childish.
Double-O went on. "Whatever makes money, interests the Maroon Gang. I'll tell you how they muscled in here--and how they got set. I didn't believe, until last night, that they were going to work me over. What happened makes it plain they have a better setup than mine. They know the whole score. They intended to beat the cops at a snatch of my working capital. I've banked it now, incidentally. Even my own club isn't safe any longer.
However. When I sketch the background on the Maroons--who they are--how they operate--where they come from--how they got that way--you'll know as much as I do about all of the gangs. I'm a gambler, Professor. Never had another angle. If I get pushed out of business, I'll go. My connections are sound, so it will take a lot of pushing. After I tell you about the Maroon Gang, I'll tell you the long and not always dull story of my own life. How I grew up. Why I quit college. Where I learned--my profession. Is that what you want?"
"I'd like to hear it myself," Connie said. Double-O lighted a cigar, and smoked for a minute. "What you are going to learn, Professor, you never heard. I never told you. If you use it as background for lectures--or books-or anything--it'll just be your surmises and bald assertions. Every big shot in the rackets and every involved politician will deny it. Will that suit your purposes?"
"Yes," the professor said. "And more than repay any debt you may feel in my direction."
It was after one o'clock when Connie accompanied him to the lobby.
He said, bemusedly, "I'll get a cab. . . ."
"I'll drive you over."
"Not at this hour--with the long ride back. I refuse!"
"Will we--I-see you again, Professor?"
"Absolutely."
The doorman brought her car. They stood on the broad hotel steps. Already, the northwest high was diminishing. The warm winds of the Gulf Stream were pushing back over the immense, flat peninsula. Connie turned from her car-the one intended for him.
She kissed him. "So long, Martin."
He was scarcely conscious of the ride in the cab. The amount of the meter shocked him. Then he remembered his winnings, paid, and tipped liberally. The driver thanked him and the red taillight of his cab whisked away on West Cortez Circle.
Bedelia was waiting up--naturally. The glass coffee-maker was full, and hot.
"You've got lipstick again," she said. "But not so much. She was a very nice girl.
So much more refined than I'd expected. What else do you know'?"
"Ask me what I don't know--it would be the shorter part." He sighed then, and sat down tiredly at the kitchen table. "One thing, to start with. We're going to go down in the Keys and try to locate that fern subspecies, next Sunday. Bedelia !"--he shook his head--
"you have no idea--no idea --of the way this world runs! And there are one or two things I mean to stop right now--or perish in the attempt! You're game, aren't you?"
For a few seconds, she had an odd, almost premonitory feeling. A feeling of violence, horror and sudden death. The kitchen seemed unfamiliar and she found herself thinking of the Keys--not in the brilliant light of day, but at night, with the sea quiet and ominously listening. She had launched the professor's little escapade. It was turning into--
what? The feeling passed.
"You bet!" Bedelia replied.
Chapter IX
Few pastimes are more innocent than amateur botany. Few persons, as a class, are more innocent than professors and the elderly widows of Naval officers. A less innocent pair of plant hunters than Professor Burke and Bedelia Ogilvy in all probability never existed. What they undertook to do, on a warm and sunny Sunday, was to verify the idea that certain members of the Maroon Gang had been smuggling aliens into the United States, by way of the Florida Keys.
The T-Men knew that an organization of some sort had been bringing notorious aliens into the country, by way of Canada, Mexico, or the seacoast. Two T-Men had been shot to death in a widespread attempt to
Double-O went on. "Whatever makes money, interests the Maroon Gang. I'll tell you how they muscled in here--and how they got set. I didn't believe, until last night, that they were going to work me over. What happened makes it plain they have a better setup than mine. They know the whole score. They intended to beat the cops at a snatch of my working capital. I've banked it now, incidentally. Even my own club isn't safe any longer.
However. When I sketch the background on the Maroons--who they are--how they operate--where they come from--how they got that way--you'll know as much as I do about all of the gangs. I'm a gambler, Professor. Never had another angle. If I get pushed out of business, I'll go. My connections are sound, so it will take a lot of pushing. After I tell you about the Maroon Gang, I'll tell you the long and not always dull story of my own life. How I grew up. Why I quit college. Where I learned--my profession. Is that what you want?"
"I'd like to hear it myself," Connie said. Double-O lighted a cigar, and smoked for a minute. "What you are going to learn, Professor, you never heard. I never told you. If you use it as background for lectures--or books-or anything--it'll just be your surmises and bald assertions. Every big shot in the rackets and every involved politician will deny it. Will that suit your purposes?"
"Yes," the professor said. "And more than repay any debt you may feel in my direction."
It was after one o'clock when Connie accompanied him to the lobby.
He said, bemusedly, "I'll get a cab. . . ."
"I'll drive you over."
"Not at this hour--with the long ride back. I refuse!"
"Will we--I-see you again, Professor?"
"Absolutely."
The doorman brought her car. They stood on the broad hotel steps. Already, the northwest high was diminishing. The warm winds of the Gulf Stream were pushing back over the immense, flat peninsula. Connie turned from her car-the one intended for him.
She kissed him. "So long, Martin."
He was scarcely conscious of the ride in the cab. The amount of the meter shocked him. Then he remembered his winnings, paid, and tipped liberally. The driver thanked him and the red taillight of his cab whisked away on West Cortez Circle.
Bedelia was waiting up--naturally. The glass coffee-maker was full, and hot.
"You've got lipstick again," she said. "But not so much. She was a very nice girl.
So much more refined than I'd expected. What else do you know'?"
"Ask me what I don't know--it would be the shorter part." He sighed then, and sat down tiredly at the kitchen table. "One thing, to start with. We're going to go down in the Keys and try to locate that fern subspecies, next Sunday. Bedelia !"--he shook his head--
"you have no idea--no idea --of the way this world runs! And there are one or two things I mean to stop right now--or perish in the attempt! You're game, aren't you?"
For a few seconds, she had an odd, almost premonitory feeling. A feeling of violence, horror and sudden death. The kitchen seemed unfamiliar and she found herself thinking of the Keys--not in the brilliant light of day, but at night, with the sea quiet and ominously listening. She had launched the professor's little escapade. It was turning into--
what? The feeling passed.
"You bet!" Bedelia replied.
Chapter IX
Few pastimes are more innocent than amateur botany. Few persons, as a class, are more innocent than professors and the elderly widows of Naval officers. A less innocent pair of plant hunters than Professor Burke and Bedelia Ogilvy in all probability never existed. What they undertook to do, on a warm and sunny Sunday, was to verify the idea that certain members of the Maroon Gang had been smuggling aliens into the United States, by way of the Florida Keys.
The T-Men knew that an organization of some sort had been bringing notorious aliens into the country, by way of Canada, Mexico, or the seacoast. Two T-Men had been shot to death in a widespread attempt to
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