interviews on the sidewalk. And it is rather late."
"I'm not a reporter," said Cringle. "Just listen carefully. You're researching Scorpia."
His eyes, hard and glittering, bored into Diana's.
"Forget Scorpia! Get it?"
Diana felt confused.
"I'm afraid I don't," she said. "What do you mean?"
"What I said, lady," Cringle continued in his dead voice.
"But why should research on an ancient pirate band like the Scorpia interest you?" said Diana, looking round the deserted street.
Cringle's face went white.
"From now on, don't even mention that name, lady," he said.
He slid his forefinger across his throat. The gesture was so sinister that Diana instinctively started back from the car door.
"Forget it," Cringle hissed blackly.
He turned on the Cadillac's motor and idled it.
"This is the first and last warning, Diana Palmer."
He gunned the car off down the street. It turned the corner with tires shrieking, and disappeared. The whole thing had happened so quickly that Diana had no time even to read the license plate. Then she realized that the blond man had switched the lights of the automobile off so that she wouldn't have been able to read the license number anyway. It was only when he was turning the corner, too far away for her to read them, that he switched on the lights.
Diana stood irresolute for a moment. There was a determined look on her face. Had Cringle seen it, he would not have felt so confident as he turned the big car back in the direction of Otto Koch's hideaway.
Diana turned on her heel. Her eyes were shining. She tucked her books tightly under her arm and set off at an athletic trot toward home.
Chief Mulcade's florid face looked a little bewildered. He sat behind his scratched mahogany desk and listened with a tired expression as his subordinate went on talking on the phone.
"All right," he said eventually. "I suppose I'd better see them."
. He put the receiver down and straightened the pile of papers on the blotter in front of him. A heavily-built man of fifty-five, with close-cropped, dark hair, he had been Westchester's Chief of Police for ten years, and he was used to strange requests from residents of the wealthier sections of town. But this sounded strange even for Westchester.
His faded blue eyes looked tired above his heavy black mustache as he rose from the desk to greet the tall, lithe, dark girl who entered, followed by the young-looking, blond man.
"Miss Diana Palmer?" said the Chief cordially, coming 60
forward to shake the girl's hand. "And this is your uncle; I already know Mr. David Palmer."
"Correct," said David Palmer with a worried smile. He took the pipe out of his mouth and pumped Mulcade's hand.
"What can I do for you?" said the Chief warily. "I thought the Desk Sergeant said something about pirates."
"So he did," broke in Diana excitedly. "That's why we wanted to see you."
Mulcade looked incredulous, but he did a good job of trying to hide it.
"Please sit down," he said, dragging two comfortable leather-backed chairs forward.
Despite his worried expression David Palmer gave a short laugh. 5
"Don't look so distressed," he said. "This isn't as fantastic as it sounds. And Diana, my niece, has a legitimate complaint to make."
"Ah, that's a different matter," said Mulcade, narrowing his eyes and looking interestedly from one to the other. "My job only demands investigation of crimes which were committed in this century!"
He joined in the laughter which followed.
"You look as if you could use some coffee," Mulcade said.
"That would be very nice," Diana said. "We came straight to you and I haven't had any dinner yet."
Mulcade looked at the clock. It was 10:30 p.m.
"I could have some sandwiches sent up," he said. "I think the emergency fund could stand it."
He lifted the phone and started barking instructions. Then he folded his arms and looked across at his visitors.
"Now, let's have it," he said.
"Well, have you heard about the research I'm doing at the University?" asked Diana.
Mulcade nodded.
"I
"I'm not a reporter," said Cringle. "Just listen carefully. You're researching Scorpia."
His eyes, hard and glittering, bored into Diana's.
"Forget Scorpia! Get it?"
Diana felt confused.
"I'm afraid I don't," she said. "What do you mean?"
"What I said, lady," Cringle continued in his dead voice.
"But why should research on an ancient pirate band like the Scorpia interest you?" said Diana, looking round the deserted street.
Cringle's face went white.
"From now on, don't even mention that name, lady," he said.
He slid his forefinger across his throat. The gesture was so sinister that Diana instinctively started back from the car door.
"Forget it," Cringle hissed blackly.
He turned on the Cadillac's motor and idled it.
"This is the first and last warning, Diana Palmer."
He gunned the car off down the street. It turned the corner with tires shrieking, and disappeared. The whole thing had happened so quickly that Diana had no time even to read the license plate. Then she realized that the blond man had switched the lights of the automobile off so that she wouldn't have been able to read the license number anyway. It was only when he was turning the corner, too far away for her to read them, that he switched on the lights.
Diana stood irresolute for a moment. There was a determined look on her face. Had Cringle seen it, he would not have felt so confident as he turned the big car back in the direction of Otto Koch's hideaway.
Diana turned on her heel. Her eyes were shining. She tucked her books tightly under her arm and set off at an athletic trot toward home.
Chief Mulcade's florid face looked a little bewildered. He sat behind his scratched mahogany desk and listened with a tired expression as his subordinate went on talking on the phone.
"All right," he said eventually. "I suppose I'd better see them."
. He put the receiver down and straightened the pile of papers on the blotter in front of him. A heavily-built man of fifty-five, with close-cropped, dark hair, he had been Westchester's Chief of Police for ten years, and he was used to strange requests from residents of the wealthier sections of town. But this sounded strange even for Westchester.
His faded blue eyes looked tired above his heavy black mustache as he rose from the desk to greet the tall, lithe, dark girl who entered, followed by the young-looking, blond man.
"Miss Diana Palmer?" said the Chief cordially, coming 60
forward to shake the girl's hand. "And this is your uncle; I already know Mr. David Palmer."
"Correct," said David Palmer with a worried smile. He took the pipe out of his mouth and pumped Mulcade's hand.
"What can I do for you?" said the Chief warily. "I thought the Desk Sergeant said something about pirates."
"So he did," broke in Diana excitedly. "That's why we wanted to see you."
Mulcade looked incredulous, but he did a good job of trying to hide it.
"Please sit down," he said, dragging two comfortable leather-backed chairs forward.
Despite his worried expression David Palmer gave a short laugh. 5
"Don't look so distressed," he said. "This isn't as fantastic as it sounds. And Diana, my niece, has a legitimate complaint to make."
"Ah, that's a different matter," said Mulcade, narrowing his eyes and looking interestedly from one to the other. "My job only demands investigation of crimes which were committed in this century!"
He joined in the laughter which followed.
"You look as if you could use some coffee," Mulcade said.
"That would be very nice," Diana said. "We came straight to you and I haven't had any dinner yet."
Mulcade looked at the clock. It was 10:30 p.m.
"I could have some sandwiches sent up," he said. "I think the emergency fund could stand it."
He lifted the phone and started barking instructions. Then he folded his arms and looked across at his visitors.
"Now, let's have it," he said.
"Well, have you heard about the research I'm doing at the University?" asked Diana.
Mulcade nodded.
"I
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