While Hargreave discreetly approached Veil, Holmes and I moved to the quiet corner Holmes had elected for our meeting and waited. Presently, Hargreave brought Veil to us, although the tall gentleman appeared to be quietly and with dignity protesting Hargreave’s intrusion upon him at the Amen Corner. He was precisely as Schulman had described him – a giant of a man, impeccable in his dress, and of a deportment that approached the imperious.
“This is most extraordinary,” he exclaimed as Hargreave presented him to Sherlock Holmes and me. “Further, it is very embarrassing. The idea! Being spirited away from my friends by a policeman!”
“Are you a guest of this hotel?” asked Holmes.
“I am,” replied Veil angrily. “I have a suite.”
“Then I suggest we adjourn to your suite where we may conduct our business more discreetly?”
“I shall not move from this spot until you explain this outrageous behavior.”
“Very well,” said Holmes. “It is a case of murder. A case in which some evidence quite clearly points to you. On the chance that there has been some mistake–”
“There certainly has been!”
“–We merely wish to offer you the opportunity to make explanations.”
“Very well. Come then, to my suite.”
The commodious accommodations were on the fifth floor of the hotel overlooking busy Broadway. The sitting room appeared to have been furnished with extra chairs and couches, a fact which Holmes recognised immediately. “You seem to have had a number of business meetings in recent days, Mr Veil.”
“And why not? The Republican National Committee has been convening in this very hotel in order to prepare for the campaign. I am quite a prominent personage in the Republican party, sir, as your friend, the young Mr Roosevelt should know.”
“I have been engaged in my studies, Mr Veil, and have not kept up with the daily business of the Republican party,” I explained. “Are you leased with the choice of Garfield?”
“I was won over by the compromise which put Arthur on the ticket.”
“Ah, you are a Stalwart,” I said with a smile.
“I am and proud of it.”
Sherlock Holmes, who had taken advantage of my distraction of Veil to quickly look around Veil’s parlor, discovered a small writing table near a window. “I see that you have a typewriting machine,” he announced.
“And what, may I ask, is so unusual about my having a typewriting machine?” asked Veil, his face flushing red with anger.
“I am fascinated by them,” said Holmes, pulling out the chair and seating himself before the machine. Taking a sheet of paper and rolling it into the typewriter, he added, “Did you know that typewriting machines are quite distinctive and that each impression made by them is entirely different from another?”
“Very interesting,” said Veil impatiently.
“Yes, isn’t it?” said Holmes, pecking at the keyboard of the machine. Quite suddenly, his fingers flew over the keys with amazing speed, causing a rattling, chattering noise, like the rapid fire of rifles. Just as suddenly, he stopped, tore the paper from the machine, and crossed the room with it. “Have a look at the typewritten words on this paper,” he said. Then, reaching into his inside pocket, he withdrew what I immediately recognised as the letter which Tebbel had sent to Samuel J. Tilden. “Compare what I have just typewritten with the printing on this letter.”
“What of it?” snapped Veil.
“Surely you can see that this letter from N. Tebbel was written on the very machine that produced the verbatim copy of Tebbel’s letter which I just produced?”
Pushing aside the letters in Holmes’ hands, Veil laughed, “The words are the same nothing more.”
“Ah, but you are quite wrong, sir. Observe the letter e, which is slightly askew. The letter a in the words ‘have,’ ‘sea,’ ‘a,’ ‘great,’ ‘late,’ and ‘Dear’ in the salutation. See how the ‘a’ is clogged with ink. There are at least a dozen other identical characteristics to be found in these letters, proving conclusively that they were made on the same machine.” Holmes passed the letters to Hargreave. “Further, the incontrovertible fact that Tebbel made his letter on this very typewriter is proof that Tebbel was in this room!”
“Hundreds of persons have been in this room!” scoffed Veil. “As you can see, I have had numerous meetings here during the course of the conferences associated with the National Committee.”
“Do you know Tebbel?” asked Hargreave, glancing up from the pair of typewritten letters.
“I know a great many people, sir,” sighed Veil, sinking heavily into corner of a massive brocaded couch. “I may even have known this man Tebbel.”
“Shall we bring Tebbel here?” asked Holmes.
This statement startled me, for Tebbel, of course, was dead, but I immediately saw that Holmes was playing a trick – one which had its effect on Veil, who turned white as a ghost. The shock, surprise, and terror in Veil’s face convinced me that he was our man and quite likely had ordered Tebbel’s murder. (Being a policeman, Hargreave exhibited no expression of surprise at Holmes’ statement.)
“Once again, I must protest this very peculiar line of questioning,” muttered Veil, recovering slightly from his momentary shock.
“Make matters easy on yourself, Mr Veil,” suggested Hargreave. “We know what you have been up to.”
Regaining his imperious and offended tone, Veil stormed, “I have no idea what you are talking about!”
“I am talking about your presence in a room in a hotel, quite different from this one, through the night, and your sinister purpose in being there,” said Hargreave, his voice rising angrily.
“I have been in no hotel but this one! I spent the entire night in these rooms!”
“Protest if you will,” said Holmes quietly, “but we have a witness who places you at an address on West Street, and I am certain that physical evidence will bear out the testimony of the witness.”
“I have no idea what you are getting at, but I shall certainly see that my lawyer brings suit against you, sir, whoever you are!”
“Come now,” said Holmes, “let’s not beat around the bush, to borrow one of your American idioms. We know you were at the address on West Street and we know your purpose. We can prove your connection with Nigel Tebbel. I believe you gave the order for his murder! Though you may deny all of these allegations, I assure you that we have the proof! It will go easier for you if you admit it and tell us who your accomplices are and where they may be found.
“Speak up, man,” added Hargreave, unmistakably the policeman.
___
Author's notes on this chapter
Thirteen
Augustus Tiberius Gaius Nero Veil mopped his broad brow with a delicately lacy handkerchief and sipped frequently from a tall glass of iced water as he peered across his opulent sitting room at Sherlock Holmes, who presented a leisurely, almost lackadaisical, posture as he half reclined in a wingback chair – pointy chin in cupped palm, head tilted to the side, long legs crossed at the knees – as if he were listening to music instead of the despicable confession which Veil proceeded to make.
“You are on to me, I can see that,” Veil had stated resignedly at the beginning of his discourse, “so I will relate to you the entire matter, my role in it, and those who joined me in the enterprise, which certainly would have succeeded had not Tebbel gotten cold feet at the most critical moment. I was surprised at him, because I thought Tebbel above all others would do anything for money. He was a dope fiend, you see.”
“Cocaine,” Holmes noted.
“You know even that!”
“Begin at the beginning, please.”
“I have been devoted to the Republican party since the very day I reached my majority. I cast my first vote for Lincoln in 1860 and worked hard for his victory. My diligent work was duly noted by leaders of our party here in New York, and it has been my honour to serve the party in numerous capacities since that time. Earlier, I ha
d been introduced to the political world by my father, who took me with him to the first Republican state convention in New York at Saratoga, after which I was an observer of the campaign for Fremont in 1856. I enjoyed the thrill of politics even then, you see. It was at the 1856 convention that I first met Chet Arthur. Although Chet was a few years older than I, we became friends and it has been my privilege to serve him in numerous capacities since that time. I worked side by side with him in the campaign for the re-election of Governor Edwin Morgan, and when Chet was rewarded for his efforts with the rank of brigadier general, performing duties in the war connected with supplying New York volunteers, I served him as an aide. I continued in that capacity until Chet returned to private life in 1863. A Democrat had been elected governor that year!
“I remained as active in the Republican ranks as did Arthur. Chet was soon regarded as second only to Senator Conkling in power and influence in the party. At that time, I had the privilege, again, of being of service to Chet, although by then I was a prominent businessman, of course, so Chet and I were more on an equal footing than previously. I became a member of Chet’s political club, working for Grant in ‘68. When Grant appointed Chet to the post of Collector of the Port of New York, I was invited to assist him in the dispensing of patronage. Then, last year, Hayes – that despicable cur! – dismissed Chet from the job!”
“And you?” asked Holmes quietly.
“Naturally, I resigned in protest.”
“Proceed, please.”
“I then determined to remove the despot, even as that noble Roman, Brutus, had removed the despotic Julius Caesar.”
“Assassin!” I muttered angrily, thumping my clenched fist upon the arm of my chair.
With only a glance in my direction, Veil went on, “I made up my mind to avenge Hayes’ affront to Arthur and the Stalwarts and to perform a genuine service to my country. The removal of a tyrant is an act of patriotism! I was fortunate in coming across a man who shared my view and who had, in fact, made an unsuccessful attempt to achieve the same end while Hayes was in Columbus, Ohio, last month. No one found out about this attempt upon the President at the time. Rather, it was hidden by the publication of reports of a rumour that the President had collapsed of an illness on a Columbus street. In fact, a shot had been fired. The President escaped injury only because a bystander had seen a suspicious movement a moment before the shot was fired and threw the President to the ground. It was by chance that I ran into the man who had fired the shot a few days ago. He had had a few too many drinks and was declaiming loudly in the bar downstairs about what he thought of Hayes and what ought to be done about him. I drew the man aside and eventually I learned of his previous attack upon the President. Here, I decided, was my man!”
“His name?” asked Holmes without stirring from his slouch.
“Rickards.”
“Where is he now?” asked Hargreave.
“I have no idea, although we are to meet this evening.”
“Where?”
“The Silver Dollar Bar in the Gilsey Hotel.”
“And his accomplice?” asked Holmes.
“I have mentioned no accomplice,” said Veil.
“But there is one,” snapped Holmes, coming upright in his chair. “Initials of C. G.”
“I know him only by the name Charles,” signed Veil, now utterly defeated and overwhelmed by his circumstances.
“Will Charles be with Rickards at the Silver Dollar?” asked Hargreave.
“They have become inseparable.”
“It is a peculiarity of persons involved in murderous conspiracies to develop a distinct aversion to leaving their fellow conspirators alone,” stated Holmes. “Which of these cutthroats murdered Tebbel?”
“I have no idea. I didn’t ask.”
“Why was Tebbel killed?” I asked.
“As I stated, cold feet.”
“Was it that? Or did he at last recoil at the prospect of assassination?” I exclaimed.
“Whatever his motive,” shrugged Veil, “he left a meeting with Rickards and Charles at that same hotel on West Street with the purpose of going to someone in authority to abort our mission. I knew nothing of this until I joined Charles and Rickards at the hotel to await the President’s return from Hoboken. On my arrival, I was told that it had been necessary to eliminate Tebbel. I asked no questions. We waited all night for Hayes to come back to Manhattan. He didn’t. I presume you gentlemen had something to do with that unexpected development.”
“Yes,” nodded Holmes. “It was Rickards who recruited Charles and Tebbel?”
“Quite so,” nodded Veil.
“Augustus Tiberius Gaius Nero Veil,” announced Will Hargreave, “I arrest you as an accomplice-after-the-fact to the murder of Nigel Tebbel and for conspiracy to assassinate the President of the United States.”
So saying, Hargreave produced a pair of handcuffs and snapped them upon Veil’s wrists.
“For the moment,” suggested Holmes, “hold him on the accomplice-tomurder charge, but give out no news of this arrest until we have apprehended Rickards and Charles. Even then it may not be wise to press a charge of a conspiracy against the President. Take him away, Hargreave! Roosevelt and I will be at my lodgings awaiting your return.”
“What now, Holmes?” I asked as Hargreave conducted Veil from the room.
“Now we must bide our time until the appointed hour when Veil was to meet his two companions. We, of course, shall take his place at that meeting and, so, put an end to this business once and for all.”
“I was amazed at your deportment while Veil told his infamous tale,” I remarked as we left the hotel.
“How should I have conducted myself, Roosevelt?” he asked, signaling the doorman to fetch us a hackney.
“Anger! Surprise!”
“Anger? Yes, I felt a twinge of that. Assassination is an especially abhorrent crime. But surprise? Not a bit of it. I found nothing surprising in Veil’s dissertation. Besides, to be surprised is to evidence a flawed character for a man who is engaged in my business. It is a flaw that could be fatal. Now, we have a cab and a few hours to while away, so may I suggest luncheon at my rooms? My landlady has taken a fancy to me and worries that I don’t eat properly and so has broken her own rule against her boarders taking meals in the rooms. Then, at six, we’ll rendezvous with Rickards and Charles and arrest them. As I promised you, I will have ample time to present myself at the Union Square Theatre for tonight’s performance of Twelfth Night.”
The meal served by the landlady, a charming Italian woman who clearly cared more for Holmes than he detected, was superb, and it was followed by the most amazing demonstration of musical ability which I have ever witnessed in an amateur, as Holmes rendered what I must honestly call a virtuoso performance on a violin which he produced from a corner of his rooms.
This delightful afternoon ended on an alarming note, however, with the arrival of Hargreave.
“Veil is dead!” he announced, breathlessly.
“Dead? How?” exclaimed Holmes, bolting from his chair.
“By his own hand, Hanged himself in his cell at Mulberry Street!”
“Damn him,” cried Holmes. “What a fool! Suicide! No man has the right to take his own life! Did he leave a note?”
“No.”
“Just as well.”
“Where does this leave us?” I asked.
“Our situation is unchanged. Two of these conspirators are dead – Tebbel and Veil. We will arrest the others – Rickards and Charles. That will close this problem.”
___
Author's notes on this chapter
Fourteen
Wilson Hargreave waited inconspicuously in the vestibule of a house across Broadway from the Gilsey Hotel as Holmes and I arrived by carriage. Stepping down, I glanced at the ornate cast-iron facade of the eight-storey hotel, one of the most notable architectural achievements in New York. The Silver Dollar Bar encompassed much of the ground floor, but the hour was early and there was
little traffic into and out of the popular gathering spot. Will greeted us somberly as we entered the vestibule to join him in waiting for the arrival of our quarry.
I had become even more admiring of Will Hargreave in the short span of our mutual adventure, my admiration grounded primarily in his willingness to observe and learn from the extraordinary techniques of our young English detective, but by no means had Will neglected his own duties, as he made evident upon our arrival. “The very best men from the Broadway Squad are inside the Silver Dollar,” he announced proudly with a nod toward the establishment. “And I’ve placed a man at each corner. All have been given the descriptions of Charles and Rickards which you obtained from Griggs. If the fellow was accurate in his observations, we’llhave no trouble spotting that unlikely pair of scoundrels.”
“Your men are armed?” asked Holmes.
“They are,” said Hargreave with an emphatic nod. “And you?”
“I have my revolver and Roosevelt has his,” said Holmes.
“Well,” chuckled Will, “if Teddy’s armed, we have nothing to fear. He’s a crack shot.”
“However, I have never shot at a man,” I pointed out.
“Now,” sighed Holmes, slouching against a wall and peering through the window at the hotel, “we must pay the price of being detectives. We must wait.”
“Mr Hayes is on his way back to the capital,” said Hargreave, breaking a silence that had settled upon us during our waiting. “He goes home to the White House in your debt, sir.”
“That I have been of service is enough,” shrugged Holmes.
“Had it not been for you, Holmes,” I chimed in, “a great tragedy would have occurred, surely. You should not lightly dismiss your work in this case. I will never forget how you saw that a seemingly ordinary street murder masked a conspiracy with assassination as its goal.”
The Stalwart Companions Page 10