Killer Poker

Chapter 10





Rose was much more composed by the time the police were ready to talk to her. “Yes, Mr. Morgan and I were walking in the garden when that man came out of the shadows and attacked us from behind,” she told a detective in a brown tweed suit and a bowler hat.

That wasn’t exactly how it had happened, Conrad thought, but close enough for the purposes of the investigation.

“You stuck that knife in him after he dropped it, miss?” the detective asked.

Rose winced at the blunt question, but she nodded. “That’s right. The man had Mr. Morgan pinned on the ground and was choking him. I . . . I didn’t really think about what I was doing. I just saw the knife lying there on the walk and picked it up and—”

“I think that’s enough,” Hudson said. “It’s obvious what happened here, Detective.”

The man nodded and closed the notebook in which he had been scrawling words as Rose answered his questions. “I believe you’re right, Mr. Hudson. The man was a thief, but he picked the wrong fella to rob.”

“Do you know who he is?” Conrad asked.

“Not really,” the detective replied with a shrug. “I hate to say it, but there are plenty of varmints like him in Denver. The town’s not near as wild as it used to be, but we still get our share of outlaws drifting in. The undertaker’s wagon should have carried this one off already. I’ll go and check.”

Rose shuddered a little at the mention of the undertaker, Conrad noted. She was still pale, and he knew that despite the circumstances, the fact that she had taken a human life probably would continue to weigh heavily on her for a while.

The detective told them he’d be in touch if he needed any more information and said good night. He went out the French doors into the garden, where a couple uniformed officers stood holding lanterns at the scene of the attack.

Conrad put a hand on Rose’s arm. “I can take you home now.”

Violet Hudson was sitting nearby. She stood up and said, “Nonsense. Rose doesn’t need to be alone tonight. We have plenty of room here. She’ll spend the night in one of our guest rooms.” Violet frowned at her husband. “And she won’t be at work tomorrow unless she feels like it, either.”

Hudson held up his hands in surrender. “Of course, dear. Whatever you say.”

Violet put an arm around Rose and led her upstairs again.

Hudson took a cigar out of his vest pocket, offered it to Conrad, then lit it himself when Conrad shook his head. “Quite an evening.” Hudson blew out a cloud of smoke.

Conrad nodded. “That’s right. But at least we learned a little.”

The lawyer frowned in confusion. “What’s that?”

“We learned that McKinney was around Pamela quite a bit while she was here and may know more than he’s letting on.” Conrad smiled. “We also learned it’s not wise to turn your back on Rose Sullivan when there’s a knife close at hand.”

Hudson grunted and shook his head. “I never would have expected such a thing of her.” He paused to take another puff on the cigar. “Did she really save your life, Conrad? Or did you have things in hand?”

“It’s hard to say,” Conrad admitted. “I think I would have been able to overpower the man if Rose hadn’t done what she did . . . but I don’t know that for certain.”

“Well, then, we’ll give her the benefit of the doubt and consider her a heroine. Maybe that will make it easier for her to get over what happened tonight.”

“Maybe,” Conrad said.

He told Hudson good night and went out to the buggy where the driver waited. “I heard about all the excitement, Mr. Browning. Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” Conrad told him. Instead of sitting in the back, he climbed onto the buggy’s front seat next to the driver and nodded for him to get the vehicle moving. The driver slapped the reins against the backs of the two horses hitched to the buggy.

“What really happened back there in the garden, if you don’t my askin’? One of the other drivers said somebody tried to kill you.”

“The man wanted to rob me,” Conrad said.

Or had he? That question suddenly crossed Conrad’s mind. He thought back over exactly what had happened. He had been holding Rose Sullivan and she had been about to kiss him. Then he had heard the faint scrape of the man’s boot leather on the flagstone walk.

If not for that tiny warning, that little sound some people wouldn’t have even heard, a second later the man would have driven the knife deep in his back. Conrad supposed it was easier to go through a man’s pockets and rob him after he was dead, but if the thief had succeeded in killing him, then he would have been forced to kill Rose as well, to keep her from crying out and screaming for help.

Would a robber have been willing to murder two people just to steal a few dollars?

Of course things like that happened, Conrad reminded himself. People had been murdered for pennies, for their clothes or their shoes or for no good reason at all. But that usually happened when they were fighting back against being robbed.

The man had been set on killing Conrad right from the first. That much was clear from the way he had attacked. He hadn’t threatened or demanded money.

He had just gone for the death blow.

The would-be assassin was a stranger to Conrad. He couldn’t think of a single reason the man would have wanted to kill him.

But Pamela had wanted him dead—years ago. She had come up with the elaborate scheme to torture him by withholding the knowledge of his children’s birth and then letting him know about it after they were hidden away. She had also made arrangements to have him killed when he started searching for them. It was all a big, vicious game to her, he thought. Set out a goal—the twins—and give him the clues he needed to keep him on the trail, but set up death traps for him along the way. If those traps were successful, then he would die knowing he had failed to find his children. If they weren’t, they would make him more determined than ever to continue the search. Pamela had known him well enough to predict that reaction from him.

Was the attempt on his life just another in that series of traps orchestrated by Pamela? He didn’t know the answer to that question, but couldn’t help pondering it.

“Sir? Mr. Browning?”

With a little shake of his head, Conrad realized that the driver on the seat beside him was talking to him. The buggy had stopped moving.

“We’re here, sir. The Lansing House.”

Sure enough, they were. The buggy had come to a stop in front of the hotel.

“Thank you.” He took a coin from his pocket and pressed it into the driver’s hand, despite the man’s protests that it wasn’t necessary.

“You be careful now, Mr. Browning,” the driver told him as he stepped down from the buggy. “I got a feeling there are still folks out there who wish you harm.”

“I know there are.” Conrad smiled. “But they’re going to be disappointed.”

He went through the hushed, beautiful lobby and up to his suite. Arturo was in one of the armchairs in the sitting room, reading a newspaper. He put it aside and immediately stood up. “How was your evening, sir? Did you find out anything?”

“Maybe,” Conrad said.

Arturo smiled. “And I take it no one tried to kill you?”

“Well, actually . . .”

Arturo’s smile disappeared and his eyes widened. “No!”

Conrad nodded. “Pour us a drink, Arturo, and I’ll tell you all about it.”





Conrad slept late the next morning. In the afternoon, he went to Ellery Hudson’s office and found Julia Moorehead at the desk in the outer office. There was no sign of Rose.

“Mr. Browning, it’s good to see you,” Julia said as she got to her feet. “I heard about what happened last night at Mr. Hudson’s house, of course. How are you today?”

“I’m fine,” Conrad told her with a smile as he took off his hat and held it in front of him. People who were acquainted with him in the business and society part of his life didn’t seem to understand that somebody trying to kill him wasn’t all that unusual. “Do you know how Rose is doing?”

“That poor girl. I talked to Mrs. Hudson on the telephone this morning. She said Rose is still very upset. I can understand why she feels that way. It’s why I’ve taken over here this morning.” Julia’s voice took on a slight note of disapproval as she added, “No offense, Mr. Browning, but your idea turned out not to be such a good one.”

“I don’t know about that. I’m still alive, and I might not have been if not for Rose.”

“Well, I suppose there is that to consider . . .” Julia’s manner became more businesslike. “What can we do for you this morning?”

“I came by mainly to check on Rose. Is Ellery free?”

Julia shook her head. “He’s in conference with a client, and then he has to be in court in a little while.”

“That’s all right.” Conrad put on his hat. “Just tell him I stopped by.”

“Of course.”

Conrad left the law office. He slipped his watch from his pocket and checked the time as he emerged from the building. It was only two o’clock in the afternoon, but he had a hunch there was a good chance he would find Bat Masterson at the Palace Variety Theatre and Gambling Parlor.

That hunch turned out to be correct. The famous former lawman and current gambler was sitting at one of the poker tables, cards in hand, playing in what appeared to be a low-stakes game with three other men. The pot in the center of the table didn’t add up to much. Masterson was just keeping in practice, Conrad thought as he caught the man’s eye and nodded toward the bar.

“I’m out, gentlemen.” Masterson squared up his cards and dropped them facedown on the table. He pushed back his chair and stood up.

When he joined Conrad at the bar, Conrad said, “I hope I didn’t cause you to throw in a good hand, Bat.”

Masterson chuckled. “Actually, I probably would have won. But did you see that pot? Chicken feed. I’ve lost more than that betting on whether the next woman through the door will a blonde, a brunette, or a redhead.”

“I hope the news I have for you will more than make up for it. I’ve decided to play in this poker tournament you’re organizing.”

Masterson arched his eyebrows. “Really? I am glad to hear that.”

“You’re glad that you’ll have ten thousand more dollars in the kitty.”

“Well, that, too, of course. But you’re a good player. You’ll bring some excitement to the game.” Masterson frowned as a thought appeared to occur to him. “Say, you’re not doing this in hopes of getting back at Rance McKinney, are you? He’s going to be part of the tournament.”

“Actually, McKinney is the reason I decided to play. But not because of what happened in here a couple nights ago.”

He had thought about it, and decided to take Masterson into his confidence. He knew his father trusted the man, and Frank Morgan’s opinion was good enough for Conrad. Quietly, as they lingered over schooners of cold beer, he told Masterson about the real reason he had come to Denver and the conversation he’d had with McKinney at Ellery Hudson’s house the night before.

Masterson tugged at one side of his mustache as he frowned in thought. “You believe Rance McKinney knows more about Pamela than he’s saying?”

“My gut tells me he does.”

“I don’t believe I ever met the lady, but from what I know about her, she and McKinney strike me as an odd pair.”

Conrad nodded. “There’s no doubt about that. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned in the past couple years, Bat, it’s that Pamela would use anybody she could to help her get the revenge on me she wanted.”

Masterson nodded. “Yes, I can see that. I heard about what happened at Ellery Hudson’s house last night.”

“It’s not in the newspaper, is it?” Conrad hadn’t looked at the papers yet.

“No, no, Hudson has too much influence in this town for that. He wouldn’t want everybody knowing that a guest at one of his dinner parties was almost murdered in his garden. But I have my sources. Every old lawman does.”

Conrad didn’t doubt that.

Masterson went on, “Do you think it’s possible your former fiancée had anything to do with that fellow trying to stick a knife in your back?”

“I thought of the same thing. It wouldn’t surprise me a bit.”

“Considering what you’ve told me, I wouldn’t be surprised, either. And Rance McKinney was there.”

Conrad nodded. “Indeed he was.”

Masterson lifted his schooner of beer, took a long swallow, then used a fancy handkerchief he took from his breast pocket to pat foam off his mustache. He gave Conrad a long look. “There aren’t going to be guns blazing over the tables in that poker tournament I’m putting together, are there?”

“I can’t promise anything.”