Markham nodded thoughtfully.
“I can understand your attitude in the matter, Mr. Kenting,” he said reassuringly. “And therefore,”—he made a suave gesture—“the decision on that point must rest solely with you. The police will turn their backs, as it were, for the time being, if that is what you wish.”
Fleel nodded his approval of Markham’s words.
“If Kenyon is financially able to go through with it,” he said, “I feel that that course is the wisest one to follow. Even if it means shutting our eyes momentarily to the legal issues of the situation, he may have a better chance of having his brother safely returned. And that, after all, I am sure you will all agree, is the prime consideration in the present instance.”
Vance had, to all appearances, been ignoring this brief discussion, but I knew, from the slow and deliberate movement of his hand as he smoked, that he was absorbing with interest every word spoken. At this point he rose to his feet and entered the conversation with a curious finality.
“I think,” he began, “both of you gentlemen are in error, and I am definitely opposed to the withdrawal of the authorities, even temporarily, at this time in such a vital situation. It would amount to the compounding of a felony. Moreover, the reference in the note regarding the police is, I believe, merely an attempt at intimidation. I can see no valid reason why the police should not be permitted a certain discreet activity in the matter.” His voice was firm and bitter and carried a stinging rebuke to both Kenting and Fleel.
Markham remained silent when Vance had finished, for I am convinced he felt, as I did, that Vance’s remarks were based on a subtle and definite motivation. They had their effect on Kenting as well, for it was obvious that he was definitely wavering. And even Fleel seemed to be considering the point anew.
“You may be right, Mr. Vance,” Kenting admitted finally in a hesitant tone. “On second thought, I am inclined to follow your suggestion.”
“You’re all stupid,” mumbled Falloway. Then he leaned forward. His eyes opened wide, his jowls sagged and he burst forth hysterically: “It’s Kaspar, Kaspar, Kaspar! He’s no good anyway, and he’s the only one that gets a break around here. Nobody thinks of anyone else but Kaspar...” His voice was high-pitched and ended in a scream.
“Shut up, you ninny,” ordered Kenting. “What are you doing down here, anyway? Go on up to your room.”
Falloway sneered without replying, walked across the room, and threw himself into a large upholstered chair by the window.
“Well, what’s the decision, gentlemen?” asked Markham, in a calm, quiet tone. “Are we to go ahead on the basis of your paying the ransom alone, or shall I turn the case over to the Police Department to handle as they see fit?”
Kenting stood up and took a deep breath.
“I think I’ll go down to my office now,” he said wearily, “and try to raise the cash.” Then he added to Markham, “And I think the police had better go ahead with the case.” He turned quickly to Fleel with an interrogative look.
“I’m sorry I can’t advise you, Kenyon,” the lawyer said in answer to Kenting’s unstated question. “It’s a damned difficult problem on which to offer positive advice. But if you decide to take this step, I think I should leave the details in the hands of Mr. Markham. If I can be of any help—”
“Oh, don’t worry, Fleel, I’ll get in touch with you.” Kenting turned to the dark corner of the room. “And thank you, Quaggy, for your kindness; but I think I can handle the situation without your assistance, though we all appreciate your generous offer.”
Markham was evidently becoming impatient.
“I will be at my office,” he said, “until five o’clock this afternoon. I’ll expect you to communicate with me before that time, Mr. Kenting.”
“Oh, I will—without fail,” returned Kenting, with a mirthless laugh. “I’ll be there in person, if I can possibly manage it.” With a listless wave of the hand, he went from the room and out the front door.
Fleel followed a few moments later, but Fraim Falloway still sat brooding sneeringly by the window.
Quaggy rose from his chair and confronted Markham.
“I think I’ll remain a while,” he said, “and speak to Mrs. Kenting.”
“Oh, by all means,” agreed Vance. “I’m sure the young woman needs cheering up.” He went to the desk, refolded the note carefully, and, placing it in its envelope, slipped it into an inside pocket. Then he motioned to Markham, and we went out into the sultry summer noon.
When we were back at the District Attorney’s office, Markham sent immediately for Heath. As soon as the Sergeant arrived from Centre Street, a short time later, the situation was outlined to him, and he was shown the letter which Fleel had received. He read the note hastily and looked up.
“If you ask me, I wouldn’t give those babies a nickel,” he commented gruffly. “But if this fellow Kenyon Kenting insists, I suppose we’ll have to let him do it. Too much responsibility in tryin’ to stop him.”
“Exactly,” assented Markham emphatically. “Do you know where this particular tree is in Central Park, Sergeant?”
“Hah!” Heath said explosively. “I’ve seen it so often, I’m sick of lookin’ at it. But it’s not a bad location, at that. It’s near the traffic lanes, and you can see in all directions from there.”
“Could you and the boys cover it,” asked Markham, “in case Mr. Kenting does go through with this and we decide it would be best to have the spot under surveillance?”
“Leave that to me, Chief,” the Sergeant returned confidently. “There’s lots of ways of doing it. Searchlights from the houses along Fifth Avenue could light up the place like daytime when we’re ready. And some of the boys hiding in taxicabs, or even up the tree itself, could catch the baby who takes the money and tie him up in bow-knots.”
“On the other hand, Sergeant,” Markham demurred, “it might be better to let the ransom money go, so we can get young Kenting back—that is, if the abductors are playing straight.”
“Playing straight!” Heath repeated with contempt. “Say, Chief, did you ever know any of these palookas to be on the level? I says, let’s catch the guy who comes after the money, and we’ll give him the works at Headquarters and turn him inside out. There won’t be nothing we won’t know when the boys get through shellackin’ him. Then we can save the money and get this no-good Kaspar back for ’em, and round up the sweet little darlings who done it—all at the same time.”
Vance was smiling musingly during this optimistic prophecy of future events. In the pause that followed Heath’s last words he spoke.
“Really, y’ know, Sergeant, I think you’re going to be disappointed. This case isn’t as simple as you and Mr. Markham think...” The Sergeant started to protest, but Vance continued. “Oh, yes. Quite. You may round up somebody, but I doubt if you will ever be able to connect your victim with the kidnapping. Somehow, don’t y’ know, I can’t take this illiterate note too seriously. I have an idea it is designed to throw us off the track. Still, the experiment may be interestin’. Fact is, I’d be overjoyed to participate in it myself.”
Heath looked at Vance humorously.
“You like to climb trees, maybe, Mr. Vance?” he asked.
“I adore it, Sergeant,” Vance told him. “But I simply must change my clothes.”
Heath chuckled and then became more serious.
“That’s all right with me, Mr. Vance,” he said. “There’ll be plenty of time for that.”
(I knew that the Sergeant wished Vance to take this strategic position in the tree, for despite Vance’s constant good-natured spoofing and his undisguised contempt for Heath’s routine procedure, the Sergeant had a great admiration and fondness for, not to say a profound faith in, the debonair man before him.)
“That’s bully, Sergeant,” commented Vance. “What would you suggest as an appropriate costume?”
“Try rompers!” retorted Heath. “But make ’em a dark color.” With a snort he turn
ed to Markham. “When will we know about the final decision, Chief?”
“Kenting is going to communicate with me sometime before I leave the office today.”
“Swell,” said Heath heartily. “That’ll give us plenty of time to make our arrangements.”
It was four o’clock that afternoon when Kenyon Kenting arrived. Vance, eager to be on hand for anything new that might develop, had waited in Markham’s office, and I stayed with him. Kenting had a large bundle of $100 bills with him, and threw it down on Markham’s desk with a disgruntled air of finality.
“There’s the money, Mr. Markham,” he said. “Fifty thousand good American dollars. It has completely impoverished me. It took everything I owned... How do you suggest we go about it?”
Markham took the money and placed it in one of the drawers of his steel filing cabinet.
“I’ll give the matter careful consideration,” he answered. “And I’ll get in touch with you later.”
“I’m willing to leave everything to you,” Kenting said with relief.
There was little more talk of any importance, and finally Kenting left the office with Markham’s promise to communicate with him within two or three hours.
Heath, who had gone out earlier in the afternoon, came in shortly, and the matter was discussed pro and con. The plan eventually agreed on was that Heath should have his searchlights focused on the tree and ready to be flashed on at a given signal; and that three or four men of the Homicide Bureau should be on the ground and available at a moment’s notice. Vance and I, fully armed, were to perch in the upper branches of the tree.
Vance remained silent during the discussion, but at length he said in his lazy drawl:
“I think your plans are admirable, Sergeant, but I really see no necessity of actually plantin’ the money. Any package of the same size would answer the purpose just as well, don’t y’ know. And notify Fleel: I think he would be the best man to place the package in the tree for us.”
Heath nodded.
“That’s the idea, sir. Exactly what I was thinking... And now I think I’d better be running along—or toddlin’, as you would say—and get busy.”
CHAPTER TEN
The Tree in the Park
(Thursday, July 21; 9:45 p.m.)
VANCE AND MARKHAM and I had dinner at the Stuyvesant Club that night. I had accompanied Vance home where he changed to a rough tweed suit. He had had little to say after we had left Markham’s office at five o’clock. All the details for the night’s project had been arranged.
Vance was in a peculiar mood. I felt he ought to be taking the matter more seriously, but he appeared only a little puzzled, as if the situation was not clear in his mind. He did not exhibit the slightest apprehension, however, although as we were about to leave the apartment he handed me a .45-automatic. When I put it in my outside coat pocket, where it would be handy, he shook his head whimsically and smiled.
“No call for so much precaution, Van. Put it in your trousers pocket and forget it. As a matter of fact, I’m not even sure it’s loaded. I’m taking one myself, but only to humor the Sergeant. I haven’t the groggiest notion what’s goin’ to happen, but I can assure you there will be no necessity for a display of fireworks. The doughty Sergeant’s pre-arranged melodrama is bally nonsense.”
I protested that kidnappers were dangerous people, and that ransom notes with orders of the kind that Fleel had brought to the District Attorney’s office were not to be taken too lightly.
Vance smiled cryptically.
“Oh, I’m not takin’ it lightly,” he said. “But I’m quite sure that note need not be taken at its face value. And sittin’ on the limb of a tree indefinitely is not what I should call a jolly evening’s sport... However,” he added, “we may learn something enlightenin’, even if we don’t have the opportunity to embrace the person accountable for Kaspar’s disappearance.”
He slipped the gun in his pocket, buttoned the flap, and arranged his clothes more comfortably. Then he donned a soft, black Homburg hat and went to the door.
“Allons-y!”
At eight o’clock we found Markham waiting at the Stuyvesant Club. He seemed perturbed and nervous, and Vance attempted to cheer him. In the dining room Vance had some difficulties with his order. He asked for the most exotic dishes, none of which was available, and finally compromised on tournedos de bœuf and pommes de terre soufflées. He had a long discussion with the sommelier regarding the wine, and he lingered over his crêpes suzettes after having explained elaborately to the waiter just how he wished them made. During the meal he was in a gay humor, and refused to react to Markham’s sombre mood. As a matter of fact, his conversation was limited almost entirely to the types and qualities of the two-year-old horses that year had produced and of their chances in the Hopeful Stakes.
We had finished our dinner and were having our coffee in the lounge, shortly before ten o’clock, when Sergeant Heath joined us and reported the arrangements he had made.
“Well, everything’s been fixed, Chief,” he announced proudly. “I got four powerful searchlights in the apartment house on Fifth Avenue, just opposite the tree. They’ll all go on when I give the signal.”
“What signal, Sergeant?” asked Markham anxiously.
“That was easy, Chief,” Heath explained with satisfaction. “I had a red electric floodlight put on a traffic-light post on the north-bound road near the tree, and when I switch that on, with a traveling switch I’ll have in my pocket, that will be the signal.”
“What else, Sergeant?”
“Well, sir, I got three guys in taxicabs stationed along Fifth Avenue, all dressed up like chauffeurs, and they’ll swing into the park at the same time the searchlights go on. I got a couple of taxicabs at every entrance on the east side of the park that’ll plug up the place good and tight; and I also got a bunch of innocent-looking family cars running along the east and west roads every two or three minutes. On top of that, you can’t stop people strolling in the park—there’s always a bunch of lovers moving around in the evening—but this time it ain’t gonna be only lovers on the path by that tree—there’s gonna be some tough babies, too. We’ll stroll back and forth down the east lane ourselves where we can see the tree; and Mr. Vance and Mr. Van Dine will be up in the branches—which are pretty thick at this time of year, and will make good cover... I don’t see how the guys can get away from us, unless they’re mighty slick.” He chuckled and turned to Vance. “I don’t think there’ll be much for you two to do, sir, except lookin’ on from a ringside seat.”
“I’m sure we won’t be annoyed,” answered Vance good-naturedly. “You’re so thorough, Sergeant—and so trustin’.”
“What about the package?” Markham asked of Heath.
“Don’t worry about that, sir. I got that all fixed too.” The Sergeant’s voice, though serious and earnest, exuded pride. “I had a talk with Fleel, like Mr. Vance suggested, and he’s gonna put it in the tree a little while before eleven. And it’s a swell package. Exactly the size and weight of that bunch of greenbacks Kenting brought to your office this afternoon.”
“What about Kenting himself?”
“He’s meeting us at half-past ten, and so is Fleel, in the superintendent’s room at the new yellow brick apartment house on Fifth Avenue. I gave ’em both the number, and you can bet your sweet life they’ll be there... Don’t you think Mr. Vance and Mr. Van Dine had better be gettin’ themselves fixed in the tree pretty pronto?”
“Oh, quite, Sergeant. Bully idea. I think we’ll be staggerin’ along now.” Vance rose and stretched himself in mock weariness. “Good luck, and cheerio.”
It seemed to me that he was still treating the matter like an unnecessary farce.
Vance dismissed our taxicab at the corner of 83rd Street and Fifth Avenue, and we continued northward on foot to the pedestrians’ entrance to the park. As we walked along without undue haste, a chauffeur from a nearby taxi jumped to the sidewalk with alacrity and, overtaking us, stepped
leisurely in front of us across our path. I immediately recognized Snitkin in the old tan duster and chauffeur’s cap. He apparently took no notice of us but must have recognized Vance, for he turned back, and when I looked over my shoulder a moment later, he had returned to the cab and taken his place again at the wheel.
It was a warm, sultry night, and I confess I felt a certain tingle of excitement as we walked slowly down the winding flagged pathway southward. There were several couples seated in the dark benches along the pathway, and an occasional shambling pedestrian. I looked at all of them closely, trying to determine their status, and wondering if they were sinister figures who might have some connection with the kidnapping. Vance paid no attention to them. His eyebrows were lifted cynically, and his surroundings seemed not to interest him at all.
“What a silly adventure,” he murmured as he took my arm and led me due west into a narrow footpath toward a clump of oak trees, silhouetted against the silvered waters of the reservoir beyond. “Still, who can prophesy? One can never tell what may happen in this fickle world. One never knows, y’ know. Maybe when you get atop your favorite limb in the tree you’d better shift your automatic. And I think I’ll unbutton the flap on my hip pocket.”
This was the first indication Vance had given that he attached any importance to the matter.
Far across the park the gaunt structures on Central Park West loomed against the dark blue western sky, and the lights in the windows suddenly seemed unusually friendly to me.
Vance led the way across a wide stretch of lawn to a large oak tree whose size set it apart from the others. It stood in comparative darkness, at least fifty feet from the nearest dimly flickering electric light.
“Well, here we are, Van,” he announced in a low voice. “Now for the fun—if you regard emulating the sparrow as fun... I’ll go up first. Find yourself a limb where you won’t be exposed, but where you can see pretty well all around you through the leaves.”
The Kidnap Murder Case Page 11