Sylvia Moore told me she was sorry I had been at the Williamsons at such an unhappy time, and she hoped I would not judge the staff by their actions of the last weeks. “Everyone has been so upset over Tommie and then Charles Bell. They all are really nicer people than their recent behavior would indicate.”
I thought Mrs. Price would squeeze the life out of me as she wrapped those pudgy arms around my middle and pulled my head down so she could nuzzle my neck. “I will truly miss you, laddie. No one has ever enjoyed my cooking as much as you,” she said. “I do wish you were staying with us, but a young fellow like you, I can understand your wanting to get out and see more of the world than a big old estate stuck away on Long Island.”
My hardest farewell was with Tommie. “I’m really sorry that you’re leaving, Archie,” he said, sniffling as I drove him home from school my last day on the job. “I really had fun with you.”
“I believe you will like Mr. Gentry,” I told him. “He seems to be very friendly.”
“He won’t want to play football with me though, or fly a kite like we did that one afternoon,” he said, jaw set and arms folded across his chest.
“Speaking of football, you and I will be going to a game with your dad at Columbia University in a few weeks, so we will be seeing each other again. This is big-time football, in a stadium and everything.” That quickly turned his face from a pout to a smile, and at that moment, I realized how much I would miss the boy.
That evening after dinner, Gentry drove me to the commuter station with my suitcase and I rode a Long Island line local into Penn Station, then took the subway north to the Melbourne Hotel. My room was far smaller than my quarters in the Williamson house, but I felt I was returning home, which was a good feeling. I was asleep seconds after my head hit the pillow.
The next morning, I resumed what had previously been my Manhattan routine: up at seven thirty, fifteen minutes of exercise, take a shower down the hall, get dressed, then amble along the block to Mort’s little beanery for some breakfast.
“Archie Goodwin!” he boomed when I walked in. “Haven’t seen you for what seems like ages. I figured you gave up on New York and went back home to Indiana.”
“Ohio,” I said, dropping onto one of the stools at the counter.
“Illinois, Indiana, Ohio, they’re all the same to me,” Mort said, gesturing in a westerly direction and sliding a cup of coffee along the counter from ten feet down. It came to a stop directly in front of me, with not a drop spilled.
“How do you always do that?” I asked, taking a sip of the delicious brew.
“Years of practice and great wrist action,” he said, flexing an arm. “Where have you been lately? I thought that you liked this joint.”
“Oh, I do, Mort, but I had to go out of town on a hard-driving job. When duty calls, I answer.”
Half an hour later, having breakfasted on wheat cakes, bacon, and eggs, I hoofed it south to the office of the Bascom Detective Agency. Wilda looked up as I stepped off the elevator, her mouth twitching in what may have been a smile. “The man around?” I asked, and she tilted her head toward his office. “Go on in, he’s expecting you.”
“Ah, home from the land of the rich,” Del said, looking up from the Gazette crossword puzzle and grinding out what was left of his nickel stogie. “Saul Panzer told me that you had got sprung from that rough duty out on the island.”
“Save your sympathy,” I told him, dropping into the guest chair and setting my hat on the corner of his desk.
“So, during your stay out in the country, did you figure out who in the Williamson household is not to be trusted?”
“I’m not sure I would trust several of them very far,” I said, “but I’m not ready to send anybody to the chair yet. What’s happening back here among the riffraff?”
“Well, for one thing, we’re having yet another meeting in Wolfe’s office today, and you, lucky chap, are invited.”
“He doesn’t want to let go of this business, is that it? How does he expect to get paid from here on out? Williamson already forked over a nice hunk of cash to get his son back.”
“Archie, I don’t claim to know Nero Wolfe and how he thinks as well as Panzer and others who work with him more often than me, but I believe his pride is at stake here,” Bascom said. “Sure, his planning was responsible for getting the boy back, but Wolfe is still smarting from those two murders and the ransom money. For him, the job is unfinished.”
“If I might ask then, who are we working for now?” I posed. “And who’s going to pay us?”
Bascom leaned back and torched another cigar. “Truth is, I got no work right now, which means neither do you. I’m willing to take my chances that something comes out of this meeting with Wolfe.”
“Okay, that’s good enough for me. If you’re in, I’m in,” I told him. “When do we meet?”
“Eleven o’clock. From what Panzer said, it sounds like every operative Wolfe has ever used will be there.”
“Gee, a regular detectives’ convention. How exciting!”
“All right, Archie, cut the sarcasm. I don’t think our host is going to be in the mood for that kind of humor.”
“My distinct impression is that Nero Wolfe is never in the mood for any kind of humor, but I promise to be a good boy and keep my ears open and my mouth shut—more or less.”
“Good idea. Wolfe seems to like you, and I leave it to you to figure out whether it’s because of your smart-alecky comments or in spite of them.”
At five before eleven, Fritz Brenner swung open the door of the brownstone on West Thirty-Fifth to admit Bascom and me. “Everyone else is here, please go on in,” he said. The usual faces were seated in the office, plus one I did not recognize.
“Hi, Bill,” Bascom said to a husky, balding guy seated on the sofa next to Cather. “Meet Archie Goodwin, who works with me. Archie, this is Bill Gore, a first-class operative I’ve had the honor to work with a few times.”
“Thanks for the nice words, Del,” Gore said, rising. He went at least six foot two and two hundred pounds, none of it fat. A good man to have on your side when things got rough. “Nice to meet you, Goodwin,” he said, pumping my hand.
Wolfe walked in, greeted us with his usual dip of the head, and moved around behind his desk, ringing for beer. Everyone passed on his invitation for refreshments.
“Thank you all for coming,” he said, adjusting his bulk. “Saul, I assume you have brought Mr. Gore up to date on the situation.”
“Yes, sir, I have.”
“Very well. As you all are aware, I no longer possess a client, Mr. Williamson having settled his account with me after his son was freed and the ransom paid. By the way, Mr. Goodwin, did you receive remuneration for your services in his employ?”
“I got a check from him,” I said, again making a mental note to look up “remuneration” in the dictionary I had yet to buy.
“You merited payment,” Wolfe replied, opening the first of the beers Fritz had placed on a tray in front of him. “Speaking of remuneration, I want each of you to know that you will be paid for your work on this endeavor, regardless of our success. You will not find me stinting on the amount. Saul, if you please, a review of the situation.”
Panzer cleared his throat. “We know that the kidnappers—who presumably also killed both Barney Haskell and Charles Bell—are a pair of tall, thin brothers who have been involved for years in a variety of long and short cons and other grifting. Through sources, never mind who or how, I found three sets of brothers who could fit the bill,” he said, consulting his notebook.
“By name, they are: the Harkers, James and Melvin; the McCalls, Reese and Ronald; and the Bagleys, Chester and Calvin. All of them, no surprise, have records, although none for murder or even for armed robbery.”
“So, nobody on your list is named Edgar or Leon Jasper, eh?” I asked.
“No, why?” Panzer asked.
“They were the names given by a hotel desk clerk for two guys who Del
and I think rented the truck used in the kidnapping.”
“None of these characters ever use their real names in hotels,” Orrie Cather muttered.
“True,” Panzer said. “Did those Jaspers fit the description?”
Del Bascom nodded. “Yeah, both of them tall and dark and skinny.”
“I know all of you except Mr. Gore got glimpses of at least one of the two kidnappers that night in the Bronx,” Wolfe said. “Based on that brief skirmish, does anyone think they could make a definite identification?” We all shook our heads.
“I thought not. Gentlemen, here is my position: despite Mr. Williamson’s approval and payment, I remain dissatisfied and irritated at what I view as an incomplete job on my part. I want those two men found and brought in. I also want the ransom money retrieved if possible.”
“What about the police?” Durkin asked.
“What indeed, Fred? They are angry with me, a not unusual occurrence, nor one that disturbs me. More important, they seem to have no idea how to proceed, other than to question Tommie Williamson. I suspect Mr. Goodwin here got more information from Tommie by being patient and conversational than the police will get with their heavy-handed approach.”
Wolfe drank beer, dabbed his lips with a handkerchief, and continued. “Any one of you might accuse me of petulance, and I would be hard put to deny the charge. At this point, my self-esteem demands reparation. There are six of you here tonight. There are three sets of brothers at large, one brace of which is very likely guilty both of kidnapping and murder. You are to divide into groups of two, with each group assigned to find a pair of brothers. Saul?”
“Yes, sir. Here is how I have divided the assignments up: Fred and Del, you’ve got the Harker boys; Orrie and Bill, take the McCalls; and Archie and I will go after the Bagleys. I have some leads, albeit questionable, on where all these lovable lads might be found.”
“So it has been decided that none of Williamson’s employees were in on it, huh?” Cather asked.
“Not necessarily, Orrie,” Wolfe said. “But if we locate the felonious brothers, we almost surely will discover the identities of anyone else involved in the Williamson case. I already have formed some assumptions in that direction.”
Cather, arms folded, looked unconvinced. Panzer moved among the men with such information as he had on these sets of brothers. I waited my turn patiently.
CHAPTER 23
Okay, here is what we know about the Bagleys,” Panzer told me after briefing the others. “These two have been running scams of all sorts, mostly two-man short cons, for at least fifteen years in New York, maybe longer. They could have written the book on three-card monte, the pigeon drop, the fiddle game, the Spanish prisoner, the pig in a poke, the badger game, and half a dozen others.”
“You’re speaking a language I never learned back in Ohio,” I said. “Someday, you’ll have to translate for me. Just out of curiosity, how do you come by all the information you’ve gotten?”
“It’s a long story, Archie, with plenty of wrinkles. I know a lot of people, some of them cops, who know a lot of things about a lot of other people. Back to the brothers: their father, the late ‘Beer Barrel’ Bagley, was well known around town. The man took grifting to new levels. It was said that he once conned a famous old-time jewel thief out of five grand’s worth of hot ice by claiming he could fence the diamonds for twice their value.”
“So the supposedly clever thief gave the diamonds to Beer Barrel, who he never laid eyes on again, of course.”
“Of course,” Panzer said. “And his sons take after the old man. They’ve operated mostly out of the Bronx under a variety of last names, including Keller, Cunningham, and Schmidt. And like most grifters, they move around a lot, from one cheap hotel or flophouse to another.”
“Aha, the good old Bronx again. That means they figure to be the ones we’re looking for.”
Panzer shook his head. “Not necessarily, Archie. It turns out that all three sets of brothers come from the Bronx.”
“So it’s a hotbed of con men up there?”
“I never thought of the borough that way, when I’ve even thought of it at all, but you may be right.”
“I’m really puzzled by the murders, Saul,” I said. “What I’ve heard about con men these last weeks is that they go out of their way to avoid violence. As I understand, they don’t want the grief that comes with it.”
“You’re absolutely right in most cases, but every one of them has dreams of getting that one big strike that will put him on easy street, maybe for life. The Williamson kidnapping, with its hundred-grand ransom, sure as hell qualifies. Where that kind of dough is involved, the stakes go up and behaviors change. Case in point, Archie: most con men don’t want anything to do with firearms, but at least one of those two was armed that night at the Bronx Zoo, and I will lay odds that the other one, the driver, also carried a gun.”
“Do you figure that Haskell guy who got plugged was part of the team, and that they had a falling-out?” I asked.
“More likely he somehow learned about the plan and demanded to be dealt in. I located a half brother of Haskell’s, a bookie who lives over in Brooklyn, and he said Barney had told him he was on to something ‘really big’ but that he couldn’t talk about it.”
“Okay, so where do we go from here?”
Where we went was to yet another transient hotel in the Bronx, a place Panzer had sniffed out as a possible lead to finding the Bagley boys. I had become spoiled, riding in Wolfe’s automobile and driving the dandy Williamson machines, but all that was over now. Panzer didn’t own an auto and, as I now knew, neither did any of the operatives Wolfe normally used. If I was going to stay in this town, I had better get to know the public transportation system, I thought as we came up out of the subway and onto a busy commercial street. Half a block down, we arrived at a shabby-looking establishment whose faded sign proclaimed it to be the HOTEL ELEGANT.
“Seems like all I’m doing lately is dropping in on flophouses,” I complained.
“If you’re going to be an operative in this vast and colorful metropolis, you’d better get used to it,” Panzer said as we paused before entering. “This business of ours is not what one would term glamorous, despite what you might read in those pulp magazines of yours.”
“When Bascom and I went into another fleabag not far from here, he passed himself off as a police lieutenant,” I said. “What’s the plan at this joint?”
“Archie, I can see Del Bascom filling that role, but do you honestly think that I could convince anyone that I was a cop?” he asked, gesturing to his thin, stooped frame. “Playing an officer of the law is not my métier and never has been. I take different approaches.”
We walked into the dark, narrow lobby of the Hotel Elegant to find a heavy bleached blond of uncertain years sitting behind the counter and painting her fingernails a fire-engine red color. She looked up, eyeing us from under dark lashes that were thick enough to run a comb through.
“Can I help you fine gents?” the woman drawled in a South-of-the-Mason-Dixon-Line voice.
“I earnestly hope you can, Gloria,” Saul Panzer said, taking off his flat cap and grinning.
Her brown eyes widened, lifting the mighty lashes. “Hey—how is it you know my name?”
“Who doesn’t know the great Gloria McCracken? I remember you well from your days at the Spider Web Club over on West Eighty-Sixth. I recognized you the instant we walked in.”
“Well, I’ve, um ... put on a few pounds since those days,” she said, fluffing her hair self-consciously.
“Ah, but you look the same as ever to me,” Panzer said, leaning his elbows on the counter. “And I will never forget the way you could warble ‘Let Me Call You Sweetheart.’ You always had the whole room in the palm of your hand with that one. I think it got requested every night, didn’t it?”
Gloria got a dreamy look. “Ah, do I remember those days! That was just before the stinkin’ Prohibition stuff came in and ruined
everything. Say, you don’t look old enough to have been goin’ into the clubs back then.”
“I’m a lot older’n I look, Gloria,” Panzer said. “’Fraid to say I’ve been around the block a good many times.”
“Tell me about it. These last few years, well ... She lifted her shoulders and let them drop.
“I hear you. It’s the same with everybody, which is why we’re here.”
“Tell me about it, soldier,” she said, holding out an arm to study her newly lacquered nails.
Panzer ran a hand though his hair, feigning nervousness. “It’s like this. There’s a couple guys who owe me and my nephew here some money, and—”
“Stop right there, soldier,” Gloria said. “You’re not the first ones who have come into this place puttin’ the touch on me. Now I know that I got a reputation for being softhearted, but —”
This time, Panzer did the interrupting. “No, no, Gloria, I am not trying to hit you up for a few bucks, although Lord only knows I could use them. What I’m trying to do is find these guys—brothers, or so they claim.” He then described them, and Gloria nodded with a thin-lipped smile.
“Yeah, I happen to know just who you’re talking about. What did you say your name is?”
“I didn’t, but it’s Berg, Norman Berg.”
“Well, Norman, you gotta be talkin’ about the Schmidt boys, or so they called themselves when they was bunking here. A couple of mean ones, those two, nastier than any other flimflam artists I’ve ever seen.”
“That so? When did they stay here, Gloria?”
“It’s been a few weeks back now, it was. I can check if you want,” she said, opening the big guest book on the counter.
“Please do,” Panzer replied. “I’d appreciate it, Gloria.”
She flipped pages. “Let’s see ... here we are. They checked in on the second of this month, stayed ... until the eleventh.” She turned the book around so we could see it. One of them had signed his name, “Earl Schmidt and Brother, New York U.S.A.”
Archie Meets Nero Wolfe Page 17