THE GREEN LANTERN

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXXIII, Issue 22429, 27 May 1936, Page 23

THE GREEN LANTERN

By BEN BOLT Author of "A Shot in the Night," etc., etc.

CHAPTER V.—(Continued) It was Mr. Sullivan who answered, slowly, as ono weighing pros and cons. "I ain't certain that's tho word, Honourable." "Why not? We're here, safe and sound, with no more loss than the quartermaster's department can make good, and we've learned . . . er . . . things. Little gentleman who was doing sentry-go in Grosvenor Gardens is the pal of tho motor-bike feller, and hand an' glove, I'll lay, with the cj-owd who put the harrow on tho road. Also thoro's that lady-serpent—" "Yeh!" interjected Mr. Sullivan. "But it don't give us a line on young Mr. Swinnerton. And that's the crying need." "But we know they were interested," commented P.Q.R., "or why did they go alter Miss Joy?" "Seai'ch me! . . . May have thought she had tho goods." "Is it too much to inquire the nature of tho goods?" inquired Pallisier. "I don't want to barge in, but —er —you know, working in the dark an' all that sort of thing is confusing. What?" Mr. Sullivan looked at P.Q.R., who nodded emphatically. Then ho explained. "Young Mr. Swinnerton was a special envoy, carrying private—very private an' important documents. Documents have to do with the Naval conversations going on over here. . . He had word of mouth instructions as well. Naturally one country that ud like to get a peep at said documents is Japan—" "Ah. That explains—" "It don't explain who lifted young Swinnerton outta that car, not if Miss Joy is right in her idea they weren't Asiatics." "No! . . . That's a corker." "Leaves you guessing and then some more." Mr. Sullivan drank off his whisky, followed it with a chaser of soda-water, and then helped himself again to spirit. "I've a notion that we aren't on tlio mark at all in this business yet." "But those Japs," began P.Q.R. "Wait, boy. Let mo unload. Those Japs, you say. Well, if you ask me. I'd say were just as keen as we are to get in touch with young Mr. Swinnerton. It's a dead cert that they were laying for him; but I reckon it's a deader cert that they missed him, an' while they're watchful they know no more nor we do whore he is." "But someone got him," said Pallisier, "and took risks over the job. That dead chauffeur is enough to hang the lot of them." "Yeh! When found —and not before! Question is, who are the guys?" Mr. Sullivan paused, felt in his pocket, took out a green-looking cigar, bit the end off, lit up and then continued: "I've got a notion that there was something in that hold-up an' kidnapping business that ought to put

us on the scent. Over here, kidnap-

ping ain't the industry it is in the States. .More reasons nor one for that. You haven't had a Volstead Act to foster a thriving business in bootlegging liquor, an' to nourish a brood of gangsters an' hold-uppers worse nor any stick-up agents when the west was wild. An' again you haven't had that special class put clean out of a business they make their own by the repeal of the liquor laws. . . Y'get me?" "Matter of common knowledge," said Bingrose. Yeh! But look at it. Bootlegging being off, that crowd has to look for a fresh racket to keep 'em on Easy Street, where they're accustomed to take the air. Half of 'em are Wops, an', half the Wops were chased out of Sicily when Mussolini had the Mafia broke up, an' this snatch racket kinda comes natural to 'em."

"Bu-r-r-r!"

"Snatch racket?" asked Pallisier. "I don't " 9 "Kidnapping an' ransom," explained Mr. Sullivan, "an' no guarantee that you ain't just ransoming a corpse. It's big business. World's heard of Colonel Lindbergh's baby, but doesn't know of the fifty thousand bucks paid bv Benjamin P. Bower of Denver for his release, nor how Michael H. Katz, of Kansas City shed a hundred thousand to get back to his home, nor how Earl L. Yocuin, banker of Galva, Illinois, was snatched by*three kidnappers with guhs when coming out of a movie house in his home town on a Saturday night an' paid up fifty thousand an' nothing said to the police. That's how the racket goes—an' it's a big one. Cases mentioned are just drummer's samples. There's hundreds of 'em, an—"

"You think Michael Swinncrton is another one?" snapped P.Q.R. "I reckon it's possible. If Miss Swinnerton's right, 'twasn't the Japs that snatched him. They wanted him, we'll say, but let him slip. . . Maybe others wanted him for the same reason as they did, an' some of the secret-service operators aren't noways particular if they can get the goods. But I'd put my bet elsewhere. . . Old man Swinnerton's mortal proud of his boy. Means him to cut a figure in the world, an' maybe hit the White House . . .

That's news-gossip back homo . . But the old man ain't loved by the lawless in the States. He's one of the strongest backers of Chicago's 'Secret Six' crimefighting organisation, and His money sent three men to the electric chair who'd bumped off one of his employees. S'poso the racketeers arc trying to get even. . . Swinnert.on Junior is his vulnerable point. That's where ho can get hurt—hard! Daughter isn't quite the same. There ain't none of the livin'-in-the-country's-story idea for her, while the boy's the apple of his eye. You get me?" He lifted his whisky, swallowed it, and neglected the chaser. "That's my notion. Sir. Mistley, being fixed in the idea that politics and politics only is behind this snatch business, won't listen to my theory. But I reckon it'll pay to take a run round this big village, an' see who're over hero from New York and Chicago, an' that's what I'm reckoning on doing."

"Someone must report to the secretary," said P.Q.R. Mr. Sullivan grinned affably. "That's sure your job, Mr. Ringroso." "But confound it, man —" "An' you sure can't go running round in footwear you'd fall out as you peddled, boy." "But 1 can follow you, pick you up later 1" protested P.Q.R. "I'm not going to bo shoved out of any fun that's going." "Well, there's that!" Mr. Sullivan looked at his wrist-watch. "Might try Silas' American Bar, ton l'orty-five. An' after closing hour, the Paon d'Or, which is situate " "Oh! Teach your grandmother!" interrupted P.Q.R., and rose from the lounge. "I'll hop round to Number 4 _» "Do, sonny. An' if Commander Patterson is still camped there, y'might pass the word to him. he'll stroll along with you." "Right. I supposo you'll bring Bill—

"Don't talk bilge," interrupted .Mr. Pallisier. "I'm .a fixture in this business an' Mr. Sullivan knows it. . . . What?"

(COPYHIGHT)

A THRILLING STORY OF MYSTERY AND ADVENTURE

Mr. Sullivan's silence gave consent, and P.Q.R. having departed, he in turn prepared to go. "Got to climb into a boiled shirt! . . . Doesn't matter at Silas', but the Paon d'Or is a tony place, an' y'don't get in without a wedding garment. . . . Meet you at Silas', if that suits you, Mr. Pallisier." "Suit mo, topping."

Tho American went, and Pallisier hurriedly changed, and chartering a taxi, arrived at Silas' ahead of time. Tho bar was very full, and the nasal speech of many of its clientele proved that Silas or his cocktail-shaker was popular with his own countrymen. It was only after watching a couple depart that Pallisier found a scat, and having made sure that Sullivan had not arrived, ho lit a cigarette, and while sipping his Manhattan considered the assembled company. The men present were mostly young or running in the thirties: the few ladies were rather obvious, and among the men was only one who really held his attention, and that by virtue of his collossal ugliness. Tho fellow was about five loot eight inches in height, broad was he that he looked shorter. His black head was close cropped, his broad face, with its eagle nose, was olive skinned, the jaw protruding, while his small eyes were like black beads and quick &s a bird's. The lobe of one ear was missing, and in the other, as if to emphasize the fact that it was still undetached, was a small gold ear-ring. In evening dress broad as a barrel, with legs that seemed to be designed by nature for sitting astride one, ho was as odd a figure as Pallisier had ever seen, and as ho watched the man, who was talking animatedly with a most obvious Neapolitan, he summed him up in a series of mental comments.

"Genus! Wop! As Brother Sullivan would say. Probably a bruiser I . . .

But for his beak might bo a gorilla in trousers. Ugly customer. Takes all sorts to make a world. What?" Then Mr. Sullivan arrived, saw Pallisier waiting for him, made straight for his table, dropped into a chair, and gave one swift look round. Then he swiftly tipped his hat over his eyes and grabbed for a discarded evening paper which lay on the table, while from his lips broke a single wprd. "Goo!"

"Something biffed you, Sullivan?" asked tho Honourable Bill with pardonable curiosity as tho other hurriedly spread the news-sheet in front of him, upside down. "Yeh! Right in tho bellows ... I want a drink. Call that booze-slinger." Pallisier signalled a waiter and Mr. Sullivan gave his order tersely. "Scotch. A double one!" Then he addressed himself to his companion. "Don't want to be glimped. There's a guy over there looks like a man-ape in a circus garbed to do his knife an' fork stunt "

"Yes," said the Honourable Bill. "Spotted him five minutes back. What about him?" "Didn't know the fella was on this side the water! . . . He's a bad man—as bad as they're moulded." "Looks it!" agreed Mr. Pallisier heartily. "Regular heavy-weight. . . .

But wouldn't it bo advisable to turn that newspaper right side up? Keep up appearances and all that —what?" "Heck!" grunted Mr. Sullivan with some feeling, and following the suggestion looked over the top of tho paper towards the door. "Listen to me, Honourable, careful. . . . Outsido this joint there's a fella standing at the kerb, selling lights. I want you to just glide out an' buy a box."

"Matches!" Pallisier's hand went to his pocket an' produced a gold petrollighter. "You're not up to the times."

The sound of which Mr. Sullivan was the producer might have been anything, but in its inception was really an oath. Pallisier recognised the authentic note and answered apologetically. "Sorry, old top! My mistake. Continue the speil. I visit the kerbmerchant and buy—er—lights. Yes?" "Tell him to look out for Monkey Spano an' tail him to his kennel. Say if he misfires I'll have his neck dislocated, sure." Pallisier rose, glanced at his patent leathers and murmured: " 'How beautiful upon the mountains ' " "Whatcha chewing, Honourable?" snapped Mr. Bill Sullivan. " '—Are the feet of them that bear good tidings.' " Pallisier grinned. "I'll get the lights; and I'll warn the vendor about his neck." He moved towards the door, while the other, watching him over the top of his paper, beamed approval. "Right stuff! Don't know how they mint his brand over here, but they sure are tlio goods!" For his part, Pallisier, pausing in the doorway, saw the match-vendor standing at the edge of the pavement, full in the light—a thin-faced, tight-lipped young man, shabbily but neatly attired, a plain case of one who had seen better days. The man's attitude was listless, the box-tray slung from his neck held half a dozen or so boxes of matches, and plainly ho had omitted to take one of those courses in salesmanship which set a man's feet on the golden stairs. As the Honourable Bill walked straight across to him, an obvious purchaser, the man fingered one of the boxes in a mildly tentative way, and his customer laughed as ho set sixpence on the tray. "Yes," he said. "I'll take it, an' don't mind about the change. There's a message for you from a friend of mine in there. He says you have got to look out for Monkey Spano and tail him to his kennel. ... If you misfire he'll have your neck dislocated. You've got that?"

"Sure," answered the man with a chuckle. Then he £hrust the matches into Pallisier's hand. "Better take 'ein, boss. Never know who may be orbing us."

Pallisier took the matches and carried them to Mr. Sullivan who ostentatiously struck one and lit tho cigar bo was chewing. "Unfortunate case, the match-seller I" commented Pallisier. "Drink, I suppose ?''

"Drink!" Mr. Sullivan, not yet completely acquainted with the workings of tho younger man's mind, stared at him blankly. "What tho blazes d'you mean ?"

"Brought him to tho gutter an' all that, you know," answered the Honourable Bill, a mirthful gleam in his eyes. Mr. Sullivan saw it, and, understanding, laughed. "That boy is the best tail that ever was. Once he's on tho lay a man would easier step away from his own shadow. I'll know where Monkey Spano has his burrow once he goes there and "

"You think it's worth knowing?" "To a man in my profession it's always worth knowing where Spano lays his ugly head on the pillow. . . . That fella has Satan knows how many killings to his account. Acquainted with a good half score myself . . . Used to be in the booze racket with A 1 Capone. That racket having dribbled out, or as good as, Spano has had to seek new pastures. Behind that snatch racket I was tellin' you about there's a gang, organised, and I've heard it whispered that Monkey was one of the high lights in that new craft-guild. Don't know for certain —but you couldn't surprise me if you proved ho was tho Big Shot in it " Ho broke off, and then added: "If you ever run against him—look out. He's a perambulating field battory." (To be continued daily)