The Cryptographer's Dilemma

by Johnnie Alexander

  He sat in a parked car, a forgettable black sedan, a few stores down from the doll shop. The basic plan remained the same with one notable revision: when Velvalee left the premises, Phillip would tail her while the other two agents searched her shop and her apartment.

  He didn’t have long to wait. Velvalee exited the building through the door that led directly to the upstairs apartments. She wore what to him looked like a beige jacket over a beige dress, a beige hat, and low-heeled shoes. A package wrapped in brown paper was tucked under one arm, and she gripped a plain suitcase. A drab little bird unlikely to catch anyone’s attention.

  She walked at a quick pace southwest along Madison Avenue. Her head never stopped moving, turning this way and that, as if she didn’t want to miss seeing anything along her path, especially anyone who happened to be following her. Phillip needed to make a quick decision. He could either stay in the car and risk being noticed for driving too slowly or he could tail her on foot. He didn’t like leaving his vehicle, but if she hailed a cab, then he would too.

  He stepped from the car and walked at a similar pace several yards behind her and on the opposite side of the street. She turned right on West Fifty-Ninth Street.

  First stop, a bank located near Fifth Avenue. Phillip pretended to fill out a deposit slip while she waited for someone to escort her into the vault of safety deposit boxes. What do you have hidden away in there? A rare doll? Cash?

  Most likely the latter.

  Unable to loiter in the bank lobby without arousing suspicion, Phillip waited across the street. When Velvalee finally emerged, she continued along West Fifty-Ninth, hurrying along beside the southern border of Central Park. She crossed Broadway and scurried along West Sixtieth. Second stop, the post office.

  Again, Phillip kept his distance even though he desperately wanted to hear Velvalee’s conversation with the postal clerk. But he couldn’t take the risk she’d realize he was following her or that she would recognize him as the chauffeur who’d been in her shop earlier in the afternoon.

  If only he knew where she was sending the package. That might give them a clue to where she was going. He waited for her to leave the post office, noting her direction toward Columbus Avenue, then hurried to the counter.

  “I’m sorry to cut in,” he said to the woman purchasing a book of stamps. He held out his FBI badge. “Official business.”

  “That’s no excuse for being rude, young man.” She huffed then gave him an appraising look. “You don’t look like you’re with the FBI.”

  “Again, I’m sorry.” He switched his gaze to the area behind the postal clerk and pointed to the package. “What’s the address on that package?”

  “I’m not sure I’m allowed to tell you that, sir.”

  Phillip tamped down his impatience. He didn’t have time to argue, but he couldn’t let that package go anywhere either. He pulled out a business card and scribbled the number to Richard’s direct line on the back. “Call this number. Tell whoever answers about the package. And say these words: ‘Hen on the move. Fox on her trail.’”

  The wide-eyed clerk took the card. “Hen on the move. Fox on her trail.”

  “That’s right. Good man.” Phillip tipped his hat at the woman and raced from the post office. All he could do now was hope that the clerk followed his instructions. What happened to the package was no longer under his control.

  As soon as he exited the post office, he jogged toward Columbus Avenue. Despite Velvalee’s hurried pace, it didn’t take long for him to spot her. She hugged the storefronts, her head still swiveling from one side to the next. A couple of times she stopped to stare at the window displays.

  Window-shopping? Or checking the reflection in the glass for anyone suspicious?

  An easy question to answer.

  Before them rose the imposing Gothic Revival architecture of the stately Church of St. Paul the Apostle with its arched stained-glass windows set within the gray granite stones. Could the church be her next destination? Surely she didn’t intend to walk much farther, especially lugging that suitcase.

  As if to answer his question, Velvalee stopped at the corner of Sixtieth and Columbus. She looked around then raised an arm to hail a cab. Phillip wasted no time in doing the same. A cab stopped for him first, and he hurriedly slid into the backseat. “I need to follow that woman. The one dressed in beige on the corner.”

  “You mean that gal up there?” The cabbie retorted around the unlit cigar hanging out of his mouth. “That’s not beige. More like a sickly green if you ask me. I’m not sure I want a fare who doesn’t know his colors.”

  Phillip tamped down his burst of frustration and leaned over the front seat to show the cabbie his credentials. “I’m with the FBI.”

  “You can’t be with the FBI. Those fellas wear suits.”

  “Sometimes we do, sometimes we don’t.” A cab stopped for Velvalee. Before she could get in, the driver rounded the vehicle to stow her bag. He opened the boot and placed it inside. Good. That gave Phillip a little additional time to convince his cabbie to help him out. He checked the registration card hanging from the visor. The guy’s name was Nick McDonald.

  “You going to pay me for the fare? I can’t afford to get stiffed.”

  “That and a nice tip as long as you stick with that cab. And Nick?”

  “Yeah, Mr. FBI man?”

  “Don’t let her see you.”

  “Won’t ever happen.” As if to prove his resolve, he revved his motor. “What are you after that dame for, iffen you don’t mind me asking?”

  “I don’t mind, but that’s a question I can’t answer.”

  “It’s crazy times, isn’t it? You must have heard all about those Germans coming all the way here in one of those U-boats to blow up our factories.”

  Of all the times to be reminded of Operation Pastorius. “Yeah, I heard a little something about that.”

  “They got what they deserved in this life, and it’s up to God to judge them in the next. That’s what I said when it happened and that’s what I’m saying now.”

  Nick’s mouth didn’t stop, an amazing feat since his lips never lost hold of the cigar. Thankfully, the conversation required little from Phillip except an occasional grunt. But true to his word, Nick stayed behind Velvalee, sometimes allowing another vehicle or two to separate them but never losing sight of her cab. Phillip hung over the front seat, intent on keeping the cab in sight while wishing he had an inkling of where Velvalee was going.

  They headed south, eventually turning left on West Thirty-Fourth Street. Velvalee’s cab parked beneath the shadow of the Empire State Building. Nick pulled to the curb a few car lengths back.

  “Hold tight, pal,” Phillip said. “Let’s see what she’s up to.”

  “You don’t suppose she’s going to blow up the Empire State Building, do you?”

  “What? No!” Phillip shook his head as if to rid himself of such nonsense. While keeping an eye on Velvalee’s cab, he counted out the coins needed to pay the meter plus, as he promised, a generous tip.

  “She’s getting out,” Nick said. “What are you going to do now?”

  “Follow her on foot.”

  “What if she gets into another taxi?”

  “Then I’ll get another one too.” The other cabbie opened his boot and lifted out Velvalee’s suitcase. Phillip reached over the seat to hand Nick the fare. “Thanks for the ride.”

  He started to open the door, but Nick stopped him. “How about if I follow along too? In case you need help.”

  Phillip’s initial reaction was to scoff at the idea, but instead he grinned. “It’s kind of you to offer. But I’ve got to do this on my own. You understand?”

  “Sure I do.”

  Velvalee was out of the cab now. She picked up her suitcase.

  Phillip grabbed Nick’s hand and shook it. “I’ve got to go.” Without waiting for a response, he exited the cab. Velvalee headed toward Fifth Avenue then entered Saks department store. She often stopped t
o glance around, but Phillip avoided making eye contact with her while staying on her tail. He followed her across the high pedestrian bridge that crossed Thirty-Second Street to connect Saks with Gimbels.

  The skywalk’s three-story windows, separated by an ornate metal facade, provided a unique view of New York City’s bustling vibrancy even during war. But Phillip couldn’t take time for sightseeing when his priority was not to be seen.

  Taking the bridge was a clever move on her part. Instead of entering Gimbels directly, her roundabout trip might reveal a tail. At least a tail with less experience than Phillip. But why go to Gimbels at all? Had she planned a rendezvous here?

  As he followed her past the ground floor and into the basement, the answer became clear. A maze of underground tunnels accessed Penn Station. Velvalee hesitated near the ticket station then hurried through the gate without buying a ticket.

  Where in the world was she going?

  Phillip’s only choice was to follow her. He started toward the gate when a hefty hand grabbed him by the arm. “Hey, Mr. FBI man,” a rough voice whispered. “Remember me?”

  Phillip glanced from Velvalee to Nick and back again. “What are you doing here?” He couldn’t lose sight of her. Not now.

  “You’re not from New York, are you?”

  “Speed it up, Nick. I don’t have much time.”

  “I didn’t suppose you were.” Nick took a deep breath. “After you left, I got to thinking that if I was running from the law, I wouldn’t take no time for shopping at Saks. But here’s Gimbels right across the street, and what’s under Gimbels?” He waved his hands in an expansive manner. “A train station. So, I locked up my cab and came over here to wait on you in case I could be of help.”

  Phillip stared at him in amazement. “You came straight here?” It wasn’t really a question, and the cabbie didn’t bother answering it. “That was smart thinking.”

  “It did seem to work out, didn’t it?”

  That was an understatement. “Great. Now listen to me. Whatever train that woman boards, I’m boarding too. Can you stick around, see where that train is headed, and then make a phone call for me?”

  “Sure, sure. I can do that.”

  Once again, Phillip found himself writing Richard’s number on the back of one of his business cards. “Tell whoever answers where I’m going and that I’ll be in contact as soon as I can.”

  Nick took the card, read both sides, then stuffed it in his pocket for safekeeping. “Looks like she’s found her train.” He gestured toward Velvalee.

  Phillip clasped Nick’s hand again and then sprinted through the gate. He waited for Velvalee to board then entered the car behind hers. From there, he maneuvered among the other passengers to the rear of her car and found a seat. From his vantage point, he watched her purchase a ticket from the conductor. While he waited to do the same, Phillip peered through the window. Nick stood on the other side of the gate. When their eyes met, he tipped his hat and Phillip responded with a two-finger salute.

  Seemed like God had sent him an angel in the disguise of a cab driver. He didn’t yet know where he was going, but at least someone did.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  Eloise stepped out of the cab in front of Velvalee Dickinson’s Doll Shop. The sign on the door said CLOSED. She shaded her eyes as she looked through the display window. The Irish dolls and the Charles Jopp fashionable lady were still on the counter. And the counter where Danvers had placed his box now held a willy-nilly row of dolls. The box lay on the floor.

  What had happened here? Had Eloise frightened Velvalee away? Or had Danvers?

  She straightened, touched the pearls, and took a deep breath. Eloise Marshall had no business being here. But what would Elena Piperton, a woman who knew what she wanted—a doll to take home to a dear friend—what would Elena do?

  Elena would want to know why Velvalee stood her up. Why she’d shown such disrespect to a customer with the means of purchasing several of her rare dolls without a thought of the total purchase price. Elena would want answers.

  Eloise shifted her gaze to the bookstore next door. Perhaps someone there would know.

  When she entered the store, a middle-aged woman with a pleasant face greeted her with a smile. “I’ll be with you in a moment. This young lady has an important purchase to make.”

  The young lady, who couldn’t be more than twelve or thirteen, also smiled at Eloise. She pointed to a stack of coins beside a small canvas bag on the counter. “I’ve been saving my allowance for the longest time.”

  “What are buying with your savings?” Eloise asked, charmed by the girl’s enthusiasm. She remembered her own youthful days of squirreling away every penny, every nickel she could find or earn for a coveted object. Once she’d seen a lovely golden hair clasp in the local five-and-dime. She’d worked at a variety of odd jobs for an entire month to save enough money to buy it. The following Sunday, she’d worn it in her hair with such proud delight it was only through God’s grace that she hadn’t suffered the fall that often accompanied such pride.

  “This doll.” The girl pointed to a rag doll with a Mexican shawl around her shoulders and black beads for eyes. “That is, if I have enough money. I need to count it.”

  Eloise took a closer look. “Are those pearls?”

  “Her name is Perla Negra, but I don’t have any idea if those eyes are pearls or beads,” the bookstore owner said. “Velvalee, the woman who owns the shop next door, would know. But I don’t think the doll is worth much. She put it in my display window months ago.”

  The girl paused in her counting. “She didn’t like it when she saw me playing with her, though. I thought she was going to tear her arm off.”

  “That seems odd,” Eloise replied. Certainly, a respected expert like Velvalee would be careful with her inventory. “Do you know why she did that?”

  “She said I shouldn’t touch things that don’t belong to me. But all I did was pick her up to fix her shawl. I often see her in the window and usually her shawl is around her shoulders. But someone had put it over her head. It’s too hot to wear a shawl on your head.”

  “I agree,” Eloise said with a smile. “Did Mrs. Dickinson return the doll to the window?”

  “I guess she was too angry. She took it to her store. But I saw it again a few days later.”

  “With the shawl on her head?”

  The girl nodded. “But I left her alone until Papa gave me this week’s allowance. I’m sure I have enough money now.”

  As she resumed her counting, Eloise motioned for the owner to join her as she stepped away from the counter. “I had an important appointment this afternoon with Mrs. Dickinson, but her store is closed. Do you know if anything happened or where she might be?”

  “She stopped in earlier. Apparently, there’s some kind of family emergency, though come to think of it, she never said exactly what. She was in such a rush to be on her way.”

  “I don’t suppose she left a message for me.”

  “I’m sorry, no. She didn’t leave messages for anyone.”

  “Has she done anything like this before?”

  “Not as long as I’ve known her. She moved to this location sometime last year. September or October, I think it was. I know it was before Halloween because she decorated the front windows with pumpkins and gourds. All the dolls wore orange and gold costumes. Autumn colors. She has quite a talent for creating beautiful displays.”

  “I suppose it’s a mystery then,” Eloise said. A mystery she wished she could solve.

  “I suppose.” The woman turned back to the girl, who had finished counting. “How much money do you have?”

  “A total of ten dollars and seven cents.”

  “Then this is your lucky day. The price is exactly ten dollars. You still have seven cents to spend on penny candy.”

  The girl squealed in delight and clapped her hands.

  “May I see the doll before you take her?” Eloise asked.

  “If you’d like
.”

  She counted seven pennies to return to her canvas bag while Eloise turned away to examine the doll, looking for any signs that messages could be hidden inside. But none of the seams appeared to have been opened and stitched closed again. She handed the doll to the girl who soon left with her treasure and her seven pennies.

  “Will Mrs. Dickinson be upset with you for selling the doll?” Eloise asked.

  “Perhaps, but I don’t care. She treated the child horribly and for no good reason. It’s a rag doll, not one of her precious porcelain creations. Besides, I tried to get her to take it with her this afternoon and she refused. Maybe she was in too much of a hurry, but as far as I’m concerned, she left it behind. If she makes a fuss, I’ll pay her for what it’s worth.”

  The woman released an exasperated sigh. “I know people spend a lot of money for those antique dolls. And I don’t mean to offend. But to my mind, dolls should be loved by little girls, not kept out of reach on high shelves.”

  “I’m not at all offended,” Eloise said. “I think it was very kind of you to let the girl have Perla Negra. I do wonder about those eyes, though.”

  “Yes,” the woman agreed. “That doll may be worth far more than any of us know.”

  Which only deepened the mystery of why Velvalee had left it behind.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  “Phillip is where?” Eloise stared at Richard as if seeing his mouth form the syllables could make it easier for her to understand the words.

  “As I said,” Richard repeated, obviously amused by her reaction, “my nephew is on his way to Philadelphia.”

  “Why?”

  “Because our indomitable Mrs. Dickinson is on her way to Philadelphia.”

  “We frightened her.” Eloise’s stomach fell to her feet. “I must have done something, said something, that made her suspicious.” But what? She’d been over and over their conversation a gazillion times. “Or Danvers did.”