The Remittance Kid Part 2

Before the couple could continue their conversation, a horse-drawn manually operated pump5 arrived at the front of the theatre and was directed to the rear along the alley at the opposite end to their point of vantage. Although they did not know it, the vehicle was delayed slightly by men helping the Kid's victim - who was just regaining consciousness - to his feet. It was followed by a tender carrying a water tank of two hundred gallons' capacity. Bringing up the rear was a Rocker ambulance6 with the words, 'Streetville Munic.i.p.al Hospital', inscribed on the sides of the box-like wooden body. Coming to a halt, all three vehicles began to disgorge the men riding on them.

'All the king's horses and all the king's men - ,' the Kid began, watching a young man wearing a white coat and carrying a doctor's bag spring from the ambulance's box to hurry after the fire chief towards the rear door of the building.

'Couldn't put the money in the trunk together again,' Belle continued, paraphrasing the next line of the nursery rhyme and watching her companion in the hope of discovering whether, as she suspected, her version had any significance for him.

'Those aren't the words I was taught at prep school, dear girl,' the Kid objected, but in a casually disinterested manner which betrayed nothing of his true feelings. 'Of course, you colonials may have a different version.'

'Actually, dear boy,' Belle answered, mimicking the Englishman's drawling, yet somehow clipped manner of speaking with considerable skill. 'It's never been proven to my satisfaction that the world is divided into two parts, Great Britain and her colonies.'

'Great scot!' the Kid gasped. 'Do you mean it might not be?'

'I've heard rumours to that effect,' Belle declared in her normal voice, but sounding completely serious.

'I hope n.o.body repeats them to my aunt, the Dowager d.u.c.h.ess of Brockley, it would cause her to have an attack of the vapours if she was told,' the Kid responded. Then, although there was little observable change in his demeanour or tone, the next words informed the girl that he was returning to the business at hand. 'Anyway, old thing, how much do you know about those blighters over at the theatre?'

'I can't say I know anything about them,' Belle replied, exuding an aura of innocence. 'But then, I don't mingle socially with firemen so I wouldn't, would I?'

'It wasn't the firemen I meant,' the Kid pointed out. 'But I get the feeling that somebody is playing the cards close to the jolly old vest, as you colonials - sorry, dear girl, old habits die hard - as you Yankees put it.'

'Coming from the South, I don't find being called a "Yankee" much of an improvement over "Colonial",' Belle protested. 'And I rarely wear a vest.'

Once again, the couple were interrupted by the sound of vehicles approaching. Looking along the street in the opposite direction from which the fire engine had come, they found the leading vehicle was a 'rockaway' coach in the dark blue livery of the Chicago Police Department driven by a patrolman in uniform. Although its nearer lamp illuminated the police captain sitting inside, neither Belle nor the Kid could see the second occupant with sufficient clarity to establish his status. A buggy carrying two men in civilian clothes - one big, burly and heavily moustached, the other younger, clean shaven and dressed more fashionably - was following the coach.

'Here come a few more of the king's men,' the Kid drawled.

'I'd say it's Humpty Dumpty himself,' Belle corrected, recognising the captain and wishing she could see more of the man sitting next to him.

'Do I detect a lack of respect for Captain O'Halloran's ability?' the Kid inquired.

'He's not the most efficient officer in the Chicago Police Department,' Belle replied, guessing her companion was of a similar opinion.

'From the little I've heard, I don't think you could put him in the first hundred,' the Kid answered. 'But I'd say that's all to the good, dear girl. Unless those chappies with him are more efficient, I doubt whether much will be achieved in finding out who started the fire.'

'I doubt whether General Handiman will lose any sleep over that,' Belle replied, knowing her companion was aware of the head of the U.S. Secret Service's name. 'And I certainly won't.'

'Or me,' the Kid admitted. 'And now, dear girl, what do you say if we take ourselves off to somewhere with enough privacy for us to do a little horse trading?'

'I thought you'd never ask,' Belle smiled. 'But I'd like to see if we can learn any more here before we go.'

'It's your country, dear girl,' the Kid a.s.sented. 'I'll even go so far as to let you select the venue for our exchange of news.'

'I'd like to get into some different clothes,' Belle stated. 'So we'll go to my hotel, if you've no objections.'

'Your wish is my command, ma'am,' the Kid declared, bowing gallantly and receiving a graceful curtsy in return. 'We'll go there as soon as you're ready.'

1 Raging over an area of three and one-third miles, the fire destroyed over 17,450 buildings valued at $196,000.00. Almost one hundred thousand people were rendered homeless and at least two hundred and fifty lost their lives. Of the $4,066,782.00 relief fund subscribed in the United States and overseas, half of the one million dollars foreign contributions came from the British Isles. J. T.E.

2 New readers can find details of Belle 'the Rebel Spy' Boyd's background and special qualifications in APPENDIX ONE.J.T.fi.

3 The researches of fictionist-genealogist Philip Jose'Farmer - author of, among numerous other works, the biographies, TARZAN ALIVE and DOC SAVAGE, His Apocolyptic Life - have established that Captain (later Major General. Sir) Patrick Reeder (K.C.B., V.C., D.S.O., M.C. and Bar) was the uncle of the famous detective, Mr Jeremiah Golden Reeder, whose career is recorded by his biographer, Edgar Wallace, in ROOM 13, THE MIND OF MR. J. G. REEDER, RED ACES, MR. J. G. REEDER RETURNS and TERROR KEEP and whose organisation played a prominent part in the events told by the author in 'CAP' FOG, TEXAS RANGER, MEET MR. J. G. REEDER.

J.T.E.

4 The records supplied to the author by Alvin Dustine 'Cap' Fog referred to Captain Patrick Reeder having been sent to Texas to observe the events recorded in SET A-FOOT, but he did not have any partic.i.p.ation in them. So there was no need to mention him in that volume. J.T.E.

5 As in most large cities, the Chicago Fire Department had appliances equipped with steam engines to power the pumps in all its station houses. However, although the engines had fires laid ready in the grates, these were not lit until an alarm was received. So, particularly in cases where the incident was not too far from the station house, a manually-operated pump would be dispatched to start fighting the fire while steam was being raised in the more sophisticated devices. J.T.E.

6 A description of a Rocker ambulance is given in: HOUND DOG MAN. J.T.E.

CHAPTER FOUR.

FELL, OR WAS KICKED?.

'How is my poor dear brother?' Vera Gorr-Kauphin gasped, exhibiting alarm and anxiety, as the group consisting of a police sergeant, two patrolmen and four stagehands, each holding a lamp who were gathered at the foot of the stairs leading to the rear exit moved aside to let her through. 'He isn't too badly hurt, is he?'

'I'm afraid he might be,' answered the fresh-faced young doctor who had arrived in the Rocker ambulance, so impressed by the actress's histrionics that he rose without having carried out a thorough examination of the unconscious actor. 'There's nothing I can do for him here.'

'Then take him to hospital as quickly as possible!' Vera ordered, falling to her knees by her brother. Continuing to display emotions which appeared to be genuine, she went on in piteously pleading tones, 'You will do all you can for him, won't you?'

'Everything,' the doctor promised, but he was aware that such serious injuries as his patient had suffered would be dealt with by a member of the Streetville Munic.i.p.al Hospital's medical staff with longer and more extensive experience than his own.

'Spare no expense!' the actress authorised, looking up with such well-simulated distress that the a.s.sembled men murmured their sympathy. 'Money is no object where my poor dear brother is concerned. Please don't let anything happen to him, doctor.'

'Don't overdo it, you stupid b.i.t.c.h!' thought 'Father Matthew Devlin', having followed Vera together with the fire chief and the theatre's manager, knowing that she had not previously shown so much concern for her brother. Raising her to her feet and speaking with a greater gentleness than he was feeling, he continued, 'There now, Miss Gorr-Kauphin, don't go taking on so. The Holy Mother and the good Lord are watching over him. Now let's be giving the doctor here a chance to do what has to be done.'

'Wh - Whatever you say, "Father",' Vera a.s.sented, with forced meekness, taking a warning from the hard squeeze applied to her biceps as she was being lifted. She managed to exhibit what pa.s.sed muster as relief at receiving such spiritual comfort. Wanting to find out the extent of the losses they had suffered as a result of the fire, she went on, 'Take me back to the dressing-room so I can compose myself, please.'

'That I will,' the impostor confirmed. 'And then you can put your cloak on -'

Sensing from the glance darted at him that the woman did not understand his suggestion, he elaborated in a somewhat less solicitous tones, 'So you can go to the hospital with your brother and see all's well with him.'

'Excuse me, "Father",' the sergeant put in, looking up the stairs. 'But Cap'n O'Halloran's here and he'll maybe be wanting a word with the lady before she goes anywhere.'

'Very well,' 'Devlin' replied. Swinging his gaze to the rear exit, while placing his right arm across Vera's shoulders in a gesture suggesting protective support, he discovered that the captain of the Streetville Precinct was not alone. He also noticed that, although two of the men in civilian clothing halted on either side of the door, the third continued to accompany the captain. 'You'll have to bear up for just a little while longer, Miss Gorr-Kauphin.'

'I - I'll do my best to,' the actress promised, only just managing to conceal her irritation over the delay with a veneer of patient resignation.

'I came as soon as I heard what'd happened, "Father Devlin",' Captain Michael O'Halloran greeted, sounding apologetic. Being aware of the 'priest's' connections with various important local politicians who could affect his career adversely, he wanted to avoid any suggestion of neglect or disinterest. Indicating the man who was descending at his side, he felt sure his next words would be a help in that direction even though they were not exactly true. 'This's Lieutenant Ballinger from the Detective Bureau at Headquarters. I asked him to come along in case he'll be needed.'

Although the newcomer was too lacking in perception to realise it, the last statement was not being received as he antic.i.p.ated.

Big, thickset to the point of obesity, O'Halloran was in his early fifties. There was nothing about his florid features to suggest subtlety, diplomacy, or brilliance of intellect. It was common knowledge that he had attained his rank and current position by a combination of long service and a willingness to comply with the wishes of the district's political hierarchy.

From 'Devlin's' point of view, the latter in particular would have made the captain ideal to conduct an investigation of the incident. On the other hand, every instinct possessed by the impostor suggested that the same might not apply to the man he had brought with him.

Equalling O'Halloran in height and almost twenty years younger, Lieutenant Edward Ballinger1 was more slender; which did not make him puny in build. Although far from handsome, there was a rugged attraction about his craggy features. His curly brimmed brown billyc.o.c.k hat, grey suit, white shirt and sober dark blue tie were all of the latest Eastern style, but they were not sufficiently expensive to suggest he had an income outside his official salary.

'Good evening, "Father",' the detective greeted. His tone was polite, but lacked the hint of servility shown by the captain. Nor did he wait for his nominal superior to commence questioning. 'Can you tell me what's been happening?'

'There was a fire in Miss Gorr-Kauphin's dressing-room," the impostor replied. He had no intention of mentioning the foul play he suspected had taken place. 'Her brother must have found it and was going to raise the alarm when he slipped and fell on the stairs.'

'How much longer before you take Colin to the hospital, doctor?' Vera put in, no longer able to restrain her curiosity and seeking an excuse to return to the dressing-room.

'My men are bringing the stretcher now,' the young intern replied, pointing to the two attendants from the ambulance who were coming through the rear door.

'Then I'll go and fetch my cloak!' Vera stated and hurried away.

'Do you know how the fire started, "Father"?' Ballinger inquired, as the impostor began to turn.

'That I don't,' 'Devlin' replied. 'It was going when we got there. Now I'd better go and give Miss Gorr-Kauphin spiritual consolation, if that's all right with you?'

'Go ahead,' Ballinger authorised, without consulting O'Halloran. As the bogus priest strode after the actress, who had already entered the dressing-room, he went on, 'How bad is it, doctor?'

'I could be wrong,' the intern replied, in a manner that suggested he considered it most unlikely he was mistaken. 'But I believe the back of his skull is fractured.'

'How soon will he be able to answer questions?' O'Halloran asked, deciding that he should be making a more active contribution to the conversation.

'Not for some hours,' the doctor stated definitely.

'He's not going to die then?' the captain suggested.

'I can't say for sure until I've carried out a much more extensive examination at the hospital,' the doctor answered, watching the attendants moving the unconscious actor on to the stretcher. 'We can only hope for the best.'

'I reckon you'd better have a look at this, lieutenant,' the uniformed sergeant remarked quietly, taking advantage of his immediate superior's preoccupation with the doctor. Holding out the cut-throat razor he had picked up on his arrival, he indicated Gorr-Kauphin. 'I found it lying open near him. But if it had been used, it's been wiped clean. Not that there's anything to say it has been. Only I thought it was strange, finding it.'

Accepting the razor, Ballinger agreed with the sergeant's last comment. Opening its blade, his intention was to discover where it had been manufactured rather than to corroborate that it had not been used. Having ascertained that it was made in the United States and closed the blade, he was dropping it into his jacket's right hand pocket when he glanced to where the attendants were starting to lift the stretcher. Then he stared harder.

'Hold it, fellers!' the lieutenant ordered, stepping forward.

'What are you doing?' the doctor demanded, his attention diverted from O'Halloran by the sight of Ballinger who was bending over the stretcher and moving Gorr-Kauphin's head slightly, to peer under the chin.

'Did you say the back of his skull was fractured?' the detective asked, straightening up.

'I did,' the doctor confirmed.

'How'd it happen?' Ballinger inquired.

'I'd say that's obvious,' the doctor replied. 'He fell backwards down the stairs.'

'Fell, or was kicked?' Ballinger challenged.

'Kicked?' the doctor snorted, making it plain that he considered the suggestion was preposterous.

'What makes you think he was kicked down, Ed?' O'Halloran asked, having a healthy respect for the detective's ability.

'There's what I thought was just a bad bruise under his chin,' Ballinger explained. 'But when I looked closer, I found it was blacker than if it was only bruising. More like boot polish. What do you reckon, doctor?'

'You're right,' the intern confirmed, having moved forward and duplicated the detective's scrutiny. 'I didn't see it because Miss Gorr-Kauphin came before I could make a thorough examination. Let's get him to the ambulance, men!'

'So he didn't just slip and hurt himself!' O'Halloran breathed, watching the party from the hospital go up the stairs.

'I wouldn't want to take bets that he did,' Ballinger replied dryly.

'Then the fire could have been set off deliberately as well!' O'Halloran went on, sounding even more perturbed.

'There's a good chance it was,' Ballinger admitted. 'Way I figure it, that gent saw and chased whoever touched it off; but got kicked down the stairs for doing it.'

A sense of consternation filled the captain as he began to appreciate the implications behind the detective's suppositions. Despite the questions he had asked the doctor, which had been motivated by nothing more than a desire to establish his presence, he had not given the matter much consideration. Now he found himself faced with the possibility that it might be far more serious than he had antic.i.p.ated. If a famous foreign actor - as he believed Gorr-Kauphin to be - should die, the circ.u.mstances were sure to attract attention. They would be reported not only in the city's newspapers, but throughout the United States and perhaps even in Europe. Knowing the main reason for the evening's entertainment at O'Malley's Grand Emerald Isle Theatre that night, he suspected that the local dignitaries who had sponsored it would not welcome such publicity.

'Will you handle things here, Mick?' the detective went on.

'Me?' O'Halloran asked, in surprise and without enthusiasm. 'But I thought you'd be staying seeing that you asked me to bring you along.'

'I aim to,' Ballinger stated. 'You can get things going for me while I'm taking a look at the dressing-room and trying to find out who started the fire.'

'Oh sure, Ed, I'll do that for you,' O'Halloran a.s.sented in tones of relief, then went on less certainly, 'What is it you're wanting me to do?'

Despite the captain's explanation to the bogus priest, it had been Ballinger's suggestion that he came to the theatre. Considering how the situation appeared to be developing, O'Halloran was no longer sorry he had given his somewhat grudging permission. He could see the advantages of allowing the detective to continue handling the investigation. If it ended in failure, or in a way which the influential people involved with 'Father Devlin' regarded as unsatisfactory, he would have a scapegoat upon whom he could place all the blame. On the other hand, he was confident that he could take the majority of credit for himself should all go well.

'Take Sergeant Molloy and Sergeant Damon and have some of your men go with them to ask if anybody was seen coming out of the door there just after the fire started,' Ballinger requested. He gave no indication of whether he could guess the reason for the captain's eagerness to retain his services. 'Folks will always answer more freely if they know the men they're talking to.'

'I'll see to it,' O'Halloran promised.

On his arrival at the dressing-room, Ballinger knocked and went in without waiting for permission. Closing the door behind him, he gazed around. The walls and ceiling were stained with smoke. However, although its mirror had been destroyed by the heat, the top of the dressing-table was barely marked in spite of the charred leather trunk which stood upon it partially covered in sand. Noticing in pa.s.sing that there was n.o.body outside the shattered window, he wondered whether the patrolmen who were on the scene had cleared the alley of would-be spectators.

However, the detective's main interest centred upon Vera and 'Devlin'. She had not carried out her stated intention of collecting a cloak to wear on the journey to the hospital. Instead, she appeared to have been clearing some of the sand used to douse the fire from the trunk. What was more, although she had been glaring defiantly at the 'priest' as he entered, she had reverted to the worried att.i.tude which had been in evidence at the foot of the stairs on seeing who was coming through the door.

'Has there been much damage?' Ballinger inquired, walking forward.

'We can't tell yet,' the impostor replied, darting a baleful scowl at the actress.

'Could you fetch me my cloak from the alcove, please, lieutenant?' Vera requested, wanting to prevent the detective from seeing what she had uncovered in the trunk.

'Sure, ma'am,' Ballinger agreed, turning aside to do so.

'He's not in the theatre!' Raoul Fourmies announced, entering and, failing to notice there was a stranger present, speaking freely as he walked towards the dressing-table, 'How much of the money's los-?'

'Who's not in the theatre?' Ballinger inquired, as the artist noticed the pointed stare 'Devlin' directed at him and stopped speaking.

'Who are you?' Fourmies countered, playing for time in which to form an impression of how the impostor wanted him to reply.

'This's Lieutenant Ballinger of the Chicago Police Department,' 'Devlin' introduced, gritting out the words and inwardly cursing the artist's inopportune arrival.