call up the Agency," he stuttered. "They're open all night. My name
is Atterbury. I'm number 68."
The instrument was at my hand. I got the number, and was presently
answered by a brash young voice demanding to know what I wanted.
"This is B. Enderby," I said, "of number -- West 40th Street. Have you
got an operative working for you named Atterbury, number 68 on your
books?"
"I don't know you," returned the voice. "We don't give any information
over the phone. Call around and let us look you over." He hung up.
This little passage made me downright hot, and I suppose it showed in
my face when I looked at the detective again.
"Wh-what's the matter?" he stammered.
"They refuse to identify you."
He became still paler and clammier if that were possible. "Let me--let
me call them," he stammered.
I shoved the instrument towards him and waited. When he got his number
he fell all over himself trying to explain. "Who is this, Dixon?--Oh,
Jones. Jones--for God's sake!--this is Atterbury. Square me, can't
you? This guy Enderby--I mean Mr. Enderby's got me sewed up in his
office. He's got me covered--for God's sake, square me! Or I'm a
goner!"
He shoved the instrument towards me. I kept one hand on my gun,
inwardly I was shaking with laughter. "This is Enderby again," I said
into the transmitter. "Now you have the situation. What about it?"
"I know you!" cried the brash voice, now thoroughly scared. "I've got
your name and number. If anything happens to our man we've got you
dead to rights."
"Sure," I said laughing. "You identify him, then?"
"Sure, I do! And if anything happens to him----"
"That's all I wanted to know," I said. "Good-bye." And this time I
did the hanging up.
I got up and unlocked the door. "Get!" I said to Mr. Atterbury. "If
you take my advice, old man, you'll go into some other line."
He made grand time on the stairs.
The head of the ---- Detective Agency was Dongan, a well-known and able
man, once the head of the New York Detective Bureau. He belonged to a
school of investigation different from mine, but I respected his
ability and I knew him to be above reproach. I was sure in this
situation I could not do better than go direct to him. I called next
morning.
"So you're in the same line?" he said looking at my card.
"That accounts for my business with you," I replied.
"What can I do for you?"
"Haven't your people told you what happened in my office last night?"
"No. Explain yourself."
"We _are_ in the same line. Hunting down crooks. The supposition is
that we handle only clean business.
"What are you getting at?" he demanded scowling.
"I came to ask you to explain why you're tracking me in the legitimate
pursuit of my business. You will agree, I think, that it looks fishy."
"I don't know anything about it," he said crossly. "I don't know you."
"I will wait while you enquire," I said mildly.
He went into his outer office. In about five minutes he returned
bringing a younger man.
"Well, you seem to have the goods on us, Enderby," he said ruefully.
"It was a small job and I was not consulted."
"Our client never told us you were a detective," said the other man.
"I will make the excuses," said his employer dryly. "Describe the man
who engaged us to trail Mr. Enderby."
"Gave his name as Lawlor. Fleshy man about forty-five years old. Red
face, big black or dark brown moustache. Wears a cutaway coat and silk
hat, very active in his movements."
"Has unusually large feet," I added, "which he slaps down in a peculiar
way when he walks."
"Why, yes," said the young man, surprised. "You know him?"
"Not so well as I would like to," I said dryly. "What address did he
give you?"
"We haven't got his address?"
"Where were your reports to be sent?"