by Jerry eBooks
“Mr. Erbury, I am a business man, and I am going to talk business to you. I saved your bank, but that’s all right. We won’t mention it. A night watchman would have done it better.”
“Well, sir?” repeated president and papa Erbury with a flash of puzzled temper. He was not in the habit of listening to that sort of talk from subordinates.
“I’m a darned valuable man, Mr. Erbury, and the funny thing is that I’ve just found it out. I’ve been in your bank for seven years, and I know just how to run it, from the hour hand to the hair spring. What I—”
The father of Helen was blowing out his cheeks like a pair of bellows. “Are you trying to tell me,” he almost shouted, “that you’ve got a better job in sight?”
Lane smiled a superior smile, the smile of a man who had found himself.
“Better job in sight! Why, my dear sir, if I were to start cleaning streets I’d be earning almost as much money as I get here, and have all my nights off, besides. But I didn’t start to tell you that. All I want to find out is this: Do you want me or not? You haven’t filled the cashier’s position, and I’m the man in line for it, as well as the best man in line for it. Now, if you want me to stick around, you’ll have to see that I get the cashiership at the cashier’s salary—and right off. Remember, you’ll have to talk quick and in plain figures, because that’s the only language I understand. Think it over for five minutes.”
President Erbury opened his mouth as though to speak, but no words came. Lane dropped into the chair and picked up the telephone.
“Hello, central, give me one-one-six-five. Hello! No, this isn’t Mr. Erbury, but everything’s all right. This is Lane, and I want to speak to Miss Helen Erbury. Yes, I know it’s unusual, but it’s very important.”
The president was now backed against the wall, gasping, his face still showing the frank surprise which a fish exhibits when pulled from the water.
“Hello, Helen. Yes, that’s just who it is. Helen, do you know I’ve just found out how much I want you? Honestly! Your father is deciding whether he’s going to let me out or keep me as cashier of the little old Helvetia Bank. Now, you know how I feel about you, and I’ve come to the conclusion that I’ve wasted enough time looking sad whenever you dance with another fellow. What do you say? If it’s ‘yes’, pack your trunk, because unless papa Erbury gives me what I want we’ll start for Chicago and a justice of the peace to-morrow a.m. . . . Hello! Hello! . . . No, you can’t have any time to think it over. You’ve known me for seven years, ever since I struck this burg, and I’ve played second fiddle till my arm’s tired, and I’m going to quit. Now, what do you want to do: pack your trunk or bang up the receiver?”
The answer was a long time coming, but it was worth waiting for.
Lane looked at papa Erbury with a smile. “She’s gone to pack her trunk. “Now, do I get the cashier’s job or don’t I? Time is money, and I’m in a big hurry, I want to get married to-morrow. Don’t worry about us. Now that I’m acquainted with myself at last, I can always land a better job. I’m a lucky guy, and I know it.”
But papa Erbury could only nod his head dumbly, in token of the fact that a stone wall had fallen on him, and that he did not quite understand it.
Just as Lane picked up the telephone again the door opened. Kerns was there, copy paper in hand, and with him were Officers Schmidt and Quinn and the chief. They were carrying a man who had been tied into a neat ball, with his mouth gagged by a large firecracker. His face was covered with mud, and he was spluttering indignantly.
“No,” announced the chief with the air of a man who solves the problem of the universe, “no, I don’t think this fella had nothin’to do with blowin’ up the vault. Most likely he’s another crook that the gang found in the way and tied up like this and chucked down in the cellar, where we found him. But who is he? And what was he doing in the alley with a giant firecracker?”
Papa Erbury looked at Barret. “Him?” he said confusedly; “oh, him—he—he’s second fiddle around here. I guess.” He turned to the late hero. “Going my way, Lane?”
“I certainly am,” said the new cashier of the Helvetia Bank.
THE FALSE BURTON COMBS
Carroll John Daly
I had an outside stateroom on the upper deck of the Fall River boat and ten minutes after I parked my bag there I knew that I was being watched. The boat had already cleared and was slowly making its way toward the Batter.
I didn’t take the shadowing too seriously. There was nothing to be nervous about—my little trip was purely a pleasure one this time. But then a dick getting your smoke is not pleasant under the best of circumstances! And yet I was sure I had come aboard unobserved.
This chap was a new one on me and I thought he must have just picked me up on suspicion—trailed along in the hope of getting something. But I checked up my past offences and there was really nothing they could hold me on.
I ain’t a crook; just a gentleman adventurer and make my living working against the law breakers. Not that work I with the police—no, not me. I’m no knight errant either. It just came to me that the simplest people in the world are crooks. They are so set on their own plans to fleece others that they never imagine that they are the simplest sort to do. Why, the best safe cracker in the country—the dread of the police of seven States—will drop all his hard-earned money in three weeks on the race track and many a well-thought-of stick-up man will turn out his wad in one evening’s crap game. Get the game? I guess I’m just one of the few that see how soft the lay is.
There’s a lot of little stunts to tell about if I wanted to give away professional secrets but the game’s too good to spread broadcast. It’s enough to say that I’ve been in card games with four sharpers and did the quartet. At that I don’t know a thing about cards and couldn’t stack a deck if I was given half the night.
But as I say, I’m an adventurer. Not the kind the name generally means; those that sit around waiting for a sucker or spend their time helping governments out of trouble. Not that I ain’t willing to help governments at a certain price but none have asked me. Those kind of chaps are found between the pages of a book, I guess. I know. I tried the game just once and nearly starved to death. There ain’t nothing in governments unless you’re a politician. And as I said before, I ain’t a crook.
I’ve done a lot of business in blackmail cases. I find out a lad that’s being blackmailed and then I visit him. He pays me for my services and like as not we do the blackmailers every time. You see I’m a kind of a fellow in the center—not a crook and not a policeman. Both of them look on me with suspicion, though the crooks don’t often know I’m out after their hides. And the police—well they run me pretty close at times but I got to take the chances.
But it ain’t a nice feeling to be trailed when you’re out for pleasure so I trot about the deck a few times whistling just to be sure there wasn’t any mistake. And that bird come a-tramping after me as innocent as if it was his first job.
Then I had dinner and he sits at the next table and eyes me with a wistful longing like he hadn’t made a pinch in a long time and is just dying to lock somebody up. But I study him, too, and he strikes me queer. He ain’t got none of the earmarks of a dick. He acts like a lad with money and orders without even looking at the prices and it comes to me that I may have him wrong and that he might be one of these fellows that wanted to sell me oil stock. I always fall hard for the oil stock game. There ain’t much in it but it passes the time and lets you eat well without paying for it.
Along about nine o’clock I am leaning over the rail just thinking and figuring how far the swim to shore is if a fellow had to do it. Not that I had any thought of taking to the water—no, not me—but I always like to figure what the chances are. You never can tell.
Well, that bird with the longing eyes cuddles right up and leans over the rail alongside of me.
“It’s a nice night,” he says.
“A first rate night for a swim.”
I
looked him over carefully out of the corner of my eyes.
He sort of straightens up and looks out toward the flickering shore lights.
“It is a long swim,” he says, just like he had the idea in mind.
Then he asks me to have a cigar and it’s a quarter one and I take it.
“I wonder would you do me a favor,” he says, after a bit.
This was about what I expected. Con men are full of that kind of gush.
“Hmmm,” is all I get off. My game is a waiting one.
“I came aboard a bit late,” he goes right on. “I couldn’t get a room—now I wonder would you let me take the upper berth in yours. I have been kind of watching you and saw that you were all alone.”
Kind of watching me was right. And now he wanted to share my room. Well, that don’t exactly appeal to me, for I’m banking on a good night’s sleep. Besides I know that the story is fishy for I bought my room aboard and got an outsider. But I don’t tell him that right off. I think I’ll work him out a bit first.
“I’m a friend of the purser,” I tell him. “I’ll get you a room.”
And I make to pass him.
“No—don’t do that,” he takes me by the arm. “It isn’t that.”
“Isn’t what?”
I look him straight in the eyes and there’s a look there that I have seen before and comes in my line of business. As he half turned and I caught the reflection of his eyes under the tiny deck light I read fear in his face—a real fear—almost a terror.
Then I give it to him straight.
“Out with what you want,” I says. “Maybe I can help you but let me tell you first that there are plenty of rooms aboard the boat. Now, you don’t look like a crook—you don’t look sharp enough. What’s the big idea of wanting to bunk with me?”
He thought a moment and then leaned far over the rail and started to talk, keeping his eyes on the water.
“I’m in some kind of trouble. I don’t know if I have been followed aboard this boat or not. I don’t think so but I can’t chance it. I haven’t had any sleep in two nights and while I don’t expect to sleep tonight I’m afraid I may drop off. I don’t want to be alone and—and you struck me as an easy-going fellow who might—might—”
“Like to take a chance on getting bumped off,” I cut in.
He kind of drew away when I said this but I let him see right away that perhaps he didn’t have me wrong. “And you would like me to sit up and protect you, eh?”
“I didn’t exactly mean that but I—I don’t want to be alone. Now, if you were a man I could offer money to—”
He paused and waited. I give him credit for putting the thing delicately and leaving the next move to me.
I didn’t want to scare him off by putting him wise that he had come within my line of business. It might look suspicious to him. And I didn’t want him to get the impression that I was a novice. There might be some future money in a job like this and it wouldn’t do to be under-rated.
“I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” I says. “I’ve been all over the world and done some odd jobs for different South American governments”—that always has its appeal—“and I’ll sit up and keep an eye on you for a hundred bucks.”
Crude?—maybe—but then I know my game and you don’t.
“And I can sleep?” he chirps, and his eyes sort of brighten up.
“Like a baby,” I tells him.
“Good,” he says, and “Come to my cabin.”
So I take the number of his cabin and tell him that I’ll meet him there as soon as I get my bag. Then I leave him and fetch my bag and put what money I have in the purser’s office, for, although I can size up a game right away, a fellow can’t afford to take chances. I have run across queerer ducks than this in my time.
Twenty minutes later he’s in bed and we’ve turned the sign about smoking to the wall and are puffing away on a couple of good cigars. All content—he’s paid me the hundred like a man; two nice new fifties.
He just lay there and smoked and didn’t talk much and didn’t seem as sleepy as I had thought he was. But I guess he was too tired to sleep, which is a queer thing but I’ve had it lots of times myself.
He seemed to be thinking, too. Like he was planning something and I was concerned in it. But I didn’t bother him none. I saw what was on his chest and he didn’t seem in a condition to keep things to himself. I thought he’d out with some proposition for me. But I didn’t know. I wasn’t anxious to travel about and be a nurse to him. That’s more of a job for a private detective but they ain’t used over much because they want to know all about your business and then you’re worse off than you were before.
At last he opens up.
“What’s your business?” he says.
And seeing I got his hundred there ain’t no reason to dodge the question I up and tells him.
“I’m a soldier of fortune.”
He kind of blinks at this and then asks.
“That means a chap who takes chances for—for a consideration.”
“Certain kind of chances.” I qualify his statement.
“Like this for instance?”
“Sometimes; but I don’t reckon to travel around as a body guard if that’s what you’re thinking.”
He laughs like he was more at ease. But I often see them laugh when they are getting ready to send me into the danger that they fear. It’s not downright meanness like I used to think when I was younger. It’s relief, I guess.
“I think I can use you,” he said slowly. “And pay you well and you won’t need to see me again.”
“Oh, I ain’t got any particular dislike to you,” I tell him. “It’s only that I like to work alone. Let me hear what you have to offer and then—well, you can get some sleep tonight anyways.”
He thought a moment.
“How much do I have to tell you?” he asked.
“As much or as little as you like. The less the better—but all I ought to know to make things go right for you.”
“Well, then, there isn’t much to tell. In the first place I want you to impersonate me for the summer or a greater part of it.”
“That’s not so easy.” I shook my head.
“It’s easy enough,” he went on eagerly. “I am supposed to go to my father’s hotel on Nantucket Island—”
Then he leaned out of the bed and talked quickly. He spoke very low and was very much in earnest. They could not possibly know me there. His father was abroad and he had not been to Nantucket since he was ten.
“How old are you?” he asked me suddenly.
“Thirty,” I told him.
“You don’t look more than I do. We are much alike—about the same size—the same features. And you won’t meet anyone I know. If things should go wrong I’ll be in touch with you.”
“And your trouble?” I questioned. “What should I know about that?”
“That my life is threatened. I have been mixed up with some people whom I am not proud of.”
“And they threaten to kill you.”
I stroked my chin. Not that I minded taking the chances but somewheres I had learned that a laborer is worthy of his hire. It looked like he was hiring me to get bumped off in his place. Which was all right if I was paid enough. I had taken such chances before and nothing had come of it. That is nothing to me.
“Yes, they threaten my life—but I think it’s all bluff.”
I nodded. I could plainly see it was that, so I handed out a little talk.
“And that’s why you paid me a hundred to sit up with you all night. Mind you, I don’t mind the risk, but I must be paid accordingly.”
When he saw that it was only a question of money he opens up considerable. He didn’t exactly give me the facts in the case but he tells me enough and I learned that he had never seen the parties.
The end of it was that he draws up a paper which asks me to impersonate him and lets me out of all trouble. Of course, the paper wouldn’t be much good in a bad jam but it wo
uld help if his old man should return suddenly from Europe. But I don’t aim to produce that paper. I play the game fair and the figure he names was a good one—not what I would have liked perhaps but all he could afford to pay without bringing his old man into the case, which could not be done.
Somehow, when we finished talking, I got the idea that he had been mixed up in a shady deal—bootlegging or something—and a couple of friends had gone to jail on his evidence. There were three others from Canada who were coming on to get him—the three he had never seen. But it didn’t matter much to me. I was just to show them that he wasn’t afraid and then when they called things off or got me all was over.
Personally I did think that there was a lot of bluff in the whole business but he didn’t and it wasn’t my game to wise him up.
It was a big hotel I was going to for the summer and if things got melodramatic why I guess I could shoot as good as any bootlegger that ever robbed a church. They’re hard guys, yes, but then I ain’t exactly a cake-eater myself.
An hour or more talk in which I learn all about his family and the hotel and Burton Combs drops off for his first real sleep in months.
The next morning we part company in his stateroom and I taxied over to New Bedford. He thinks that’s better than taking the train because there is a change of cars in the open country and he don’t want me to drop too soon.
There are only about ten staterooms on the little tub that makes the trip from New Bedford to Nantucket and I have one of them which is already reserved in Burton Combs’s name. After taking a walk about the ship I figure that there ain’t no Desperate Desmonds aboard, and having earned my hundred the night before I just curl up in that little cabin and hit the hay.
Five hours and not a dream disturbed me and when I come on deck there’s Nantucket right under our nose and we are rounding the little lighthouse that stands on the point leading into the bay.
There’s a pile of people on the dock and they sure did look innocent enough and I take a stretch and feel mighty good. From some of the outfits I see I know that I’m going to travel in class and I hope that Burton Combs’s clothes fit me for I didn’t come away prepared for any social gayety. But it’s early in the season yet and I’ll get a chance to look around before the big rush begins.