Sallys in the Alley | Page 4

off with? You've got plenty of that around, haven't you?"
"Yes," Arne said. "But we're not so foolish as to trust you with any of it. You just talk your way out. All we're interested in is the location of that ore deposit."
"Huh," said Doan. "How do I find this guy, Dust-Mouth? The Mojave is a big place."
"Start at a town called Heliotrope."
"Where's that?"
"Either in California or Nevada."
"You said either?" Doan asked.
"Yes. The State of California is now suing the State of Nevada in the Supreme Court to compel Nevada to annex it. Nevada has started a countersuit to compel California to annex it."
"What's the matter with the place?"
"Just everything. Offhand, I can't think of any crime that isn't committed there regularly. You'll feel right at home."
"People circulate more nasty rumors about me," Doan said mildly.
"We don't deal in rumors," Arne said. "Only facts."
"Oh," said Doan.
Arne nodded at him. "Don't cut any corners in front of us. We've got quite a file on you and this hound of yours. There's a car parked in front, downstairs. Use it. In the dash compartment you'll find strip maps with the route to Heliotrope marked on them and an emergency gas rationing book made out in your name."
"What kind of a car?" Doan asked. "Carstairs is particular what he rides in."
"It's a Cadillac."
"Whee!" said Doan. "A new one, I hope, shined up all pretty?"
"Yes. And don't try to mortgage it or sell it because it's government property. Also, don't stall around giving joyrides to people who work in dime stores. Get started for Heliotrope right away..."
"Like a flash," said Doan. "How will I get hold of you if I locate the ore deposit?"
Arne stood up. "We'll get hold of you. We can do that very easily, any time. Remember it. Come on, Barstow."
Barstow paused in the doorway and nodded at Doan. "Good luck."
"Well, thanks," said Doan, pleased.
"You'll need it," said Barstow, closing the door softly.
Doan got up off the chesterfield and kicked Carstairs in the stomach. "Stop snoring, and act a little more alert. We are starting on a secret government mission of enormous and far-reaching importance." Carstairs raised his head and looked at Doan and licked his lips slowly and meaningly.
"Stop nagging!" Doan ordered. "I'm working on that steak right now. Give me time, will you?"
Carstairs let his head fall back on the rug with a disgusted thud.
Chapter 2
DOAN PACKED IN TEN MINUTES FLAT, AND WHEN he got through the apartment looked as though he had done just that, but he didn't. He looked neat and fresh and cool in a light gray suit and a lighter gray hat and gray suede oxfords. He parked his two big, battered suitcases at the door, and as a last move pulled the cushions off the chesterfield and unearthed a Colt Police Positive revolver.
He slid that inside the waistband of his trousers, hooking it in a cloth loop sewn there for that purpose, and then he went over and pulled up the rug in the corner behind the bridge lamp. He found a .25 caliber automatic hidden there. He put that in the breast pocket of his coat and pushed an ornamental dark blue handkerchief down on top of it to keep it in place.
He was all ready to go when he had another thought. He took out his wallet and counted the money in it. The sum did not impress him. He put the wallet away and picked up the telephone from its stand beside the chesterfield.
The line clicked, and then a voice said cautiously
"Yes?"
"Is this Edmund, you rat?" Doan snarled. "I'll have something to say to you in a minute, but right now you connect me with the manager! I've got a beef with him!"
"This--this is the manager, Mr. Pocus."
"Oh, it is, is it? Well, what do you mean by tipping me off to those government men? Do you want to get me hung or something? You squealer! You doublecrosser! Do you think I'm going to recommend this joint to any of my pals as a hideout if that's the way you're going to act?"
"Wha-wha-what?"
"Don't try that innocent stuff! I'm going to come down there and tear you up in little pieces! Just listen!"
Doan kicked Carstairs again and then leaned down and held the telephone close to his face. "Give," he whispered.
Carstairs snarled into the receiver. He looked enormously bored while he was doing it, but over the telephone the sound must have been horrible, because Carstairs had a company snarl that began low and ended high and undulated blood-chillingly in the middle register.
"There!" said Doan into the telephone. "Did you hear that? That's just a sample of what you're going to get when..." He listened and then said in a milder inquiring tone, "Hello? Hello, Mr. Rogan? Are you there?"
There was no answer.
Doan