CHAPTER XI
THE MAN AT THE ASTOR
The duties of Master Pugsy Maloney at the offices of _Cosy Moments_were not heavy; and he was accustomed to occupy his large store ofleisure by reading narratives dealing with life in the prairies,which he acquired at a neighbouring shop at cut rates inconsideration of their being shop-soiled. It was while he wasengrossed in one of these, on the morning following the visit ofMr. Parker, that the seedy-looking man made his appearance. Hewalked in from the street, and stood before Master Maloney.
"Hey, kid," he said.
Pugsy looked up with some hauteur. He resented being addressed as"kid" by perfect strangers.
"Editor in, Tommy?" inquired the man.
Pugsy by this time had taken a thorough dislike to him. To becalled "kid" was bad. The subtle insult of "Tommy" was still worse.
"Nope," he said curtly, fixing his eyes again on his book. Amovement on the part of the visitor attracted his attention. Theseedy man was making for the door of the inner room. Pugsyinstantly ceased to be the student and became the man of action. Hesprang from his seat and wriggled in between the man and the door.
"Youse can't butt in dere," he said authoritatively. "Chaseyerself."
The man eyed him with displeasure.
"Fresh kid!" he observed disapprovingly.
"Fade away," urged Master Maloney.
The visitor's reply was to extend a hand and grasp Pugsy's left earbetween a long finger and thumb. Since time began, small boys inevery country have had but one answer for this action. Pugsy madeit. He emitted a piercing squeal in which pain, fear, andresentment strove for supremacy.
The noise penetrated into the editorial sanctum, losing only asmall part of its strength on the way. Psmith, who was at work ona review of a book of poetry, looked up with patient sadness.
"If Comrade Maloney," he said, "is going to take to singing as wellas whistling, I fear this journal must put up its shutters.Concentrated thought will be out of the question."
A second squeal rent the air. Billy Windsor jumped up.
"Somebody must be hurting the kid," he exclaimed.
He hurried to the door and flung it open. Psmith followed at a moreleisurely pace. The seedy man, caught in the act, released MasterMaloney, who stood rubbing his ear with resentment written on everyfeature.
On such occasions as this Billy was a man of few words. He made adive for the seedy man; but the latter, who during the precedingmoment had been eyeing the two editors as if he were committingtheir appearance to memory, sprang back, and was off down thestairs with the agility of a Marathon runner.
"He blows in," said Master Maloney, aggrieved, "and asks is deeditor dere. I tells him no, 'cos youse said youse wasn't, and henips me by the ear when I gets busy to stop him gettin' t'roo."
"Comrade Maloney," said Psmith, "you are a martyr. What wouldHoratius have done if somebody had nipped him by the ear when hewas holding the bridge? The story does not consider thepossibility. Yet it might have made all the difference. Did thegentleman state his business?"
"Nope. Just tried to butt t'roo."
"Another of these strong silent men. The world is full of us. Theseare the perils of the journalistic life. You will be safer andhappier when you are rounding up cows on your mustang."
"I wonder what he wanted," said Billy, when they were back again inthe inner room.
"Who can say, Comrade Windsor? Possibly our autographs. Possiblyfive minutes' chat on general subjects."
"I don't like the look of him," said Billy.
"Whereas what Comrade Maloney objected to was the feel of him. Inwhat respect did his look jar upon you? His clothes were poorlycut, but such things, I know, leave you unmoved."
"It seems to me," said Billy thoughtfully, "as if he came just toget a sight of us."
"And he got it. Ah, Providence is good to the poor."
"Whoever's behind those tenements isn't going to stick at any oddtrifle. We must watch out. That man was probably sent to mark usdown for one of the gangs. Now they'll know what we look like, andthey can get after us."
"These are the drawbacks to being public men, Comrade Windsor. Wemust bear them manfully, without wincing."
Billy turned again to his work.
"I'm not going to wince," he said, "so's you could notice it with amicroscope. What I'm going to do is to buy a good big stick. AndI'd advise you to do the same."
* * *
It was by Psmith's suggestion that the editorial staff of _CosyMoments_ dined that night in the roof-garden at the top of theAstor Hotel.
"The tired brain," he said, "needs to recuperate. To feed on sucha night as this in some low-down hostelry on the level of thestreet, with German waiters breathing heavily down the back ofone's neck and two fiddles and a piano whacking out 'BeautifulEyes' about three feet from one's tympanum, would be false economy.Here, fanned by cool breezes and surrounded by fair women and bravemen, one may do a bit of tissue-restoring. Moreover, there islittle danger up here of being slugged by our moth-eatenacquaintance of this morning. A man with trousers like his wouldnot be allowed in. We shall probably find him waiting for us at themain entrance with a sand-bag, when we leave, but, till then--"
He turned with gentle grace to his soup.
It was a warm night, and the roof-garden was full. From where theysat they could see the million twinkling lights of the city.Towards the end of the meal, Psmith's gaze concentrated itself onthe advertisement of a certain brand of ginger-ale in Times Square.It is a mass of electric light arranged in the shape of a greatbottle, and at regular intervals there proceed from the bottle'smouth flashes of flame representing ginger-ale. The thing began toexercise a hypnotic effect on Psmith. He came to himself with astart, to find Billy Windsor in conversation with a waiter.
"Yes, my name's Windsor," Billy was saying.
The waiter bowed and retired to one of the tables where a young manin evening clothes was seated. Psmith recollected having seen thissolitary diner looking in their direction once or twice duringdinner, but the fact had not impressed him.
"What is happening, Comrade Windsor?" he inquired. "I was musingwith a certain tenseness at the moment, and the rush of events hasleft me behind."
"Man at that table wanted to know if my name was Windsor," saidBilly.
"Ah?" said Psmith, interested; "and was it?"
"Here he comes. I wonder what he wants. I don't know the man fromAdam."
The stranger was threading his way between the tables.
"Can I have a word with you, Mr. Windsor?" he said.
Billy looked at him curiously. Recent events had made him wary ofstrangers.
"Won't you sit down?" he said.
A waiter was bringing a chair. The young man seated himself.
"By the way," added Billy; "my friend, Mr. Smith."
"Pleased to meet you," said the other.
"I don't know your name," Billy hesitated.
"Never mind about my name," said the stranger. "It won't beneeded. Is Mr. Smith on your paper? Excuse my asking."
Psmith bowed. "That's all right, then. I can go ahead." He bentforward.
"Neither of you gentlemen are hard of hearing, eh?"
"In the old prairie days," said Psmith, "Comrade Windsor was knownto the Indians as Boola-Ba-Na-Gosh, which, as you doubtless know,signifies Big-Chief-Who-Can-Hear-A-Fly-Clear-Its-Throat. I too canhear as well as the next man. Why?"
"That's all right, then. I don't want to have to shout it. There'ssome things it's better not to yell."
He turned to Billy, who had been looking at him all the while witha combination of interest and suspicion. The man might or might notbe friendly. In the meantime, there was no harm in being on one'sguard. Billy's experience as a cub-reporter had given him theknowledge that is only given in its entirety to police andnewspaper men: that there are two New Yorks. One is a modern,well-policed city, through which one may walk from end to endwithout encountering adventure. The other is a city as ful
l ofsinister intrigue, of whisperings and conspiracies, of battle,murder, and sudden death in dark by-ways, as any town of mediaevalItaly. Given certain conditions, anything may happen to any one inNew York. And Billy realised that these conditions now prevailed inhis own case. He had come into conflict with New York'sunderworld. Circumstances had placed him below the surface, whereonly his wits could help him.
"It's about that tenement business," said the stranger.
Billy bristled. "Well, what about it?" he demanded truculently.
The stranger raised a long and curiously delicately shaped hand."Don't bite at me," he said. "This isn't my funeral. I've no kickcoming. I'm a friend."
"Yet you don't tell us your name."
"Never mind my name. If you were in my line of business, youwouldn't be so durned stuck on this name thing. Call me Smith, ifyou like."
"You could select no nobler pseudonym," said Psmith cordially.
"Eh? Oh, I see. Well, make it Brown, then. Anything you please. Itdon't signify. See here, let's get back. About this tenement thing.You understand certain parties have got it in against you?"
"A charming conversationalist, one Comrade Parker, hinted atsomething of the sort," said Psmith, "in a recent interview. _CosyMoments_, however, cannot be muzzled."
"Well?" said Billy.
"You're up against a big proposition."
"We can look after ourselves."
"Gum! you'll need to. The man behind is a big bug."
Billy leaned forward eagerly.
"Who is he?"
The other shrugged his shoulders.
"I don't know. You wouldn't expect a man like that to give himselfaway."
"Then how do you know he's a big bug?"
"Precisely," said Psmith. "On what system have you estimated thesize of the gentleman's bughood?"
The stranger lit a cigar.
"By the number of dollars he was ready to put up to have you donein."
Billy's eyes snapped.
"Oh?" he said. "And which gang has he given the job to?"
"I wish I could tell you. He--his agent, that is--came to BatJarvis."
"The cat-expert?" said Psmith. "A man of singularly winsomepersonality."
"Bat turned the job down."
"Why was that?" inquired Billy.
"He said he needed the money as much as the next man, but when hefound out who he was supposed to lay for, he gave his job thefrozen face. Said you were a friend of his and none of his fellowswere going to put a finger on you. I don't know what you've beendoing to Bat, but he's certainly Willie the Long-Lost Brother withyou."
"A powerful argument in favour of kindness to animals!" saidPsmith. "Comrade Windsor came into possession of one of ComradeJarvis's celebrated stud of cats. What did he do? Instead of havingthe animal made into a nourishing soup, he restored it to itsbereaved owner. Observe the sequel. He is now as a prizetortoiseshell to Comrade Jarvis."
"So Bat wouldn't stand for it?" said Billy.
"Not on his life. Turned it down without a blink. And he sent mealong to find you and tell you so."
"We are much obliged to Comrade Jarvis," said Psmith.
"He told me to tell you to watch out, because another gang is deadsure to take on the job. But he said you were to know he wasn'tmixed up in it. He also said that any time you were in bad, he'ddo his best for you. You've certainly made the biggest kind of hitwith Bat. I haven't seen him so worked up over a thing in years.Well, that's all, I reckon. Guess I'll be pushing along. I've adate to keep. Glad to have met you. Glad to have met you, Mr.Smith. Pardon me, you have an insect on your coat."
He flicked at Psmith's coat with a quick movement. Psmith thankedhim gravely.
"Good night," concluded the stranger, moving off. For a fewmoments after he had gone, Psmith and Billy sat smoking in silence.They had plenty to think about.
"How's the time going?" asked Billy at length. Psmith felt for hiswatch, and looked at Billy with some sadness.
"I am sorry to say, Comrade Windsor--"
"Hullo," said Billy, "here's that man coming back again."
The stranger came up to their table, wearing a light overcoat overhis dress clothes. From the pocket of this he produced a goldwatch.
"Force of habit," he said apologetically, handing it to Psmith."You'll pardon me. Good night, gentlemen, again."
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