“I was gonna take Nick, Sammy, and Jersey Red. They’re the best of them that are still healthy.”
Eagle Jack relaxed, some of the redness of effort left his face. “You take over the boys till I’m ready, Tommy. Tell them I said so. You got b—brains.”
Tommy wanted to laugh. He didn’t have to do anything, and they handed him what he wanted. Muldoon was as good as buried. “Thanks, boss,” Tommy said. “I’ll get right to it.” He started to leave, but with a sudden effort, Eagle Jack reached out and grabbed his hand. “Tommy,” the boss whispered, “I—I can’t feel my legs.”
“Don’t worry about it for a second, boss,” Tommy told him. “If you wind up crippled, I’ll see you get one of those wheelchairs.”
IV.
While Muldoon dressed, Mr. Roosevelt faced the unpleasant task of informing Cleo of the death of Madam Nanette. He hated emotional scenes, but Cleo took it well, surrendering to tears only when she learned that the old woman had not abandoned her, that her last thought, in fact, had been for Cleo’s welfare. She cried softly for a while, seemed to be praying. Roosevelt waited in silence. She was through by the time Muldoon entered the room.
“Mr. Roosevelt,” he said, taking a deep breath of the still-cool morning air that blew past Cleo’s lace curtains, “it seems that you’re always bringin’ me up when I’m at me lowest. I thank you for it once again. And I want to say, in front of a witness, that Hand and his goons will find I don’t hold Roscoe’s life cheap. Let me at them, sir. I’m rarin’ to go.”
“You have been hurt,” Cleo said.
“And I’ve been fixed up, thanks to you. Sir, I won’t be sleepin’ easy until I’ve done somethin’ to even it up for Roscoe.”
“I promise you, Muldoon, you will, and soon. But there are many things you don’t know, and must be brought up to date on.”
The Commissioner told him of Hand’s story to the newspapers and the police about Muldoon’s being the head of the Mansion Burglars. “You see, Muldoon, I am aiding and abetting you as a fugitive from justice by not arresting you immediately.”
Muldoon turned red. “Blast it, that’s goin’ too far! You know that for the mess of lies it is, and—”
“Yes, Muldoon, of course I know it!” Mr. Roosevelt shook a fist in irritation. “And I will tell you right now, I shall never, ever resort to deception again, no matter what the provocation. There is no end to it. I was a fool to act against my inclination.
“Muldoon, we are in an untenable position. Witnesses have seen you fleeing Hand’s house, and Hand, a respected millionaire, calls you a thief. If you deny it, and name Hand for the monster he is, the Law will take the word of the rich man, of this malefactor of great wealth, over yours. You have been dismissed from the Police Force. In disgrace.”
Muldoon’s mouth fell open.
“Please, Muldoon, don’t say what’s on your mind; your loyalty and courage are reproach enough. I know full well that I was the one who brought the disgrace upon you. I fear it’s too late now for even the memorandum I gave you to be of help.
“We need evidence, man! We need just one scrap of evidence linking Hand with this mysterious ‘Rabbi.’ Or with any of these mysterious events. Then we may proceed.”
“Cleo!” Muldoon exclaimed. “Cleo was there the whole time. She must have seen him, or heard him, or heard Hand and Baxter talkin’ about him. At least she can get them for kidnapin’!”
“Muldoon ...” Mr. Roosevelt began.
“Well, ask her, for heaven’s sake.”
“Dennis,” Cleo said in a low, sweet voice, “what Mr. Roosevelt has been too considerate to mention—and I thank him for it, though it is unnecessary—is the fact that my testimony would be worthless in a court of law. I am a harlot, and my word is nothing against Hand’s. And if I were to accuse Baxter of assaulting me, the judge would laugh me out of court.
“I am sorry, Mr. Roosevelt, if the language is crude, but I am merely facing life as it is.”
The news had finally struck home to a stunned Muldoon. “He did what?” The officer picked up his hat. “I’m goin’ to kill him.”
“Sit down, Muldoon! That’s an order! That’s better. Now, I have a plan that might work much better than mindless action. But, the first thing we must do is to get Miss Le Clerc out of here. They may not know or even suspect that she has come back here, but they took her from this place once, and I won’t have that happening again. Do you think your sister would mind having a guest?”
“I’ll see she don’t mind,” Muldoon said grimly.
V.
Muldoon was limping slightly on his twisted ankle, so the three decided to take a cab to the Avenue A flat. The Commissioner, by accident or design, sat in the middle.
He told Muldoon to improve the time of the ride by reading Cleo’s narrative, and Muldoon was glad to oblige. At a certain point in his reading, Muldoon growled, so Roosevelt knew he had come to the part about Cleo’s ill-fated attempt at flight. Muldoon unconsciously clenched a fist and held it tight until he finished reading.
“Well?” the Commissioner demanded.
“What happened to this last page?”
“Never mind that! What did you think of the narrative.”
The clothes the bellboy had gotten for Muldoon fit fairly well, but the hat must have been designed for a pinhead in a side show. The derby sat foolishly on the top of his head. Muldoon removed it to scratch his head, and left it off.
“Well, sir,” he said, “if Cleo’s been seein’ things right, Hand is as much in the dark as we are, and Baxter’s up to the funny business. I must be admittin’ me surprise over that.”
“What about the red candles she mentions?”
Muldoon shrugged. “Smugglin’? Hollow candles with Chinese opium in them?”
“I think not, Muldoon. I think the red candles are dynamite, and I think Baxter is in league with the anarchists. I think Franklyn and Libstein’s departure was the signal for whatever Baxter is about.”
“That sounds good to me, sir,” Muldoon said.
“Then we agree. Anything else?”
“Yes, sir,” Muldoon said gravely. “I don’t know if you noticed this, but you see here, at the bottom of this page, where Cleo—I mean, Miss Le Clerc—” the Commissioner had reproved Muldoon earlier for undue familiarity. “—Miss Le Clerc got a peek at this Rabbi, and describes him. Tall, sort of? Bent? White, fluffy hair and beard on him? Sir, we spent some time lookin’ at this same gent. Didn’t we?”
Roosevelt was beaming. “Excellent, Muldoon. I was wondering if you’d noticed that. Yes, I am sure the Rabbi and this Mr. Meister are one and the same. I have thought so, in fact, since I had the sense to speculate on the words.”
Muldoon was bewildered. “Beg pardon, sir?”
“I am fluent in German, you know, Muldoon. As a boy, I spent some happy summers there.”
Now Muldoon was totally bewildered, but he had no time to fret over it, because the cab had arrived at the family flat.
The first sight that greeted them as they entered was Brian O’Leary seated at the trestle table in the kitchen, bent over a steaming bowl of porridge.
“Hi,” he said. “I see you found him okay, huh, Mr. Roosevelt?”
“What are you doing here, young man? I distinctly remember telling you to go home.”
“I did, but my mother locked me out. She said I was a bum, because I got fired from the Journal. I lost my corner to someone who took it over when I was working for Muldoon, and I ain’t had time to fight him for it back yet. But my mother ain’t much for listening to explanations when she’s been drinking heavy, so I come over here to tell Miss Muldoon her brother is all right, and she says, how awful, what an unnatural mother and like that, and says I can stay here. I slept on Muldoon’s sofa.” He took an enormous spoonful of porridge. “I like it better here, anyway,” he concluded.
There were several things in the boy’s speech that the Commissioner wanted to delete, add to, or change, but he
realized it would have to wait for another time. They left Brian to his spoon and went into the parlor.
Katie was, naturally, joyful over seeing her brother. She was less than ecstatic at the sight of the Commissioner, and downright incensed when introduced to Cleo.
“Dennis,” she said, with an ominous rising inflection, “would you mind comin’ with me to me room, please? I want to talk to you. Excuse us.” Muldoon followed her.
The conversation lasted a long time, but only the first part was loud enough for those in the parlor to hear. It consisted of Katie saying, “What are you thinkin’ of, bringin’ that kind of woman into—” and Muldoon ordering her to pipe down.
Maureen, who had watched all this, (Brigid was at work) asked the Commissioner if it was Dennis described as the robber in the newspaper reports. Roosevelt conceded that it was, but promised it would all be straightened out soon. After that, they talked about Macbeth. Cleo said she thought the language beautiful, but that she preferred The Tempest, and Shakespeare’s other comedies. Maureen gave her an appraising look, the first time one of the Muldoon women had deigned to notice her at all.
Finally, Muldoon and Katie returned to the parlor. Muldoon pushed Katie to the middle of the room, where she stood with her arms folded, and her lips tight.
“Go ahead,” Muldoon grumbled.
Katie looked daggers at Cleo. “You can stay,” she said.
“I thank you,” Cleo replied.
“You should,” Katie added. “You can sleep in me bedroom. I’ll move in with the girls. Don’t expect a lot of conversation from any of us.” Then she looked daggers at her brother, and dragged Maureen off to the kitchen with her.
“She’ll be comin’ around,” Muldoon said. “She’s got a picture in her mind she doesn’t care for, but she’ll soon see you ain’t it.”
“That,” Cleo told him, “is the kindest thing anyone has ever said to me.”
Muldoon blushed. He almost jumped when the Commissioner spoke. “I am leaving now—I have something important to do, part of the plan.”
“Yes, sir,” he said. He tightened up his cravat. “Remember, now,” he told Cleo, “just don’t go hollerin’ back at Katie, and you’ll be gettin’ along fine in no time.”
“No, Muldoon,” Roosevelt said. “You are staying here. I’ll take a few men from Headquarters.”
Muldoon sputtered. The Commissioner was giving him fits this morning. “You promised I could be in on the finish!”
“Oh, this isn’t the finish. This is the start of the means by which I hope to bring it about.”
“What are you planning to do?”
“As my ranch hands might put it, I am going to light a signal fire under T. Avery Hand.”
VI.
“I could have sent a deputation of my men, I suppose,” Theodore Roosevelt explained to T. Avery Hand, “but I wanted to express personally my congratulations on your foresight, and for your courage in pressing forward with the plans for your wedding.”
The plans for the wedding were busily proceeding all around them. No matter where one might walk on the ground floor of the house, something rich, be it food, costume, or decoration, was being carried by, or put into place.
“And, I wanted to add my best wishes.” It killed the Commissioner to be in the presence of the prissy little man.
“I’m glad you don’t let politics interfere with civility,” Hand said. He was slightly unnerved by the intensity of the Commissioner’s stare. He wondered if he might have food in his moustache again. As he brushed at it, he continued, “You said some very unkind things about me when my conscience told me to back Bryan.”
“Ha! Heat of the moment!” Roosevelt told himself he’d only have to stand this for a moment more.
A policeman dodged a waiter carrying a plate of tropical fruit, and presented himself. “Ah, Officer Bourke,” Roosevelt said. “Did the burglars leave any clues behind this time?”
“I think one or two, sir,” Bourke said. As previously arranged, the officer had given a coded message meaning that there was no trace of dynamite on the grounds, though why the Commissioner was looking for dynamite at a wedding was beyond him. Maybe it was the new thing from Europe or something. Like marrying a count, the way all the debutantes were doing.
“Bully, we’re making progress. Hand, would it be possible for you to summon your butler?”
“I’m afraid not.” Hand was getting more and more suspicious, and he wanted to talk with Baxter before anyone else did. He concocted a lie about Baxter’s going to Newburgh to join the train and see to the needs of his wife-to-be, since she had never been in New York before.
Roosevelt smiled, and pretended to believe him. He didn’t think that train even stopped in Newburgh.
“Well, then,” he said. “Some other time, then. It would aid our investigation, greatly. And, Hand, my earlier offer, extra men to surround your grounds in case the bandits try another raid, still stands.”
“Again, no thank you.”
“There will be a few guards, of course, with Mr. Bryan on the premises. I insist on that; it is my duty. I might even,” he added, with a significant gaze into the smaller man’s eyes, “be in the area myself. Do you have any objection to that, Hand?”
“What?” He had been nearly mesmerized. “Oh, of course not. No objection at all.” When would he get out of here?
Now, apparently. “It’s your decision, Hand. Good day.”
He left without waiting for the industrialist to say anything. Bourke followed. Outside, Roosevelt considered what he’d accomplished. Hand, (and especially Baxter, who, he was sure, was around somewhere) had seen the search made on the grounds, but not in the house. That had been merest folly if the search were really for clues left by the burglars. They (or Baxter, in the event Hand truly were ignorant) had to know now that the search was for the dynamite. If Baxter truly were gone, he’d learn of it when he returned.
It mattered little no dynamite had been found; the Commissioner had done what he intended. Hand was a man at the edge of an abyss; the fire had been well and truly lit.
Roosevelt ended his reflection, then reared back and bellowed for his men to join him.
And that bellow, in the Commissioner’s unmistakable voice, carried around the grounds and through the house. Peter Baxter heard it, on the attic floor, as he guarded the contents of a certain closet against intrusion by a wandering caterer or decorator. He wondered what Roosevelt was doing there.
And inside the closet, Roscoe Heath, battered in his capture, and weak from his several “questionings” by Baxter, was sure he knew why the boss had come—to make a plan to rescue him. Roscoe didn’t know what happened to Muldoon and the girl; he assumed they were all right, or the long-armed monkey outside wouldn’t keep at him to tell where they were; but he didn’t know that. What he did know was that the boss would take care of him. That had been what had kept him from talking, even when that bastard ... but why worry about that? The thing to do was to be ready for when the boss came back. Ignoring the pain it caused him, Roscoe twisted his body and neck so his mouth could work (as well as it could around the gag) on the ropes that bound him.
VII.
Hiram Listerdale came calling about noontime. Muldoon, who had gotten tired of silence, was glad of the arrival of someone Katie would deign to talk to. Brian had gone to win his corner back, and Muldoon and Cleo had run out of things to say that wouldn’t make Katie angry. “Hiram!” he heard her say. “How good to be seein’ you, especially this mornin’. But goodness, man, you can’t go around neglectin’ your business this way. Now you go right back and see to the openin’ of the Emporium.” Then, in a whisper, Katie told Listerdale about the visitor.
“I am touched at your concern,” Listerdale whispered in return. “But this is Saturday, a half day. I promise, I shall concentrate more on my business as soon as I have done what I come here to do. May I speak to your brother?”
“Oh,” Katie said; then, as she realized what
the man meant to do, she said “Oh” again. “Yes. Only don’t go into the parlor, no reason to do that. I’ll call him. Dennis!”
Muldoon smiled, and whispered to Cleo, “I’ve been expectin’ this, but not so soon.” He went to the kitchen.
“Ah, Muldoon, I am glad to see you safe and home at last.” Listerdale was still whispering.
“Glad to be that way,” the officer replied. “What’s on your mind?”
“Well, ah ...” The bookseller was twisting his hat between his hands. “I ... Well, there is something I wish to talk privately about with you. Would you oblige me by taking a walk around the block?”
“Be glad to.” He returned to the parlor to inform Cleo he was going out for a few minutes, then left with the bookseller.
The street was crowded, but no one was listening in. The air was warm, but there was a breeze, and people seemed to be enjoying their Saturday afternoon.
“Muldoon,” Listerdale began as they walked, resuming his normal voice. “I am not a young man, nor a rich one, nor a handsome one. And I must tell you frankly, that I never thought I would feel myself disposed to settling down.
“But since I have met Kathleen, I have lost whatever compulsion it was that kept me alone. She has made me aware of my loneliness, and soon, I feel I will have freed myself of the things that have bound me to it.
“Have you any idea what I am trying to say?”
Muldoon said he did, in a general way.
“Good. I wonder if most men feel ridiculous at a time like this. Anyway, to continue. I am very fond of Kathleen, Muldoon. Fonder than I have ever been of anyone.
“And so now, I am asking you, in your capacity as head of the family, for permission to court your sister with a view toward asking her hand in marriage.”
I should smile, Muldoon thought. He may look like a parson, but he talks like a lawyer. “Do you love the woman?” Muldoon asked.
The Lunatic Fringe: A Novel Wherein Theodore Roosevelt Meets the Pink Angel Page 25