Hostage For A Hood by Lionel White

corners of his thin, wide mouth and slowly nodded his head.
    "So-o-o. Well, that should make the picture a lot clearer. She probably just got fed up with her marriage, or maybe had someone else on the string and took the money and blew."
    Sims shook his head, turned away from the window, and stepped toward the desk.
    "I don't think so," he said. "I talked with young Sherwood for more than an hour last night and I went over that house mighty carefully. There's no doubt that she never returned after taking him to the station, and the way the house was left, she certainly must have intended to come back to it. If she was going to leave him, take the dough and scram, why wouldn't she have gone back for her clothes? She had plenty of time.
    "Another thing, I get the very strong impression, from talking with him and several of the neighbors, that they got along very well together. She doesn't seem to be at all the kind of woman who would have had anything going, on the side. Of course you can never tell, but I have a pretty strong feeling about it. Something has happened to her."
    Parks nodded.
    "What else makes you reach that conclusion?"
    "Sherwood told me this noon that twice the telephone rang during the morning and each time when he picked up the receiver a man's voice asked for his wife. Same voice each time, he said. The guy hung up when Sherwood answered."
    "That don't exactly sound as though she was so damned pure. You sure this guy Sherwood is leveling with you?" Parks asked.
    "I'm never sure of anything. On the other hand, I'd bet he's on the up and up. And I don't like the idea of her disappearing with a certified check made out to cash."
    For several seconds Parks sat in deep thought. Finally he looked up.
    "Okay," he said. "I can't spare you right now with this damned Rumplemyer mess on our minds, but maybe you better stick with the Sherwood thing for another day or so. Go on out to the house again and see if you can find anything at all. Try and get a little better picture of the woman from the husband. Also, if that guy should call again, you pick up the phone and try and get a trace on the call. I'll go downstairs and take care of this mug Mitty."
    "You think maybe you got something there, with him?"
    The lieutenant shrugged. "Hell, I don't know," he said. "Probably just one of those damned coincidences, but we aren't passing up any bets. The guy used to be a driver for Rumplemyer. Worked there about six months back, for several weeks. Quit his job for no reason at all. Told them he couldn't handle the job because he had a bad back. Any way, he has a record, all petty stuff. Used to be a prizefighter at one time. Strictly third rate. Then he just drifted around, working now and then. In trouble a couple of times on assault charges, and once for larceny. Funny, his being picked up yesterday morning an hour after the stickup, trying to steal an automobile. He was in the front seat and working on the wires when a squad car happened to pass. Murphy, who was driving, spotted him and made the arrest."
    "Doesn't seem that a guy who has just finished pulling a quarter-million stickup would be hanging around trying to lift a hot car," Sims commented.
    "It doesn't to me either," Parks admitted, "But it is a rather odd coincidence. Anyway, we don't seem to be getting anywhere with him. We can hold him for the car job, of course, but we'll have to charge him. The second we do, he can demand bail. And get it—unless we can tie him in on the other some way. Anyway, you stay with the Sherwood thing. I'll see Mitty. But try and wind it up. Missing wives are all well and good, but the commissioner is a damned sight more worried about missing money at this point. Missing money, and a dead man."
    Sims grunted and turned to the door. "I'll keep in touch."
    * * * *
    Goldman kept his eye on the traffic and drove slowly, heading north through the park and keeping the car at an even thirty miles an hour. He kept both hands on the