The second report: “According to instructions I proceeded to 729 Calhoun Street, the Bronx. It is a five-story walk-up apartment house for thirty families. Pretty cheap rents. There is no family by the name of Hillman living there now. The janitor told me they moved away about six weeks ago. He didn’t know their present address. I got some of their old neighbours in talk. Hillman family consisted of father, mother and a boy and girl of high school age. The father, a quiet man, worked long hours and was rarely seen. His wife gave out that he was in the theatrical business. Mrs. Hillman was not popular with the neighbours, being considered too ritzy. Was always boasting about her rich friends. At the time they moved she told her neighbours that they were in the money now, and would be living in a much better style hereafter. She did not tell anybody where they were going. On inquiring at the Post Office I found they had left no forwarding address. When Hillman leaves his work to-night I will tail him to his new home. “R.S.”
The third report: “I ran down the driver of the taxi who carried Mr and Mrs. Mack Townley from— Madison Avenue to the Andorra Apartments last night shortly before ten-thirty. His name is Dave Levine, of— Scammell Street. Levine told me that the couple quarrelled so loudly on the way home that he could hear part of what they said. He was jealous; accused his wife of being too friendly with Gavin Dordress. She threatened to leave him. At the Andorra Mrs. Townley went straight in, but Townley, when he had paid the driver, walked away down Park in a blind rage. Tappan, night hallman at the Andorra, told me Townley returned at 3 am. As Tappin put it, he looked as if he’d been through the mill. Townley, still in a rage, left the house again about eight-forty. Two hours later Mrs. Townley called a cab and had herself driven to Grand Central Station. She bought a ticket to Reno, Nevada, and engaged space right through. Her trunks were sent after her. I got next to Cobbett, the butler at the Townley’s, but he wouldn’t talk. I’ll try to get a line on the other servants. “A.A.”
Lee sat for a while, smoking and studying. Finally, he put the reports in his pocket and went on to the Dordress apartment. His first thought there was to consult the stubs in Gavin’s current cheque book. He discovered that on November 7th Gavin had issued a cheque to “G.G.” for a thousand dollars. Lee’s face turned pretty grim.
LEE MAPPIN and Cynthia met in the sunroom. Under Cynthia’s direction Hillman was watering the rare ferns and tropical plants that had been Gavin’s pride. Cynthia was moving about pinching off a dead leaf here and there, and tying up the plants that were too heavy for their stems. At five o’clock she had insisted on letting Fanny go home. “Dad used to do this every afternoon,” she said, with a painful smile.
When Hillman had finished his job and departed, she wanted to know what had happened. Lee hesitated. “You promised to tell me everything . . everything!” she reminded him. “It is the only way I can have any peace of mind.”
Lee glanced into the foyer to make sure that the long-eared Hillman had really gone, and closed the glass doors. “Various things have come to light,” he laid; “some with an ugly look, but nothing conclusive. At the moment it is all at loose ends. None of them will tie together.”
“Tell me,” she said.
He did so.
Cynthia’s pale face, refined by grief, turned hard. “It was Gail Garrett,” she murmured. “That’s clear!”
“Keep an open mind!” Lee warned her, “until we turn up the final positive proof.”
Later, Lee said: “If you have no objections, I would like to send to my place for a bag and sleep here for the next few nights.”
“Objections? Of course not! But why. Lee?”
“I don’t feel that I have got all the evidence that these rooms may contain, and I don’t like to leave the place unguarded. We can’t trust Hillman. I could pay him off and send him home, but how would I know that he turned in all the keys? Or Joe Dietz may have secured a key to the apartment. If I padlocked the outer door it would certainly start a story that some dark mystery was concealed here.”
“I’ll stay here with you if you want me,” said Cynthia.
“Very good idea,” said Lee. “In your own place the reporters would continually be ringing your phone and your doorbell. I didn’t suggest it because I thought it might be painful for you.”
Cynthia looked around with her poignant smile. “No,” she said. “I feel Dad’s presence in these rooms, but it doesn’t hurt; it comforts me.”
“Very well, that’s settled,” said Lee.
“I’ll ask Hillman if there’s any dinner,” said Cynthia.
“Shall I ask Fanny to join us?” said Lee.
“If you’d like to have her.”
“I have several lines out. It is possible I may be called away. I wouldn’t like you to be alone here.”
“I’m not one of these tender females that have to be protected. Fanny has given me her whole day already.”
The upshot was that Lee and Cynthia dined quietly together. Each had a burden of grief to bear, and each was comforted by the other’s presence. Neither felt obliged to talk. When the meal came to an end Lee told Hillman he could go home as soon as he had cleaned up. Lee and Cynthia started going over Gavin’s papers in the studio. “Hadn’t I better do this first alone?” asked Lee. “We may stumble on painful things.”
Cynthia shook her head. “Everything that concerns Dad is dear to me,” she said. “I don’t care what we may find.”
Hillman left about eight-thirty. Half an hour later Lee was called to the phone. It was Stan Oberry. “I’m sorry I have to report a slip-up,” he said. “When Hillman came out of the Madison Avenue house he dived into a taxicab hound westward. He had evidently been standing inside the door watching the traffic lights and timed his exit so that he got a cab and across Madison without delay. Schelling, my operative, says that Hillman couldn’t have seen him. Hillman was expecting to be tailed, and took his measures accordingly. Schelling got another cab and followed, but lost some precious time. Hillman dismissed his cab at Times Square and ran down one of the subway entrances. Schelling followed, but lost him in the station. That place, as you know, is like a rabbit warren. Schelling says he is sure that Hillman merely ran down one flight of steps and up another. Schelling got a place where he could watch both platforms, and he did not see Hillman take a train.”
“That’s all right,” said Lee. “Operatives are only human. Let Schelling try to tail Hillman again tomorrow. Or, if he has any reason to believe that Hillman spotted him, put another man on Hillman’s tail.”
“Okay,” said Stan.
In half an hour he called Lee again. “Better luck this time,” he said. “Frank Chigi or Cagey turned up in Hester Street a while ago and has taken his girl out to dinner. Cagey is lousy with money. He bought the girl a fur coat that must have set him back three hundred dollars or more. He has taken her to Andre’s, a French restaurant in Park Row, and is buying champagne. My operative, Vosper, is watching the place. What do you want me to do? I’ve got a man here that I can send down to Vosper with instructions. Do you want to question this Cagey?”
“Sure,” said Lee quickly. “Maybe the champagne will loosen his tongue. The opportunity is too good to be passed up. Who is the man you’ve got there in your office?”
“Schelling.”
“All right. Let Schelling go down to the door and I’ll pick him up in three minutes. He can come downtown with me, and introduce me to Vosper, and we’ll work out something together. You had better stay in your office until you hear from me.”
“Right!”
Cynthia was distressed. “No, Lee, no!” she protested. “Let Mr. Oberry do it, or one of his men. That’s their work. This man Cagey is dangerous. He is known as a killer.”
“He won’t hurt me,” said Lee smiling. “I shall pose as the most harmless little gentleman that ever took a drop too much. Cagey is too important to turn over to anybody else.”
Quarter of an hour later Lee and Schelling got out of a taxi at the Park Row entranc
e to the Brooklyn Bridge and walked on to Aridre’s restaurant at the corner of Frankfort Street. In this neighbourhood there are always plenty of people about. At the top of the steps leading to the basement restaurant they ran-into Vosper, Stan Oberry’s other operative. Lee was introduced to Vosper, and the latter said: “They’re still inside.”
“Good,” said Lee. “I’m going in to try to get next to them. You two men take cover and wait for us to come out. If I am with the couple, follow us where-ever we may go. If they won’t let me go with them, you follow them, and communicate with me when you can through Stan’s office.”
“Okay, Mr. Mappin.”
Lee, pulling a lock of hair over his forehead, and setting his derby and his neck-tie slightly askew, went down the steps and entered the little restaurant with a rolling gait and an expression of great dignity. Occasionally he hiccupped behind his hand. He represented a type that is dear to all waiters, and the two waiters in the place hastened forward to assist him tenderly to a seat. Lee paused, swaying on his feet, and looked around him. It was well past the usual dinner hour and there were only three couples left in the place. He had no difficulty in picking out the one he wanted. Disregarding the suggestions of the waiters, he rolled up to the next table and sat down. A menu card was thrust under his nose. “Don’t wanna eat. Wanna drink,” said Lee, hiccupping. “Gimme Black and White highball.”
“Yes, sir.”
It was a comely couple at the next table. Lee’s seeming-drunken glance was all over the place, but he missed no detail. The young man’s trim, muscular figure was set off by a well-cut brown suit. He wore a snowy shirt that emphasised his smooth, swarthy skin and an orange tie from an expensive shop. His blue-black hair glistened like steel under the lights. He affected an absolutely dead pan. The girl, who was about his own age, and like him of Italian extraction, was pretty in a cheap fashion, and very smartly turned out. Her hat had an upstanding brim that enframed her pert face like a halo. Over the back of her chair was flung a costly leopard coat. Cagey addressed her as Clo-Clo. She was crazy about her dangerous little boy friend, and could not hide it. He accepted it as his due.
Lee noticed that Cagey was not drinking. Occasionally he tasted his wine, no more. On the other hand, Clo-Clo loved it as women love champagne. Cagey filled her glass from time to time, and already her face was flushed and her tongue unloosed. She leaned across the table and spoke to Cagey. Lee could read her lips. “Take a look at the comical little guy who just come in.”
Cagey glanced at Lee indifferently. His eyes had the yellow flicker of a cat animal after feeding. Lee’s drink had just been put before him. He raised it with drunken solemnity and toasted Cagey. The young man merely stared, but the girl was interested. “Hey, daddy, drink with me!” she said. “Lee’s line was the old fashioned drunk. ” ‘S a privilege,” he said, bowing to Cagey, “if the young gen’leman will permit.”
Cagey’s glance was contemptuous. “Sure,” he said.
Lee raised his glass. “To your pretty eyes!”
Clo-Clo giggled. “Ain’t he the gentleman!”
“Gen’leman enough to reco’nise a lady when I see one!” said Lee.
Clo-Clo leaned across the table to whisper to Cagey. Lee guessed that she was saying the old guy looked like he might be carrying a roll. Cagey shrugged. Clo-Clo said: “Come on over, Daddy!”
Thus Lee found himself sitting between them and sharing the wine. He accepted a second glass. He and Clo-Clo made the confused noises that pass for conversation on such occasions, while Cagey listened with a sneer. “‘S a privilege to be sitting at the table with such a smart little lady. ‘S a privilege and I ‘preciate it. Deeply! I’m a man enjoys society beauriful girl, and I don’t care who knows it.”
And Clo-Clo: “You’re all right. Daddy. You’re a gentleman. You certainly can hand out a fancy line.”
“No!” said Lee, wagging his hand. “I’m a plain-spoken man. I haven’t any line to hand out. The trouble with me is, I’m too honest. Some people resent it.”
And so on. And so on. Unfortunately for Lee, Cagey was cold sober. Sober and watchful. Lee said: “Wassa matter, young man? You’re not drinking wine. Won’t you join me drinking health this beauriful girl!” He toasted Clo-Clo.
Cagey tasted his wine and put the glass down. “Bottoms up! Bottoms up!” cried Lee. “She’s worth’ it, isn’t she? Don’t tell me young fellow like you can’t ‘preciate such beauriful girl!”
Cagey was annoyed. His eyes flickered dangerously. “Ah, leave him be,” said Clo-Clo to Lee. “You and me can finish the bottle. Frank’s got a job of work to-night and he don’t want to …”
The sleepy yellow eyes suddenly blazed, and by the girl’s suppressed cry it was evident that Cagey had stamped on her foot under the table. Lee hiccupped. “Job of work,” he muttered. “Good boy! I honour the workers. What’s your line, young man?”
Cagey’s lips curled. “I work for a broadcasting station trimming the cat’s whiskers.”
Lee made out to be affronted. “I may be a little high,” he said, “but I know when I’m being ribbed. If I’m intruding on this pleasant company you only have to …”
“Ah, sit down, Daddy,” said Clo-Clo. “Frank don’t mean nothing by it.”
“I ask him civil question and he ribs me,” said Lee, aggrieved.
“I’m a printer on the Daily American,” said Cagey. “I go on at eleven o’clock. That’s what Clo-Clo meant by a job of work.”
Lee appeared to be satisfied. “Time for another bottle,” he said.
Cagey glanced at his watch. “I got to leave you,” he said, “you and Clo-Clo can drink it.”
Lee rubbed his lip. “She is beauriful girl!” he murmured.
Clo-Clo slipped her arm through his. “Say, this dump is as gay as a funeral parlour. You come with me, Daddy, and I’ll show you something.”
When their waiter brought the check, Cagey coolly signified that Lee would pay it. The three of them left the place together. On the way out Cagey, with a hard look at Clo-Clo, whispered something to her out of the corner of his mouth. Lee couldn’t hear it, but he got her reply: “I’ll take care of him.”
On the street Cagey bade them a casual good-bye and struck off across Park Row in the direction of a subway entrance. This was not the way to reach the American Building, of course. Lee had to let him go. However, he saw Stan’s men, Vosper and Schelling, converging on the subway entrance from different directions.
LEE and Clo-Clo waited at the curb for a taxi. Lee suspected that the girl, like himself, was not as tight as she was making out to be. As she leaned against him, he was aware of her light fingers touching his different pockets to find out where he kept his roll. As a matter of fact, his wallet was in his breast pocket, and as his jacket was buttoned across, it was not too easy to get at.
A cab came and Clo-Clo gave a number in Bayard Street. Lee knew this was not where she lived. He was unable to get her to talk about Cagey. In the cab she renewed her blandishments and Lee caught her thin wrist just as the hand was slipping inside the lapel of his jacket. “Naughty! Naughty!” he said with a drunken laugh. Clo-Clo screamed with laughter.
They drew up before the side door of a Chinese resort that fronted on Mott Street. Lee paid off the taxi. He had no notion of entering this den; but he played his hand warily, since he did not know but that Clo-Clo might still be able to warn Cagey if Lee aroused her suspicions. It was quite in character for Lee to turn suddenly obstinate. “Chinatown?” he muttered, as he stood swaying on the sidewalk. “Don’t like Chinatown. It’s nasty. Let’s go decent place.”
Clo-Clo slipped her arm through his. “Come on, Daddy,” she said cajolingly. “This is a real nice place. Only white people come here. Would I bring you here if it wasn’t nice?”
Lee stood his ground. They stood arguing it out on the sidewalk while the Chinamen indifferently shuffled past. Lee, as a drunken man will, suddenly changed his tune. “I’m going home. My wife’s waiting
for me. She’s been a good wife to me and this ain’t treating her right!” He appeared about to cry.
“Just one little drink. Daddy,” urged Clo-Clo. “Then I’ll let you go home. A gentleman like you are wouldn’t leave a girl flat in the street.”
“I’m going home,” insisted Lee.
A block away a patrolman was standing under a street light swinging his night-stick. Seeing the argument, he started strolling towards them. Clo-Clo suddenly dropped Lee’s arm, and cursing him in a fervent whisper, went through the door of the saloon, and slammed it after her.
The instant she disappeared, Lee recovered his sobriety. Without waiting for the patrolman to come up, he hastened through to the Bowery and from a booth in a drugstore called up Stan Oberry’s office. He gave Stan a brief account of what had happened. Stan, it appeared, had not yet heard from Schelling and Vosper. Lee gave Stan the number of his pay station, and stood by waiting for him to call again.
In five minutes or so the call came through. Stan said: “Cagey took a subway express to the 17710. Street station in the Bronx. Schelling says that the train was full and Cagey didn’t get on to the fact that he was being tailed. From the subway station he proceeded on foot to Ingoldsby Avenue. This street faces Bronx Park. Number 33 Ingoldsby is Cagey’s mark. He walked around it taking a slant from every side, then crossed over to the Park. He is lying on a bank below the street level watching the house. There are lights in the upstairs windows. He is up to mischief of some sort. Schelling left Vosper watching Cagey and went to telephone. Schelling will stand by the telephone for five minutes for instructions. If you want to come up there he says meet him at the corner of Ingoldsby and 179th Street. That corner is outside Cagey’s line of vision.”
Lee said to Stan: “Phone Schelling that if he and Vosper are satisfied that a serious crime is contemplated, it’s up to them to prevent it. That comes first. Meanwhile, I’ll get up there as quick as I can. Subway express is the quickest. I’ll be at the meeting place in twenty-five minutes. After you’ve talked to Schelling, find out from the telephone company who lives at 33 Ingoldsby Avenue. Use my name.”
ALM02 The Death of a Celebrity Page 8