ALM02 The Death of a Celebrity
Page 20
He returned the papers to the envelope, and stowed the envelope carefully in his breast pocket. “That will be all,” he said cheerfully. “We will have to carry away all these papers; also the typewriter. The officer will give you a formal receipt for them, ma’am… . And please accept this from me for your trouble.”
It was a twenty dollar bill. The astonished woman stammered her thanks. She was not prepared for such liberality from the police.
From the delicatessen store Lee called up Headquarters. “Loasby,” he said, “do you have Hillman, Gavin Dordress’ former butler, under surveillance?”
“I have.”
“Can you get in touch with the man who is watching him?”
In two minutes.”
“Good, “I’m about to telephone Hillman to ask him to come to my apartment. If he comes, all right. If he tries to escape, he’s to be arrested instantly.”
“I get you, Lee. Want me up there?”
“Yes, please. I have important new evidence. Give Hillman time to get down town first. Bring the old gladstone bag and its contents with you.”
“Right. I’ll be at your place in three-quarters of an hour.”
Lee then called the Harvest Restaurant in the Bronx. Hillman himself answered the phone. “Hillman,” said Lee, ” could you oblige me by coming down to my apartment?”
After a silence Hillman said nervously: “Why certainly, Mr. Mappin. I’ll get my wife to relieve me here. Am I to come to the front door or the service entrance, sir?”
“The front door,” said Lee. “Take a taxi.”
THE three men taxied over to the East River. The theatres were not yet out and they made good time. Driving through the streets they could hear newsboys calling extras with the latest news of the attack on Cynthia Dordress and the search for the man in the yellow overcoat. Lee, thoughtfully rolling an unlighted cigar between his lips, stared out of the window the whole way without seeing anything.
When the cab drew up in front of his house he glanced at his two companions. “You boys had better come up with me. I may need you.”
They entered the house. There was another Headquarters man waiting in the lobby. The two detectives passed each other without any sign of recognition. Upstairs, when Jermyn opened the door, Lee heard a murmur of men’s voices in the distant living-room and his face hardened. “Who’s here?” he whispered. “Mr. Townley, Mr. Gundy and Mr. Ackroyd.”
Lee’s eyebrows went up. “I told you not to let anybody in the apartment!”
“But your intimate friends, sir,” protested Jermyn. “They said they’d wait until you returned. I didn’t like to take it on myself to …”
Lee smoothed his ruffled feathers. “All right … Have they seen Miss Cynthia?”
“No, sir. I told them she was indisposed. The young ladies are together in the guest-room.”
“Did the men come together or singly?”
“Singly, sir. Mr. Townley came first.”
“Put this typewriter out of sight under your bed. Take these two gentlemen through the kitchen into your room. Feed them, if they’re hungry, and give them a drink. Keep your voices down. I don’t want anybody to know they’re here.”
“Yes, sir.”
The three men disappeared silently through the pantry door; Lee proceeded through the long gallery. His vast square living-room was lined on two sides with windows looking East over the river and South over the town. Siebert Ackroyd had opened a french window on the balcony above the river, and was standing in the opening, looking out; Emmett Gundy, seated on a sofa, was turning the pages of a magazine; Mack Townley paced nervously back and forth with his hands behind him. The first unbidden thought that flitted through Lee’s mind was: Fine, upstanding men, all three of them-but …!”
“Lee!” they cried out together, all starting for him. Siebert with long strides reached him first. All three talked at once.
“Is she hurt. Lee? O God, when I read that terrible story I had to come!”
“Me, too! What a dastardly attack! Fortunately I was able to keep the news of it from Bea or she would never have been able to go on to-night.”
“Have they caught the brute. Lee? The police are so dumb!”
Lee waved his hands. “One at a time! … Cynthia is not injured except for a bruise or two. But she has had a nasty shock. The man has not been caught, but the police have hopes.”
“Could I see her?” pleaded Emmett. “I know it’s a lot to ask. But if I could see her only for a moment.”
Siebert glared at him angrily, and Emmett turned his back on him. The mere presence of Siebert in the same room always made the carefully-arranged Emmett look his age. Emmett knew it, and it made him vicious. He glanced in a convenient mirror and stroked his moustache. That, at least, looked young. “I expect she’s gone to bed,” Lee said mildly. “But I’ll find out. You boys will have to excuse me for a few moments. A cable has come that I must decode.” Lee went to the bookshelves and abstracted a thin volume, much worn. “My code book,” he said pleasantly. He took care to conceal the cover of the book under his arm as he went out.
Crossing the gallery, he opened the door to the corridor, which served the bedroom wing of the apartment. He knocked at the end door and Fanny opened it. She smiled, and opening the door wider, showed him Cynthia in the bed. Her long curved lashes lay on her pale cheeks; all the wear and tear of the day was wiped out of her face; her breast was gently rising and falling. Lee nodded in satisfaction and was turning away when she awoke. “Lee!” she said. “Thank God! you’re home. I was so worried.”
Lee had no intention of relating his escape. “Nonsense!” he said. “I was guarded on every side by big strong detectives … How do you feel?”
“All right.”
“Siebert and Mack and Emmett have come to ask for you. Do you want to see them?”
“Siebert!” she cried, with all her heart in her voice-then quickly shook her head. “No, I don’t want to see anybody,” she said sullenly.
“Very well, my dear. Finish out your sleep.”
Lee entered a little study that adjoined his bedroom, and seating himself at the desk, switched on a lamp. The book under his arm was a manual of the language of the ancient Phoenicians. Opening it at the page illustrating the Phoenician alphabet, he laid the leaf from Gavin Dordress’ note-book beside it, and started to translate it on another sheet. The first words gave him a clue to the whole. His jaw dropped, he stared incredulously at the page, then went on putting down the modern characters rapidly.
Alone in his own room with the door shut, he had no need of putting a guard on his face. Amazement, horror and a grim satisfaction succeeded each other there. He finished the last letter with a stab of his pencil, and seizing original and translation, jumped up and, slipping them in his pocket, started back for the living-room. At the door of the study a new thought came to him. Turning in the other direction, he knocked again on Cynthia’s door. His face was as expressionless as wood then. Cynthia was awake; the two girls were talking quietly. Lee when it suited him could lie as smoothly as any man in Christendom. When Fanny opened the door, he said: “I’ve just had a telephone message. The man has been caught.”
Cynthia’s face flushed very pink and paled again. “Thank God!” she said. “Then he can do no further harm.”
Fanny, studying Lee, said nothing. She knew her employer better than Cynthia did. “If I have him brought here,” said Lee, ” do you feel able to face him for the purpose of identification?”
“Why, certainly,” Cynthia said quickly. “I’m all right. I want to do my part. I’ll get dressed at once.”
“No need of that,” said Lee. “Dressing-gown and slippers will do. You will only be wanted for a moment. I’ll let you know.”
As he was leaving them he heard the bell ring and when he got out into the corridor, Jermyn was at the door. The visitor was not Hillman nor Loasby, whom Lee expected, but a veiled woman. He saw Jermyn start back. The woman, catching sight of
Lee, pushed past the servant throwing her veil back. It was Gail Garrett. So broken was she, so haggard, so careless in her dress, that Lee did not recognise her until she had almost reached him. She appeared to be almost beside herself. “Lee! That ghastly story in the papers. How is the girl? I could not rest until I had found out.” The once glorious voice had a raucous edge on it; her utterance was slurred as if she had been drinking or was under the influence of a drug. Lee looked at her in grim pity. “Cynthia’s all right,” he said. He stepped to the door of the living-room and closed it.
Gail clapped her hands to her head. ” O, God, Lee! do you think I hired that brute to kill Gavin, and then attack the girl? I cannot bear my life! I cannot bear it!”
Lee shook his head. “Once I may have had that possibility in mind. I know better now.” She dropped in a chair against the wall of the gallery and drew the back of her hand across the forehead, staring. Her moods were as changeable as water. “What does it matter?” she said, in a dead voice. “I’m done for. I don’t know why I came here.”
Lee’s thoughts went back to the dazzling Gail Garrett bowing and smiling on the stage in response to a roar of applause.
Her voice became urgent again. “Lee let me see the girl for a moment. Just a little moment. Let me go down on my knees and beg her to forgive me. She couldn’t refuse! She’s a woman, too. She has a heart. Oh God, Lee, I loved him so! I can’t bear my life! Let me see the girl.”
Lee shook his head. “It wouldn’t do any good. You must remember she knows you plotted to kill her father. That’s not easy to forgive. Better leave it to time.”
Gail got to her feet unsteadily. ” O well, it doesn’t matter. I’m done for. I’ve got no friends.”
“I’ll look you up when I get this business out of the way,” said Lee. “Something can be done.”
She was on her way to the door. “Don’t bother,” she said.
The bell rang again, and Jermyn was opening the door. This was Hillman, the ex-butler. At sight of him Gail cried out sharply: “What are you doing here? Are you following me? Is this a trap?”
The gaunt Hillman, terrified at the sight of her, turned as if to run, but Jermyn was at the door behind him, blocking the way. “No, no. Miss,” he stammered. “I didn’t expect to find you here.”
“I don’t care,” said Gail recklessly. “My money’s all gone. You can’t get another cent out of me. So publish and be damned!”
“No, Miss, no!” protested Hillman.
Lee, sharply interested, came forward. “Publish what?” he asked.
“My letters. Last year I wrote some indiscreet letters to Gavin. He tore them up and threw them in his waste-basket. This worm recovered the pieces and putting them together, started blackmailing me by threatening to sell the letters to a tabloid. When he got the notion of starting a restaurant I had to pay him thousands.”
“So that’s why you paid!” murmured Lee. “Well, I’ll be damned. It had nothing to do with Gavin’s death!”
“No! This was before,” said Gail impatiently. She turned on Hillman again. “Go ahead and sell the letters. You can’t do me any further harm.”
“No,” whined Hillman. “I want you to have the letters. I been twice to your hotel to give them to you, but they wouldn’t let me see you. I didn’t dare trust them to a servant. Here, Miss, here!” He was offering her a little packet wrapped in paper.
Gail stared at him uncertainly, took the packet; opened one end of it; pulled out a letter; counted the rest, and thrust the packet in her handbag. “It’s too late,” she muttered. “These can’t help me.”
Lee was angry. “Well, by God! that restaurant is rightfully yours,” he said.
Hillman faced him in terror. “No! No! Mr. Mappin,” he cried, “-if you take it from me it will be no good to nobody! I’ll pay! I’ll pay her every cent I got off her. I’ll pay a hundred a week, maybe more later.”
Gail cursed him indifferently. “What’s a hundred a week to me, you worm!”
“Take it!” Lee urged her. “Go to a sanatorium and recover your health; make a come-back on the stage. You have plenty of friends; you are not forgotten.”
Gail shrugged indifferently. “It’s not worth the trouble. Life is too tedious to endure!”
She went on to the door, and Jermyn let her out. “Just the same I’ll hold you to that promise,” Lee said sternly to Hillman. “A hundred dollars a week to Miss Garrett. The first week you default you’ll be clapped in jail.”
“O, Mr. Mappin, I will never default!” vowed Hillman. “I want to do the right thing. Mr. Mappin, I went into this business very unwillingly. Nobody knows how I suffered while it was going on.”
“You took the money.”
“I’m not a bad man, Mr. Mappin.”
“There might be two opinions about that.”
“It was my wife forced me to do it. She’s ambitious.”
“You can go,” said Lee.
Hillman did not immediately obey. “Mr. Mappin, was it for this reason that you sent for me?”
“No. I knew nothing about your blackmailing operations until now.”
“Why did you want to see me, Mr. Mappin?”
“Well,” said Lee grimly, “I had a notion to try an overcoat on you, but I’ve learned since I phoned you that it doesn’t fit.”
He went on into the living-room. Hillman looked after him full of suspicion and fear. “Now then, look sharp!” said Jermyn at the door. Hillman slunk through it with his head over his shoulder, expecting a kick. “I wouldn’t soil my shoes,” said Jermyn.
Lee entered the living-room with a wooden face. “Sorry to keep you boys waiting,” he said; “I had a visitor.”
“That’s all right,” they murmured variously.
“Cynthia had gone to bed. But she said she’d come in for a minute. You’d better wait.”
“That’s splendid!” said Emmett. “Bea will feel better if I can take her a first-hand report,” said Mack.
Siebert said nothing.
Lee glanced covertly in the faces of his three “friends” when they weren’t looking. It was impossible to tell anything about them. Men learn very early to hide their feelings; some from babyhood. A man’s best friends are strange to him. I never had but one real friend, thought Lee; well, that was a lot. In order to fill in the strained silence he heard himself saying: “The market was a little off at the close.”
They all stared. Mack said bluntly: “Have you gone nuts, Lee?”
“I shouldn’t be surprised,” said Lee. “Why?”
“Who the devil cares about Wall Street at such a moment?”
“One must say something.”
Lee was deeply excited. He surreptitiously wiped his face. His ears were stretched for the sound of the doorbell. He kept glancing at his watch. Why the hell didn’t Loasby come? No one could have guessed from his mild face that he was churning inside.
Emmett, to fill another uncomfortable pause, asked Mack how business was at the theatre. “Couldn’t be better,” growled Mack. “Fifty or more standees nightly. At every matinee we turn hundreds away.”
“It’s the title that attracts the women,” said Emmett.
At last the sound of the doorbell. Lee stood up. He heard the rumble of Loasby’s deep voice in the gallery, and presently the Inspector entered, carrying the old scuffed gladstone bag. Lee introduced him. “This is Inspector Loasby, gentlemen. Mr. Gundy, Mr. Ackroyd-Mack Townley you know.”
Hands were shaken all around. Lee watched the faces. “By God!” said Mack, “is that the bag the fellow left in the lavatory? Let’s see what’s in it, Inspector.”
The bag was opened out flat on a table and the shapeless yellow overcoat taken out and exhibited; the curious leather helmet, the rumpled suit; broken shoes, spectacles. There was a small tin make-up box with sticks of grease-paint, cold cream, etc. Lee, glancing in the faces bending over these things, could see nothing showing there but simple curiosity. He said: “Notice how cleverly the s
houlders and back of the overcoat have been padded to alter the wearer’s figure.”
“Then he wasn’t such a big fellow after all,” said Mack.
“Tall,” remarked Lee. “One of you fellows try it on.”
“I’m damned if I will!” said Siebert.
“Maybe it’s lousy,” said Mack, drawing back.
“Nothing doing!” said Emmett.
Lee looked Emmett up and down speculatively. “Seems as if it was about your size. Try it on.”
“No. Put it on yourself.”
“I’m too little,” said Lee. He glanced at Loasby.
“Put it on, Mr. Gundy,” barked the Inspector in his official voice.
Emmett’s face turned greenish. “Well, if you insist,” he said with a ghastly grin. He wriggled into the overcoat, and Lee noted how snugly the padding fitted over his shoulders and back. They pulled the leather helmet over his head. The thick glasses changed his whole expression.
“This dirty-looking grease-paint was to make his face cadaverous,” said Lee. He started rubbing it into Emmett’s cheeks. “Brown for an unshaven chin. I can’t take the time to make a perfect job of this, but it will give you an idea.”
“Don’t mind me,” said Emmett, bringing out a laugh. “Always glad to afford amusement to my friends.”
Lee noted that he was breathing as quick as a wounded animal; and saw how the sweat oozed through the grease-paint on his face. Emmett was grinning like a man on the rack. Lee unobtrusively pressed a button in the wall. Returning, he added a few finishing touches to his work. “What have I got to do?” asked Emmett, laughing. “Act in a charade?” Nobody answered him.
When Lee heard Jermyn coming in the gallery he went to meet him at the door of the room and told him in a low tone to ask Miss Cynthia to come in. Afterwards he was to fetch out the two men from his room and let them wait in the gallery until wanted. “Now can I take off this rig?” asked Emmett.
“In a minute,” said Lee.
Cynthia came in quickly, followed by Fanny. Cynthia was wearing a blue cashmere negligee of Fanny’s trimmed with swansdown, which gave her an ethereal appearance. Every man in the room caught his breath at the sight of her. Having been warned, she was not startled at the sight of the man in the yellow overcoat. She looked him up and down gravely. Emmett turned rigid at the sight of her. His hand stole to his throat. He seemed to be trying to speak, and could not. “Is this the man who attacked you this evening?” asked Loasby.