The Case of the Lavender Gripsack

by Harry Stephen Keeler

  “You may as well state the trouble—since we so definitely cleared him.”

  “We? Yo’ mean yo’ cleahed him, Miss Co’by. By showin’ me dat his ’ployer, who ’uz makin’ stealin’ cha’ges ’gin de boy, ’uz plain’y se-nile. Meanin’ age-witted. An’ de po-lice dey foun’ de stolened stuff an’ moneh inside de ol’ man’s coal-stobe.”

  “Thank you. I didn’t want this court to consider you as related to, and connected with, criminals.” Elsa paused. “Miss Cohenst—but I think I’ll call you just Rebecca?”

  “Yes, do dat, Miss Co’by.”

  “When did you recently contact me?”

  “Contack yo’? Oh yes. Well, Ah wuz comin’ in de City Hall today ’bout—oh, ’twuz well pas’ ha’pas’ fo’ o’clock—mehbe was qua’tah ob five—mehbe eben mo’—Ah don’ ’zackly know de ’zack time—but an’way, I was comin’ in fo’ to go downstaihs an’ git mah scrubbin’ clo’se on fo’ de night’s wuk f’m five to midnight. An’ Ah meets yo’ comin’ up whah dat staihway whut leads to de subbasement whah de Districk ’To’ney’s privick lock-up is. An’ nebbah hab Ah see’ sich a puhplex’ look as wuz on yo’ face. O’ sich a wo’ied look, eider. An’ aftah Ah say, ‘Howdy, Miss Co’by,’ Ah adds, ‘Dat look on yu’ face wo’iees me, Honeh—is dey an’ting Ah kin do?’ Fo’ Ah wuz awful grateful ‘bout whut yo’ do fo’ me, back dah—an’ not habin’ ebhah paid you an’ting, yet, Ah wanted—”

  “Yes. And exactly what did I say, Rebecca?”

  “Yo’ shake yo’ lit red haid an’ say, wid a half laugh, ‘No, Rebecca. De on’y t’ing an’body in de whol’ wul’ could do fo’ me raght now, dis min, would be to bring me a toof outen de skoll ob dat Chinese boy whut wuz recovahed today on de pussen ob dat man whut wus ’rested—if’n yo’ know who I mean?’”

  “And did you know?” put in Judge Penworth sternly. “Or did Counsel for the Defense proceed to enlighten you fur­ther?”

  Miss Cohenstein turned her gaze on the Judge. “Hap­pen’ Ah knowed mo’ o’ less ‘bout de ’faih, Yo’ Honah—’count ob someboddah leabin’ a ea’ly Despatch on de seat ob de st’eetcah on w’ich Ah come down to wuk. An’ w’ich Ah skimmed obah—to pass de time.” She dropped the Judge without further ado, and turned to Elsa. “An’ den Ah say to yo’, ‘Gawd-a’mighty, Miss Co’by, but whut on yarth yo’ want wid dat? A toof outen dat skoll?’ An’ yo’ say, ‘If’n Ah had it, Rebecca, Ah could fin’ out—in ’bout thutty min’s o’ so—an’ hund’ed p’cent sartin, too—what Ah is on’y ninety-eight p’cent sartin now: weddah one ob mah cleents is a robbah an’ mu’dahah an’ God knows what else. An’ mah knowin’ dat fo’ sartin is, tonight, Rebecca, de mos’ ’po’tent thing in mah whole life.’ An’ den Ah say, ‘Well—if dat’s all yo’ wan’ in de whole wu’ld, Miss Co’by, Ah’ll go upstaihs mahself to de Districk’s ’To’ney’s office, and git it fo’ yo’!’

  “‘Don’ yo’ fool yo’se’f, Rebecca,’ yo’ den say. ‘Mist’ Lou Vann he ain’ handin’ out no toofs f’um dat skoll to nobody—let alone colahed scrubbin’-ladies.’

  “‘Dat may be true, Miss Co’by,’ Ah say, wid great dignity, ‘but whut wuz in mah min’ wuz dat Ah could weep it outen him, yo’ know.’

  “‘Dat’s on’y whut yo’ t’ink, Rebecca,’ yo’ smiles. ‘Fo’git it!’ An’ off yo’ goes—scratching yo’ red haid puhplex’ily.”

  “And what did you do then, Rebecca?” Elsa looked a bit shamefaced, though she knew she had no call to be.

  Vann’s face, on the other hand, was sardonically grim.

  “Well,” Miss Cohenstein replied, “Ah says to mahse’f, ‘Trubble is, dat gal ain’ ebbah seed me weep. Ain’ got no faith in mah weepin’. An’ now Ah gonna show huh dat she has meet up wid a great artis.’ An’ so Ah teks de nex’ eleva­tah—an’ up Ah goes to de flo’ whah Mist’ Vann’s offices is. An’ to de privick entrace ob de offices. Bunch ob men look­in’ lak newspapah repo’tahs is all flowin’ out ob de doh—buckling in dey breas’ pockets copies oh some papahs—an’ Mist’ Vann hese’f is in de do’way, bowin’ ’em out. So raght away Ah puts on mah face de special look whut Ah allus puts on w’en Ah fus’ gazes on a co’pse fo’ who Ah is been paid to weep. De ‘ghas’ly look,’ some calls it.

  “‘Fo’ Gawd, ‘ooman!’ Mist’ Vann say. ‘What on yarth is de mattah?’

  “‘Fo’ Gawd’s sake, Mist’ Vann,’ Ah say, ‘kin Ah see you—’lone—a minute—’bout—’bout Mist’ Wah Lee’s skoll?”

  “‘Come inside,’ he say, puzzled lak, th’owin’ open de do.’

  “De ’ooman wid de skinny ne’k whut gen’ally gu’ads Mist’ Vann f’um de public ain’ dah. Ain’ noboddah dah. Ah fol­lows him back into de office back ob de antiroom.

  W’ich mo’ dan once Ah has scrubbed.

  “He close de do’ on us. An’ w’en he tu’ns back, Ah is cryin’ big teahs whut is fallin’ off mah chin.

  “‘Fo’ Gawd’s sake, ’ooman,’ he say, ‘whut de hell is yo’ cryin’ ’bout? Yo’s de ’ooman—if’n Ah ain’ mistaken—whut used to do de offices on dis flo’ ’bout six months ago. But whut yo’ is heah fo’ now—an’ what yo’ cryin’ fo’?’ An’ Ah says, ‘Mist’ Vann, in de name ob de good kin’ Gawd will yo’ gib me des one toof outen dat skoll ob dat Chinese boy whut yo’ men hab picked up today?’ An’ he say, ‘In Gawd’s name, ’ooman, why—an’ what fo’?’ An Ah say, ‘Mist’ Vann, mah husbum is dyin’—an’ us niggahs say dat if’n de toof ob a mah’dahed Chinamans is put undah de pillow ob a dyin’ man fo’ a lil w’le, he’ll get well.’ An’ he say, ‘W’y, ’ooman—dat’s ridicklos.’ An Ah say, weepin’ mo’, ‘No it ain’—Ah’ve seed it happen th’ee times now.’ An’ he say, ‘’Ooman, Ah’s sohhy fo’ yo’—but dat skoll is ev’dence.’ An’ den Ah tuhns on de vastest flow ob teahs ebbah Ah has tu’n on anywhah. An’ he git up an’ walk up an’ down de flo. ‘Mah Gawd, ’ooman,’ he say, ‘Ah hates to see you cryin’ lak dat—but if’n Ah handed out pieces ob de co’pse delicious to ebbery Tom Dick an’ Ha’y fo’ goodluck pieces, Ah wouldn’ had no co’pse deli­cious lef’ fo’ to go to trial on—leas’ways, not ’nough for de witnesses to dentify. Ah has to mek a rule, an’ stick to it, fo’—’ But den he stop sho’t—an’ scratch his chin. ‘Hm?’ he say. ‘Witnesses ’dentify, huh?’ An’ he look at me. ‘Hm!’ he say again. ‘Now mebbe dat ain’ no bad idea at all, ’ooman, whut you has des put in mah haid. Dat Ah sew a false p’int ob ’dentification in dat co’pse delicious what Ah is now got, in case de renmants—whoebbah dey mought be—ob dat ol’ Parson Gang tries to pull a swif’ one tonight. Genin’ vital ev’dence into de recohd ob dis case, w’ich, weddah o’ not it’d he’p dis fool red-haided cracksman, mought su’ve to cleah McGurk—in de latah trial. ‘Cose—” an’ Mist’ Vann still thinkin’ aloud! ‘—de gal huhse’f she ain’ got brains o’ ’sperience ’nough to pull an’ting crooked t’night—but dat don’t mean dat de un’nawuhld won’ reach huh dis aftahnoon, an’ put it all obah huh. Claimin’ dey can probe dat de skoll dot waz foun’ und’neaf de brew’ry flo’ wuz still somebody else’s dan Wah Lee’s. W’ich—to probe—dey’d fus’ put on a ex-gangstah puhjuher who’d claim he saw it bu’ied dah. An’ dat it was some gangstah’s haid. W’ich, to back up, dey’d put on some lyin gang dentist who would swah he made de ’dentical ’stractions in whoebbah’s haid dey claimed it wuz, as what’s in de mouf ob de skoll as is in de cohtroom. All ob w’ich wouldn’t sabe dat red-haided suckhah none—as they’d ’suade dat lil fool gal dat it would—but it’d play billahhell wid mph latah trial ob McGurk. An’ to prevent w’ich Ah’ll des play safe an’ lay de lil trap w’ich you’, ’ooman, has sug­gest’ to me. In shoht,’ Mist’ Vann p’int out, ‘—an’ stop yo’ fool weepin’—Ah’m gonna draw one toof f’m Wah Lee’s skoll—in front ob yo’ eyes—lettin’ yo’ see me do it—an’ loan it tonight to yo’—an’ aut’matic lak yo’ becomes a State’s witness—on
’y a resuvhve witness—an’ Ah’ll wan’ yo’ to be in coht tonight—at a certain house on Prairie Ab’noo. Ready, any min’ Ah calls yo’ to de stan’, to swah dat late today yo’ saw me—Mist’ Vann—tek sich an sich a toof f’m de skoll—an’ dat yo’ has dat toof.’

  “‘Oh, Ah’ll do an’ting yo’ asks, Mist’ Vann,’ Ah says, ’des so Ah kin lay dat toof und’neaf mah sick husbum’s haid fo’ a few houahs.’

  Miss Cohenstein paused, perhaps for dramatic effect.

  “And what then ensued, Rebecca?” Elsa urged her.

  “W’y—den Mist’ Vann open de side compahtment ob his desk, and tek out a skoll. Dat skoll yondah! An’ fish in a drawah, an’ tek out a steel punch whut kin punch holes thu’ lots ob papahs. Whut dey name is Ah dun’ know—but Ah does know yo’ kin use dem as reg’lah pliahs, dey has sich a pow’ful grip. ‘Now dis heah skoll,’ Mist’ Vann say, ‘—an’ git mah wuhds in yo’ haid—is de skoll dat wuz foun’ today on de red-haided man pick’ up outside Ol’ Pos’office.’ Den he peel off de w’ite tape f’m one cheekbone on’y, so dat de undah-jaw swing hese’f loose. An’ wid de steel tool he catch hol’ ob one side toof—it de one next to dis un—” And Miss Cohenstein pointed, with one black forefinger, at her own white incisor. “—an’ he rock it dis way an’ dat way—’zackly lak mah employah, Dr. Sun, in Chinatown, do when he pullin’ a toof—and sence dis skoll caint say ‘Ow’,’ out comes de toof fin’lly—wid a showah ob toof dus’. W’ich Mist’ Vann shake off, and hol’ de pliahs obah mah out­stretch’ palm. ‘Dah you is,’ he say. An’ drap it in. While Ah note it ca’ful, de w’ile he’s sticking back de stickum tape to de cheekbone ob de skoll, an’ mekkin’ dat lowah jaw all fas’ and tight ag’in. Ah note it ca’ful, as Ah say. Fo’ it’s a funny toof. Its laigs bein’ twis’ed ’roun’ each oddah lak a danzer whut been drinkin’ too much gin.” Several spectators laughed out loud. “An’ aftah which ca’ful noticement,” Miss Cohen­stein continued meticulously, “Ah put de toof in may brown silk pu’s. De w’ile Mist Vann commenced speakin’ to me. ‘Now membah,’ he say, ‘eight ’clock tonight—dis address’—an’ he gib me not on’y dis Prairie Ab’noo address, but de phone numbah of his place, too—’an’ yo’ sit back dah in de cohtroom—sayin’ nuffin to nobody less’n yo’ called. Mebbe yo’ git called—an’ mebbe you don’—but you’ll git th’ee dollahs des de same, called o’ not. An’ write yo’ full name an’ address on dis heah papah.’

  “Well,” Miss Cohenstein continued gayly, “once Ah out oh dah, sence Ah gonna git th’ee dollahs t’night, Ah ring de boss lady on de co’idor phone and say dat Ah is gonna be witness t’night—fo’ Mist’ Vann—an’ cain’t wuhk. An’ Ah goes downstaihs an’ out on to Clahk St’eet, to go obah to yo’ of­fice, Miss Co’by, an’ tell you how Ah git de toof. An’ who is pullin’ off f’m de cuhb in de big famous puhple cah ob Adam Loosaw, de big niggah pol’tician, but mah fr’en Jim Galway—who dribes fo’ Adam Loosaw. ‘Is yo’ goin’ souf, Rebecca?’ he ask me. ‘Kase if’n yo’ is, git in—an’ Ah’ll drap yo’ whahebbah you wan’t to go. Fo’ Ah’s fotchin’ a witness fo’ de boss, in a mastah in chanc’ry heahin’ goin’ on up­staihs, an’ Ah gonna buhn de st’eets up widout no policeman intahfe’hin’. Not dis cah!’

  “An so Ah t’ink den and dah is a good chance fo’ me to jump back souf, to Doctah Sun’s office, an’ ask kin’ he please a’vance me some money so’s Ah kin git some shoes an’ a wais’ and so fo’th to appeah in co’te t’night. So Ah jump in wid Jim. An’—whooie!—Ah swah!—Jim jump’ me to Doc­tah Sun’s place in th’ee min’s. No officer say nuffin’ w’en dat big puhple cah ob Adam Loosaw’s jump dem lights. No—sah!”

  “And then,” Elsa urged her witness on.

  “Well, de doctah he ain’ in. As Ah fin’s by tryin’ de do’ whut leads to de office paht ob his quatahs—an’ den ringin’ de bell whut leads to de ’pahtment paht. So Ah uses mah key to dat do’ dat he allus trusts me wid, me bein’ a honest ’ooman. Inside, his ebenin’ clo’s’ dey is laid out on his bed lak he gonna pop back mos’ an’time an’ dress.

  So Ah ’cides dat, w’ile waitin’, Ah ought to call up Miss Co’by and tell huh dat Ah got dot toof a’right. But sence de innah do’ leadin’ to de doctah’s office is lock, Ah knows Ah’ll hatter go outside to do it—go up to de Chinese drug sto’ on de co’ner. An’ so Ah lets mahse’f out, closes de do’, an’ den—”

  “And then?” Elsa helped her.

  “Whooie! Ah members dot Ah laid down mah brown silk pu’s wid de toof in it w’en Ah come in—an’ wid de do’ key on top ob it, too—and now dey ain’t gonna be no gettin’ back in till de doctah himself get back.

  “An’way, Ah goes down to dat Chinese drugsto’, an’ Ah rings yo’, Miss Co’by, an’ tells yo’ how Ah got de toof a’right—an’ whut Mist’ Vann said—an’ how Ah’s to be a witness in co’te tonight—if, as an’ maybe! An’ tells yo’ also how Ah has jes’ lef’ de p’ecious toof inside Doctah Sun’s of­fice in Chinatown. An’ den yo’ tol’ me dat Ah should skip obah to whah Ah lib, an’ hang on mah phone—ready to skip back to de doctah’s office de instant min’ yo’ cotches him on de phone, as he steps back f’m whahebbah he is, an’ fotch dot toof lickety split downtown.”

  “Yes. And now, Rebecca, tell the Court what you did after I called you back again—much later—no, not the second call at your home, where I told you I was having difficulty in raising Dr. Sun—but on the third call, where I told you I’d found out at last, by calling the Chinese grocery store carrying the same street address as Dr. Sun, that he had gone down to Springield, Illinois; and that through an unexpected friend—no less than a Chinese young man in that same grocery store—who was to go deliver Dr. Sun a package of specially made Chinese confectionery tonight, around 6:30 or so, on the outskirts of the city, I was going to have the doctor brought back in time enough to open up for you. In fact, tell the Court what else I ordered you now to do—in view of the fact that circumstances had all shaped up differently than they had a little earlier that afternoon, and since—as perhaps you’ll remember I said—Fate itself had seemingly tangled up that tooth I wanted, with no less than a Chinese dentist!”

  “Yes’m, Miss Co’by. Well, fin’in’ dat de doctah can be fotched hack to dat office to at leas’ open up fo’ me—’bout seben o’clock, mo’ o’ less—or one houah befo’ Ah is to repoht in coht heah, no mo’n a half mile o’ so to de eas’—Ah cleans dis heah waist an’ dese shoes, fixes some food fo’ mah gal an’ mah boy, and puts mahse’f plum on de do’ step ob Doctah Sun’s place—so’s not to lose na’y secon’ ob mah p’ecious time. On’y once do I leab’ de spot, an’ dat wuz to git acrost de st’eet fo’ dis a min’, an’ ring yo’—lak yo’ say Ah mus’ do—and tell you Ah’s in position, an’ waitin’. At w’ich time, Miss Co’by, yo’ wahns me ’bout dat if’n Ah succeed in doin’ ebaht’ing dis ebenin’ de ’zact way yo’ is hopin’ dat Ah can do it, Ah mus’n’ ’proach yo’ in coht to tell yo’ so, but in sich case sh’ld phone in, de las’ min’ before coht, to des yeah numbas whut Mist’ Vann had giv me, an’ f’m dis aroun’ de co’neh only, and ask fo’ de co’t-cluhk, an’ say dat Ah is delayed till de las’ min’ kaze a green taxicab whut Ah ridin’ in bumped into a black taxicab—an’ all ob w’ich, yo’ bein’ in coht, will heah—and know ebaht’ing came out hunka-dory.”

  “But please continue, Rebecca,” Elsa now urged her witness troubledly.

  “Yas’m! Well, aftah callin’ yo’, Ah git back ag’in to mah watch in de road. An’ w’le Ah waiting, up comes de doctah in de groc’y sto’ Fo’d cah, dribben by dat Cholly Ling whut’s daddy owns de groc’ry sto’. He look surprise’—but Ah ’splains dat you’ll ’splain ebryt’ing w’en he rings yo’; an’ Ah piles in de apahtment wid him, an’ grabs up mah brown silk pu’s f’m whah Ah lef’ it, wid de key on top ob it, an’ eben w’ile he callin’ you on de ‘phone, Miss Co’by—fo’ Ah heahs him in de office paht now
talkin’ wid yo’—Ah withdraws mahse’f an’ goes straight eas’ a few blocks—to de big new buildin’, on Souf State an’ Chumak Road, call de—de—de ‘Sociated—de ‘Sociated Lab—Lab—’”

  “Associated Laboratories Building,” put in Penworth, as though to hurry things along for the records.

  “Yessuh. Well, Ah tek de toof, whut’s dah in mah pu’s, to a place in dat big buildin’ call’ ‘De National Fizz—Fizz—’”

  “National Physical Laboratory, was it not, Rebecca?” put in Elsa helpfully.

  “Yes’m. Dat’s much hahder dan is to ’member dat it wuz at Do’ Numbah 222. Well, Ah teks de toof to a Mistah Mankins. Who it seem you hab a’ready talk to on de ’phone. An’ who is waitin’ dah fo’ me. Puttin’ in he time fillin’ out a bill fo’ ten dollah whut he gonna mail yo’. An’ bakin’ some t’ings in a oven. An’ he tells me whut you done tol’ me: dat Ah is to stan’ an’ watch eb’ryt’ing whut he do.”

  “And what did he do?”

  “Well, Miss Co’by, he tek de toof whut Ah gib him, an’ holdin’ it in a paih of fo’ceps, he swish’ it ’roun’ an’ ’roun’ in alcohol. Smell lak alcohol, anyway. Den he tek out ob dat oven, whut runnin’ on’y by ’lectricity, a shiny lil machine wid all kin’s geah w’eels—well, it look to me lak a hamburgher grindah. An’ he tek out also a lil glass slide. An’ a lil hollow glass tube whut is close’ tight on one end, but is shape’ lak a funnel on de odah end. An’ he tell me he wuz stehilizin’ all dem t’ings. Well, de han’le ob dat hambu’ger grindah was hot—an’ time was shoht—an’ so he put a t’ick globe on his han’ so’s he can tu’n de han’le. W’ich he do, obah an’ obah—an’ nuffin’ come out. Den he drap in de toof. In de hoppah ob it. An’ now de geahs mek a te’bble noise. Mussy—whut noise! Rattley-crack—rattleycrack. An’ lookin’ down in I eben see dem knives eatin’ dat toof up raght befo’ mah eyes—an’ Ah see it comin’ out on dat glass slide all groun’ up in one powdah lak—lak powdahed sugah. Well, w’en it all pu’verized, he tilt de powdah off into de funnel end ob dat tube an’—”