Calamity Jane 10

by J. T. Edson

  ‘Miss Gorr-Kauphin here offered the bonus,’ “Devlin” corrected, having no intention of being blamed even if avoiding it widened the rift with the actress. ‘I managed to hold it down to fifteen hundred.’

  ‘There’s one thing I want understood!’ Cavallier stated, before the woman could speak, coming to his feet with the knife still in his hand. The expression on his face suggested how he had acquired the sobriquet le Loup-Garou, being charged with a savage and determined, almost inhuman, menace. ‘You had the Metis’ money in full after the fire. So the discrepancy must be made up by the Irish. We don’t pay a thin dime more.’

  ‘That’s understood!’ Vera assented and, after a moment, knowing how much depended upon them keeping Cavallier’s support, “Devlin” nodded his agreement. ‘But can we go on after what’s happened?’

  ‘If we cut and run, we’ll never get another chance,’ “Devlin” warned, watching the Metis sit once more and noticing he did not lay down the knife. ‘Besides, there might not be any need to. It all depends on how much they know about us.’

  ‘Whatever it is,’ Cavallier remarked. ‘She learned it from Tinville if what happened at the Bistro le Marseillaise is any guide.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ Vera admitted, much as she hated to do so.

  ‘As I said, they went straight there from the hospital,’ Cavallier explained. ‘So they expected he would be waiting. As he went in alone, it must have been her he was waiting for. The thing is, how much has she told him?’

  ‘It won’t be much,’ “Devlin” guessed, drawing consolation from the thought that the deserter was not party to the item of information which would have the greatest effect upon him personally. ‘He knew about the money and, although he knows about the invasion of Canada, he doesn’t know from where or by whom it’s to be made.’

  ‘Does he know about us,’ Cavallier demanded.

  ‘No,’ “Devlin” replied, being unaware that Tinville had learned that their party was going to Stokeley, Montana, but not the true purpose of the visit. So she’s got nothing to help her as far as that is concerned.’

  ‘How about Ballinger?’ Cavallier asked.

  ‘Even if he’s suspicious, he won’t have any real proof,’ the impostor answered. ‘And, without it, he’ll not be willing to chance making accusations against a “priest”.’

  ‘Perhaps the woman, or the English spy have given him the proof,’ Vera suggested.

  ‘It’s not likely they have any they could use,’ “Devlin” objected. ‘Or would chance giving him, even if they’ve admitted to what they really are. No, with Tinville, Fourmies and your brother dead, they’ve got nothing strong enough for Ballinger to risk his career by using. So we’re safe enough as long as we make sure nothing else goes wrong. And once we’ve got the arms deal settled, we’ll be out of Chicago and beyond their reach.’

  Fourteen – He Managed to Slip By Us

  ‘Good morning, Lieutenant Ballinger,’ “Father Matthew Devlin” greeted, standing up as the housekeeper brought the detective into the study of the presbytery. 48 Only with an effort of will could he restrain a desire to glance down at the Smith & Wesson Russian Model revolver in the partially open right hand drawer as he waved his left hand to indicate the chair at the other side of the desk. Tense and ready to grab for the weapon at the first hint that he might need it, he managed to continue in a calm voice, ‘Can I offer you a cup of coffee or anything?’

  ‘Nothing, thank you, Father,’ Lieutenant Edward Ballinger replied, sitting down and placing his billycock hat on the desk.

  ‘That’ll be all then, Mrs. Galloway,’ the impostor said, taking his seat. He did not close the drawer, but waited until the housekeeper had left before asking, ‘And what can I do for you?’

  ‘Have you any idea where Miss Gorr-Kauphin might be?’ Ballinger inquired, deciding from the bogus priest’s appearance that he too had had little sleep the previous night. ‘Captain O’Halloran tells me she wasn’t at the County Clare Hotel last night when he went to let her know what had happened to her brother.’

  ‘Wasn’t it the terrible thing!’ “Devlin” answered, scanning the detective’s craggy features in the hope of learning something from his expression and having no success. ‘Mrs. Galloway told me about it when I came down to breakfast and I was meaning to go to see Miss Gorr-Kauphin when she said you’d come.’ He paused, then went on when Ballinger made no comment, ‘I didn’t think it’d be safe for her at the hotel with that spalpeen Tinville still on the loose. So, rather than put extra work on the police and maybe for no reason, I took her to a place where he’d not be able to find her. I’d have let the captain know what I’d done, but on the way back I was met and asked to give the last rites to one of my parishioners. It was gone four o’clock this morning when I got home.’

  In spite of his belief that Ballinger lacked sufficient legally acceptable proof to take action against him, at least as long as his guise as a priest was still intact, the impostor was far from at ease. He felt sure that O’Halloran, having come to see him at the presbytery after visiting the hotel, would have mentioned his absence to the detective. Everything now depended upon the response to the explanation of his whereabouts. If Ballinger asked for the name of the non-existent dying parishioner, it would mean his deception was suspected.

  ‘Then you’ll not have heard all that happened?’ the detective remarked.

  ‘Not if there’s something more than the captain told Mrs. Galloway when he called last night,’ the impostor answered, hoping that his relief at the apparent acceptance of his story did not show. ‘She said that poor young Mr. Gorr-Kauphin was done to death at the hospital and you’d got the blackguards who killed him. Was one of them Tinville?’

  ‘We thought one might be at first,’ Ballinger lied, but convincingly. ‘Then, going on the description you’d given me, I realized it couldn’t be him.’

  ‘Then you don’t know who the killer was?’

  ‘All we know is that he got into Mr. Gorr-Kauphin’s room dressed as a priest.’

  ‘The sinful, sacrilegious devil!’ “Devlin” ejaculated, sounding genuinely indignant at such impious behavior. ‘Would you be wanting me to come and look at the body, just in case it is Tinville?’

  ‘You can come and see if you can make an identification,’ Ballinger assented. ‘But we know it isn’t him.’

  ‘You’re certain of it?’ “Devlin” asked, wondering if Raoul Fourmies had been recognized despite the change to his appearance caused by the removal of his whiskers and having had his hair cut.

  ‘Certain,’ the detective confirmed. ‘I met an Inspector Macdonald of the Canadian Northwest Mounted Police at the hospital. He’d a woman with him, an informer, who took us to where Tinville was waiting for her. It seems that since he came here, he’d got mixed up with a bunch of French-Canadian outlaws who’re on the run from the law north of the border.’

  ‘Then they must have encouraged him to try and rob Miss Gorr-Kauphin!’ “Devlin” suggested. ‘Only when her brother caught him at it, he set fire to the trunk out of badness.’

  ‘It’s possible,’ Ballinger conceded, having no intention of revealing that he was aware of who had caused the fire. ‘Although she said he didn’t know the money was there.’

  ‘He could have heard it was without her knowing,’ the impostor countered. ‘It’s not easy to keep anything secret when you’re traveling together and changing in dressing-rooms next door to one another. Was that spalpeen who dressed as a priest one of them French Canadians?’

  ‘The inspector didn’t recognize him,’ Ballinger replied, speaking the truth apart from his reference to Captain Patrick Reeder’s status. However, his veracity slipped as he continued, ‘He said the two we killed were part of the gang and it’s likely the one who killed Tinville is too, but we didn’t get a good enough look at him to be sure.’

  ‘Tinville’s been killed?’ “Devlin” gasped, responding as if the news was unexpected.

  �
�Yes,’ Ballinger admitted, wondering if Fourmies could have been acting upon the instructions of a faction unconnected with the ‘priest’ as he listened to and watched the reaction elicited by his information.

  ‘Did he tell you why he’d done what he did before he died?’

  ‘He didn’t have time. Before we could ask him, he managed to slip by us and was running out of the door when he was killed.’

  ‘And you don’t know who did it?’

  ‘No. Like I said, we didn’t get more than a fleeting glimpse of the feller who did it. He must have either followed us from the hospital, unless he was keeping watch outside the Bistro le Marseillaise—Do you know it?’

  ‘I’ve heard of it,’ “Devlin” admitted in a non-committal tone. ‘Why was Tinville there do you think?’

  ‘Papa Champlain reckoned he said he was waiting for a lady friend who couldn’t get away from where she worked any earlier,’ Ballinger answered, having heard other priests speak in a similar cagey fashion when questioned on a matter which could involve information acquired during a confessional. ‘Do you know if he had one?’

  ‘I don’t,’ “Devlin” replied, refraining from commenting that he considered it to be highly unlikely. ‘Perhaps Miss Gorr-Kauphin could tell you. She knows him much better than I do.’

  ‘Maybe she could,’ Ballinger said pensively. ‘But I don’t know whether it’d be right bothering her at a time like this. After all, she’ll not be feeling like talking when she hears about her brother.’

  ‘That’s considerate of you, lieutenant,’ the impostor praised. ‘It will be better if you leave the questioning until after I’ve seen her and broke the tragic news. She was grieving enough over her brother being so badly hurt and she’ll need time to compose herself when she hears he’s dead.’

  ‘I can understand that,’ the detective admitted, in spite of remembering that the actress had not struck him as being over distressed by her brother’s condition when he had seen her at O’Malley’s Grand Emerald Isle Theater. ‘But I’ll have to see her and the sooner the better. Perhaps it would be as well if you were with her when I do.’

  ‘I was thinking that myself.’

  ‘Where shall we get together, then?’

  ‘Would here be all right?’ “Devlin” offered.

  ‘That’d be fine,’ Ballinger assented. ‘I have to go back to Headquarters first, though. How soon will it be convenient for me to come?’

  ‘Shall we say at three this afternoon?’ “Devlin” suggested, resisting the temptation to say it would not be convenient and thinking of how he would be delayed in setting about obtaining the balance of the payment for Ernst Kramer. ‘Three’ll suit me fine,’ the detective confirmed.

  ‘Do you want me to have Mr. Fourmies here as well?’ the impostor asked, realizing that he ought to show some interest in the artist and avoid any suggestion of knowing his suggestion was impossible to carry out.

  ‘It’d be as well,’ Ballinger declared, wondering if he might be wrong in his assumption that Fourmies was one of the three men killed at the theater. ‘Did he go with you and Miss Gorr-Kauphin last night?’

  ‘No. We asked him to, but he said he’d rather go to the hotel.’

  ‘That’s strange. He wasn’t there either when Captain O’Halloran asked last night or when he sent a patrolman to see him this morning.’

  ‘That is strange,’ “Devlin” agreed. Then, seeing a way of averting suspicion of complicity for himself and the actress, he simulated alarm as he went on, ‘You don’t think he could have been in cahoots with those spalpeens from Canada, do you?’

  ‘The inspector’s informer didn’t mention it if he was,’ the detective replied. ‘Is there any reason for you thinking he should be?’

  ‘No real reason,’ the impostor confessed. ‘But he is French and him and Tinville were always pretty close …’ Stopping speaking, he slapped his left hand on the desk as if he had suddenly been struck by a thought and continued, ‘I don’t like thinking bad of anybody, though, having been told so much of it since I became a priest, the Lord knows I should. But could it have been himself who killed Tinville?’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ Ballinger contradicted. ‘The feller I saw running away looked taller and thinner, although it was only a glance I had of him across the street and in poor light. I’ll call in at the hotel on my way to Headquarters and, if he’s still not there, I’ll pass the word that I want him found and brought in.’

  ‘He’ll not be hard to recognize with all that hair and whiskers,’ “Devlin” commented. ‘Perhaps you’ll find him with the man who killed Tinville. Did the Inspector’s informer tell you where they’re hiding in the city?’

  ‘No, she only knew the bar they used,’ Ballinger replied. ‘That was where she met Tinville and got to know him.’ Taking his hat from the desk and shoving back his chair, he rose. ‘Well, I’ll not take up any more of your time, Father. I’ll be back to see Miss Gorr-Kauphin at three o’clock.’

  ‘That’ll be fine, lieutenant,’ the impostor assented, also standing up. ‘Will you be coming alone?’

  ‘Yes. I lost Sergeant Molloy last night, he was killed by the French Canadians, and Sergeant Damon’s handling another case.’

  ‘I wondered if you might be bringing the inspector with you?’

  ‘No. He left for Detroit this morning and took his informer with him. She said some more of the gang are there and he reckoned the one who escaped might have gone to join them. In fact, I saw them off just before I came here.’

  ‘Now that’s a pity,’ “Devlin” stated. ‘I’ve heard so much about the Mounties in my last parish that I’d like to meet one.’

  ‘Well I’ll tell you, Father,’ Ballinger said, lowering his voice and adopting a confidential manner. ‘I’m not sorry he’s gone in one way.’

  ‘Do you think he might not have been what he said?’ “Devlin” asked, trying to sound solicitous rather than eager.

  ‘Oh he’d got the papers to prove that all right,’ Ballinger answered. ‘It’s just that I might have gone a bit farther than I should have in helping him, without asking my Chief if it was all right for me to do it. Well, anyway, it’s too late to worry about that now. I’ll be going along, sir.’

  ‘Let me see you to the door,’ the impostor suggested, closing the right hand drawer and walking around the desk.

  Returning to the study after having escorted his unwelcome visitor to the front door of the presbytery, “Devlin” was relieved and, to a certain extent, puzzled by the way in which the interview had gone. He was now confident that his strongest means of defense was still intact. Despite any misgivings which Ballinger might have had with regards to what he had seen and deduced in the basement of O’Malley’s Grand Emerald Isle Theater, he clearly did not doubt even now that he was dealing with a priest and was willing to accept what he was told because of it. On the other hand, his comments about the events in which he had participated after leaving the theater were not so straightforward. There had been inconsistencies which were not in accord with his reputation for being a very shrewd detective.

  If Arnaud Cavallier had been more explicit when describing what had taken place in the entrance hall of the Streeterville Municipal Hospital, instead of having omitted much which did not show him in a good light, “Devlin” would have realized that in all probability Ballinger was aware of the mysterious man and woman’s true status. Her behavior had not been that of an informer. As it was, he could not decide whether the detective had believed they were what had been claimed. That the inspector had pretended to be hunting French Canadian outlaws meant little. It did not even prove he was aware of the Metis’ involvement. Even if he should be a member of the British Secret Service, he might have offered a similar explanation for his presence on the assumption that he would receive more willing cooperation in searching for wanted fugitives than political agitators who had not committed any crimes. Whatever the truth might be, the last part of the conversation had suggested tha
t Ballinger did not expect to see the couple again.

  Being the kind of man he was, “Devlin” became increasingly convinced that the detective had been fooled by the couple and did not suspect he had had any part in the murder of Colin Gorr-Kauphin. He found it far more palatable to accept Ballinger was not as competent as he had been led to believe than that he himself was the victim of deception. So he decided that, provided he made sure Vera Gorr-Kauphin knew the kind of answers to supply and acted in a suitably grief stricken fashion, they had nothing further to fear from the detective.

  ‘I’m sorry, folks,’ Lieutenant Ballinger said, having looked up from the newspaper he was reading on hearing somebody arriving at the table he had selected in the small cafe where he had arranged to meet Belle Boyd and the Remittance Kid for lunch. The two people standing there were not his expected guests. ‘But I’m waiting for friends and we’ll be needing all the seats.’

  The couple who were already drawing out chairs were of elderly appearance and apparently had recently suffered a bereavement.

  White hair flowing from under a round topped, wide brimmed black hat combined with a pair of blue-tinted glasses and voluminous whiskers to conceal the majority of the man’s features. He had on an ancient black cloak-coat over a threadbare suit of the same hue, with an ear trumpet hanging around his neck. A shaking left hand encased in a woolen glove grasped a sturdy walking stick and his shoulders were bent as if the passing years weighed heavily upon him.

  Even less could be seen of the woman’s face. It was hidden by the black veil suspended from a hat which would have been fashionable some thirty years earlier. The same applied to the somber garments she wore, of the style referred to as widow’s weeds: Somewhat shorter than the man, the garments suggested she was on the dumpy side. She too had gloves to hide her marital status and held a fair-sized umbrella in what appeared to be a palsied grip.