CHAPTER XXVII
"NO VIOLENCE"
The ex-pugilist sat back in the chair, chewing an unlighted blackcigar, his fishy eyes fixed on Bromfield. Scars still decorated thecolorless face, souvenirs of a battle in which he had been bested by aman he hated. Durand had a capacity for silence. He waited now forthis exquisite from the upper world to tell his business.
Clarendon discovered that he had an unexpected repugnance to doingthis. A fastidious sense of the obligations of class served him for asoul and the thing he was about to do could not be justified even inhis loose code of ethics. He examined the ferule of his Malacca canenervously.
"I've come to you, Mr. Durand, about--about a fellow called Lindsay."
The bulbous eyes of the other narrowed. He distrusted on principle allkid gloves. Those he had met were mostly ambitious reformers.Furthermore, any stranger who mentioned the name of the Arizonan becameinstantly an object of suspicion.
"What about him?"
"I understand that you and he are not on friendly terms. I've gatheredthat from what's been told me. Am I correct?"
Durand thrust out his salient chin. "Say! Who the hell are you?What's eatin' you? Whatta you want?"
"I'd rather not tell my name."
"Nothin' doin'. No name, no business. That goes."
"Very well. My name is Bromfield. This fellow Lindsay--gets in myway. I want to--to eliminate him."
"Are you askin' me to croak him?"
"Good God, no! I don't want him hurt--physically," cried Bromfield,alarmed.
"Whatta you want, then?" The tight-lipped mouth and the harsh voicecalled for a showdown.
"I want him discredited--disgraced."
"Why?"
"Some friends of mine are infatuated by him. I want to unmask him in apublic way so as to disgust them with him."
"I'm hep. It's a girl."
"We'll not discuss that," said the clubman with a touch of hauteur."As to the price, if you can arrange the thing as I want it done, I'llnot haggle over terms."
The ex-pugilist listened sourly to Bromfield's proposition. He watchednarrowly this fashionably dressed visitor. His suspicions stillstirred, but not so actively. He was inclined to believe in thesincerity of the fellow's hatred of the Westerner. Jealousy over agirl could easily account for it. Jerry did not intend to involvehimself until he had made sure.
"Whatta you want me to do? Come clean."
"Could we get him into a gambling-house, arrange some disgraceful mixupwith a woman, get the place raided by the police, and have the wholething come out in the papers?"
Jerry's slitted eyes went off into space. The thing could be arranged.The trouble in getting Lindsay was to draw him into a trap he could notbreak through. If Bromfield could deliver his enemy into his hands,Durand thought he would be a fool not to make the most of the chance.As for this soft-fingered swell's stipulation against physical injury,that could be ignored if the opportunity offered.
"Can you bring this Lindsay to a gambling-dump? Will he come withyou?" demanded the gang politician.
"I think so. I'm not sure. But if I do that, can you fix the rest?"
"It'll cost money."
"How much will you need?"
"A coupla thousand to start with. More before I've finished. I've gotto salve the cops."
Bromfield had prepared for this contingency. He counted out a thousanddollars in bills of large denominations.
"I'll cut that figure in two. Understand. He's not to be hurt. Iwon't have any rough work."
"Leave that to me."
"And you've got to arrange it so that when the house is raided I escapewithout being known."
"I'll do that, too. Leave your address and I'll send a man up later towise you as to the scheme when I get one fixed up."
On a sheet torn from his memorandum book Bromfield wrote the name ofthe club which he most frequented.
"Don't forget the newspapers. I want them to get the story," said theclubman, rising.
"I'll see they cover the raid."
Bromfield, massaging a glove on to his long fingers, added another wordof caution. "Don't slip up on this thing. Lindsay's a long way frombeing a soft mark."
"Don't I know it?" snapped Durand viciously. "There'll be no slip-upthis time if you do your part. We'll get him, and we'll get him right."
"Without any violence, of course."
"Oh, of course."
Was there a covert but derisive jeer concealed in that smooth assent?Bromfield did not know, but he took away with him an unease thatdisturbed his sleep that night.
Before the clubman was out of the hotel, Jerry was snappinginstructions at one of his satellites.
"Tail that fellow. Find where he goes, who he is, what girl he'smashed on, all about him. See if he's hooked up with Lindsay. Andhow? Hop to it! Did you get a slant at him as he went out?"
"Sure I did. He's my meat."
The tailer vanished.
Jerry stood at the window, still sullenly chewing his unlighted cigar,and watched his late visitor and the tailer lose themselves in thehurrying crowds.
"White-livered simp. 'No violence, Mr. Durand.' Hmp! Different here."
An evil grin broke through on the thin-lipped, cruel face.