pinioning her arms to her sides.
She’d started to scream when two things flashed like lightning across her mind. One was realization that a ghost of a step had sounded behind her, right after the steps downstairs. The other was realization of a ghastly mistake she’d made.
She’d thought these men had no way of knowing she was in the house. She had forgotten that she had left the door off the latch, open a bit, telling a plain story that someone was in the house.
So the men downstairs had put on an act of not knowing someone was in the house, and one of their number had crawled in the hall window and trapped her very neatly from behind.
Nellie tried to yell again and couldn’t. She tried to reach backward and catch an arm or something that would allow her to bring into play her deft knowledge of jujitsu. She couldn’t manage that, either. But she could, and did, manage to bite the gagging hand over her mouth.
There was a furious oath, and then her captor demonstrated that he was no gentleman. He socked her on the head with a blackjack or something, and she was out of the world.
Nellie slowly struggled back to a consciousness that was very uncomfortable. And it was very dark. She opened her lovely blue eyes.
She was lying, all cramped up, along a wall, on the hard floor. She was in the parlor, with just a trace of light from a street lamp straying in and keeping the room from being in impenetrable blackness. She was bound very tightly, and she was gagged. She was not alone.
Four men sat, near her, on their haunches staring at her in a way that made her wonder if her dress was pulled down far enough. Though the cold menace in their eyes made her realize an instant later that this was a minor worry.
“I don’t get it,” said one of the men. “You’re not a cop. How do you get into this?”
He was obviously the leader, Nailen, the burly fellow with a nose that had been badly broken, at some time in the past, and badly reset so that it was twisted.
“She’s one of The Avenger’s gang, I tell you,” said another of the men—a fellow with babyish pink lips and a chubby pink face. There was fear in his eyes as he spoke the name so hated by the underworld.
“Benson wouldn’t be in on this,” said the man with the broken nose. “He don’t go for straight jobs. He leaves them to the cops.”
“Just the same,” whined Baby-face, “the dame’s in with Benson. I know!”
The other two of the four said nothing. They only looked acidly at Nellie. One was tall, gangling, and kept moving his trigger finger all the time. The other was a wisp of a man with premature gray hair and a thin, consumptive chest.
“O.K.,” shrugged Nailen. “Hot or cold, with Benson or not, she’s got to be fixed.”
Smitty, Nellie thought, don’t let any grass grow under your feet.
“We could never get two stiffs outta here without somebody seein’,” protested Baby-face. “It’s tough enough to try and cart the one you promoted at Brown’s house, without—”
“We won’t take two away,” said the leader. “This one’ll stay here. It’s nobody’s fault if she dies in an accident, is it?”
“Accident?” repeated the chubby man.
“Sure! Somebody hits her with a car. Runs square over her, all four wheels. Gets away without anyone seeing. It’s tough, see? But it’s an accident.”
“Nailen, you’re nuts! Take this dizzy fluff out on the street, bound and gagged, and throw her down and back a car up and run over her? How many people d’you think would see?”
“You dope,” snarled the leader. “All we want is for her to be found on the street. She don’t have to be run over on the street.”
“Oh,” said the chubby one.
“There’s a big garage, or an old carriage house or something out back. We toss her on the floor of that, and run the crate we came in over the proper place. Then we wait till no one’s around, toss her into the street with the ropes off, and drive off with the other one
She’d started to scream when two things flashed like lightning across her mind. One was realization that a ghost of a step had sounded behind her, right after the steps downstairs. The other was realization of a ghastly mistake she’d made.
She’d thought these men had no way of knowing she was in the house. She had forgotten that she had left the door off the latch, open a bit, telling a plain story that someone was in the house.
So the men downstairs had put on an act of not knowing someone was in the house, and one of their number had crawled in the hall window and trapped her very neatly from behind.
Nellie tried to yell again and couldn’t. She tried to reach backward and catch an arm or something that would allow her to bring into play her deft knowledge of jujitsu. She couldn’t manage that, either. But she could, and did, manage to bite the gagging hand over her mouth.
There was a furious oath, and then her captor demonstrated that he was no gentleman. He socked her on the head with a blackjack or something, and she was out of the world.
Nellie slowly struggled back to a consciousness that was very uncomfortable. And it was very dark. She opened her lovely blue eyes.
She was lying, all cramped up, along a wall, on the hard floor. She was in the parlor, with just a trace of light from a street lamp straying in and keeping the room from being in impenetrable blackness. She was bound very tightly, and she was gagged. She was not alone.
Four men sat, near her, on their haunches staring at her in a way that made her wonder if her dress was pulled down far enough. Though the cold menace in their eyes made her realize an instant later that this was a minor worry.
“I don’t get it,” said one of the men. “You’re not a cop. How do you get into this?”
He was obviously the leader, Nailen, the burly fellow with a nose that had been badly broken, at some time in the past, and badly reset so that it was twisted.
“She’s one of The Avenger’s gang, I tell you,” said another of the men—a fellow with babyish pink lips and a chubby pink face. There was fear in his eyes as he spoke the name so hated by the underworld.
“Benson wouldn’t be in on this,” said the man with the broken nose. “He don’t go for straight jobs. He leaves them to the cops.”
“Just the same,” whined Baby-face, “the dame’s in with Benson. I know!”
The other two of the four said nothing. They only looked acidly at Nellie. One was tall, gangling, and kept moving his trigger finger all the time. The other was a wisp of a man with premature gray hair and a thin, consumptive chest.
“O.K.,” shrugged Nailen. “Hot or cold, with Benson or not, she’s got to be fixed.”
Smitty, Nellie thought, don’t let any grass grow under your feet.
“We could never get two stiffs outta here without somebody seein’,” protested Baby-face. “It’s tough enough to try and cart the one you promoted at Brown’s house, without—”
“We won’t take two away,” said the leader. “This one’ll stay here. It’s nobody’s fault if she dies in an accident, is it?”
“Accident?” repeated the chubby man.
“Sure! Somebody hits her with a car. Runs square over her, all four wheels. Gets away without anyone seeing. It’s tough, see? But it’s an accident.”
“Nailen, you’re nuts! Take this dizzy fluff out on the street, bound and gagged, and throw her down and back a car up and run over her? How many people d’you think would see?”
“You dope,” snarled the leader. “All we want is for her to be found on the street. She don’t have to be run over on the street.”
“Oh,” said the chubby one.
“There’s a big garage, or an old carriage house or something out back. We toss her on the floor of that, and run the crate we came in over the proper place. Then we wait till no one’s around, toss her into the street with the ropes off, and drive off with the other one
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