Red Gardenias by Jonathan Latimer Read Free Book Online Page B

pistol."
    The pistol was a.25 automatic with an effective range of about ten yards. He examined it gingerly, then put it back in the purse.
    "You haven't got a drink in there?" he shouted.
    She ignored him. She was concentrating on the chase, which was turning out to be a pretty even affair. She drove well, catching the turns with a minimum of slide and seldom allowing the arrow indicator to fall below seventy miles an hour.
    The other car had more trouble. On one abrupt curve it slid onto the grass, throwing up a screen of dust, and Crane thought it was going to overturn. He could see suitcases and boxes tumbling about the rear and the man and woman leaning far over to the right, away from the pull of momentum. Almost on the lip of the ditch the car straightened, careened back onto the road.
    An instant later Ann hit the turn and Crane held his breath. They made it without trouble.
    "Good gal," he said.
    He felt a little better. He was beginning to have confidence in her. He was also beginning to feel they would never catch the other car.
    Ahead, dark green in the half-light, a wavelike barrier of low hills obstructed the road. The road went up at an easy angle for a half mile, then abruptly made a hairpin turn to the left so that it came back parallel to them, about twenty feet away, but higher. The sedan in front cut almost into the left-hand ditch to make the long turn, taking advantage of the natural banking provided by the ditch. As it came back toward them, not more than thirty yards to the left, Crane could see the woman clinging to the wheel, her face half a foot from the windshield. The man leaned over her back, his head almost out her window, a hand holding a revolver thrust through it. He fired as they passed. Crane ducked at the flash, but he heard no report.
    Ann, intent on making the U turn, asked, "What's the matter?"
    Crane reached down and turned off the ignition.
    "What's the matter?" Ann asked again.
    The car lost speed rapidly on the steep grade, came to a stop. They could see the taillight of the other car far up the hill. Presently it disappeared around a bend. There was a sound of crickets from the woods above them.
    "We would have caught them," Ann said. "Why did you make me stop?"
    Crane turned to the rear seat of the sedan, pointed a finger. In the left-door window, low and to the left, was a neat, thumb-sized hole. The glass around the hole had slivered; it looked like a pineapple ice. The bullet had apparently gone through the open window on the other side. Anyway, they were unable to locate a hole.

CHAPTER VI
    They drove home soberly, both preoccupied, and parked the sedan in front of the house.
    "How're we to explain the bullet hole?" Ann asked.
    "We could say you shot at me and missed."
    She said, "When I do I won't miss."
    They went in and found Doc Williams in the kitchen. He was an operative of their agency. He'd driven their car from New York and he was posing as their chauffeur. He was a middle-sized, dapper man with a waxed mustache and a streak of dead-white hair over his left temple. He saluted Crane smartly.
    "Have a nice trip?" Crane asked formally.
    "Very good, sir."
    "Come up to my room. I want to talk with you."
    Crane turned to Beulah. "This is Mr Williams. I want you to treat him right."
    They mixed a shakerful of martinis in the dining room, then went upstairs.
    "How're you gettin' along with tutz?" Williams asked Crane. He winked at Ann, who was carrying celery, olives, and caviar canapes on a tray.
    "I wish she wouldn't keep trying to get into my room at night," Crane said.
    "Still got the appeal, hey?"
    "It's my silk pajamas," Crane said modestly.
    "Next time a burglar comes I'll let him take the ground floor away," Ann declared.
    "A burglar?" Doc Williams was interested. "You had a burglar?"
    Crane poured the martinis. "First a drink."
    The drinks were just right, with the vermouth cutting the flavor of the gin without destroying the dryness. Crane poured a second round,