"Hello," said Hazzard.
"Is this Mr. Hazzard?" said a man's voice.
"Yes."
The voice was right out of the movies. If the man now said that his name was Sidney Greenstreet, Hazzard would believe him.
"My name is Brown, John Brown," said the voice, and Hazzard thought that the man could have picked a more original name to go with the voice. "Mr. Hazzard," the voice continued, "I have a small matter of urgent business that I would like to discuss with you at your earliest convenience, preferably today."
"That would be fine, Mr. Brown. Just one moment please," and Hazzard held the mouthpiece and winked at Michiko. The pause was supposed to impress Brown that Hazzard was a busy man and had to consult his schedule. "If you could come over about . . ."
"I shall be at your office this afternoon at exactly one thirty," interrupted Brown.
Hazzard stared at the phone and mumbled, "Why, yes, that would be fine. . . ."
"Thank you very much Mr. Hazzard. Good-by," and John Brown hung up.
Hazzard put the phone down. It could be a gag, he thought. The voice, and then the name. No, it was too ridiculous not to be true. He looked at Michiko and said, "Let's go eat," and they went out for a bowl of noodles. Things might be looking up. John Brown might be just what was needed to pay the rent.
John Brown, a heavy set, cultured, Sidney Green-street type of man, sat back comfortably in his leather chair behind the large mahogany desk in his study. He had just leaned forward and carefully laid the telephone receiver in its cradle. Leaning back again in his chair, he made a tent with his fingers, and looked intently at the three men sitting opposite him across the highly polished desk.
The two thugs had not fared too well the night before. One of them had his arm and shoulder heavily bandaged and strapped in a tight sling. The one with the long scar on his face could barely see over the large bandage that covered his crushed nose.
Mr. Brown let his gaze wander over the two burly thugs. Then he glanced at the third man and spoke in a calm even voice, "Well, Chang, he is still alive."
"I told you we did not kill him," replied Chang. "He might have a large bump on his head, but other than that, he does not have a scratch."
Brown nodded his head toward the two thugs. "Well, these two idiots do not look very healthy today. Looking at them, I find it hard to believe that Mr. Hazzard does not have a scratch," he said with a touch of sarcasm.
"Our Mr. Hazzard," replied Chang, "happens to have been trained in karate, and I wish you had told us that little fact last night. Then we wouldn't have come out so badly. Or perhaps you did not know."
Mr. Brown smiled. "Oh, I knew. There is very little I do not know about him. But telling you would have spoiled the fun. These two have been paid well enough for a few bruises, and you admit you are satisfied with the results." Glancing at his watch, his voice went on, "I am very anxious to meet this Mr. Hazzard in person. He seems to be quite a man."
Chang nodded his agreement with what Brown had said. "Yes, I am satisfied, but we have no time to waste."
"I am to meet him at one thirty," said Brown. "Leave the rest to me."
Chang grunted a reply and rose quickly from his chair. The two thugs followed meekly as he walked out of the door.
Brown waited until he heard them leave the house, then he opened the top drawer of his desk with a small silver key that hung from his watch chain and carefully withdrew a small, unpainted wooden box. Reaching into the drawer again he took out several long plain envelopes and placed these and the wooden box in his leather brief case. From a side drawer he picked up a small automatic pistol, checked it to make sure it was loaded, and slipped it into his pocket.
A glance at his watch told him that it was now time to leave for the office of Michael Hazzard, private investigator.
John Brown smiled to himself as he settled his bulky form in the soft leather rear seat of his chauffeured Mercedes-Benz. He would soon meet the man about whom he had been reading countless reports during the past few months. Hazzard's record was more than impressing.
| Michael Hazzard: | Age, 3 8 |
| Height, 6' 2" | |
| Weight, 195 lbs. |
Twelve years experience with various United States intelligence agencies:
| 1942-1945 | Office of Strategic Services. Attended OSS intelligence school. Parachute training completed at Fort Bragg. Parachuted into occupied France to organize resistance fighters. |
| 1946-1950 | Coordinated activities of underground agents in Soviet satellite countries. |
| 1950-1954 | Chief of Special Intelligence Group operating in China and Korea. |
| 1955-1956 | Contracted tuberculosis, spent one year in Fitzsimons Army Hospital, Denver, Colorado. Placed on retired status upon dismissal from hospital. |
| 1957-1960 | Attended the Japan Karate Association School, Tokyo. |
| 1961- | Took extended trip around world. Returned to Japan. Opened private investigation agency six months previously. Business going very poorly, and slowly into debt. |
This was the gist of the many reports that John Brown had read. The finer details of the many escapades that Hazzard had been involved in, the many times he had barely escaped with his life, his efficiency with various weapons—all this and much more had been discreetly destroyed by Brown. Yes, it was going to be very interesting to meet the fabulous Michael Hazzard upon whom he had spent so much time and money. It was to be hoped that Mr. Hazzard was worth the trouble.
| 2 |
|
A String of Beads |
IT WAS NOW two o'clock. Mr. Brown had been as punctual as a new hundred-dollar watch. At exactly one thirty he had walked through the door and introduced himself to Michiko. For the next thirty minutes Brown had steered the conversation around Hazzard's past activities by expert questioning. Hazzard was alert to this, but conversed freely with the stout man, parrying those questions that skipped over delicate subjects as expertly as the questioner.
Hazzard was amazed at the physical resemblance that Brown had to Sidney Greenstreet. The cultured speech, the mannerisms, even the bulk. But now the novelty was wearing thin. John Brown sat calmly listening and asking questions, with his brief case and hat held firmly in his lap. It was another hot day, and Hazzard was beginning to show visible signs of impatience. Mr. Brown had just noticed a picture on the wall of Hazzard in karate practice clothes, and was starting off on another tangent.
"Ah, that picture, Mr. Hazzard. You have studied judo?"
"No," came the weary
