The Almost Perfect Murder Part 21

"Humph!" she said, "he probably made up the story out of whole cloth."

"Perhaps," said Dr. Portal a little ruefully, "but it was very exciting at the time.... Afterwards he said he knew of a roadhouse up in Westchester County that was the worst place of all. Everything went there, he said, and nothing went any farther. But I would be all right, he said, as long as he was with me.... So we drove for a long time in the little car. It must have been somewhere north of the city, because I remember crossing the Harlem River, and pa.s.sing through the suburb of Williamsbridge. I saw the name on a railway station. We came to the roadhouse..."

"Was it so very wicked?" interrupted Mme. Storey, smiling.

"Well, I didn't see anything out of the way," returned the doctor innocently, "but then I am not accustomed to such places. I wouldn't have known what to look for. As a matter of fact I had a drink or two there, and I am not quite so clear afterwards as to what happened. All I remember is that I became excessively talkative--it was a great relief!"

"What did you talk about?" asked Mme. Storey.

"I can scarcely tell you. I suppose it was about the polio serum which fills my mind to the exclusion of everything else. In looking back on it I am astonished at the patience of young t.i.to in letting me run on so. It could not have been interesting to him. In spite of all, there must have been something genuinely friendly in him, don't you think?"

"I wonder!" said Mme. Storey grimly. "Go on."

"The next thing I remember is finding myself in the little car again, still driving away from town. For some reason or another we drew up alongside the road, and remained there a while, I still talking. It must have been a very lonely spot; there were woods on either side of the road; no cars pa.s.sed that way. In my slightly fuddled condition all this seemed perfectly natural. I was still talking garrulously about my work, I remember, when I happened to notice that t.i.to was playing with an ugly little automatic gun on his knees...."

"Good G.o.d!" murmured Mme. Storey, aghast.

The doctor, however, was entirely unconcerned. "I remonstrated with him," he said. "I told him to put the thing away before there was an accident...."

"And then what?" asked Mme. Storey tensely.

"He put it in his pocket," he said calmly; "and we drove home. That's all."

"And that is the strangest part of all!" cried Mme. Storey. "What could have persuaded him to spare you?"

"Hey?" said Dr. Portal, blinking.

"Don't you realise that you were taken for a ride?" she said.

"Certainly I was taken for a ride..."

"No! No! I mean in the special sense of that phrase; the sense in which it is used in the underworld. You were taken out to that lonely spot to be shot, and your body thrown into the woods. The mystery is, how you contrived to escape!"

"Why should anybody want to shoot me?" gasped the doctor.

"You escaped," she went on, "but Dr. McComb was not so lucky!"

"Do you mean to say that t.i.to shot McComb?" he cried.

"I don't know. Another tool may have been used in that case. t.i.to was only a hired a.s.sa.s.sin, of course. There may have been several. What is clear is that somebody had it in for the whole Terwilliger Inst.i.tute!"

"Why? Why? Why?" asked the dismayed doctor. "We injure n.o.body. We threaten n.o.body's interest. Our work is for the benefit of the whole community!"

"I don't know," said Mme. Storey sombrely. "It shall be my task to find out. Our only clue lies through this t.i.to."

"How terrible!" murmured Dr. Portal, thinking of his near escape. "And I suspected nothing!"

"Give me the best description of him that you can," she said.

The doctor spread out his hands. "I'm afraid I'm not very good at it ... nineteen or twenty years old; about my height but much more muscularly built. Very quick and graceful in his movements. Brown eyes; smooth, warm-coloured face that still preserved some of the roundness of boyhood; regular white teeth. Ordinarily he wore a mask over his face; his expression was perfectly inscrutable...."

"This tells me next to nothing," said Mme. Storey. "Try to give me something characteristic, something peculiar."

"Well, he had a trick of keeping a perfectly smooth face and speaking out of one corner of his mouth," said Dr. Portal.

"No good!" said my employer ruefully. "They all do that.... Did he mention any names in his story? Did he ever let fall what they called him?"

Dr. Portal shook his head. "No, I noticed that he was careful about names. It was always 'him' or 'her' or 'this fellow' and 'that fellow.'"

"Then how about place names?" she asked. "Did he ever mention the names of any places that he frequented?"

After thinking awhile the doctor said: "Yes. He spoke of Bleecker Street. More than once I remember him saying: 'I went down to Bleecker' or 'I ran into him on Bleecker.'"

"That helps a little," said Mme. Storey, "but not much. Bleecker is the main street, the white-light district for the whole of little Italy.... Can you give me anything else?"

After further thought the doctor brightened. "Here's something," he said. "On the occasion of our second meeting he appeared wearing a c.o.o.n-skin coat like a college boy."

"Now we're getting on," said Mme. Storey. "c.o.o.n-skin coats cannot be very common down on Bleecker Street."

"But he didn't wear it down there," said the doctor. "I chaffed him about it a little, and he said he wouldn't dare be seen in it around home. He said he always hired it when he wanted to step out up-town. When I expressed my surprise that you could hire anything so valuable as a fur coat, he said he had a pull with the old clo' man, that they did business together regularly."

"Then our first task must be to find that old clo' man," said Mme. Storey.

IV.

My instructions were to find a cheap restaurant or lunchroom along the most frequented part of Bleecker Street, and to get into conversation with the lady cashier. I chose three-thirty as the hour when such places would be least busy. I was disguised as a servant girl on her day out. I found my lunchroom and ordered a piece of mince pie and a cup of coffee for which I had not the least desire.

When I paid my check I lingered beside the cashier's desk with a smile of foolish good-nature.

"I allus eats my lunch late," I said. "You kin take your time and eat comfortable wit'out bein' pushed by the crowd."

The cashier's glance said that she didn't give a d.a.m.n if I never got any lunch, but I didn't care. I had her penned behind her little counter where she couldn't escape. By degrees I came round to the inevitable "boy-friend." She yawned behind her manicured fingers. I told how my boy-friend was going to take me to a dance at Webster's Hall on Sat'ay night. I described the dress I was going to wear.

"Pink satin with ribbon dangles ending in little pompoms!" she repeated, elevating her plucked eyebrows as much as to say: You would!

"I do hate to wear me old coat goin' in," I said. "If they was on'y some place I could hire a fur coat I wouldn't mind spendin' the money. I don't care what I spend to look good. That's me. My boy-friend, he said he'd hire a c.o.o.n-skin coat to match me if he knew where to go for it."

"Go to Ikey's at -- Sixth Avenue," she said; "they hire fur coats for ladies and gents. It's the on'y place I know of."

"Is zat so?" I said, and talked on for a while. Finally I drifted out followed by a crushing glance from the lady cashier.

I proceeded directly to Ikey's, which is on Sixth Avenue not far from Bleecker Street. Ikey, I learned from Mme. Storey, had long been suspected of being a fence, but the police had never succeeded in getting the goods on him. At any rate he is the friend of every crook in town. He sells more than old clo's. He will outfit you with any kind of a disguise that you require, and is prepared to sew you up on the spot.

Unlike other stores, Ikey puts his worst foot foremost. All the shabbiest and most disreputable garments are on display, while the fancier articles are only brought out upon demand. To the hook-nosed saleslady who approached me (they have them of both s.e.xes) I said: "Me brutter wants to hire one of them c.o.o.n-skin coats like college boys wear for an evenin'. Have you got any?"

After consultation with somebody in the rear the saleslady reported: "Yeah, we got them coats for hire, but you'll have to put up a hundred dollars deposit."

"A hundred dollars!" I cried. "He might as well buy him a coat."

"What ja expect?" she asked scornfully. "That ya could walk out with a fur coat for fi' dollars? You git your money back when you bring it in."

"Well, I'll take a look at it," I said.

She presently flung the coat across the counter; quite a luxurious-looking garment. But all that interested me about it was a card tied to the collar bearing mysterious letters and figures. I supposed that this was the record of the times it had been given out and returned, like a library card. All I could read were the final entries. There was a C on each line followed by two dates. I made believe to look the coat over, and even tried it on, but the woman kept the card out of my reach. Finally I said: "I don't know if me brutter wants to put up a hundred bones on it. Got any utters?"

"That's the on'y c.o.o.n-skin coat."

"Then show me somepin cheaper. Somepin with an elegant fur collar, like."

To my joy she went away leaving the coat lying on the counter with the card attached. I made haste to examine it. The first entry on the card read: "Chico, -- Bleecker," and then the dates presumably when it was given out and returned. All the subsequent entries merely had a C and two dates. Apparently it had never been taken out but by the one person. A great satisfaction filled me when I read the last date that it had been taken out; October 30th. This was the night t.i.to had taken Dr. Portal for a ride. There could be but little doubt this was the right coat.

Well, I got out of Ikey's with a vague statement that I would "tell me brutter," and hastened back to Bleecker Street. The number I was in search of proved to be just across the street from my lunch-room. There was a shoe store on the street level, and a tenement overhead. In the narrow entry alongside the store there was a row of letter-boxes with names in them, mostly Italian, which suggested nothing to me. "Chico" was a common nickname, and not of very much use in running my man down. As I stood there in uncertainty, a loiterer on the pavement outside said: "Who ya lookin' fer?"

"Chico," I said at a venture.

"Oh, Chico Cardone," he said. "He boards with Mrs. Mora, top floor."

I climbed the stairs with a heart full of grat.i.tude towards my unwitting helper. Luck was with me today.

The upper floors were still unchanged from Bleecker Street's palmy days when the house had been a private dwelling. That is to say, all the rooms opened directly on the stair hall. I knocked at the princ.i.p.al door on the top floor and it was opened to me a crack by a handsome Italian girl with a sullen expression. On the way up I had evolved a new story.

"Excuse me, dearie," I said in the oily voice of the low-grade book agent, "have you any young men in your family?"

"No," she said, and made as if to slam the door, but I shoved my foot forward and held it open. "Wait a minute, dearie," I said glibly. "I got a publication here no young man can afford to be without...."

"Take your foot away!" she said angrily, and added a good masculine oath. "There's no young men here."

"Excuse me," I said again, "but the name of a Mr. Cardone was give me as a boarder here."

"He just rents the middle room from me mutter," she said, with a jerk of her head towards the next door. "He don't board here. Anyhow he ain't home now."

"Well, I'll come back tonight," I said.

"That won't do you no good," she said with a curious bitterness. "Nights you'll find him at Luigi's cafe."

With that she aimed a kick at my foot and I hastily withdrew it. The door slammed, and I went downstairs with a light heart. I smiled to myself, thinking of the girl's bitterness. Had Dr. Portal's handsome little blackguard been trifling with her affections, I wondered.

I returned to the office full of the consciousness of work well done.

"Good!" said Mme. Storey when she heard my tale. She called up Benny Abell, who is our princ.i.p.al liaison officer with the underworld; "Benny," she said over the wire, "I want to visit Luigi's cafe at Number -- Bleecker Street tonight. Get busy and find somebody who knows the joint and can take me. I'll disguise myself, of course, so I won't look out of place there. You'd better come along too."

When I was for retiring to the back room to scrub the paint off my face and resume my own clothes, she said: "Why go to all that trouble? With a change of dress you'll do very well for tonight as you are. We can eat here before we start."

V.

We met our men at nine o'clock that night in a cheap Italian restaurant near Washington Square, so that we could have a couple of hours in which to familiarise ourselves with the parts that we were to play later. In addition to Benny Abell Mme. Storey had called upon George Stephens, another operative, because the plan she had in mind called for two men in addition to the Italian who was to conduct us to Luigi's.

This case followed soon after the Jacmer Touchon affair during which Mme. Storey had been obliged for purposes of disguise to cut her hair short. Her hair was now about two inches long, and tonight she wore it in a tangle of dark curls all over her head like a tousle-headed boy. It lent her an impudent prettiness that was irresistible. Wherever we went that night men's eyes followed her. She was wearing a smart cheap little red dress and called herself Madge Regan. She has the art of making herself look common without losing anything of her attractiveness.

As for me, I modelled myself upon her so far as I was able. Luckily when she was present I was not obliged to do much talking.

At eleven o'clock the Italian joined us. Benny introduced him simply as Joe. Benny refused to vouch for him beyond a certain point, consequently he was not taken into our confidence. He supposed that we were a party of people from uptown who had disguised ourselves in order to see a little low life.

We went on to Luigi's. It was in the bas.e.m.e.nt of one of the ancient buildings on Bleecker Street that still retained its old-fashioned high stoop. A barber shop occupied the parlour floor, and presumably there was a tenement above. My heart sank at sight of the place. True, I knew that Mme. Storey had taken Inspector Rumsey into her confidence, and that several plain-clothes men were hanging about the neighbourhood ready to aid us if necessary; but what good would they be to us, I asked myself, if they arrived on the scene after we had been shot?

Luigi's was a depressing-looking joint and I felt sorry for those who had to take their pleasure there. There was a long room beside the entrance pa.s.sage with a row of little tables around it and a narrow s.p.a.ce for dancing in the middle. It was absolutely empty. Behind it was a smaller room with a bar where several men were drinking and talking loudly.

The real sanctum sanctorum of Luigi's was in the rear. It was a sordid, dirty little room, evidently part of an extension to the main building. A heavy fog of tobacco smoke filled the air. It was only big enough to hold four tables, of which two were occupied when we entered. A large party of young men pressed around a table in one of the farther corners playing some sort of gambling game with a deal of noisy talk. Beside the door sat three girls with a depressed-looking man who was paying very little attention to them. The girls were evidently employees of the place, but business was poor, and they had fastened to the man merely to keep themselves in countenance.

I could not help looking at them curiously. They started to talk brightly among themselves when we entered, but it was a hollow pretence. What a life! One of them, I was surprised to see, was as fresh and pretty as a schoolgirl, a tiny little thing formed like a fairy, with the pure oval face that painters love to depict. I noticed that she was continually glancing in a sullen fashion at the group of noisy young men. I supposed that she had a sweetheart amongst them, and resented the fact that he preferred to gamble rather than talk to her.

We seated ourselves around the table in the other far corner, that is, next to the gamblers. Presumably our man was amongst them, but we were careful, of course, not to betray any curiosity concerning them. We ordered grappa, the fiery liqueur that is so popular south of Washington Square, and busied ourselves in our own talk. Benny was supposed to be my boy-friend, while the tall Stephens devoted himself to "Madge," as we called her. Joe appeared to be what he in fact was, merely our conductor.

The waiter came and went noiselessly between us and the bar. He was an unnaturally pale and haggard little fellow who looked as if he had never seen the sun. Occasionally a fat Italian entered the room, very flashily dressed and having a big watch chain with a bunch of charms and a diamond flashing on his fat finger. He jingled his charms, exchanged loud witticisms with the players while he gave us all the once-over with his hard glittering eye, and went out again. This, we learned, was the genial proprietor.

As opportunity offered I sized up the card players. Some of them had their backs to us, but as the game progressed they shifted their places from time to time, and in the end I was able to get a look at each one of them. Nearly every man at the table answered in a general way to the description furnished by Dr. Portal. Nineteen or twenty years old; well-dressed in a somewhat flashy style, good-looking in the Italian manner. Handsome, black eyes, and well-oiled black hair.

After eliminating the ill-favoured ones and those who were clearly more than twenty years old, my choice finally narrowed down to a warm-coloured young man who sat with his back against the end wall, while his hard eyes travelled from face to face of the other players. He was certainly the best-looking one at the table; his features had a grace and harmony that would have earned him a good living as an artists' model; moreover, there was that hint of boyish roundness in his cheeks that Dr. Portal had spoken of.

Presently I noticed that it was towards this face that the sullen eyes of the little girl at the next table were so often directed. Was she another victim to his infernal good looks? He paid no attention whatever to her. Finally one of the other players addressed him as "Chico" and he answered. Mme. Storey and I exchanged a fleeting glance.

As soon as we had spotted our man, Mme. Storey began to make play to attract his attention. She did not immediately look at him, but addressed herself rather to Stephens in a drawling, provocative voice that was bound to arouse Chico's notice. Not more than five feet separated their chairs. Chico, hearing that siren voice, looked--and having looked once, looked again. The tousled curls netted his fancy. However successful he may have been with women it was not often that one so beautiful as Mme. Storey could have come his way. He stared. Finally she allowed their glances to cross; she sneered at him lazily. At the implied challenge his eyes began to burn. It was a fascinating game to watch, but so dangerous it fairly made me sick with apprehension.

It was not long before the little girl at the other table perceived what was going on. Her friends addressed her as Tina. She rose quickly, and edging herself close to Chico's chair, stood between him and the charmer at our table. It was a childish and rather piteous manoeuvre; the little thing's face was tormented with jealousy. She put her hand on Chico's shoulder. This proprietary gesture caused the other players at the table to grin, and their grins enraged the conceited Chico.

"Get out of here!" he snarled; and added a coa.r.s.e oath.

Tina, with a flippant parade of indifference, returned to her former place, and began to talk animatedly to the other girls. But her eyes were tragic. It wrenched one's heart to see it, but of course a poor little may-fly like that could not be allowed to interfere with Mme. Storey's plans. If she got hurt that was her lookout.

Mme. Storey and Chico continued to fence with their insolent glances, each making out to scorn the other. The old, old game. Chico was evidently an adept at it. Finally, according to pre-arrangement, Stephens began to quarrel.

"Turn around!" he said harshly. "You can look at me, see? I didn't bring you here to hand out smiles to another fellow!"