by J. T. Edson
‘Sure and what else would he have been?’ Branigan snorted, showing none of the respect that had been apparent when he was addressing “Father Devlin” and the actress. ‘Wasn’t everybody who was here Irish, except for you folks in the show.’
‘Could you tell what part of Ireland he came from?’ the impostor asked. ‘I mean, did he sound like a “Derry Joe”?’
‘I’ve never met one, there’s devil the few of ’em around here, so I wouldn’t know,’ Branigan replied. ‘And anyway, Father, seeing as how it was yourself’s gave out the invitations, how would a “Joe” have got in?’
‘If one did, it wasn’t by my invitation,’ “Devlin” declared coldly. ‘Was his voice anything like that of the man who kept interrupting Miss Gorr-Kauphin?’
‘I don’t know,’ Branigan admitted, his manner suggesting he had not given the matter any consideration. Then, seeing his attitude was not meeting with the “priest’s” approval, he added in what he hoped would be exculpation, ‘We hardly said more than a dozen words to one another and he didn’t raise any fuss over not being let go out of the front door, so I didn’t see anything wrong with him.’
‘And you didn’t think anything was wrong with that man challenging me as he did?’ Vera asked, realizing what was implied by the conversation.
‘No, ma’am, I’ve heard some of my buckoes asking why yourself was helping us against your own people,’ Branigan answered, without mentioning that he had had similar thoughts on the matter. Then, still wishing to avoid any blame for what he guessed had been the loss of the money in the trunk, he pointed at it and went on, ‘And, anyway, even if he was the same feller, he couldn’t have done that.’
‘But he might have been in cahoots with Tinville,’ “Devlin” pointed out.
‘And was keeping us occupied while that frog actor was stealing the money?’ Branigan continued, having had no opportunity to look into the trunk and so drawing the most obvious conclusion for the incident.
‘He’s not French!’ Fourmies protested, wanting to avoid any chance of being implicated with the missing actor on national grounds. ‘He’s from Belgium.’
‘That could have been what they were up to,’ the impostor conceded, paying no attention to the artist and remembering Ballinger had suggested a similar motive for Tinville’s actions. ‘But when Mr. Gorr-Kauphin arrived before he could take it out of the trunk, he set fire to it.’
‘You mean he tried to burn the money out of meanness?’ Branigan snarled, advancing. ‘But he’d know the coins wouldn’t catch fire.’
‘The banknotes did!’ Vera spat out, looking with anger at the black stains left on her hands by the ashes. ‘And some of the coins are marked.’
‘Marked!’ the local man ejaculated. He dipped his hands into the trunk and, studying the extent of the damage caused to its contents, he considered the woman was making a gross understatement. Over half of the coins had been affected to a greater or lesser degree by the fire. He was about to inquire how this would influence the purpose for which they were intended when another thought struck him and, dropping the money he had dug up, he peered at the locks. ‘Are you sure Tinville did this?’
‘I can’t think of anybody else who’d the opportunity,’ “Devlin” answered, recollecting the precautions which had been taken. ‘He was the only one down here. Why?’
‘I’d heard he did some “arson” around,’ Branigan replied, straightening up and waving his right hand at the trunk. ‘But not this kind.’
‘What do you mean?’ the impostor demanded, realizing what was implied by the pun, but failing to understand how the missing actor’s homosexual tendencies had anything to do with the matter they were discussing.
‘Whoever set off this fire knew fine what he was doing,’ Branigan explained. ‘He didn’t get a blaze that’d do this much damage just with matches. Would Tinville be a firebug, ma’am?’
‘He never mentioned it to me if he was,’ Vera replied. ‘Do you know, Raoul?’
‘He isn’t as far as I know,’ Fourmies answered, guessing that ‘firebug’ was a colloquial term for an arsonist.
‘Whoever did this must have been!’ Branigan declared with complete assurance. ‘Or got whatever was used from somebody who is. On top of that, unless he had the keys, he’d have to know how to pick a lock.’
‘He didn’t have my key, or a chance to make a copy of it,’ Vera stated, clapping a hand to her bosom and feeling the device hanging on its chain around her neck. ‘And one wouldn’t be any use without the other.’
‘Mine’s never been out of my possession either,’ the bogus priest went on.
‘Then whoever did it picked the locks,’ Branigan insisted. ‘You wouldn’t have left it unlocked, I reckon…’ Receiving two vehement nods of agreement, he pointed and went on, ‘And the locks weren’t bust open. So they had to be picked.’
‘That’s true enough!’ “Devlin” concurred, thinking how fortunate it was that the point had not occurred to Lieutenant Edward Ballinger. He also remembered that the absent performer had shown little ability to do anything practical, or which required expert knowledge and skill. ‘Tinville wouldn’t know how to start doing it even. Is there an arsonist in Chicago who can pick locks as well as start fires?’
‘I can think of two,’ the local man replied, having an extensive if not all embracing acquaintance with the city’s criminal classes. ‘But even if Tinville knew where to find them, they’d think twice about taking the chore when they heard me and my buckoes would be here.’
‘One of them might take the chance if he was offered enough money,’ “Devlin” pointed out.
‘It’d be a high price he’d be asking,’ Branigan answered.
‘Tinville doesn’t have a great deal of money,’ Vera remarked.
‘Maybe not,’ the impostor replied. ‘But, if I’m right about the man who interrupted your speech and downed O’Toole, he wasn’t in this on his own.’
‘Do you mean they were working together?’ the actress asked.
‘They could have been,’ “Devlin” confirmed.
‘What would make the other man want to do this?’ Vera inquired.
‘I told you he sounded like a Protestant from up north,’ “Devlin” growled, throwing a baleful scowl at Branigan. ‘Which means he could be an Orangeman 17 and if they’ve heard what we’re up to, they be after stopping us any way they could.
‘The Orangemen?’ Vera repeated. ‘Are there any of them in Chicago?’
‘There’s some,’ Branigan confessed, as every eye turned his way. ‘But not around here. And even if there was, how’d they get to know what’s going on and about the money being here?’
‘Obviously they found out—’ Vera commenced.
‘Not from any of my men!’ Branigan interrupted indignantly. ‘None of them even knew you were going to take a collection after the show, much less about the money being here.’
‘It must have been M … Tinville who betrayed us,’ Fourmies put in. ‘He knows everything we’re doing.’
‘Why would he do it?’ “Devlin” snarled.
‘He’s been complaining a lot recently about the way you treat him,’ the artist answered. ‘And saying he wished he’d never come to this country.’
‘Then why didn’t you say something about it, you—’ the impostor spat out, only just managing to avoid employing language unsuitable to a man of the cloth.
‘I … I thought it was only talk,’ Fourmies replied, wishing he had not drawn attention to himself and, seeking to divert it, continued, ‘Anyway, Colin was saying much the same thing, so —‘
‘Colin! the actress spat out, her face darkening with anger and voice rising. ‘Are you implying?’
‘Excuse me,’ the theater’s manager said, having brought Vera’s furious tirade to a halt by knocking and entering. His manner was hesitant. Although he had not been able to make out what she was saying, he could tell from the sound of her voice that she was behaving in the irascible fa
shion which had characterized her demeanor since her arrival. ‘The doctor sent me to ask if you’re ready, Miss Gorr-Kauphin. He said to tell you it isn’t advisable to delay taking your brother to hospital.’
‘I … I don’t feel up to going just yet,’ the actress replied, forcing herself to act in a weak yet anxious manner, but determined not to leave until the discussion was finished. ‘Perhaps you can arrange for me to follow when I’ve recovered, Mr. Branigan?’
‘I’ll have you taken in the surrey, ma’am,’ Branigan promised, after receiving a nod of grudging authorization from the bogus priest.
‘Then you can tell the doctor to leave immediately,’ Vera ordered, with something of her normal imperious tone returning. She tried to soften it as she went on, ‘Ask him to do all he can for poor dear Colin.’
‘I will,’ the manager replied and left, closing the door. ‘How dare you suggest that Colin—’ Vera commenced, her bearing changing as she glared at the artist, being less concerned with the charges against her brother than that they might cause her own loyalty to be suspected.
‘I didn’t sug—’ Fourmies protested, alarmed by the woman’s wrath.
‘Whether you did or didn’t’s beside the point right now!’ “Devlin” put in, glaring from Vera to the artist and back. ‘The thing is, unless we can lay hands on Tinville or that “Joe” with the broken nose, we won’t know what did happen down here.’
‘He could tell Ballinger too,’ Branigan warned.
‘Ballinger?’ Vera snorted, donning her cloak. ‘Why should he tell Ballinger?’
‘Because Ballinger’s going to be asking him,’ the local man replied, in the manner of one who was stating the obvious.
‘Why would he bother to do that when he’s convinced Tinville is guilty?’ the actress challenged.
‘Is he convinced?’ Branigan countered.
‘He took in everything we told him,’ Vera answered.
‘I wouldn’t count on that, ma’am,’ Branigan stated. ‘There’s not a smarter son-of-a-… man in the Chicago Police Department. If he doesn’t find Tinville, he’ll be going along to ask your brother. Can you count on him not to say too much?’
‘If he’s recovered consciousness before I have to leave the hospital to meet “Father Devlin”, I’ll make sure he knows what to say,’ Vera promised.
‘And what if he hasn’t?’ the impostor demanded. ‘You’ll have to make sure he won’t tell Ballinger anything except what we want him to hear before you come away.’
‘But he might not recover for hours,’ Vera protested. ‘And we have to finalize the deal for the firearms tonight.’
‘I can go alone,’ “Devlin” suggested.
‘You know he’s expecting us both,’ the actress objected, although her main reason was that she did not trust the impostor and had no intention of leaving him alone with even the reduced amount of money in the trunk. ‘So I have to go with you.’
‘You know what’s at stake.’ “Devlin” growled, guessing why the actress was insisting upon accompanying him. ‘And we can’t let it be jeopardized by anybody.’
‘I know that as well as any of you!’ Vera declared.
‘And we have to be certain that Ballinger doesn’t find out what we’re doing,’ the impostor went on. ‘And, even though it’s your own brother in the hospital, we can’t take the chance of him saying anything that’ll betray us.’
‘I’m just as aware of that as you are,’ Vera answered, realizing that she was being put to the test. So, in spite of appreciating how drastic the consequences might be for her brother if he had not recovered when the time came for her to leave the hospital, she continued without a moment’s hesitation. ‘If he hasn’t regained consciousness, but will later, you’re free to make whatever arrangements you feel are necessary.’
‘What do you know about Father Devlin, Mike?’ Lieutenant Edward Ballinger inquired, sitting beside Captain Michael O’Halloran in the rockaway coach as it was being driven towards the Streetville Precinct house.
‘He’s a good and saintly man,’ the uniformed officer replied immediately.
‘Have you known him for long?’ Ballinger went on, having received much the kind of answer he expected.
‘Not too long,’ the captain admitted. ‘He’s new to the parish and my duties don’t leave me much time to go to church.’
‘He looked a hard man to me,’ the lieutenant hinted. ‘And I reckon he’d need to be from what I’ve seen of some of his parishioners. Not that I reckon Branigan and his buckoes find much time to go to church either. But they were at the theater tonight.’
‘And why not?’ O’Halloran challenged. ‘That Miss Gorr-Kauphin’s a fine lady, for all she’s English. And you don’t get too many polite, tea-drinking gentlemen at O’Malley’s. You know how it is down here, Ed. If you’re holding a function and want to make sure it stays peaceable and orderly, having Phineas Branigan and his buckoes around’s the way to do it.’
‘So I’m told,’ Ballinger answered. ‘And I can see how having them in the theater would keep things quiet and respectable. But I’m not so sure why he’d have Shamus O’Toole and another bucko going around outside it.’
‘It was a free performance,’ O’Halloran pointed out. ‘So they’d be there to stop anybody’s hadn’t been invited sneaking in.’
‘That must be it,’ Ballinger replied, just a trifle sardonically, thinking that it would have taxed the ability of a man as skilled at making an unauthorized entrance as the Yegg—a safe breaker who had helped him to bring about the downfall of a big time criminal 18 —to gain admittance anywhere other than through the theater’s main entrance unless having inside aid. ‘Is it true that Father Devlin picked everybody who was invited himself?’
‘And who’d a better rights seeing’s how it was him who got Miss Gorr-Kauphin to put on the show?’ O’Halloran challenged. The hint of resentment in his tone was caused by the fact he had not been invited rather than from the detective’s question. Knowing that the local politicians would not welcome too much interest being taken in the night’s entertainment, he sought to divert his companion’s attention from that aspect. ‘Do you think your men’ll pick up that spalpeen’s set fire to herself’s dressing-room?’
‘They’ll get him if he’s there,’ the lieutenant replied, guessing what had provoked the comment and refraining from mentioning that he was far from satisfied with several aspects of the case.
Scientific criminal investigation was still in its infancy, so Ballinger could not call upon the various sophisticated aids which would be available to later generations of law enforcement officers. 19 All he had to work with was his intelligence, powers of observation, a knowledge of human nature and an ability to assess character, backed by several years’ practical experience as a policeman. They combined to make him very competent in the performance of his duties. In fact, Branigan had not been exaggerating when telling the other conspirators that he was one of the best detectives in the Chicago Police Department.
Even before he had reached Vera Gorr-Kauphin’s dressing-room and seen the change in her demeanor, Ballinger had sensed there might be something of greater complexity than an ordinary accidental—or even deliberately lit—fire. The more he had seen and been told, the stronger had grown his conviction that much was being omitted in an attempt to mislead him. By the time he had taken his departure, he had been pleased that he had brought along his two most capable subordinates to help look into the rumors he had heard regarding the purpose of the “free” entertainment being held at O’Malley’s Grand Emerald Isle Theater.
Several discrepancies had come to Ballinger’s notice while talking with the actress, Father Devlin, the artist, and Branigan. A skilled interrogator, trained to watch for reactions as well as listening to the manner in which questions were answered, he had been made even more curious by the interplay of looks and responses between them. Every instinct he possessed suggested he was being given false information. Unless he was very m
istaken, even the priest had been lying on more than one occasion.
The matter of the trunk and its contents had been the most noticeable example of the party’s attempts at dissimulation. Going by their reaction, neither the actress nor the priest had welcomed the artist’s reference to the money and would have preferred that Ballinger remained unaware of its existence. Although he had kept his doubts to himself, he had been far from satisfied by the explanation he was given regarding its presence in the dressing-room. One aspect in particular was clearly untrue. There had been black ash mingled with the sand used to douse the fire, but it was insufficient to be the remains of a dress and the manuscript of a play. What was more, whoever had caused the conflagration must have possessed an incendiary device of far greater efficiency than just matches and paper. Only a blaze created by the skill of a professional arsonist could have produced so much damage to the coins in such a comparatively short time.
Various aspects of the attacks upon Colin Gorr-Kauphin and Shamus O’Toole had provided the lieutenant with a further source of speculation. Although none of the trio in the dressing-room had admitted to knowing who owned the cut-throat razor, he had suspected that it belonged to the injured actor. In his opinion, a man armed with such a dangerous weapon would be unlikely to kick at an unarmed pursuer instead of using it. That applied whether the person responsible for Gorr-Kauphin’s condition was Marcel Tinville, or O’Toole’s assailant. It seemed likely that they could be working together. Sergeant Damon had learned that the rear door was locked and bolted on the inside, so the latter would have needed the former’s assistance to enter the building. Like Sergeant Molloy, Ballinger did not doubt O’Toole was lying when claiming he had not seen his attacker. While such reticence would have been displayed in any circumstances, it was more than likely to have taken place in this instance because of a desire to prevent questions being asked regarding the motive for the attack. Knowing he would be unlikely to be told the truth, Ballinger had pretended to accept the story and had prevented his subordinate from saying anything that might have suggested otherwise.