“I won’t tell you.”
“That looks bad, Gail.”
“I don’t care how it looks. I was on my own private business.”
“For your own sake I ask you to tell me,” Lee said. “After all these years you must know that you can trust me.”
“You’ll get no more out of me,” she said with, tight lips.
Lee got up. “Then I’ll have to find out through other sources.”
“I wish you luck.”
“I met Bittner outside,” said Lee. “The poor fellow was in despair. Of course, he stands to lose a fortune if you insist on his closing the show.”
“Closing the show?” said Gail sharply. “Whoever suggested such a thing?”
“You did.”
“O, for God’s sake!” she cried melodramatically, “why must you all take me so literally! I’m not going to close the show. I’m a good trouper. I shall go on as usual to-night though my heart is breaking!”
“Then you’d better telephone him,” Lee suggested dryly.
Through one of the managers of the hotel who was an acquaintance. Lee got in touch with Vincent, the elevator boy. Vincent told him that he had taken up Miss Garrett about ten-thirty the previous night, and almost immediately afterwards had carried her down again. She had taken a taxi at the private door. It was a driver who regularly served the hotel, and Vincent was able to give Lee his name. Later in the afternoon the taxi-driver came to Lee’s office and told the following story: “Miss Gail Garrett hired me at the private door of the Conradi-Windermere about twenty to eleven. I recognised her from pictures. She looked bad. I thought she had been drinking. She told me to take her to— Bayard Street on the East Side. That’s a bad neighbourhood. Near Chinatown. The Nonpariel Social Club occupies two floors at that number. She sent me in to ask tor a guy called “Cagey.” He was there, playing pool, and I brought him out to her …”
“What sort of fellow?” interrupted Lee.
“He was well-named,” said the taxi-driver. “Gangster, if I know anything. A slick, smooth young guy with a wall eye. Swell dresser. Eyetalian descent. A two-gun man by the look of him.”
“Go on,” said Lee.
“He leans in the back of the cab and talks to her. I can’t hear much but I makes out he’s bawling her out for coming to him and leaving a wide-open trail. Seemed funny a young East Side guy would have the face to talk to Gail Garrett like that. I figures he must have something on her. Well, she gets out and pays me, and I drive away leaving them there, that’s all.”
“Damn!” muttered Lee. “Didn’t you realise that you were on the track of something? Didn’t you watch them?”
The driver compressed his lips. “Sure, I thought it was funny, but it was none of my business. Us hackies can’t afford to get nosey. Mister. The nosey ones just don’t last.” Lee gave him a tip and promised that there would be more in it for him later if he kept his mouth shut.
Lee phoned to Stan Oberry for a report on the youth known as “Cagey ” who was a member of the Nonpariel Social Club in Bayard Street. Within a couple of hours he was in possession of the following: “Francesco Chigi (American pronunciation ‘Cagey’) known also as Frank Chigi, Cecco Chigi and Cagey Frank. 23 years old; born at— Mulberry Street where his parents still live, but they have not seen him since he came out of prison. Spent most of his boyhood in various Reform Schools and Houses of Correction. Has served two years in Sing Sing for robbery and assault. Is now credited with being one of Manny Peglar’s ‘torpedoes,’ ie., killers. Was arrested and tried last year for the murder of Goose McAuley, member of a rival gang. Acquitted for lack of evidence. A dangerous man. Is said to derive a good income from victimising wealthy women. Several such are known to have fallen for his good looks. The police say that it is useless trying to prosecute such cases. I have verified your information that he was called out of the Nonpariel Social Club at ten-fifty last night by a richly-dressed woman. They drove away in a taxi. He has not been seen around his usual haunts to-day. I have no information as to his present home. Additional report will follow.”
WHEN Lee returned to the Dordress apartment the nervous Hillman said that Mr. Mack Townley had not called on the phone. Mr. Emmett Gundy was waiting in the sunroom. Lee went in to Emmett. No matter how poor Emmett was he contrived to be well dressed. He would have gone without food sooner than show himself otherwise. He was wearing the blue fur overcoat which Lee thought silly. Lee had known him for twenty-five years, but had not seen much of him lately. Out of doors with his hat on, Emmett could still pass for a handsome young man. But of late his face had taken on the sour look of one who feels that he is not appreciated. He said the things that Lee had already listened to twenty times that day. “What a terrible thing, Lee! Little did I think last night that I would never see Gavin again! I can scarcely realise that he’s gone. Every moment I expect to see him come walking out of the studio. I didn’t hear of it until I went out at noon. Why didn’t you send for me? Is there anything I can do?”
Emmett had always been like that; self-centred. He couldn’t get excited about anything except what concerned himself. Lee sat down, suddenly conscious of an immense weariness. He had had no time to indulge his own grief. “There is nothing to do,” he “aid. “It has all been taken care of. … But I’d like to ask you a question or two.”
“Sure,” said Emmett, “anything at all.”
“You are one of Gavin’s closest friends; first, I must tell you there is a suspicion that he may not have killed himself.”
“I’m not surprised,” said Emmett. “There were ugly passions brewing here last night … What evidence have you?”
“Practically none. It is chiefly Cynthia. She refuses to believe that her father killed himself.”
“That’s natural enough,” said Emmett. “Maybe when she gets over the shock she’ll forget her suspicions.”
“Maybe.”
“What did you want of me?”
“You and Louella Kip were the first ones to leave here after dinner last night. Where did you go?”
Emmett smiled thinly. “You don’t think that I …?”
“No! No!” said Lee wearily. “Gavin has been practically keeping me for the last three months. It’s not likely that I …”
“Of course not. But answer the question.”
“I told Gavin we were going on to another party,” said Emmett. “That was just an excuse to get away. As a matter of fact, Louella and I went directly to my place. I had been discussing with her some changes I was going to make in my novel, and we got out the script and went to work on it. We got so interested in it we worked for three or four hours. It was two o’clock before she went home.”
“Where is your place?” asked Lee.
“It’s a dump on East Thirty-fourth Street,” said Emmett. “Number— . Just one room. I’ve been so broke lately I couldn’t afford anything better.”
“Walk-up?”
“Sure.”
“Did anybody see you come in, or see Louella leave?”
“I doubt it.”
“Where does Louella live?”
“In a-boarding-house on Irving Place. Mrs, Cayley’s.”
“Thanks,” said Lee.
He got up to indicate that he was finished, but Emmett lingered. “Have you any theory as to what happened?” he asked.
“None whatever,” said Lee. “I’m just working to satisfy Cynthia.”
Still Emmett made no move to go. Finally he said: “I’m in a hell of a hole, Lee. These circulating libraries are ruining us novelists. More people are reading my novels than ever before, but my royalties are only a third of what they were. Gavin had promised to lend me a hundred to tide me over until I could collect my next advance. I was to see him at five to-day. I don’t know what I’ll do now.”
Lee thought: Always the same Emmett. He makes a touch with the air of one conferring a favour. He drew out his cheque book. “Let me take his place,” he said.
“That c
ertainly is good of you. Lee. I’ll pay it back just as soon as I place my novel.”
When he had gone. Lee looked up Mrs. Cayley’s number in the phone book. In due course he heard Louella’s gentle voice on the wire, and his face softened; he liked Louella; everybody liked her. Her voice now was shaken with distress. “O, Mr. Mappin, I can’t tell you how dreadfully I feel about Mr. Dordress! To have this happen so soon after we had seen him! I didn’t know him very well, but he was always so kind, so warm-hearted, so generous, I felt as if he was one of my dearest friends!”
There was no doubt of the genuineness of Louella’s feelings. Lee said, as if it were a matter of small concern: “There are various points in connection with last night that I have to check up. You understand that it’s purely a formality. Where did you and Emmett go when you left Gavin’s?”
“We went direct to Emmett’s place,” she said quickly. “He wanted to read me part of his new novel and ask my advice about changing it. We got interested in it we worked over it for three hours more. It was nearly two when I got home.”
“Do you room alone?” asked Lee.
“Yes,” she said in a surprised voice. “Why do you ask that?”
“Did anybody in the boarding-house see you come in?”
“O, no! At that hour it’s like a house of the dead.” An agitated note came into her voice. “Why do you ask me these questions, Mr. Mappin. Is there anything wrong? Is there…”
“No, indeed!” said Lee soothingly. “It’s just a formality.”
She did not sound altogether reassured. However, he bade her good-bye and hung up.
Lee, looking for Mack Townley, called up his office, his home, the Racquet Club, where he was accustomed to play handball in the afternoon; the Federal League Club. He was said to be not at any of these places, nor would any one tell Lee where he might be found. There could be no doubt that Mack was deliberately keeping out of the way.
Before he was married, Mack had hung out for years at the Federal League Club, and Lee had a hunch that he would fly back there like a homing pigeon. He decided to take a chance on it. Putting on hat and coat again, he had himself driven to the magnificent quarters of the Federal League on Park Avenue.
To the boy at the desk he said off-handedly: “Mr. Townley phoned me to come here for a conference. I’ll go right up to his room.”
Lee had the kind of front that impresses club servants, and the boy never thought of questioning his statement. As he started up in the elevator, Lee said suddenly. “There! I’ve forgotten the number they gave me at the desk!”
“Whose room, sir?” asked the elevator man.
“Mr. Townley’s.”
“Number seventeen, sir.”
Lee knocked on the door of seventeen and Mack’s sullen voice answered: “Who is it?”
Lee smiled to himself at the success of his ruse. “Lee Mappin,” he said, and went in without waiting to be bidden.
Mack Townley’s heavy face was a study when he saw Lee. He was trying to make out that he was glad to see him, but he could not control the flush of anger. He sat relaxed and glooming in an easy chair by the window. There was a whisky bottle on a stand within reach of his hand. “Hello!” he growled. “I’ve been trying to get hold of you all day.”
Lee’s bland expression suggested: Not too hard. I think! He said: “I’ve been trying to get hold of you, too.”
Lee was shocked by the change that only eighteen hours had worked in Mack. His face was ravaged as if by disease. The glass when he lifted it to his lips trembled violently in his hand. “Have a drink,” he growled. “You’ll find another glass in the bathroom.”
“No thanks,” said Lee. “You know me. I can’t drink hard liquor before dinner.”
“God, Lee, this is a frightful blow to me! I can’t face it!”
This sounded like something Lee had heard a short time before. These mourners for Gavin’s death thought first of themselves, it seemed. “I got in a rage with Gavin last night,” Mack went on. “I cursed him when I left him. And then to hear that he was dead-God! It was as if I had killed him by wishing him dead!” Mack, clenching his fist until the knuckles whitened, pounded his knee. “God, Lee, I’ve been in hell all day! I’ve been in hell!”
Lee regarded him speculatively. It was clear that the man was in hell, but he wondered if Mack had given the true reason for it.
Mack squirmed under Lee’s quiet gaze. “What did you want of me?” he growled. “It seems we have been playing at cross purposes all day.”
Lee’s look said: The cross purposes were not mine! “I suppose everything has come on you,” muttered Mack.
“Do you want help? Is there plenty of money available?”
“O, plenty of money,” said Lee.
“What is it, then?”
“Mack,” said Lee, “there is a suspicion that Gavin did not kill himself.”
Mack’s face flushed in a terrible manner that made it look blackish. “Is there any evidence that he was put out of the way,” he demanded harshly, “or do you inspect me just because I cursed him last night?”
Lee faced him out. “Not much evidence,” he said. “Did you read the letter he left?”
“Yes. It was in the paper.”
“It does not ring true,” said Lee. “It is too general in its terms.”
“Who’s to say it doesn’t ring true? Gavin was a queer fellow at heart.”
“Certainly. Like all of us. But not queer in just that way.”
“It it in his writing?”
“Yes.”
“Then I don’t see how you can go behind it.”
“Mack,” said Lee quietly, “what did you do when you left Gavin’s apartment last night?”
Mack’s face turned black again. He half hoisted himself out of his chair, then dropped back into it heavily. “I suppose you’ve got the right to suspect me,” he growled. “… After the way I talked. God knows I had the will to kill Gavin last night . . but I didn’t do it.”
“Where did you go?” persisted Lee.
“Bea and I drove home to our apartment,” Mack answered with a defiant glare. “We went directly to bed. I read for a while and then I slept. And that’s that.”
“What did you read?” asked Lee.
The seeming-simple question put Mack in a violent rage. “What the hell is it to you what I read?” he shouted.
Lee shrugged.
Mack glanced at him almost with fear, and moderated his tone. “I don’t remember what I read. Some newspaper or magazine I picked up. … I admit I was upset. But gradually I quieted down.”
“Where’s Bea?” asked Lee.
Mack scowled at him. “Have you been looking for her?”
“Naturally.”
Mack hesitated before he answered, drawing his hand down over his face. It was apparent that he was almost at the limit of his endurance. When he spoke he did not answer Lee directly. “People like us have no privacy at all,” he growled. “We live surrounded by a mob. Our so-called friends force their way into our very bedrooms before we’re up. We’re spied upon every moment by servants, reporters and God knows who all. When Bea heard this morning what had happened she was in a state of collapse. I have put her in a sanatorium to save her from prying eyes.”
“Where?” asked Lee.
“I won’t tell you that. Not even you. I promised her.”
“You realise, of course, that Bea is the only one who can support the alibi you have offered.”
“All right,” growled Mack, “if you want to bring a charge against me, Bea will appear.”
“I don’t want to bring a charge against you,” said Lee. “I want you to give me the facts that will clear you once and for all.”
“I’ll satisfy you tomorrow,” muttered Mack. “Just give me time to get my grip.”
Lee glanced at the whisky bottle but said nothing. “I’m not the only one that had it in for Gavin,” growled Mack.
“I’m following up every line,” said
Lee.
“Here’s something you don’t know,” said Mack. “A week ago Gail Garrett came to me to borrow a thousand dollars. I said: ‘Good God, Gail! Bittner is paying you fifteen hundred a week, and twenty-five per cent of the net. The show is making money. Where has it all gone?’ She said: ‘It’s my debts, Mack; they’re keeping me poor.’”
“How do you figure that this connects Gail with what happened last night?” asked Lee.
Mack said meaningly: “In this town there are guns tor hire, Lee. They come high. Suppose Gail was getting the money together to hire a gun?”
“Did you let her have the thousand?”
“No. I have other uses for my money.”
“I’ll look into it,” said Lee. “What day did she come to you?”
“Last Monday,” said Mack, “the seventh.”
Upon leaving Mack, Lee went to his office in Madison Avenue nearby, to see if anything had come in. He found three reports waiting for him. The first: “I picked up Joe Dietz at— Madison Avenue and kept him under observation until he started away at 2 pm. He took the subway to the Bushwick section of Brooklyn where he lives. He entered a large poolroom at— Marcy Avenue and played pool. He was well known there. The place was pretty full and I was able to mix among the watchers without attracting attention to myself. The talk was all about the suicide of Gavin Dordress. Everybody was asking Joe Dietz questions because they knew he worked in the house. Joe was quite the hero of the hour. He claimed to be a personal friend of Mr. Dordress’ but it sounded phony to me. He was acting mysterious, sort of letting on that it was no suicide if the truth was known, and he, Joe, knew enough to bust the case wide open if he wanted to speak. My opinion is, he was just running his lip, as they say. He has the look of a loosemouth. He left the place at four and I tailed him to his home at— Bedford. He lives with his parents at that address. I dropped him there and returned to the poolroom to see what I could pick up It wasn’t much. Joe is known simply as a young waster who spends all his spare time playing pool with others of his kind, and occasionally goes on the loose in the navy-yard section. The only thing funny about him is, that he certainly has more money to spend than the 18 or 20 a week he pulls down as an elevator man. “J.B.”
ALM02 The Death of a Celebrity Page 7