The Almost Perfect Murder Part 23

"Oh, G.o.d! that's the worst," said Chico. "Fair puts me in a sweat just to think of it. And they say there's an epidemic comin' on."

"I read in the pap.i.s.s how there was a doctor guy gonna wipe out infantile paralysis," said Madge. "At the Terwilliger Inst.i.toot."

Chico made no answer.

"Did you read that?" she asked.

"No. I didn't read it," he said slowly. "But I know that doctor guy; Dr. Felix Portal."

"Sure, that was the name," said Madge; "you know him?"

There was another pause, then Chico said impulsively: "Say, if you'n me's gonna be pals I'll tell you this." Apparently he looked around at me here. "Do you t'ink Bella's asleep?" he asked apprehensively.

"Sure, she'll sleep wherever you put her down," said Madge.

"Listen," said Chico lowering his voice--and you can imagine how I stretched my ears for what was coming; "there was a fella hired me to take Dr. Portal for a ride."

"What!" cried Madge.

"Yeah, and I took him, too. Way to h.e.l.l and gone up in Westchester County. And I had me gun in me hand ready to smoke him, and I couldn't do it."

"Why?"

"Because he was talkin' about this now, infantile paralysis, and how he was gonna save all the kids from it, and I happened to t'ink about my Tony, and I couldn't do it. I put the rod in me pocket and I drove the old man home. And I ain't never regretted it neither, though it cost me a grand."

"But what fellow would want to b.u.mp him off?" asked Madge.

Chico turned wary again. "I'm not tellin' that," he said shortly.

"But there was some trouble up there," said Madge. "Anot'er doctor guy was shot. I read it in the pap.i.s.s. Don't re'clect his name. Was you in that too?"

"Aah, you wanta know too much fer yer own good," said Chico, wary, but perfectly good-tempered.

"I don't want to pry into yer secrets," said Madge with an offended air, "on'y it seems funny why anybody would want to go after two doctor guys who was on'y workin' to save the kids."

"Yeah, and it is funny too, if the troot was known."

That was as far as she could get him. Mme. Storey let the talk drift away to other matters. Before she could bring it back we were startled by hearing a slight, peculiar tap on the door. Madge and I sprang up in alarm.

"'S'all right," said Chico soothingly. "That's the knock of a friend." Going to the door, he opened it an inch or two. Madge and I were out of the range of vision of whoever stood outside. "What's the matter?" asked Chico. "Must be near four o'clock."

"Well, you ain't in bed yet," responded the voice of an angry woman. "Who you got in here? I'm gonna see!"

She pushed past Chico and I saw the handsome, buxom Italian girl who had opened the door to me that afternoon. My heart sank like a stone. The worst of it was, I was sitting up on the bed, staring directly at her. It was too late then to lie down and make believe to be sleeping. My only hope of escaping recognition lay in the fact that it had been pretty dark in the stair hall that afternoon.

"Two of 'em!" she cried furiously. "Two of 'em! Here's a nice thing! Bringin' 'em in here right next to me mutter's room! You got no shame at all!"

Chico was much more respectful towards this girl. I suppose she had some sort of hold over him. "Now Ria, now Ria," he said placatingly, "you get this wrong! I never seen these ladies before tonight."

"The more shame to you!" she cried, "bringin' 'em here! Huh! Ladies! Don't make me laugh!"

"You can see for yerself there's nothin' wrong," protested Chico. "We was just sittin' talkin', like."

"Yeah, and you was tellin' 'em all you knew, eh? I could hear you talkin' through the wall!"

"I just brought 'em in here to get 'em out of the way of the police," said Chico.

"That's a likely story! Maybe they're police spies theirselves!"

It was only the random shot of a jealous woman, but it made my blood run cold. She came closer to the bed, peering into our faces. "I thought so!" she cried in shrill triumph. "They are spies! Anyhow, the red-headed one is," pointing to me.

Our backs were against the wall then. "It's a lie!" cried Mme. Storey. "It's a lie!" I echoed. "You're crazy!" muttered Chico.

"Crazy, am I?" sneered the Italian. "She come to the door this afternoon lookin' for ya. Made out to be a book agent. 'Mr. Cardone's name was give me,' says she so nice. Yah! Well, I didn't suspect nothin', and I told her she'd find you at Luigi's speakeasy tonight. She did find you there, didn't she? And now you've told her everythin' you know!"

Who could ever have foreseen this? It was just a rotten piece of luck. Chico backed away from the bed, his face turning pale and hard. His hand went slowly to his hip, and reappeared grasping an ugly little automatic. I closed my eyes, thinking our last moment had come.

"Oh, spare her! spare her!" I moaned.

"Be quiet, Bella," commanded my employer.

The Italian girl cried out too. "Chico, no! no!"

He had become the hard and self-controlled little gunman again. "Shut your noise," he growled out of the corner of his mouth. "I'm not gonna croak them.... Call your dad."

The girl stuck her head out of the door and called tremulously: "Padre! Padre!"

Chico and Mme. Storey measured their steely glances against each other. "I thought you was on the square wit' me," sneered Chico. "You fooled me nice, didn't ya? I gotta hand it to ya."

"I shall be on the square with you," she answered. "You'll see it yet."

"Yeah? You're no Bleecker Street girl. I can see it in your eye. You've got the look of one of the high-ups."

A burly Italian shuffled into the room clad in slippers, pants and shirt, with his suspenders hanging. He too had a gun in his hand. I was sick with terror. "What's the matter, kid?" he growled.

"Ria says them two women are police spies," said Chico. "Maybe they are and maybe they ain't. I ain't takin' no chances. Keep them here while I make a getaway, that's all. Give me ten minutes and then let 'em go, see? Let 'em go and be d.a.m.ned to 'em!"

Chico thrust the photograph in his breast pocket and s.n.a.t.c.hed up his cap. He had had this cap during our flight over the roofs.

"Where's your overcoat?" asked Ria.

"Left it at Luigi's. Get it tomorrow, will ya?" Without another glance in our direction, he made for the door.

The tears were rolling down Ria's round cheeks. "Oh, Chico mio," she mourned.

He paused only long enough to jerk up her chin with his forefinger and print a kiss on her lips. There was something infinitely savage and graceful in the gesture. He sped downstairs. Ria wept unrestrainedly. Mme. Storey's face was like a mask. I was surprised to see her take his escape so calmly, but I was not familiar with all the details of the arrangements she had made in advance.

Chico's footsteps died away as he descended through the house. Then suddenly far below we heard the sounds of a scuffle followed by a heavy fall. After a moment a voice, not Chico's, cried exultantly: "I have him!" A breath of relief escaped Mme. Storey.

The other Italian's face turned black with rage. "By G.o.d! they've got him!" he cried. "But I've got you!" And he raised the gun.

Once more Mme. Storey and I looked straight into the face of death. She never flinched. Ria flung herself on her father. "No! No!" she cried. "The police are downstairs. They'll send you to the chair for it! These women are nothing to us!"

While they were still struggling there was a crash overhead. The shutter under the skylight swung down, and a man dropped into the room, landing on his feet like a cat. Another followed. Both were armed. The first was George Stephens, the second, one of Inspector Rumsey's plain-clothes men. In a trice they had the Italian covered, and forced him to drop his gun.

And so we were saved. In the powerful reaction that overcame me, all my strength seemed to desert me for a moment. I dropped on the edge of the bed. Mme. Storey said: "Give me a cigarette, George."

"Where's Chico?" asked Stephens.

"They have him safe downstairs."

He jerked his head towards the scowling Italian and his daughter. "Shall we take these two along?"

"No," said Mme. Storey, "they are guilty of nothing except standing by a friend."

"But he pulled a gun," objected the plain-clothes man. "I've got to take him up for that."

"It was my gun," said Mme. Storey quickly. "He took it from me."

The gun was returned to her. "Come on," said Stephens; and we filed out of the room. Mme. Storey was the last to go. She slipped the gun to the Italian, whispering: "Take out a permit for it, and you'll have nothing to fear." He stared at her in dumb amazement. Such magnanimity, I suppose, was absolutely unheard of in his world.

VII.

Chico was lodged in the Tombs. After a couple of hours' sleep Mme. Storey and I were again hard at work on the case. Events followed fast that morning. Acting upon a suggestion of Mme. Storey's, the police were searching the sewer catch basins in the immediate vicinity of the Inst.i.tute and in one of them was found an automatic pistol of the latest Rives and Jackson model, 38 calibre, from which one shot had been fired, and also a slightly flattened bullet. The bullet exactly fitted the hole in the plaster of Dr. McComb's office.

Steps were immediately taken to trace the sale of the pistol by means of the manufacturer's number, and in the meantime I was sent up-town to secure some photographs of Dr. McComb if that were possible, and also to run down Amadeo Corioli, the night watchman at the Inst.i.tute, and invite him to visit Mme. Storey's office. A policeman accompanied me upon the latter errand, but as it happened, Corioli came quite willingly. His air of innocence was almost too childlike. In taking these measures Mme. Storey, you will perceive, was following a theory that she had formulated in advance.

By the time I got back to the office it had already been established that the gun in question had been sold on October 28th, to a well-dressed, heavy-built man about forty years old; red-faced and wearing gla.s.ses; had the look of a professional man. When photographs of Dr. McComb were shown the clerk, he positively identified him as the purchaser. McComb had been shot with his own gun.

The final links were forged by the testimony of little Tina, the girl who had been so rudely ejected from Luigi's. The police rounded her up and brought her to our office shortly before noon. Corioli, meanwhile, was being detained in our back room. Still wearing her bedraggled party dress, her make-up ruined by tears, and almost paralysed with terror, Tina was indeed a pitiable little object. Mme. Storey applied herself to soothing her fears. It was a long time before she could persuade Tina that she was not accused of anything herself, but was merely wanted as a witness.

"We know," said Mme. Storey, "that Chico Cardone shot a man called Dr. McComb on the night of November 9th."

This was news to me, and I strongly doubted if my employer was sure of it yet either. It is frequently necessary, of course, to take this att.i.tude in dealing with a witness.

"I don't know nottin' about it!" cried Tina. "I swear before G.o.d I don't know nottin'!"

"You are not suspected of knowing anything about it," Mme. Storey patiently explained. "I just want you to answer a few questions referring to circ.u.mstances that led up to it."

"I don't know nottin' about it," wailed Tina.

"You wouldn't want to see Chico go to the chair, would you?"

This was answered by a mute shake of the head amidst a fresh flood of tears.

"Then if you help me to prove that someone was behind him in this killing, that somebody put him up to it, he will get off easier."

At this point Corioli was introduced into the room.

"Have you ever seen this man before?" asked Mme. Storey.

Corioli scowled a mute threat at the girl, but she answered truthfully. "Yes, I see him. He come to Luigi's sometime. Ev'body at Luigi's know him."

"Did he ever bring a stranger to Luigi's?"

"Yes. One time he bring a man from up-town."

"What sort of looking man?" asked Mme. Storey.

"Big man," said Tina; "red face; wear gla.s.ses. Look lika politician."

"Look at these," said Mme. Storey, calling the girl's attention to the photographs of Dr. McComb spread upon her desk. "Did you ever see this man?"

"Sure," said Tina with rising excitement; "that is the up-town guy Amadeo bring to Luigi's. You know t'at? How you know t'at?"

"When was this?" asked Mme. Storey.

Tina shrugged. "How can I tell? It was before election, because I t'ink he was politician."

"Long before election?"

The girl shook her head. "Jus' two, t'ree days."

"See if you can't fix the exact night in your mind," said Mme. Storey persuasively.

Tina shook her head helplessly. However, after thinking it over for a moment or two, she suddenly said: "It was Wednesday night. I know that because the next night there was an orchester. Luigi hires an orchester Thursday nights."

"The Wednesday before election," said Mme. Storey turning back the pages of her desk calendar; "that was October 27th. Good! Now we are making progress.... What happened on this Wednesday night?"

"Amadeo Corioli, he call Chico over," said Tina. "Introduce him to the up-town guy. They talk quiet. By and by Amadeo go away an' the up-town fella and Chico they talk long time so quiet. I know they fixin' up some job toget'er. Afterwards I ask Chico what he want but Chico on'y laugh.... The nex' night he come again ..."

"So he came again the next night?" repeated Mme. Storey.

"Yes. That was the orchester night. I wouldn't dance because I scare for Chico. I watch them two. They not talk so long this night. I see the up-town guy slip Chico little box under the table and Chico put it in his pocket. When the uptown feller go home, Chico go in wash-room. After he come out I find the little box empty on the wash-room floor, and the paper and string..."

"Was there anything written on the box? any label?" asked Mme. Storey eagerly.

"There was a label say: 'One Rives and Jackson automatic pistol, 38 calibre.'"

"This was on the night of October 28th," said Mme. Storey in high satisfaction, "and we already know that Dr. McComb had bought the gun that afternoon. On the following day Chico sc.r.a.ped acquaintance with Dr. Portal. Our case is complete!"