“As I said in my wire, I’m looking into a number of burglaries that occurred here beginning in September.”
“Which burglaries in particular?”
I read off the details of half a dozen.
“And what makes you think they are related?”
“Well, timing. And they all involved jewels of some value. But there are three where the circumstances seem especially similar, and I thought I’d concentrate on those.”
“And what three would they be?”
“George Easterly, on the 21st of September. Senator William Merrill, on the 19th of October. And General Thomas Sachs on the 2nd of November. All occurred on Saturday evenings. All involved entry through second-story windows. And all made sizable insurance claims.”
“You begin to interest me, Mr. Reese.”
“Have you found some other connection among these?”
“Indeed I have.” Then he sat back, placed his fingertips together, making an arch of his hands, and smiled.
I waited for the rest, but he obviously wanted me to solicit his wisdom. So I did. “What other connection did you find, Sergeant Lacy?”
He stood up and began circling the office. “All three men employed servants that resided in their homes.”
“Surely, there’s nothing unusual in that,” Emmie said.
He was standing directly behind her now. “No, miss, there isn’t. But all three were hired through the agency of one Julius Chappelle.”
“Does he operate an employment service?” I asked.
“He does. Specializing in domestic service.” His tone indicated he thought this a revelation. But if it was, it was a peculiarly opaque one.
“Had these three servants all been hired recently?” I asked.
“Not in the last year.”
“So three men hired three servants through the same employment service sometime in the past. Is that so remarkable?” Emmie asked.
He had his hands on the back of her chair, and leaned down over her. “No more remarkable than a stenographer who doesn’t take shorthand.” He grabbed her notebook from her and carried it back to his desk. Then he sat down and tossed it to me. “There’s nothing resembling shorthand there. Just some scribble, looks like a potato with whiskers.”
I looked over the evidence, and he was correct. Emmie hadn’t made the barest attempt at shorthand. Though she did show some promise as a caricaturist.
“She’s new,” I told him.
“And poorly trained,” he added.
“Hardly trained at all,” I admitted. “She was just released from the reformatory a few weeks ago. They do their best, of course, but….”
“Didn’t seem to have done her much good.”
“Too short a sentence,” I smiled. A sharp jab from Emmie’s boot suggested I’d had fun enough. “But getting back to the burglaries, are you suggesting these servants conspired with this man, Chappelle?”
“Perhaps. You see, I know the Chappelle family. Colored folk. This Julius’s brother is in and out of here on a regular basis. Runs a policy operation. And I happen to know Julius himself is in frequent contact with his placements, even long after they’ve taken positions. Now, why might that be?”
“He’s a conscientious businessman who wants to be sure he maintains his clients’ satisfaction?” I asked.
“Possibly. But unlikely.”
“Is there any other reason to suspect the servants?”
“In the case of General Sachs, there is. His man, a Richard Cole, also colored, was home at the time of the burglary. He was in his room, just above that from which the jewels were taken.”
“Was anyone else in the house at the time?”
“Only the cook. But she was down in her room in the basement. She says she didn’t hear anything.”
“What makes you suspect this Cole?”
“I should have added that the general has a dog, which roams freely about the house.”
“Is the dog a suspect, too?”
“You think it’s a joke, Mr. Reese. But shrewder minds than yours have reasoned out similar cases. The dog was in the house when the burglary occurred, and yet the cook heard nothing. Ipsolo facto.”
“‘Silver Blaze,’” Emmie interjected.
“Excellent, Miss…?”
“Miss McGinnis.”
“I can see the reformatory did you some good. Yes, as Mr. Holmes himself reasoned, when the dog doesn’t bark, we must ask ourselves why.”
“Because the thief was well known to him,” I added, hoping to move things along.
“Precisely.”
“Have you turned up any of the jewels?”
“None from these three cases. We’ve checked the pawnshops and suspected fences. But no sign. They must have been sent on to be sold elsewhere. Further evidence, I believe, that there is an organizing force behind these crimes.”
“But Cole hasn’t admitted to anything?”
“No, not for the moment.”
“Is there a chance I could talk to him?”
“He’s been released. His lawyer should know where he is. Name is William Patterson, colored.”
“William Patterson Colored?” I asked.
“I believe Sergeant Lacy intended to convey that he’s a colored man, by the name of William Patterson,” Emmie clarified.
“It’s a good thing you did bring the young lady along, Mr. Reese. It seems you’d miss quite a lot without her help.”
“Yes,” I agreed. “There’s little doubt about that.”
“As it happens, I’ve made an appointment to visit General Sachs’ household this afternoon. In order to make another search of Richard Cole’s room. If you care to accompany me, I’ll introduce you to the family.”
“Yes, thank you,” I said. Then I turned to Emmie. “Miss McGinnis, perhaps you would like to proceed to the hotel?”
“I wouldn’t think of it,” she reassured me. “There may be more literary allusions that need interpretation.”
After filling his pockets with peanuts, Lacy led us out and we wove our way up to the Patent Office, on F Street. There we caught a Connecticut Avenue car. It soon filled up with homeward-bound shoppers and I made the mistake of giving up my seat to a woman with a small child. I spent the rest of the trip dodging parcels and trying to stay clear of swaying hat pins. I’m not normally one to criticize others’ attire, but wouldn’t any reasonable person conclude that a hat that requires the equivalent of a fencing foil to hold it in place might better be left at home on shopping days? Unfortunately, this was a time when women’s millinery ran toward the complex. Flora and fauna were de rigueur. And I suppose if you want to attach an Oronoco souvenir stand to your head, it’s going to involve some serious hardware. When we left the car, just below Dupont Circle, I noticed that both Emmie and the sergeant were eyeing my face.
“You cut your cheek, Harry. Let me have your handkerchief.”
“How careless of me.”
She wiped my face and handed the bloodied linen back to me.
“Come along, Harry,” Lacy called over his shoulder.
We followed him to 19th Street, where he led us to a newly built—and somewhat imposing—home. He rang the bell and as we waited he took another look at my wound.
“You look like a man who’s lost a duel. Doesn’t he, miss?”
Emmie wisely left his question unanswered, turning away to avoid revealing her expression. Have you ever wondered why Holmes, despite being an able boxer, never popped the derisive police inspector in the jaw? I’m not an able boxer, but I did have a few inches and thirty years on the sergeant.
A moment later a pudgy young woman, a little older than Emmie, maybe twenty-five, answered the door. She introduced herself as Alice Sachs, and though she was minimally pleasant, it seemed obvious she wasn’t all that happy to make our acquaintance. When I say she was pudgy, I don’t mean excessively so. Just well fed. She was of medium height, with chestnut hair, and not noticeably unattractive.
; We went in and she tapped on a door. It opened, she spoke to someone inside and then led us further along to a parlor. Before I went in, I saw a woman wrapped in furs leave the room where we had first stopped. She looked over her shoulder at me—not a friendly look—and then exited the house. There was a fire going in the parlor and an old dog was sound asleep on a hearth rug. The general arrived a moment later. We exchanged greetings and when we’d all sat down, I explained why I was there and asked about the night of the burglary.
The general, a hefty widower of about sixty, told us he had been away from home at a dinner given by his business partner, another retired general named Leutz. He began to wax on about their experiences as young officers with Sherman’s Army. Now, any man my age has been listening to accounts of the war—both real and imagined—for his entire life. I’ve already heard more about the fabled march to the sea than I care to know. Somewhere outside of Chattanooga, I cut him off by asking the nature of his business.
“Sachs & Leutz? We facilitate the acquisition of military equipment.”
“I see.” I didn’t really. I’ve always thought money is a pretty adequate facilitator for the acquisition of just about anything. Having another finger in the pie isn’t likely to quicken the process any. But I gathered that the work was profitable. “Your claim totaled $12,000, but I understand the bulk of it was one particular item.”
“Yes, a brooch of my daughter’s.”
Alice looked up from the book she was reading to add, “A Boucheron brooch.”
“And the jewelry was kept in a safe?” I asked.
“It’s a simple thing, quite easily broken into. I have a replacement on order.”
“May I see it?”
“Alice will show you. You don’t mind, dear?”
“No, not at all,” she said. But not convincingly. “Please come with me.”
She led us upstairs to the library. Except for two windows and the doorway, every inch of wall was covered in shelves. A large table stood on one side of the room and on the other was a desk. She went over to this and opened a drawer and took out a little metal chest. It was just a money box, not even a well-made one, and had been pried open with a jimmy.
“As you can see,” Lacy began, “done by an amateur. A professional would have easily picked the lock.”
“Why not just carry it off under his coat?” I asked.
“Perhaps, because the thief—being a resident of the house—wasn’t wearing a coat.”
“Do you still suspect Richard?” Miss Sachs asked the sergeant.
“Yes I do, miss. Can you think of any other suspects?”
She made a noise which seemed to indicate derision for the question. “I’m certain Richard had nothing to do with it.”
“But how can you be sure when you were away from home?”
“He’s been with us for more than two years. He’s had ample opportunity to steal anything he wished to.”
“Would he have known the value of the brooch?” I asked.
“He knew it was valuable. I have no idea if his curiosity took him further than that.”
“Your father isn’t so sure he’s innocent,” Lacy pointed out. “Why dismiss him otherwise?”
“I didn’t dismiss him.”
“Was anything else taken?” I asked.
“No, just the jewelry.”
“You were away the night of the burglary?”
“Yes, I’d gone to Boston. To visit a friend. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to attend to something.”
“All right, miss. We can show ourselves out. Is the cook downstairs?”
“Yes, she’s in the kitchen. Good-bye, gentlemen, and miss.” She left us and closed the door.
“What an unpleasant girl,” Lacy said.
“Were the windows locked?” Emmie asked.
“No, they thought it unnecessary, and I’m in agreement. If you look, you’ll see there’s nothing really to climb up on. And a ladder would be rather obvious, with a street light so close by.”
Emmie looked over one window and then the other. She was leaning out the second, to inspect the sill from outside, when she called out to us. “Look, the wood has been chipped here. As if someone pried it up from outside.”
I followed her over and sure enough, the wood was chipped as she said.
“I had noticed that, of course,” the sergeant informed us. “But the exposed wood was damp and the rain had ended two hours before the crime had occurred. Ergo….”
“Ergo, it had been chipped already,” I finished. “Brilliant, Detective Lacy.”
“Why couldn’t some water have dripped down after it had stopped raining?” Emmie asked.
“That might be possible,” he conceded. Though his expression made it clear that Emmie had left his good graces.
We went up to the third floor, where Richard Cole had had a small room, but all that was there were some simple furnishings. Lacy made a cursory inspection.
“It’s been cleaned, and I told them to leave it be,” he complained.
“What is it you’re looking for?”
“Just a clue. Any sort of clue. One can’t anticipate these things, Mr. Reese.”
Then we went down to the basement, where we found the cook washing vegetables. She was a small woman, about fifty, with just the vestiges of an accent I couldn’t place. She told us about the night in question and added nothing significant to what Lacy had already told us. Both she and Richard Cole had been in the house that evening. After the meal she’d prepared for the two of them, she cleaned up and then went to her room, which was also in the basement. She assumed Cole was in his room, up on the third floor, but heard nothing.
“You see, Mr. Reese. She heard nothing.”
“The dog,” I asked, “does he often bark?”
“Oh, all the time,” she said.
“I only ask because when we encountered him in the parlor he didn’t seem to raise an eyelid.”
“Oh, he’s stone deaf.”
“I see. So he would bark, provided he saw us approach.”
“Might. But mostly it’s the ghosts.”
“You have ghosts?” I asked.
“He sees them. Scares me awful. He’ll be sound asleep, then jump up all of a sudden and start barking.”
We thanked her and went up and let ourselves out.
“Well, Sergeant,” I said, “we have established one thing with certainty.”
“And what is that, Mr. Reese?”
“The only thing that makes the dog bark reliably is spiritual visitations. Ergo, it wasn’t the ghosts who committed the crime.”
“Have your joke, Mr. Reese. Have your joke.” Then he walked off.
3
It was after four when we started for the hotel. The cool air felt refreshing and so we decided to make our way on foot.
“Harry, you don’t really believe that foolishness about the servant having stolen the jewels, do you?”
“Why shouldn’t I?”
“The evidence of the window. And Miss Sachs was certain the man was innocent.”
“A day doesn’t go by where you don’t read about the trusted employee who’s been embezzling the funds for years.”
“What about the mark on the window?”
“Contradicted by the mark on the metal box.”
“How so? Couldn’t the same tool have done both?”
“I’m sure it did.”
“Now you’re speaking in riddles.”
Yes, and I was enjoying it. After all, Emmie nearly always spoke in riddles. One I remember clearly had occurred in August, not long after we returned from France. As I mentioned earlier, I’d been hired by an insurance company to find some gold that had been misplaced on the steamship L’Aquitaine. On our final day at sea, I did manage to locate the gold. Or most of it, anyway. I received $2,000 for my help, and it was that money which I used to set myself up in business. It was just after I’d rented a little desk room in Manhattan that Emmie told me she soon might ha
ve information on some noteworthy thefts somewhere south of New York. I was used to Emmie’s cryptic pronouncements, but this was unusually Delphic even for her. I knew then she was setting the stage for something. And it was about that time she started reading the Washington papers. But it was only since we’d left Brooklyn that I had begun to learn what it was all about. The sky was darkening and then it started to drizzle. We ducked into Mrs. Knight’s Oyster Saloon and Confectionary and ordered beverages.
“Would you care to reveal your line of inquiry, Emmie?”
“No, I have sound reasons for keeping my cards breasted. But surely you see it would be a mistake to focus on Elizabeth?”
“Yes, it’s hard to picture her as a second-story man. If she wanted an old widower’s jewels, I don’t doubt she’d find it easy enough to arrange. But I never really suspected Elizabeth.”
“You sounded on the train as if you did.”
“Well, only because I suspected you of suspecting her.”
“Oh, I may come to suspect her of such things sometime in the future, but I can’t imagine she’s progressed that far yet.”
“Are you forgetting about her machinations with the divorce ring?”
“No. But I’m not speaking of any moral progress—or descent, if you like. I was referring to matters of craftsmanship.”
Up until that point, I thought I’d been making some headway on my onion. Now a layer had regenerated. Before the night was over I’d have it peeled off again—but my eyes would be smarting once more. After her second milk punch, Emmie brought the matter up again.
“Harry, don’t mention to Elizabeth anything about suspecting her. I’d like to keep things friendly.”
“I thought you didn’t suspect her.”
“Let’s not go through all that again. I’ll simply tell her we’ve come to see the sights.”
“All right. But if things become unfriendly, it’s not likely to be my fault.”
The Normandie, where we were staying, was on McPherson Square, just a few blocks from the White House. It was one of the finer hotels, and at five dollars a night, it should’ve been. Emmie had insisted on staying here, perhaps to impress her friend. We had ourselves dressed and ready by seven, but Elizabeth kept us waiting another half hour. And when she arrived, she wasn’t feeling very apologetic about it.
Kalorama Shakedown (A Harry Reese Mystery) Page 2