“Did you bring him down again?” asked Lee.
“I didn’t see him going down, but there’s such a crowd when the school lets out I might easy miss seeing somebody. But I don’t think I would have missed that funny-looking guy.”
“Did you see him last night?”
“Yes. Last night he come in time for the nine o’clock session.”
“Did you carry him down again?”
“No, sir. Now that you ask me, I never saw him again. I forgot about him.”
“Describe him.”
“Well, he was a tall fellow and heavy-built; kind of stooped in the shoulders; almost like he had a hump-on his back. I couldn’t tell you the colour of his eyes. He wore thick glasses that made his eyes funny-looking. He couldn’t see very good; kind of felt his way along. Clean shaven. He was a Yiddisher. Talked broken. He had on a big overcoat, kind of yellowish, that hung, on him like a sack. You couldn’t buy such an overcoat in this town. He musta brought it over from the other side. And a leather helmet; come right down over his head.”
“Very good description.” said Lee. “What age man?”
“I couldn’t tell you. Mister. He wasn’t young and he wasn’t old.”
“Would you know him again?”
“I sure would … What’s he wanted for, Boss?”
“Trying to break into the apartment next door… _ If you value your job, say nothing about it.”
“I get you.” said the boy, grinning.
LEE returned to the apartment. At the end of the day Stan Oberry sent around a batch of reports. There was nothing new on Mack Townley. He had slept at the Federal League Club. In the morning he had visited his apartment, and had then returned to the club where he had remained hidden all day. Joe Dietz had, as usual, spent most of his day in the poolroom. He had refused to talk about the Dordress case to-day, and had appeared uneasy and suspicious. Gail Garrett had not left her apartment in the Conradi-Windermere all day. Stan’s operative, Vosper, armed with a letter of introduction from Lee to the President, had visited the Farmers and Merchants Bank where Gail kept her account. Vosper had been furnished with some significant figures. On October 10th, Miss Garrett’s balance had stood at $18,000, and she had since made large weekly deposits. But she had drawn out no less than $35,000, which had been paid to her personally, in cash, $5,000 at a time; her present balance was less than $1,000.
There was nothing on Hillman since he had been at work in the apartment all day. As a matter of fact, Schelling, who was assigned to watch him, had been detailed to discover what he could about the Harvest Restaurant on Jerome Park Avenue. Schelling reported that it was a small place doing an excellent business. Said to gross between twelve and fourteen hundred weekly, of which the net would be in the neighbourhood, of two hundred. It was efficiently managed by Mrs. Hillman, who spent long hours in the place, generally leaving between one and two in the morning. There was such a person as Howard Harvest, and Hillman had undoubtedly bought the place from him. Hillman was said to have paid fifteen thousand for goodwill, fixtures and lease. When Schelling visited the address Hillman had given as Harvest’s, he found that the Harvest’s had moved some weeks before, giving out that they were going to California.
Oberry at Lee’s request had sent a man by plane to Reno, Nevada, to get a statement from Mrs. Mack Townley.
In the afternoon papers Lee read that the body of Frank Cagey or Chigi had been identified and removed from the morgue. The account stated that he was “lying in state” in the rooms of the Nonpariel Social Club, while his friends prepared a gangster’s funeral for him on a grand scale. Lee was relieved to see that no connection was suggested between the death of Gavin Dordress and the killing of the burglar in the Bronx by Gavin’s butler on the following night. The press commiserated with the unfortunate man who had been concerned in two such tragedies.
When Cynthia came in from work, Lee laid all this before her. When she had read the reports she said: “It is now certain that Hillman has paid in full for his restaurant with money obtained from Gail Garrett.”
“Fairly certain,” agreed Lee cautiously. “I don’t understand why she paid Hillman so much since he does not seem to have taken the principal part in the killing.”
“What do you suppose she did with the other ten thousand?”
Lee shrugged. “I assume that Cagey got it.”
At six o’clock a messenger came from Police Headquarters bringing the missing set of chessmen. Loasby said that it had been pledged early that morning in a pawnshop on Third Avenue. The description of the man who had pawned it tallied with that furnished by the elevator boy, yellow overcoat, stooped back and all. “Nice work!” said Lee, sitting down to write the Inspector a note of congratulation.
Lee set up the little red and white ivory chessmen on Gavin’s desk, and studied them piece by piece, both with the naked eye and under a glass, while Cynthia awaited the verdict. For a long time Lee was baffled; finally, as he studied one of the little castles with its battlemented top, an association of ideas began to work in his mind. From a drawer of the desk he got the little sketch he had made of the bruise on Gavin’s forehead. Pressing the top of the castle in an inked pad that lay in Gavin’s drawer, he made an impression of it on the paper alongside his own sketch. The two little pictures were identical; six tiny parallelograms ranged in a circle.
Cynthia stared at them with widening eyes. “Lee, you are wonderful!” she murmured. “That tells the story,” said Lee. “Gavin was playing chess with somebody at the moment he was shot. His head sank forward and struck against this chessman. I mentioned the bruise on Gavin’s forehead to one of the reporters, and it was printed yesterday. That is what determined the murderer to make away with the telltale piece.”
“Playing chess,” murmured Cynthia, “. . with whom?”
“We know of three chess-players,” said Lee, grimly; “Gail Garrett, Mack Townley and Siebert Ackroyd; there may be others. “It couldn’t have been anybody but Gail,” Cynthia said sharply. “Everything points to her.”
“Everything but the man in the yellow overcoat,” said Lee. “We haven’t established any connection between him and Gail.”
“We know that she has employed two accomplices; why not a third?”
“That remains to be proven.” They heard the bell ring outside, and Hillman presently entered to say that Mr. Ackroyd was calling. He had asked for Miss Cynthia.
Cynthia’s face was twisted with pain. “I won’t see him,” she said quickly.
“Better take a look at him,” Lee said to Cynthia in an undertone. “It may destroy your suspicion or confirm it.”
Cynthia, after a painful hesitation, nodded her head. “We’ll come out to him,” said Lee. He gathered up the chessmen.
Siebert was agitatedly pacing the foyer. His handsome face was drawn with anxiety. He was scarcely aware of Lee’s presence. “Cyn, I had to come,” he burst out. “I can’t settle to anything when you’re in such trouble. How goes it?”
Cynthia looked at him darkly. “All right,” she said tonelessly. Evading his outstretched hand, she crossed the foyer to the opening of the corridor, and turning around, fixed him with her dark gaze. He was standing almost on the same spot where she had first seen the man who had entered the night before.
“What’s the matter?” asked Siebert blankly.
Lee moved quickly towards the sunroom. “Come in here a moment, Siebert. I have something to show you.”
Siebert strode into the sunroom, Cynthia watching every movement. Lee took down the key to the garden door from its hook on the doorframe and showed it to him. “Siebert, did you ever borrow this key?”
Siebert’s face showed purest surprise. “What are you getting at?” he demanded.
“I mean for the purpose of having a duplicate made,” said Lee, watching him sternly.
Siebert flushed red with anger. “I don’t understand you.” Turning on his heel, the young man demanded of Cynthia: “What does this mean?�
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Lee, who did not wish to intrude on what followed, went back into the studio. “What does this mean? What does this mean?” Siebert kept asking.
Cynthia, shrinking from him, mutely shook her head. “Why do you act so strangely? You and Lee. It isn’t possible that you suspect me of … Me?”
“You cursed him,” she muttered.
Siebert clasped his hands to his head. “O, my God,” he groaned, “haven’t I suffered enough on that account? I told you how sorry I was. It meant nothing. It was only the anger of a moment … Cynthia, I have never hidden anything from you. You must know that I am incapable of such a thing!”
He paused, searching her face. Cynthia continued to look at him distantly, and his face suddenly flamed with anger. “All right!” he cried harshly. “I’ve given you the best I’ve got! Maybe you’re not worth it. There must be something the matter with you, if you can so easily suspect the one who loves you. I reckon you’re incapable of loving a man. If you loved me, you would know that I could not do this to you!” He strode out of the apartment.
Lee, hearing the door, came quickly back into the foyer. “Well?” he asked.
Cynthia ran to him with failing steps,, and falling in his arms, burst into a passion of tears. “Lee, I don’t know! I don’t know!” she cried. “Sometimes I think it might have been Siebert; sometimes I am sure it was not! Why must I be tortured so? I can’t bear it!”
“Have courage,” he said soothing her. “It won’t be for long. We will soon know.”
CYNTHIA and Lee were seated at the dining-table. Cynthia pale, and with dark circles under her eyes, was merely playing with her food, and Lee couldn’t eat because she couldn’t. They heard the bell outside, and Cynthia looked up apprehensively. “I dread that sound!” she murmured.
Hillman, having gone to the door, entered to say that it was Joe Dietz. He wanted to see Mr. Mappin. He said it was important. Lee got up and went out into the foyer followed by Cynthia. The elevator boy in his street clothes stood there biting his lip and turning his hat ceaselessly between his hands. Joe was not a beauty at any time and agitation made his sharp-featured face look even more common and mean. “Mr. Mappin, I got to talk to you! I got to talk to you!” he stammered.
Hillman was hanging around, and Lee led the way into the studio. When the boy saw that Cynthia was coming, too, he hung back. “Mr. Mappin, I got to see you alone.”
“Has it got anything to do with what happened Sunday night?” asked Lee.
“Yes sir.”
“Then she must hear it, too. Forget that she’s a woman.” Lee closed the door of the studio. “What is it, Joe?”
“Mr. Mappin, I lied to you yesterday morning.”
“I suspected as much,” said Lee dryly. “Give me the straight dope now.”
“I lied when I said there was nobody come up to Mr. Dordress’ apartment after everybody had gone. I brought up a man in the elevator.”
“What man?” asked Lee sharply.
“Frank Cagey, Mr. Mappin. But I didn’t know who he was then.”
Lee and Cynthia looked at each other. “There was a woman come to Mr. Dordress, too,” stammered Joe.
“Who?”
“Miss Gail Garrett, sir.”
Cynthia dropped suddenly into a chair as if her legs had weakened under her. “Now I know!” she murmured.
Lee said: “Sit down, Joe. Take it slow, and tell me the whole story.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” Joe sat down on the edge of a chair, still turning his hat. “Mr. Hillman, he was the last to leave. Miss Garrett, she come back first. It was a good while after; about twelve, as near as I can figure. She come back. She asked me if anybody had come to see Mr. Dordress, and I says no, and she seemed awful glad of it. She said: ‘Take me up,’ and I did.”
“Did Mr. Dordress let her in?” asked Lee.
“No, sir. She had her own key to the apartment.”
“You’re sure of that?”
“Absolutely, Mr. Mappin. She was in such a hurry she had the key in her hand before she stepped out of the elevator, and she put it right in the door.”
“Go ahead.”
“I hadn’t much more than got down to the ground floor when the fellow, he come. He was dressed so nice I never thought anything out of the way. He said he wanted to see Mr. Dordress, and that he was expected, so I took him up.”
“Who let him in?”
“I don’t know, sir. He rang the bell of the apartment. I couldn’t hang around watching. I came down in the car.”
“Then what happened?”
“Well, after a while I heard a buzz from the fifteenth floor and I went up to get them.”
“How long were they in the apartment?” asked Lee. “This is important.”
“I couldn’t tell you exactly, Mr. Mappin. It was a good while. Not less than half an hour, and not more than an hour, I guess.”
“Go on.”
“The fellow, he looked just the same as before, slick and smooth, but the lady, she looked bad. She was all in. He had to hold her up. I took them down in the elevator and they drove away in a taxi.”
“Why did you lie about this yesterday?” asked Lee.
“Because I was scared, Mr. Mappin. In the elevator this fellow showed me a gun and said he’d fill my belly full of lead if I ever said that he or she had been there that night.”
“Did he give you money?”
“No, sir. But she did. A hundred dollars. And promised me more if I kept my mouth shut.”
“I see,” said Lee.
“I didn’t care nothing about the money, sir,” protested Joe. “I’m an honest boy. Ain’t I telling you the truth now? But I was scared!”
“What was it led you to tell the truth now?” asked Lee.
“I read in the paper as how Frank Cagey was shot up in the Bronx last night. The name meant nothing to me, but his picture was in the paper and I thought that was the guy. It said he was lying in state at— Bayard Street and I went there on my way to work. There was a crowd going in and out and nobody took no notice of me. I went in and looked at him in his casket, and it was the guy. So I wasn’t scared of him any more. That’s why I’m telling you.”
“I see,” said Lee.
“What must I do now?” asked Joe nervously. “Must I talk to the police?”
“All in good time,” said Lee. “I’ll tell you when … In the meantime if you value your own skin keep your mouth shut. This fellow Joe Cagey has plenty of friends, remember.”
Joe turned pale. “Yes, sir. Yes, sir, Mr. Mappin. You can depend upon me, sir.”
“All right, go on to your work,” said Lee.
When the boy had left them. Lee and Cynthia looked at each other for a long time without speaking. “It’s all clear now,” murmured Cynthia at last. “Gail persuaded Dad to sit down to a game of chess with her, and this murderer stole up and shot him.”
“So it would seem,” said Lee. His voice lacked conviction. “I don’t see why Gavin didn’t take alarm when he first laid eyes on the man.”
“He never laid eyes on him,” said Cynthia. “Cagey only made believe to ring the doorbell. Gail had fixed the latch of the door so that he could go right in after the elevator had gone down.”
“Maybe so,” said Lee.
Cynthia reached for the telephone and began to dial a number. Lee, divining her intention, said quickly: “Better wait! We’re not sure yet!”
Cynthia looked at him in astonishment. “What more proof could you want?”
“The man in the yellow overcoat was up here too on Sunday night. Where does he come in?”
“He was another of Gail’s accomplices.”
Cynthia got her connection. “Siebert,” she said into the transmitter, and her voice broke: “Siebert, can you come over here for a moment? I have something to tell you.”
Evidently Siebert could and would. Cynthia hung up. “You were too precipitate,” said Lee gravely.
“I can’t help my
self, Lee,” she pleaded. “I wronged him in my mind!”
“What do you want me to do next?” asked Lee. “Lay the information before the police, and ask for Gail Garrett’s arrest?”
Cynthia looked at him in horror. “O, Lee! Think how the tabloids will play up the story of Gail and Dad!”
“I don’t see how it can be avoided, my dear.”
“Don’t tell the police,” she urged. “Let us just tell Gail that we know the truth, and leave her to her own conscience. That will be punishment enough.”
Lee shook his head. “I have pledged my word to Inspector Loasby. It is my duty to tell the police everything we know. After that it’s up to them.”
“Must you tell them right away? To-night?”
“Not to-night. I want to be surer of my ground first.”
Hillman entered to ask if they would take any more dinner. Obviously it was only an excuse; his face was tormented with curiosity. They shook their heads, but he lingered. His curiosity proved to be stronger than his fears. “Mr. Mappin, sir,” he blurted out, “if it’s not a liberty, what did you learn from the boy? What has happened!”
“Nothing conclusive,” said Lee mildly.
“Mr. Mappin …”
“That will be all, Hillman.”
The servant went out with a distracted air. “Curious,” murmured Lee, “the pertinacity of a weak man. Hillman will face this out to the end, though he dies a thousand deaths from sheer fright.”
In ten minutes Siebert was at the door of the apartment. Cynthia ran out into the foyer; Lee remained sitting in the studio mulling things over. “Siebert,” said Cynthia imploringly. “I’m sorry for the way I spoke and acted. Can you forgive me, and forget it?”
The young man’s eyes brooded over her sombrely. “I forgive you,” he said, “but I can’t forget it right away. It made too deep a mark.”
ALM02 The Death of a Celebrity Page 11