WAS IT MONTELLI?

Ashburton Guardian, Volume 62, Issue 8, 21 October 1941, Page 7

WAS IT MONTELLI?

\>y LESLIE CARGILL.

(Copyright).

CHAPTER XVII

MR MANUEL’S REPUTATION

Few of us have ever Walked blithely into a familiar room to find a faithful retainer sitting bound and gagged in a chair. And, as Jerry Clitheroe well knew, it required something drastic to stop Mintey’s faithful efforts. Torn up curtain provided the necessary restraining medium, but the large piece of adhesive plaster clapped over the unfortunate man’s mouth, must have been carried for such an emergency.

Such a scene is undoubtedly disconcerting. Continuing the personal analogy it may be taken for granted that in such circumstances most of us would be at a loss how to act, or what form of greeting to give particularly if the effective setting happened to be dominated by a singularly repellentlooking individual toying negligently with an automatic pistol of workmanlike dimensions. There seemed every reason to presume that the redoubtable Dago Manuel had made his long anticipated appearance.

Jerry Clitheroe felt that some comment was called for, but realised that his feeble “Hullo!” lacked dramatic value, “Pleased to see me, huh!” ,

"I, er, suppose I ought to be.” "Somehow I thought you would. An old pal all the way from America, hey! Sit down.”

Failure to comply promptly with the command brought a repetition sufficiently resembling the crack of that disconcerting firearm to bring Jeiry down in the first .available chair with a spine-shaking bump. “I take it,” he said cautiously, “that you are Dago Manuel?” “Smile when you call me that.” *Tm sure I beg your pardon.” He gathered that the request was not intended to be taken literally. “Mister Manuel, then.” “That’s better." “Thank you. I had no Intention of hurting your feelings.” “Say, Tony, yer gone soft, ain’t yer? Must come of living among these limey guys.'*

“Unfortunately you won’t believe it, but’l’m not Tony.” “Come again?” “You're mistaking me for somebody else.'*

“Now ain’t that swell? Who do you aim ter be—Charlie Chaplin or Gary Cooper?” “Well, I warned you it would be a strain on your credulity.” “What lingo’s that? Give us it again In proper American. I ain’t been over here long, and never could get along with this English fancy work, like you picks up so free and easy.” “My name is Clitheroe —Jerry Clitheroe. That is something you will have difficulty in believing.” “I’ll say It is. But it's a pretty sort of handle to get a hold of. Where’d yer dig it up?” “That’s the whole point. I’ve always had it* ever since I was born.” “Come off it! Why, the boys know all about you and your old man. What yer reckon to get by stalling? I swore I’d get yer, and here we are.” “Yes, here we are. That’s something else that will take even more swallowing, and that is> I hoppen to be the double of your friend Montelli.” “Friend nothing! Give us the low down on this double business.”

Jerry began at the beginning, feeling like a parrot repeating a well worn phrase that was totally devoid of meaning.

\ To his surprise Manuel listened respectfully, with something that might indicate dawning indecision. ‘‘Sounds screwy,” he retorted, “but maybe there’s something in it. Tony’s up to all the dodges. What about my trade marks?”

“Trade marks? Oh, if you mean scars, I haven’t any.’ With an overeagerness that aroused doubt as to his intention, Jerry stood up to move closer. An unpleasant swish halted him in his tracks, just as a neatly thrown knife plunged into the door behind him, where it hung quivering. “I still got the knack,” Manuel proudly commented. From the trussed up Miiitey came gurgling sounds, and his eyes positively goggled. Jerry sat down again, quickly. “Why didn’t you use the pistol?” he asked, more concerned with details than danger. “ ’Cause we don’t want the patrolman bustin’ in. You an’ me got to finish our conference. I could a’ pinned yer if I’d a mind ter. So watch yer step, hig boy. Let’s pipe the flapper.’ Apparently this referred to the Identifiable ear which the gunman inspected with all the professional care of an expert who knew his job from A to Z.

“Can you beat it!” he ejaculated. “Reckon it’s up to you to give me the low-down on this stunt.” Jerry started all over again. By now he was beginning to know the story. Many repetitions had brought word* perfection, so he was able to boil it down to essentials without sacrificing quality. Manuel swallowed it whole, rebelled in it, slapped his knee in appreciation and seemed convinced that Tony s cleverness was directly responsible for the situation, though how, or why, was not very clear. Equally obvious was the regard in which one gangster held another. Circumstances might demand the “rubbing out” of Tony Montelli, but it was more in the way of business than mere malice.

“What a charming party!” Dago Manuel’s automatic .swung round to cover Elise Dallas, who had slipped silently into the room. Being one of nature’s gentlemen at heart he looked sheepish and tried to tuck away the weapon out of sight.

“Is it loaded?” she asked calmly. “Sure, lady. What’s the good of a gun without slugs.” “Be careful it doesn’t go off, then.” ‘ “That’s all right. I got it under control. Never bumped a dame yet.” “How on earth did you get here?” Jerry broke iu. “Somebody carelessly left the key in the lock, so I thought I’d'surprise you. Instead it seems to he the other way round. Aren’t you going to introduce me.”

“This is D Mr Manuel, that is to say.” “Dago to my friends,” the gangster said courteously. “Pleased ter have yer know me.” Elise found a comfortable chair from which she was able to survey the scene in all its bizarre completeness. She sympathised especially with the unfortunate Mintey and drew attention to the inconvience of being deprived of an experienced cocktail server. Manuel’s ears positively flapped, not in any metaphorical sense, but by the exercise of that primitive dexterity which occasionally raises the aurally adroit schoolboy above his less gifted fellows. Everybody watched this exhibition with fascinated attention. “Aw, that’s nothing,” explained the exhibitor modestly. “A little trickthat goes down well in the dives. Say, didn’t know that guy was your private bartender. Thought he was a strongarm thug— bodyguard—you know what I mean.” Elise, complete mistress of the situation, assured him that everything was most clear, that the mistake was per. fectly natural and the logical conclusion could be fully reached by drinks all round. Under her direction Mintey was released, his dignified disapproval taking the form of complete silence. ABSURD OR PERILOUS? Jerry had the feeling that it was all an absurd dream, yet a surreptitious pinch assured him that he was actually offering hospitality to a notorious character whose original intentions had been anything but friendly. Caught off-duty Dago Manuel set out to become the life and soul of the party. His determination to make amends was almost pathetic. “I got to watch my step,” he affirmed ‘solemnly. “Bumping off the wrong feller would ruin my reputation. Tony wouldn’t like it either.” 1 “Neither would I,” Jerry mildly pointed out. “Sure! Sure! Guess yer got a natural grouse as well. We gotta do something about it. Shucks, tattooing! Somewheres it’ll show up good and plenty." , “Nothing doing!” Jerry was still firmly opposed to being turned into a perambulating picture gallery. “That’s what the police suggested,’ he added.

iTo be Continued.)