The Stalwart Companions

by H. Paul Jeffers

  “The Sun has contributed greatly to the poisoning of the political process.”

  “And how was the contested election of 1876 resolved?”

  “By a compromise. A special commission was set up consisting of five members from the House, five from the Senate, and five from the Supreme Court. However, this seemingly impartial panel was in fact weighted to the Republicans because three of the five Justices were Republicans. The commission, therefore, decided for the Republicans. To get this result approved by the House, Mr Hayes promised Democrats that he would, once in office, remove federal troops from Southern states, assuring Democrats of future electoral victories in that region. Tilden acquiesced in a gentlemanly way and this seemed to still the political tempests, but now another Presidential election is upon us and the Republicans are again engaged in bitter controversies. One faction wanted to nominate Grant again, believing that the intervening four years since the end of his second term eliminated the ‘third term’ problem. Here in New York, the Grant faction calls itself the Stalwarts. These men are angry with Hayes for his civil service reforms, in which he went so far as to remove Chester Arthur as Collector of the Port of New York, a rich political patronage position. Supporters of Blaine are called Half-Breeds, and they proved to be decisive in the recent Republican convention. The Half-Breeds switched from Blaine to James A. Garfield, who was nominated as the Republican candidate at the convention in Chicago a fortnight ago. To assuage the Stalwarts, the convention chose Arthur as the Vice-Presidential candidate.”

  “Whom have the Democrats chosen?” asked Holmes.

  “A war hero, Major General Winfield Scott Hancock, a fellow with no real political experience but, as I stated, a hero by virtue of his soldiering at Gettysburg.”

  “Your political parties have a penchant for assuming that heroic generals are suited to be political leaders,” Holmes remarked, sourly.

  “Not without some justification,” I replied to this criticism. “I give you Washington and Jackson!”

  “Are you able to predict for me the outcome of the present contest?” Holmes asked with a slight smile.

  “My prediction would be tainted by my own political bias. I am a Republican.”

  “So you will vote for Garfield?”

  “It is the glory of the American political system that how a man votes is a secret,” I chuckled.

  “A splendid arrangement,” nodded Holmes. “Borrowed from the English!”

  “Our hack has arrived at my doorstep,” I pointed out, “and I have completed my thumbnail sketch of recent American political events. I trust it was useful to you.”

  “Indeed,” said Holmes, opening the door to the hack for me to step down. “It has been most instructive.”

  “And what is the next step in our current problem?” I asked.

  “To bed,” he said with a very surprising wink. “But I shall be up early and if you’d like, I’ll send for you when I make my next move.”

  “I would never forgive you if you did not,” I replied.

  “Good night, then,” he waved. As his hack sprang away into the night, the sky was already showing tinges of approaching dawn.

  The rain was over, I noted as I ascended the steps to my door in anticipation of, at least, a few hours’ rest.

  ___

  Author's notes on this chapter

  Nine

  It proved a folly on my part to believe that I could sleep in the excited state of my mind following the extraordinary events of the night. Rather, I retired to my library where, beneath the glow of my desk lamp and in the brightening light of dawn through the windows, I jotted notes on all that had transpired with, I confess, the hope that I might find in the collection of data the sort of information which Mr Sherlock Holmes might use to deduce the answer to the confounded riddle of Nigel Tebbel and the events of his death in such a singular and tragic manner.

  My manner of detective work resembled that of a book-keeper as I divided a sheet of paper into two columns, one to list the facts as we knew them, one to list the questions which remained unanswered:

  The Facts as Known in the Murder of Tebbel

  1. Shot to death at #15 Gramercy Park South, the home of Tilden.

  2. Robbery not motive – no money taken.

  3. Clues: cigars, tin of cocaine, paper with letters C and G upon it, hotel room key.

  4. Tebbel was political bully and ruffian.

  5. Had been hired to do some dirty work – this is an assumption rather than arrived at by evidence.

  6. Not seen for few days by his half brother.

  7. The brother referred to a mysterious man named Charles as being connected with Tebbel.

  Unanswered Questions in Death of Tebbel

  1. Why was he killed?

  2. Who killed him?

  3. What mission was he engaged upon?

  4. Location of hotel to which key belongs.

  5. What was Tebbel doing in Gram. Pk.?

  6. Meaning of letters C and G.

  7. Does the C represent the mysterious Charles?

  With a chuckle I noted that my columns were equal – a tidy balance, as if I had, indeed, been playing accountant rather than detective.

  I was mulling over my lists and having a light breakfast when Hargreave appeared at the door, to be shown into the dining room by the butler. “You are up bright and early,” said Will with a cheery nod.

  “I have not been to bed! Holmes and I spent the night visiting some of the most remarkable places you could imagine!”

  “I gathered that from this message which I received at 300 Mulberry Street this morning,” said Will, passing me a note in Holmes’ hand: “Please come to my rooms at No. 39 East 22d St. I have information of the most vital nature. Bring R. along when you come. I will be waiting for you precisely at ten. S. H.”

  “What do you make of it?” I asked, returning the note.

  “I have not the vaguest notion, but it is a quarter to ten,” replied Hargreave, fishing out his pocketwatch.

  We were at Holmes’ doorstep exactly at ten and were admitted immediately, although both Hargreave and I were taken aback by Holmes’ appearance, which was that of a merchant seaman – blue cap, striped shirt, workaday trousers, boots. Yet this clothing was not half as startling as his face, which sported what seemed to be a beard of a few weeks’ growth while below his right eye a livid scar crossed the cheek from nose to ear. “You are certainly prompt,” he remarked, “for I have just this instant returned.”

  “What an extraordinary sight you are!” I gasped.

  “Yes. I am a passable seaman, eh?”

  Hargreave was amused. “And may I ask the purpose of this get-up?”

  Holmes closed the door and made room for us amid the clutter, tossing piles of materials to the floor to uncover chairs. “I have occasionally found the use of disguises helpful,” he explained, removing the costume and makeup as deftly as he had shed the character of Malvolio. “In this, my work on the stage has been of vital importance. I confess my seaman’s disguise is one of my favorites, although I have a little old flower lady who would win your hearts. I have located the hotel to which Tebbel’s key belongs – a very disreputable establishment on West Street directly opposite the ferry slip used by the North German Lloyds Steamship Company!”

  This news brought Hargreave and me from our chairs.

  “I hasten to assure you that the President is quite safe! He is at the home of the United States Attorney, Mr Woodford, in Manhattan Beach. I had no time to inform you, Hargreave. The President changed his plans last night and remained aboard the ship until he could be taken by boat to Manhattan Beach. That was in accord with my suggestion.”

  “Your suggestion?”

  “The President was in the gravest danger, I assure you, and there was no time for me to do anything but what I did. I confess that I broke one of my cardinal rules in this matter and took action on a conclusion to which I jumped without all the requisite supporting d
ata. It was obvious to me from the beginning of this problem that a sinister political motive was at the root of Tebbel’s murder. Having ruled out robbery as a motive I had to confront the evidence at hand, namely that Tebbel was killed to keep him from reaching the Tilden house. The presence of so much money on Tebbel’s body indicated that he had been hired for some purpose. I assumed it was to commit some political act about which Tebbel got cold feet. Knowing Tilden’s moral up-rightness, it was impossible for Tebbel to have been working for him, so it followed that he was working for someone else and that, changing his mind about his role in the affair, he turned to the only person he knew might be able to safely help him. Forgive me, Hargreave, but the New York police are not known for trustworthiness at this time.”

  “But how did you suspect a plot against Hayes?” I asked.

  “That is where I had to jump to my conclusion even without all the facts,” said Holmes with a puff on his calabash.

  “I can see why you would make that assumption,” said Hargreave. “If Tilden was not Tebbel’s target, who was? Who is there in this city who might be the object of a plot?”

  “The mayor,” I stated emphatically.

  “The mayor is, I believe, out of town,” said Holmes.

  “He is,” said Hargreave.

  “But the news of the President visiting the city had not been widely circulated,” I pointed out.

  “Yet it is safe to expect that conspirators would know,” said Holmes.

  “Who are these cowardly conspirators?” I demanded.

  Holmes shrugged. “I cannot answer that part of the riddle, I’m afraid.”

  “How can we be sure the President is safe?” I asked.

  “We can be sure he is safe at the moment, but we must now locate this conspiracy and root it out to ensure his future safety,” Holmes nodded. “That is why I took the extraordinary step of advising those with the President to take the President elsewhere rather than return to Manhattan. Arrangements are being made for Mr Hayes to return to Washington this afternoon.”

  “How did you accomplish this, Holmes?” I asked, amazed at his audacity.

  “You recall the message I gave to Wakefield to deliver?”

  “I remember.”

  “It was to the British Consul General, an old friend of mine from my school days. He and I shared a dislike for a certain mathematics professor, one James Moriarty. The Consul General acted upon my advice by endorsing my note and arranging for it to be delivered to the President even as Mr Hayes was preparing to debark from the S.S. Mosel. The President, thereupon, waited until arrangements could be made to transfer him directly to Woodford’s home by boat. Had he followed the original plan, he would have returned to Manhattan and come within the gunsight that was waiting for him in room 405 of that certain hotel on West Street. Rest easy, Hargreave. The conspirators have abandoned the room. I have already examined it.”

  “You found nothing?” Hargreave sighed.

  “I didn’t say that. I found a great deal, and if you will accompany me to the room, I will show you all that we have to go on.”

  “But any evidence may have been removed by now,” said Hargreave excitedly.

  “I took the precaution of having the roundsman in that neighbourhood stand guard at the door,” Holmes replied, laying aside his pipe. “It was a singular thing for me to do, I confess – ordering about one of your constabulary, but when I explained that I was acting in your name and that you would be there presently, he undertook the duty willingly.”

  “By God, Holmes, you are an incredible fellow!” gasped Hargreave.

  “But now we must see to it that these scurrilous conspirators are caught!” exclaimed Holmes, dashing for the door and the stairs.

  ___

  Author's notes on this chapter

  Ten

  You observe the cigar stand in the lobby,” said Holmes as he strode through the door of the rundown hotel overlooking the Hudson River waterfront. “It was Tebbel’s cigar that led me here, as I knew it would,” he went on, leading Hargreave and me at a brisk pace up the dim and dirty stairway to the fourth – the top – floor of the building. “At the crack of dawn I paid a visit to a tobacco wholesale house on Fulton Street to make enquiries as to where Tebbel’s brand of cheap cigars would be found at retail. I feared it would be a futile effort, given the ordinariness of the product, but no! An astoundingly knowledgeable fellow named Azerier, a superb tobacconist, said that while the brand was common he knew of only a dozen or so retailers who handled the product. From his list, I was able to narrow down my search by the simple expedient of looking for addresses that were either hotels or near to hotels and close to either of the city’s rivers. I next consulted at the Customs House as to what ships of the North German Lloyds line were in port and where they might be berthed and discovered that this hotel overlooks the ferry slip which must be used to get to the Hoboken dock of the German company. It was Hargreave’s mention of the President dining aboard a German steamer that gave me that tidbit of information. Having determined that Tebbel had to have visited this hotel, I came directly here, made my way unseen to the fourth floor, jemmied the lock to number 405, and went in. As I foretold, Roosevelt, it was an easy lock for a burglar to open! But we have no need to jemmy it because the door is unlocked, left that way by me under the watchful eyes of your roundsman, Hargreave.”

  The policeman saluted smartly upon recognising Hargreave as we came down the narrow corridor to 405, a small, square, sparely furnished room with a bed and a chest of drawers. Indeed, the only thing of immediate interest about it was its window, which was open. From it one was afforded an unobstructed view of the ferry slip used by the very steamship company which had been honoured the previous evening by a visit aboard one of its vessels by the President of the United States. The great German liner S.S. Mosel was clearly visible at its berth on the distant New Jersey shore. “My God,” gasped Hargreave as he peered through the window, “the President would have been as easy to pick off as a sitting duck.”

  “Yes,” nodded Holmes, “but the conspiracy has been thwarted, yet only for this day! We must now follow the clues that the room provides us in order to arrest this group of ruthless men before they have a chance to regroup and arrange a new plan.”

  “Clues?” I asked, my tone a mixture of anger and frustration. “But what clues? This room is bare!”

  “On the contrary, Roosevelt. It has an interesting story to tell. Hargreave?”

  “Go ahead, Holmes,” nodded the young detective.

  “The evidence indicates that the assassins who lurked in this room were prepared to use a rifle to be fired through this opened window. Indeed, the weapon and the marksman were at the ready through the night. Observe the floor below the window. Notice the scratches in the paint, indicating that something was placed at the window as a steadying platform for the sniper and his weapon. Judging by these marks on the floor and on examining the legs of the bureau, I believe it is reasonable to state that the piece of furniture was moved for that purpose to this spot from its accustomed one against that wall. If you take the time to study the bureau, which the conspirators replaced, you will see that it had been moved and that someone or something rested upon it. There are distinct impressions in the dust atop the bureau, impressions that would be made by a man resting his arms upon it in just the position that a man would hold himself if he held a rifle in his hands. But, back to the floor by the window! Note the cigarette ashes! The ashes are of two varieties, indicating the presence of at least a pair of cigarette smokers in this room during the night.”

  “We are looking for two men, then,” I nodded.

  “Three, Roosevelt! Three!” exclaimed Holmes, turning away from the window toward the bed. “Observe on the floor at the edge of the bed there is a cigar band! And, I might point out, an expensive cigar! The man who patiently sat upon the edge of this bed and calmly smoked his expensive cigar was a man of some wealth. Probably, he is the man who has been supervis
ing this dastardly scheme.”

  “Amazing, Holmes. What else does this room tell you?”

  “That the men at the window wore brown boots; the man at the bed was wearing a black suit, possibly evening wear, with black shoes, of course; the man at the bed was at first highly agitated but settled down for his patient wait with his costly cigar.”

  “Incredible,” I gasped.

  Hargreave spoke up. “I now see the scuff marks at the window, made by brown boots.”

  “Exactly. Freshly made marks upon the baseboard.”

  “And the man in black at the bed?”

  “Lint from his clothing on the coverlet. It is from an exquisitely woven fabric of the type found in evening wear.”

  “Therefore a man in evening clothes would wear black shoes!” I remarked.

  “The faculty of deduction is certainly contagious, Roosevelt!” Holmes smiled, clapping me on the shoulder. “Congratulations! Are you able to tell me why I may state so positively that this well-dressed rascal at first was agitated?”

  “Well,” I said, thoughtfully studying the room for those little clues which Holmes so readily noticed, “while I see no physical evidence of it, I believe that were I here to command an attempt to murder a President I would be rather agitated.”

  “Bravo, Roosevelt. Of course, there is physical evidence to support your superbly stated surmise. Again, you must look at the floor. A definite trail of footprints in the dust from bed to wall and back, a pattern repeated over and over. The sure sign of a nervous man is a man whose footprints show that he was pacing. Yet we know he ultimately sat calmly on the bed for a smoke. We can deduce, therefore, that he began to realise that their plan to murder the President had gone awry, inasmuch as Mr Hayes did not put in the expected appearance at the expected time. Sitting down to ponder this turn of events, our well-dressed assassin left the room, at last. But the others seem to have remained on the chance that their scheme could succeed.”