Nick: “And I think you ought to have your laboratory look at that hair and the cheaters,” indicating the broken glasses.
Abrams: “Okay.” He looks curiously at Nick.
Nick: “And the sooner the better.”
Abrams, again: “Okay.” He addresses one of the men standing and listening to them. “Do it.” He hands him the hair. Then turning back to Nick, says: “Anything particular on your mind?”
Nick: “Ought to be on yours, with three murders tied together in just about twenty-four hours. Now that we’ve been told he’s her husband and he’s dead, don’t you think we ought to see Polly as soon as possible?”
Abrams says: “There’s something in that,” and tells one of his men, “Don’t let these lugs dog it while I’m gone.” He and Nick go downstairs. In the office he uses the telephone. When he’s through, he grumbles: “They haven’t picked her up yet.” He scratches his chin, then says: “I’ve got a man waiting up in her apartment. Want to take a run up there? I told you there’s something funny about the place that I’d like you to see.”
Nick: “All right. Don’t you think now we’ve got something more to talk about to Dancer?”
Abrams says in a hurt tone: “I think of things sometimes. I told them to pick up him and the Chinaman both.”
They go downstairs to the street.
At Aunt Katherine’s, all the Forrests except Selma are assembled. They are very excited and keep moving around so that Asta, who obviously doesn’t like any of them, has a great deal of difficulty keeping out of their way. Nora and Dr. Kammer are also there.
The General is standing, glaring down at Nora, and asking indignantly: “Do you mean to say that this—ah—husband of yours actually advised David to tell the police about Selma and the pistol?”
Nora says defiantly: “Yes.”
The General starts to walk up and down the floor, sending Asta into hiding again, and rumpling his whiskers and growling: “Why, the fellow’s a scoundrel—an out and out scoundrel.”
Nora: “Nick’s not—he knows what he’s doing.”
The General snorts and says angrily: “Nonsense—nobody knows what they’re doing. The whole country is full of incompetents and scoundrels nowadays.”
Aunt Hattie nudges Aunt Lucy and asks: “What is Thomas saying now—he mutters so.”
Aunt Lucy, who has been sniffling into her handkerchief, sobs: “Poor Selma. This is a terrible thing to happen to me—only a week after my eighty-third birthday.”
Nora jumps up and says: “Nick’s not incompetent and he’s not a scoundrel. You’re all acting as if you thought Selma really killed Robert.”
Aunt Katherine and Dr. Kammer exchange significant glances. The General clears his throat and says: “It’s not a case of anybody killing anybody—it’s a case of his being so devilish inconsiderate of the family. Has the fellow no feelings?”
William, who is considered not too bright by the family, runs his finger inside his too-tight collar and asks: “Does anyone know if the police have considered the theory that Robert might have committed suicide?”
Aunt Katherine snaps at him: “That will do, William,” while the rest of them glare at him.
Burton, his tic working overtime, asks: “Well, where is this Nicholas? Why isn’t he here to explain himself?”
Nora: “Because he’s out trying to clear Selma while you all sit around here and criticize him.”
The General says: “I’d never have asked him if I’d known what the fellow’d been up to.”
Nora rises with great dignity and calls Asta. She faces the family and says: “I’m sure he doesn’t care what any of you think. He’s not doing it for you—he’s doing it for Selma. Goodbye.”
What would otherwise have been a dignified exit is spoiled by her bumping into the antique butler as she goes through the door. After the butler has gotten his breath, he says: “Mr. Graham on the phone for you, Mrs. Charles.”
She goes to the phone and says: “Hello, David.”
David, at the other end of wire, asks excitedly: “Where is Nick? I tried your house and the detective bureau but he wasn’t there. Lieutenant Abrams wasn’t in either.”
Nora: “They’re probably out together. Oh, Lieutenant Abrams said something about wanting Nick to go over to that apartment house with him. Maybe they’re there. What is it, David?”
David: “Something’s happened—I’ve got to see Nick. What apartment house?”
Nora: “I’m leaving here now. I’ll meet you and take you there. Where are you?”
David: “I’m in a drugstore at Mason and Bush Streets.”
Nora: “Wait for me—I’ll be right over.”
They hang up and she, after making a face at the direction of the room where she left the family, goes out and gets into her car.
Abrams and Nick arrive at the building where Polly has an apartment. It is a large, shabby building, set at the foot of Telegraph Hill. Across the street from it the hill rises steep and unpaved, with winding, wooden steps leading up between scattered frame houses. The end of the street, even with the house’s left-hand wall, is closed by a high board fence. From the fence, as from the house wall, the ground falls perpendicularly fifty or sixty feet to a rock-strewn vacant lot covering several blocks. In the street and on the hill above, goats are roaming. As they approach the door a goat runs out and dodges past them and goes to join the others. The front door is open. Abrams and Nick go in. Abrams knocks on a door on the left side of the corridor. The door is opened by a plainclothesman, who says: “Nary hide or hair of her yet.”
A policeman in uniform and another in plain clothes are bent over a table doing a crossword puzzle together. They rise hastily as Abrams comes in but he pays no attention to them.
Abrams, as they go in: “This is Polly’s apartment. There’s nothing much here except you’ll notice the rug’s new.”
Nick looks at the rug and says: “Oh, I saw a new one once in a store window.”
Abrams, patiently: “All right, but wait—maybe it don’t mean anything, maybe it does.”
Nick asks: “What do you think it means?”
Abrams sighs and says: “If I knew, do you think I’d be wasting your time dragging you up here? We’ll go back here, now.” He leads the way out of Polly’s apartment down the hall to an apartment on the same floor in the rear, unlocking it with a key from his pocket, saying as he opens the door: “This is the fellow’s that was killed—that Pedro Dominges.”
Nick says quickly: “Another new rug—I said it first.”
Abrams, pointing to the other end of the living room where there is a rug rolled up and lying against the wall: “There’s another one.”
Nick asks: “What is this rug racket? Are we hunting for an Armenian?”
Abrams: “Maybe you’re right in kidding me—maybe none of this means anything, but just the same, he brought twelve rugs only a couple of days ago and that’s just how many apartments he’s got in the place.” He walks over to the table and says: “Here’s the bill. And the one apartment that didn’t get a rug was rented only last week to somebody named Anderson. No front name—no Mr. or Miss or Mrs. according to his books here. I want to show you that next.”
Nick asks: “What have you found out about him?”
Abrams: “Nothing. This guy Dominges ran this place by himself. We haven’t found anybody who ever saw this Anderson.”
There is a terrific uproar from the corridor. They go to the door to see Asta, a goat, and Nora (at the other end of Asta’s leash) all tangled up together, while David is trying to untangle them. When the goat has finally been chased out, they all return to Pedro’s apartment.
As Nick helps Nora brush off her clothes, she says: “Why, that drunken man was right—there are goats in the hall.”
Nick: “You can always trust my friends, drunk or sober. Is that what you came down here to find out?”
Nora: “No. David has something to show you.”
David takes
from his pocket a sheet of paper, on which in the same crude printing as on Nick’s note is:
IF YOU WANT TO SAFE THAT DISSY
DAME OF YOURN YOU BETER MAKE
DANCER TELL HOW HE FOWND OUT
LAST NIGHT PHIL BYRNES WAS
POLLY’S HUSBIND
A FRIEND
After they read it, Abrams asks: “How’d it come to you?”
David: “It was under my door when I woke up today.”
Nick: “The same half-smart attempt at illiteracy as the one I got.”
Abrams: “Yeah—but that don’t have to mean that what it says is wrong. Running out yours got us something, so why don’t we run out this?”
Nick: “We’ll have to wait until you pick up your people. Now how about this Anderson?”
Abrams: “To tell you the truth, Mr. Charles, I don’t believe there ever was any Anderson, but you can—”
Nick: “Tut-tut—don’t be so skeptical; you read his fairy tales when you were a child.”
Abrams, patiently: “Okay, kid me—but what I mean is—I don’t believe this Anderson ever was and I’ll show you why when we get upstairs. As a matter of fact I don’t believe anybody took that apartment.”
Nora: “I took that.”
They look at her in surprise. She has gotten up from the chair and has gone over to an enlarged snapshot hanging on the wall.
Abrams: “You did what, Mrs. Charles?”
Nora: “I took that picture. They’re the servants we had at Ross.” She points them out: “There’s Pedro, Elle, Ann, etc.”
Pedro looks much as he did before except that he is six years younger, and his mustache, while not small, is not definitely long nor is it as white as it was when we saw him.
They all get up to look.
Nick asks: “You’re sure that place you had wasn’t on Coney Island?” He turns to Abrams and says: “I apologize for the domestic comedy. Let’s go up and look at the apartment that you say wasn’t rented by a fellow whose name wasn’t Anderson.”
Abrams leads the way up to the next floor, unlocks the door, leading them into the apartment over Polly’s, saying to Nick: “See the rug—” The rug is stained and very worn.
Nick: “I get it—it’s not a new rug.”
Abrams: “Yeah, that’s one of the things I meant. I’ve got something else to show you—” He points to a corner of the room where there is a pile of old and battered iron pipe. “But the chief things that we found was that Pedro had the lock changed on the door only yesterday and all the fingerprints we found in here are his.”
Nick walks to a window, raises it, and looks down the side of the cliff. He says: “A nice drop from here. Would I be guessing wrong if I said that this apartment was right over Polly’s?”
Abrams: “No, I guess not.”
Nick asks: “Well?”
Abrams: “I don’t know, Mr. Charles, for a fact, but not putting a new rug in and only his fingerprints here makes it look to me like he was kind of using the place and not figuring on renting it.”
Nick asks: “And you think he changed the lock so he couldn’t get in again to keep tenants out?”
Abrams, patiently, as usual, says: “I told you there was something funny here. I told you I didn’t know what it was all about.”
Nick: “Pedro was killed first. What are you picking on him for?”
Abrams: “Do I know from nothing? If you can think of anything, play your string out.”
Nick: “No hard feelings. Don’t take me too seriously. Suppose you were going to put a rug down, what would you do first?”
Abrams: “I don’t know—I guess I’d get somebody to lug it upstairs.”
Nick: “Swell. And then what?”
Abrams: “Then you start at one end of the room and roll it across the floor.”
Nick asks: “On top of this one?”
Abrams scratches his head and says: “No, I guess not.”
Nick: “All right—let’s take this one up first, then.”
Abrams: “Okay. You take that corner and I’ll take this one.”
Nick: “Who, me? Haven’t you got hired men downstairs?”
Abrams. “Sure.” He goes outside the door and yells: “Hey, Francis —you and that other cutie who was trying to find a three-letter word for ape, come up here.”
Nora in a hoarse whisper asks: “What is it, Nick?”
Nick: “Do I know?” Men are dying all around and you ask me riddles.”
There is a clumping on the stairs and the plainclothesman and the uniformed policeman who were working on the crossword puzzle come in.
Abrams says to them: “You boys roll this three-letter word meaning rug down to the other end of a four-letter word meaning room.”
They say “sure” very eagerly, push furniture out of the way, and start to roll the rug up. They roll it halfway when Nick says:
“Maybe that’ll do for the time.” He walks over to a spot they have uncovered where six floor boards have been cut across in two places to make about a square foot. “Let’s look at this.”
Abrams, followed by his two men, goes to the spot Nick has indicated. Abrams opens a pocketknife, puts the blade in, and the sawed boards come up in a section, leaving a foot-square hole. He looks down, then puts his hand in and brings up a pair of flat ear pieces on a steel band such as telephone operators wear, attached to a wire running down into the hole.
Nick: “I suppose we know what this is. Send one of the boys downstairs to recite the alphabet in Polly’s place.”
Abrams jerks a thumb at the plainclothesman and says: “Go ahead, Francis.”
Francis goes out. Presently, from down below through the ear pieces comes Francis’s voice: “A,B,C,D,E—” A moment of hesitation, then: “A,B,C,D—”
Nick: “Okay for sound. It was for listening in, all right.”
Abrams: “Yeh, that’s that. What do you guess this Pedro was up to?”
[Note: all thru this scene, Asta shows that he is very fond of David, ignoring both Nick and Nora in favor of him.]
Nick: “Well, there’s still this junk to figure—” He turns toward the pile of iron pipe in the corner. Asta is busy chewing it. “Get away from the evidence, Asta.”
Abrams: “He won’t be hurting it much—there was only Pedro’s fingerprints on it. What do you guess it was for? I couldn’t be thinking anybody would pipe gas through it.”
Nick: “Why not? With a layout like this you can pipe gas in several directions at once.” He sits down on the floor and begins to screw sections of the pipe together.
[This is actually a ladder, but he keeps the rungs sticking out in all directions and keeps it from being recognizable until suddenly when he puts the last piece on and turns it around.]
Nick, holding the finished ladder up, says: “Fifty will get you two-fifty that it will just about reach to Polly’s window below, with this piece left over—” he picks up an extra part from the floor “for good measure when he got there.”
He takes the ladder to window, lowers it, and hangs it on the sill. It reaches exactly to the sill of Polly’s apartment below.
Abrams: “What do you guess he wanted to do that for?”
Francis sticks his head in the door and says: “We got Byrnes. Do you want her up? And we got Dancer and Lum Kee, too.”
Abrams looks at Nick and asks: “Will they clutter it up for you? Do you think you got as much out of this place as you want?”
Nick: “The more the merrier. Perhaps not as much as I want, but as much as I think I’m going to get.”
Nick asks Abrams: “What kind of clothes did you find in the place?”
Abrams: “None—not a stitch. Nothing to show anybody ever lived here. That’s why I told you I don’t believe anybody ever did.”
Nick asks: “Where does that fit in? Do you think Pedro was using the place himself—spying on the people downstairs? He’s killed first and, half a day later, Robert Landis, who visits downstairs, is killed and the next day
, the brother or husband or something of the gal he visits is killed. How are you going to blame all that on Pedro?”
Abrams, wearily: “Mr. Charles, how many times have I told you there was something funny here I don’t understand; and some hanky-pank about the checks I don’t understand? Did I ever pretend I knew what all this led to?”
Nick: “Oh, yes—about the checks. We’ve got to ask these people about them when they come upstairs and maybe they won’t want to say right out. What would be wrong with getting Mrs. Landis over so we’d have her here to chuck at them if they think we’re fooling?”
Abrams: “I don’t know, the D.A.’s kind of—”
Nick: “What—with a police escort?”
Abrams: “Okay—I’ll send for her.”
Nick: “God will reward you.”
Three policemen, one in uniform, bring in Polly, Dancer, and Lum Kee.
Abrams: “Francis, phone the Hall and tell them to bring up Mrs. Landis.”
Francis goes to the phone.
Nick, aside to Abrams: “Maybe they don’t know. Throw it hard enough to bounce.”
Abrams says to Nick: “Okay.” Turns to Polly: “Your husband was killed this afternoon. What do you know about it?”
Polly: “I—what?”
Abrams, to Dancer: “Her husband was killed this afternoon.”
Dancer: “Her what?”
Abrams: “Cut it out! We’re not playing charades.”
They look at him blankly.
Abrams, counting out syllables on his fingers, says: “Pol-ly had a hus-band named Phil e-ven if he was sup-posed to be her bro-ther and he was found dead on Turk Street this af-ter-noon.”
Polly and Dancer turn to face each other at the same moment, exclaiming simultaneously: “You—!!!” and then breaking off as they realize each is saying the same thing.
Abrams: “You—you—you what?”
Neither of them says anything.
Nick says to Abrams: “Simple enough—she started to accuse him of killing Phil because he found out he was her husband and he started to accuse her of double-crossing him by not telling him Phil was her husband.”
Crime Stories Page 114